This is becoming one of my favorite blogs. Its yet another example of the mindset that crossfitters tend to have. My mindset seems to be directly tied into my hip and hasn't been so great lately either. I am working to be grateful for my injury because this is my great struggle right now. Not cancer, addiction, job loss or a failed marriage or relationship (as has been the case with WAY too many of my friends lately....seriously. I'm starting to think I am bad luck...run away from me oh-partnered people). So in the effort to keep my head on straight and because the bad-ass Mel from theclothesmakethegirl.com did this I thought it might be a good idea for me too.
Five things you love about yourself: I am a fighter. I have fought for every damn thing I have. My education (that a learning disability and screwball attitude did not predict), my peaceful life, my relationships, my career... I don't give up. In fact, I'm a little like a terrier with a ball. I try to always do the right thing. Sometimes it sucks and makes me feel like a tool. It is difficult to blaze me and not get verbally knocked on your ass. I'm not impressed by material shit.
Five things your body can do. Even in the state my hip is in.... I can walk. I can see. I can work. I can hear. I can think with a clear head....which means I'm not an addict, I'm not crazy, and I make fair decisions.
Five things for which you’re grateful. That my devastating trouble right now is just my hip. I have the means to see the single best orthopedic surgeon specializing in hips in the United States. He fixed Alex Rodriguez's hip. I have plenty of good food to eat and options around food (many folks don't have the option to go paleo). My dogs. They make my life happier every day. My small blood family and my larger chosen family.
Five things that make you happy you’re alive. Jeans Spring flowers Loud music Coffee Sunshine
Five people (or pets) who you love. Hank Aaron, Buster Dogless, Walter Payton The boy Wonder Mom and Dad Staci and Jenny Al and Ari The Pats
Some of these came very easy. The things I love about myself was difficult. So was the 'things my body can do.' It was difficult to NOT write: pullups, pushups, run 5 miles, etc. But when I look at the things that are left...really these are the most important.
Its no secret that I have a close relationship with a wonderful mother. I could write several books about the strength and beauty that she brought to both my childhood and to my every day now. But when my dear friend, Chuck (who I consider a brother not of biology but of chance and blessing) asked for touching mom stories the wheels began to turn in my noggin. Chuck is a fitness trainer and gym owner. Really, he is so much more than this, but this description will have to suffice for now as this is a story for him rather than about him. Because he of his occupation, because of our history together, and because his call was directed in large part to the members of his gym, I began to think of my own mom and how she shaped my healthy lifestyle.
Food is a big part of any home. It is a huge part of economically fragile families. When ends are low and there isn't a lot to share, food becomes a way to show love. My extended family, dysfunctional as it is, shows love with food. While I was (and still am) estranged from my extended family, I did maintain a relationship with my mom's paternal grandparents. At their home, pie was cut in quarters and cookies given by the stack. They lived in a triple (a triplex) in a neighborhood in Columbus that makes people's eyebrows raise when mentioned and is on the news daily for shootings. But these folks gave endlessly and selflessly. From them, my mom learned a love of food and so did I.
Times were not always easy financially in my family. We lived for a time in a camp trailer, and then a mobile home, and finally a large and lovely house in a 'good school district.' This was an investment my folks made for our future and they barely had money for furniture. As lovely as my mom made it look, I imagine that my friends would be surprised to know that it was all second hand. There wasn't much money for much besides necessities in my house. My parents bought used cars, fixed them at home, and drove them until the wheels fell off. They bought me a new outfit or two for school (new clothes were years apart for my parents). I babysat and had 2 jobs through high school so from 7th grade on, I bought most of my own clothes. I paid my own way when I went out with friends. Things were tight, but we were all working to get ahead. My dad made me pay the bills for him when I was in high school so that I'd know just how far money didn't stretch.
But one place where we splurged was food.
I was not raised with a mom who was constantly dieting. Obviously none of us ever wanted to be overweight. However, a Beyonce' body was much more desirable than an emaciated model body in my home. My mom, however, was always concerned with how healthy her family was. She kept a careful eye on what current theory was. Despite the extra cost, we ate low fat everything we could get our hands on, we only drank diet pop, wheat bread instead of white, not much red meat, turkey bacon instead of pork, juice available by the gallon (real juice not Sunny Delight). Before bottled water, she insisted we all drank water...and lots of it. She insisted on a hot breakfast every morning and for years I had to choke down oatmeal (not instant) with fruit and nuts before going to school. She insisted on fruits and vegetables. I remember one of the worst whippings I ever got being over my refusal to eat asparagus casserole. I literally ran away from it and hid behind the couch. Clearly I lost my damn mind. I got the wooden spoon over that one (oh get over it 'time out' parents.... I come from junkies and criminals and I grew up to be a doctor...clearly she got something right). There were discussions in my house about how unhealthy we would be if we ate like my extended family (cake for breakfast and no veggies at dinner).
My mom also taught me to share. She stood at the counter each night cutting me up carrots, filling my water bottle, and making me lean turkey sandwiches for lunch. Knowing one of my friends didn't have a mom who would do this...she packed HUGE lunches telling me, “now if you want to share with so-and-so you can.” She taught me about pride as well. She could have (and would have) packed two lunches. But that makes things obvious, doesn't it? Sharing, on the other hand, is just...sharing.
As I got older, I took responsibility for my own health. I became a vegetarian for many years and she supported this. I was an on and off gym rat, power walker, and eventually runner. My mom power walked with me, took interest in my running and at almost 60 goes to yoga with me every week. Later, when I began crossfit and went paleo she listened and learned and cut most refined sugar, many potatoes and much (not all) bread. She comments on my muscles and has encouraged me endlessly through this recent devastating hip injury. Now, I fix her paleo recipes and she calls me to find out how I make roasted asparagus. She has cut out all the 'low fat' foods and eats avocado with abandon. A friend recently moved a piece of furniture with her and told me, “now I know who you get your muscles from, Roo.”
Like my mom, I still show love with food. Its common for me to meet you at an event with paleo muffins, or some other treat. I have people over for dinner regularly . Nothing is fancy but there is plenty and your welcome to any of it. I may send you home with leftovers. Its old school, but its me. And I learned it from her. Just like I learned to eat asparagus. And I can do it these days without the wooden spoon....
I am having an insanely indulgent Sunday morning. It is 9:43 in the morning and I am still in bed in my boxers and beater. I'm drinking coffee, snuggling dogs (ok, praying to Jesus for patience about the little Jack Russell), looking for new Paleo recipes, talking with the boy and keeping an eye on the Food Network. Usually, I am up by now making some kind of Paleo Sunday brunch or contemplating a run of a few miles for enjoyment, not for training.
To be honest, a lot of my indulgence is a wee bit forced. I am on the DL. No not on the 'down low' hoping that no one finds out I like girls... I am on the disabled list... big time. I have been away from my box (what crossfitters call their gym spaces...they are little more than boxes with some heavy stuff, and pull up bars) for 3 months now. In January, my doc thought I was battling IT band issues and we treated accordingly. I was allowed to back to crossfit if I took it easy on the squats (to which I replied..."dude. do you know what crossfit is???") and went easy on the weight. The next monday I had this WOD:
My time on this workout should have been around 20 minutes. My coach told me to cut the burpees down to 10 because I was slow getting up and down due to my hip. Even with this cut, my time was almost 25 minutes and by round 3 I was doing my sit ups with my right leg straight out (instead of with my feet together and my legs in a diamond shape).
And I hurt. A lot. I typically rate my pain in PT as a 3 or 4 because really... I have no idea what to rate it. I figure a ten is getting it blown off in a James Bond-esque adventure...so when I found myself limping and holding up some bricks instead of walking around talking to kids at lunch duty because I want to rest my hip I guessed that must be a pain level of 4. My physical therapist told me (what he does to me makes him break a sweat) that he thinks my 3 is a 7 for someone else. After the WOD above....I gave myself a 6 or 7.
My therapist did a whole bunch of therapist stuff and after discussing my symptoms with another therapist in the office they decided it was very possible I had a labral tear. A tear in my hip cartilage. In the meantime, I could do no things. I had a very fun MRI where they injected dye into my hip. The results came in no visible tear. My words to my doc were, "shit. now what?" Because while I wasn't jumping up and down over the idea of surgery...it was a fix. This was near the end of January. They weren't sure what to do, so they schedule me for some Active Release Therapy. All I will say about that is that on the pain scale, it came in just under my James Bond 10. And come March, I wasn't any better.
2 days a week in therapy, 2 days a week in ART I am not better. I think it hurts worse. Awesome. Finally, after talking with my therapist about this we discussed how they were totally stumped because every one of my symptoms presents itself like a labral tear. So finally this discussion occurred:
Me: Is there anyway that they could have misread my orthogram? Him: (red in the face and visibly uncomfortable) did anyone show you your lab report? Me: No. They just said my hip looked good. Him: The dye leaked out before the orthrogram. If you have tear...it could have leaked out of that. Me: (head spins off shoulders)
A lot of other talking happened. I've got the name of one of the best surgeons in the country who happens to be at OSU. However, I need to use kid gloves when I meet with my doc. because this therapist really put his butt on the line for me and I do not want to get him into trouble. But the bottom line is that the odds are stacked in favor of this injury being a tear that didn't show up because the dye leaked out. If you can figure out a reason why no one mentioned this shit to me, I'd love to hear it. The first time I was bracing myself up for surgery, my thinking was that at least it was in the winter, at least I caught it soon, I'd get back quickly, at least I'd be back by summer. Now, its looking like I'll spend my summer on crutches and I will spend at least 6 months total on the DL. A year and a half of building strength, muscles, form. A year and a half of training for my Level 2 Krav test (which would have been this Friday). A dead lift that my coach was commenting on...."your dead lift is getting pretty heavy isn't it??" *i could have kissed her!!* Thousands of pullups, situps, squats and lunges. Overhead squats where I went down and couldn't get back up. More blisters and ripped callouses than I can count. Bruises, shiners, knees to the chin. Gone.
I gave myself a weekend to be sad, to self medicate with non paleo meds like Cadbury eggs and a Shamrock Shake. I'm paying for that poision and have learned my damn lesson. Ugh... But today I'm back to myself. I am grateful for my paleo lifestyle. Considering I went from 4 crossfit workouts a week (and a couple Krav Maga classes and a run or two and a yoga session or two) to nothing. I'm even having a difficult time walking my dogs a couple of days a week slowly for a half hour at a time... I have lost a few pounds (muscle I'm sure...but my clothes fit about the same). I have had a couple of pity party wagon falls, but mostly I'm trying to eat clean so that when I come back, I can hit it hard and get my strength back soon.
Because my fun...is my sports. I love the people at my box. When I first started crossfit, the way the people who were finished working out would gather around those still battling their WOD and cheer totally freaked me out. I would think, "holy shit. are they being supportive of the lame-o?... like, 'isn't that sweet that she's trying so hard?'" On top of that I do NOT like to draw a lot of attention to myself. I just wished everyone would leave me alone and let me try not to puke/die in peace. And then I realized...this is just how cool the crossfit community is. No matter if you can do a workout beyond RX, at RX or modified.... before a WOD, we are all nervous, when the WOD is posted, we all think, "shit this is going to suck," during the WOD, we don't think anything besides 'try not to die' and 'only this many more,' and when its over, we all think "that sucked...but it was sort of awesome." When your partners cheer for you, they mean it. You ARE doing awesome. You CAN do it. All they want to do is be a part of your effort as soon as they get their breath back.
A few weeks ago, I went to the Arnold Classic to watch one of my coaches compete. I saw Arnold and the Hulk. But you almost couldn't tear me away from the crossifit competition (you can see my coaches judging and competing in this video... bad ass female doing pullups....is my coach who competed) I love this community I have found. I love this sport. I love the way we eat in my house. I am accountable and responsible for what goes in my mouth and where it comes from. I love what my body can do when I'm healthy. And considering that if this injury is the labral tear has been an injury for years... I am excited to see what I'll be able to do when it is fixed.
So I've given myself a weekend to mourn the wasted 3 months. To dread what may be coming. And now that's over. I'm going to be a grown up and look forward to the fun, sweat, and friendship that is coming to a box near me when I get past this.
A typical WOD
Some of the kick ass females I work out with while we rest after the 2nd WOD of the day at the OKM crossfit games this summer.
Me, trying not to die after my 3rd WOD of the day at the games this summer. At some point in this day, I wondered what kind of dysfunction I must have to love this so much. I was dog tired and almost cried when they had me compete in the finals (a 4th WOD), but I was having a ball!
There are all kinds of geeks. If you're a geek when it comes to something cool, you're an enthusiast or a buff. A sports enthusiast. A fitness buff. An outdoors enthusiast. Because these passions... are cool sounding. In reality they both just make you smelly and sweaty (I know, I'm a buff and an enthusiast and I spend an inordinate amount of time being sweaty and smelly....luckily I am also a soap enthusiast). However, if you're into computers or fantasy/sci-fi, or comic book super heros....ohmigosh...you're such a geek.
I know this for a fact because when I graduated high school, I started dating a boy who'd graduated a year before me. He was a major sports enthusiast. He'd been a captain of our varsity football team and our state champion wrestling squad. He knew sports in and out, kept in shape. Rowr. 5 years later, I got totally played. I married a comic book geek with a plan for the zombie apocalypse. I married the same boy. I didn't ditch my high school jock hottie for a bespectacled nerd wearing mismatched plaids. He had an alter ego. It was very much like marrying Superman, to find out he was really Clark Kent, which is a whole different experience than marrying Clark Kent and finding out he can lift cars and fly.
I don't come from these kinds of people. I come from sports/car enthusiasts with a special interest in working enough to pay the damn bills. I had no idea that grown ass men (and yes I mean men, but we'll get to that later) got comics. Every week. Wha-wha-what???
Have you ever been in a neighborhood comic shop? Its like the bar on the old sitcom Cheers...but with less women, less having sex and less matching clothes. Everyone seems to know one another, the entire place seems to be engaged in the same conversation. And oh yeah. There are almost never any women. Back in the day, there were tables and tables of back stock comic in long white boxes. These are called long boxes. There is usually an organized mess: stacks of flyers, preview magazines, pop cans belonging to whatever geek is standing at the counter talking, etc. There are card board stand ups of comic book favorites like Wolverine, Batman, and Superman. I think its a law that there has to be a blow up Spiderman hanging from the ceiling somewhere. And then there is the gaming stuff.
My partner doesn't game, so I don't know a lot about that. But I'm pretty sure all the fairies and wizards and dragons you see there are for the gamers. Its interesting, right? You just imagine spiderman hitting it with the big breasted head piece wearing forest queen witch lady. Superman calls the wizards homophobic slurs and then the wizards blast him. If you've never been in a comic book store, this doesn't really happen. This is just my overactive imagination playing with the juxtaposition of the classic American icons of the hero world and the grimy underworld of fantasy that decorates these shops.
But this isn't where the cultural experience ends. The folks you see in a comic store are a gathering that you won't find anywhere else. You have pimply teenage boys who don't fit in with the jocks (see why my boy had to keep his geekdom a secret???). Then you have those boys twenty and thirty years later. Often they are wearing superhero shirts, or hawaiian shirts, jorts, tall socks, or sandals.Some are thin, some are heavy. Most are pale. I have only seen maybe a half dozen women all together at this comic store in all the years (a good ten to fifteen) that I have been going along for the ride. And these women (and I don't know how to say this without sounding like an asshole) were not obviously women right away.
It has taken me years to get anyone to acknowledge my presence in the comic shop when I go in with TB. But recently I've made friends with the guy who manages. And he gave me a book suggestion. I am reading The Dresden Files. Holy shit, people. This is good stuff. The main character is totally easy to relate to, the dialog is hilarious, and the stories have more twists and turns than your colon. Amazing stuff. And its a series, so you get to really enjoy the development of the characters. Not to mention that I really enjoy plowing my way through a well written series of stories. The Dresden Files are about a wizard who is also a detective. Yeah. Pretty much an urban version of Dungeons and Dragons in book form. I have to go to the Sci Fi/Fantasy section of the library or bookstore to get the books. Usually, the bookstore staff asks me if I 'need any help.' Like when I go to Home Depot...I don't look like I'm there on purpose, I suppose.
But I am a total geek about these books. I have to get 2 at a time, so that I always have one in reserve. I look forward to going with TB to the comic store so I can talk about the books with the manager who recommended them to me. Typically he and I talk, and then I wait while he checks out and converses with the other patrons while they very pointedly ignore my presence. Or, they wait until we are done talking while pointedly ignoring my presence.
Until the other day.
I was talking about my more recent reading with my Dresden Files friend when a Hawaiian shirt clad fan boy looked up tentatively. "I know just what series you're talking about, I've been trying to get him [pointing at his friend who was also ignoring me] to read it for years." And WHAMMO. I was in a conversation with the comic store guys. Like several of them. Not one of them that I know already.
I spend a great deal of my time looking stupid. I do stupid things. I mean I am a real doctor of philosophy, rather than a doctor like Dr. Dre or Dr. Pepper, but I am willing to bet that outside of work, there are more people in my life who do not know about that than those who do...but that's likely a whole 'nuther blog post. The point of that is, that most people are shocked when they find out that "yes I am dr. Err." Over the last couple of years I've postulated as to why jaws drop when I meet parents, mention a class I'm teaching to friends over wings, or someone refers to me as dr. or professor for the first time. My list is typically that they expect someone who is a dr./college professor to be a) a dude b) older c) lame d) all of the above.
I think that's a pretty good approximation of why I don't fit the stereotypical mold of a scholar, professional, etc. However, I have recently come to the conclusion that really the reason people don't think (believe) that I am anything beyond a dingbat is because I spend a lot of my time looking sort of stupid. I think that's a defining character trait of mine. I'm ok with the possibility of looking like a total tool.
Much of my tooliness revolves around my willingness/desire/obsession to try new things. Its not that I like to try new things for the sake of trying new things. Its more about that if I have a fear that if I don't try these new things I'll be one of those folks who says things like, "I've always wanted to do that."
This leads me to do a lot of things a lone. And let's face it. You look a bit dumber alone than with someone. And I've noticed that women, almost always go places in pairs. I am clearly horrible at being a woman.
My gym (and I hesitate to call it a gym...really its a box with minimal gear...no treadmills, no elliptical machines, just some weights, kettle bells, bars for pull ups and a trashcan for puking) is a prime example of this. In Krav Maga we regularly partner up. Duh, you can't very well practice getting out of a choke without someone choking you.... I regularly am left without a partner. At first I felt a little like the lame kid in gym class who always got picked last. And this was weird for me. Whatever problems I had with school (grades, dumb teachers, mouth that wouldn't quit...) getting picked for teams was never a problem. I was always first girl picked, right after varsity athletes (which means I was usually about third in the line up). But since I'm ok with looking stupid, I just hold up my hand and get a partner. But I started to watch the women in class before it begins. They regularly come in pairs. Partner in tow. So they won't be left alone and look stupid? Oh. I must have missed that girl memo.
I noticed a couple of years ago when I started working for Habitat for Humanity. All the women came with a buddy. I showed up with water, a lunch, and work boots. No partner to eat lunch with. It was ok. To be frank about it... the work is hard. Come lunch time, I just wanted to eat and take my stupid hard hat off. This seems to be a recurring theme with me. I went to school alone (I can't begin to tell you how many people I've known who've gone to grad school together). I ran my first races alone without thinking to bring even a cheering section. Its not that I don't have lovely people in my life who would do these things with me (though I don't know who would go to Krav and Crossfit with me....these are a bit crazy). Its just that I don't wait around for someone else to try them with me. Regularly, I try new things and then encourage my friends to try them. I am often their safety person.
Recently, I found a new adventure all by myself. I found a 'u-pick' farm. I wasn't sure what this was about. So I took off with a bottle of water and my directions. Or at least I thought I had my directions. They were on the kitchen counter doing me all kinds of good. It was ok, because the first time I got lost, I realized they were wrong anyway. I got myself back to civilization (people, farms are WAY in the country) and called TB to get the address so I could use the navigation in my phone. 20 minutes later, it seemed I was mere feet away. Except there was no farm and I was now so far out that I was on a dirt road. Alone. Holy crap, people. This city kid was starting question her sanity, listen for banjo music, and hope that her mouth wasn't too pretty. I was lost and WAY in the country. ALL BY MYSELF. Clearly, I didn't think this new adventure through before diving head first in.
About a quarter mile past where the farm should have been according to my navigation, I found it. A small (five or ten acres) farm with a hand painted sign. I got out wondering what I could expect. I knew they were open because I had the sense to call first and there were two cars in the gravel that constituted a small parking lot. What I'd found apprently was the farm version of the vanishing. I wandered all over looking for someone and no one was there. And no lie. I'm scared to death. I am WAY out there. If you're not from the city, maybe you don't get this. But if you are... you're nodding your head wondering what the hell I was thinking. Somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking, 'how lame are you? you don't know how to work the farm market and now you're wandering around hoping to find someone to tell you what to do."
So I opened the passenger seat of my car leaned in and pulled out my cell phone. Lucky for me, a mini van pulled in at about that time and a lady got out asking me if I needed help. Um, apparently I had that look about me. This nice lady gave me a basket and a pair of scissors and told me to get at it. I asked where I could harvest produce from and she told me any place I wanted. I felt mad suspect at first. Like I was stealing Peter Rabbit style. But half hour or so later, I had a basket full of tomatoes, lettuce and squash. The lady encouraged me to come back and I'll likely bring a friend and my mom (who both will be more willing to go because I can show them the ropes).
I'm about to call an organic/grassfed/free range/no cage farm here in a bit. Its part of not only my paleo lifestyle, but also my hope to eat local and sustainable food. I have no idea how this works. It will be another time when I don't even know what questions to ask. Another conversation that starts out with, "Hi. I'm going to apologize ahead of time, because I have no idea what I'm doing or where to start. Can you help me out a bit?"
I also want to learn how to knit. I'm sure it will have several moments of feeling a little like clueless tool. I just hope that doesn't involve getting lost in the country....
When I began this blog, I was starting a new chapter in my life. I kept the blog the way I was hoping to keep my life. Simple. A black and white text. Simple. I still am working on my simple approach to life. I take pleasure in everyday and the simple fun that I create with those I love. I eat simply. I find my fun in simple things. Walks, runs, puppy snuggles. Its a philosophy that is working well for me. My winter has been complicated with my maternal grandmother's death. She was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and passed six weeks later. I've understood the anguish of seeing someone you love, loose someone they love. I have never seen my ma hurt like this. The situation is made markedly more complex with the lack of... um... speaking on my family's part for most of my life. Dysfunctional, addicted, and damaged as they are when I look at my 35 years on this planet, they have been on speaking terms with my immediate family for 13 of them (my first 8 years and five years during my twenties). My ma (with her amazing capacity for love and forgiveness) and her mother attempted to make amends and have what little bit of a relationship that they could muster in what days remained. My mom sat at her mother's bedside, patted her, brought special gifts of treats and imported favorite flowers to make the remaining time as pleasant as possible. Her mother, however, did not choose to mend her relationship with me. As my family gathered together in the last times (not lovingly... but together) I was not there. I suppose I could have gone without an invite or inquiry, but you have to know my family to understand that without either, I was not welcome. So my family very awkwardly did not mention my mom's only child in their terse catching up. I felt horribly that I was not there to hold my mom's hand as she held her own mother's. I did what I could. Picked up gifts for her to take to her parents when she was too busy to go to the store. Cooked dinners and sent them to her and gave IV treatments to her dying cat (really... can the lady get a damn break?) It was made beyond clear, that my mom has not been welcomed back with open arms. But she maintains a terse and weird relationship (perhaps more communication) with her now widowed father. Still there is no mention of his granddaughter who looks so much like his mother and is so much like him. I still strive for simplicity in this less than simple situation. So I simply try to be the best me I can be everyday and accept this weirdness for what it is. Weird. And sad. And not something I can fix. So its not my problem.
One of my simple solutions has been found in new sports. Each week I take out whatever frustrations I might have pushed aside by kicking and punching and sweating in Krav Maga. Its simple. You hit. You get hit. You kick. You block. It leaves marks. It reminds me to be at peace and be powerful. They are part of the same circle.
Even more simple are my crossfit workouts (this has become a passion and an addiction). We do simple functional movements. Quickly. And many times. There is no shiny equipment. No one matches. Everyone swears. I love it.
As a result I've significantly changed my diet. Most of you who know me, know my frustration with the lack of results I've had with years and years of dedicated training and 'eating right.' I've recently begun eating a Paleolithic Diet. Its a huge shift from what I've done previously, but still very simple. I eat meat, a shit ton of veggies, fruit and nuts. No grains, no dairy, no sugar. That's it. I am already seeing results in crossfit that even my instructor is noticing. Last week I did my February 1x max deadlift...16 times. I do unmodified push ups. I feel really good. Its working for me. Perhaps not others, but me.
I like the simplicity in my training, and my eating. The focus on these parts of my life, the parts I can control help to create a simple way of dealing with the complicated things I cannot control. It really is quite simple. I control what I can. What I can't.... isn't my problem. Its so en grained in me, that finally I'm ready to find the color in my simplicity.
Yesterday was a snow day. For a grown person, there is a system to snow days. You wake up a bit early to begin watching the news and lay in bed a wee bit longer waiting for your school district to run by on the ticker at the bottom of screen, hopeful that you'll be able to stay there. I love, love, love snow days. Growing up in Alaska we had two the entire 13 years I was in school. Both of these days I went to school only to find an empty parking lot because it didn't occur to me that there wouldn't be school (we had new superintendent of schools who was from Texas). Its an unplanned treat that I relish. Something in the winter to look forward to. A day off without a list of household chores, weekend jobs, or Krav classes. So yesterday I spent extra time snuggled in bed, coffee in hand and puppy at my feet watching local news and The Today Show. I know, I know.... guilty pleasure, I guess. Really, I was doing some work for the university, drinking coffee with the TV was on for background. But I turned the volume up for this segment. The Happiness Project. Basically, a lady devoted a year to being happier. Taking pleasure in the little things. Her book is a best seller. Really? Really? Is this what we've come to? We need someone to remind us to take pleasure in the little things and that will make us happy? Apparently so. There is a part of me that is amazed by this. And then there is the other part of me. The discourse analyst (ya'll forget about that part of me, dontcha?). This part of me hears what people say. I hear the complaining they do. Christmas is too hard, grocery shopping is lame, I hate my job, the kids are driving me nuts, its too cold, its too hot, blah-zey skip. I think about how my interactions with people go. ***** "Oh. Junior high...that's a hard age." Its an honor. I love it. "Well. You're crazy." (read as: full of shit) Why would you do this with a doctorate? I want to give back to a community that gave me a great deal. Blank stare. I don't know why you got a doctorate if you're not going to use it. Um. Well I do teach part time at the university and ya know, I like to think it helps the kids. ****** Looking at my green monster smoothie: "That is nasty. I don't know how you eat that. You're one of those weird healthy people. Working out all the time. That's all you do and its not like you're a size two." Um. Don't really want to be a size two, I sort of like looking like a girl. The smoothie just tastes like any fruit smoothie. I like them it gives me 2 veggies and 3 fruits to start my day. I like to run and stuff. Its fun. You have a weird idea of fun. ****** How do you drive so far to work every day? Well ya know... I'm looking forward to being closer, but I've got a reliable car, and its kind of nice. I drink my coffee on the way in, talk to friends on the way home...its about the only time I'm sitting in the same spot every day. And plus, I have a beautiful country road drive every day. I get to watch the sun rise in the morning. I don't mind. Well, I couldn't do that. ****** I think about my own life. The joy I get out of puppy snuggles or watching my rescue dogs who've come so far playing and being silly with each other. I enjoy immensely going to the grocery (I come from people who rarely have what they'd like to eat and sometimes haven't had enough...I love the grocery). I feel wonderful after a crossfit workout where I do a hundred push ups or a zillion squats (ok. maybe that's an exaggeration...but not much of one) before I go to work at 7 am. I am tickled to make a pizza with homemade rosemary crust that is as good as a pricey restaurant for only a couple of dollars (and it is healthy!). I think about how my students make me laugh everyday and how I think I broke a kid's heart when I told my class that I would be 35 in July (this makes me older than his parents...and he's got a bit of a crush...and older than his parents makes me old by 8th grade standards). Are you really?? I'm tickled to take my mom her lunch after 18 years of her making mine. The sunrise on the way to work really is beautiful and I drive past the homestead (the 33 plus acres that will someday be home) and smile at the way the sun comes up behind the woods. I don't lust after fancy purses (ok. I like a sharp purse but I don't need a collection), I don't need fancy cars (something to hold two big dogs and camping gear and a bike rack will do me), and the house we're looking to build is for us and our simple life, not status. Granted, I've decided what life I want to have. I didn't go to the academy full time...it wasn't a good fit for me...it doesn't lend itself to simplicity. I chose an odd match of a partner, but a good and healthy relationship...and I stick to it. I choose friendships that are positive and supportive. But I didn't need a book to tell me not to take for granted that Big Dog just put his head on my knee and is wiggling his tail at me telling me things with this doggie telepathy. What the hell has happened to the world that we need books to remind us of this?
Posts
