Somewhere between snarky and spiritual

The Joy of Real Life

2012-02-21T16:50:00.002-05:00

So I didn't realize until today that I hadn't updated here in well over a month. I've been spending less time online, and what little time I do spend behind a computer I'm either at work, I'm doing work for the well written woman, or I'm writing for something else.

Most recently I was fortunate enough to be able to see my name published in PRINT. It was only a small local magazine, but it's a big deal for me. I can write blogs and guests posts for other websites all day long, but to actually see your name (and photo!) in glossy print - it's a very cool thing.

I've also been working on getting out more. Which basically means just having people over at my house, or going to someone else's for dinner and wine and conversation. Also been throwing some biking, running (or my pitiful attempt at it), and some walking to my routine.

I wouldn't say I'm super pumped and high energy, but I'm definitely back to moving in a positive forward direction! Hooray for outlasting the winter blues again!

Just Something

2012-01-12T14:15:00.004-05:00

This past weekend I felt like I was finally getting the hang of this grown up balance thing. I managed to tidy up the house, mop the floors, do all of the laundry and the grocery shopping (bonus points for only spending $75 on fantastic vegetarian fair filled with fresh fruits and veggies). I also managed to go to a 90 minute yoga class, and an hour (maybe closer to two hour) long bike ride with my mom. And to top it all off, I also snuck in a two hour nap.

I didn't get much writing done, but either way I still managed to accomplish a great many things that made me feel productive. And it was great to spend some time on a two wheel adventure with my mom.

I have a tendency to throw myself into things. I immerse myself completely because I feel that's the only way I can truly understand everything with my short attention span, but then I think I fail to learn the lesson of endurance. Maybe now it's time that I immerse myself in finding balance in places other than my yoga mat.

I haven't been consistent in my yoga practice for about a month now. I'm still going, but maybe once a week instead of 3-5 times a week. Believe it or not, aside from the guilt of not going (which I can't quite explain), I think it's good. When I do go back I'm more prone to focus on the foundation of the postures rather than immediate advancement. It's like reading a book in the process of being written and editing the first few chapters.

Sometimes you have to go back to go forward. I've been resisting going anywhere lately, as is usually the case with my winter blues and january funk, but things are starting to move forward again, in many different directions. Which terrifies me, because I'm an all in person, but exhilarates me because I love nothing more than a new challenge in life.

Working Through the Rage

2011-12-29T23:34:00.002-05:00

"There's no reason for you to feel that way."
"Get over it."
"Why? It's no big deal."

These are responses to declarative emotional statements. You can probably guess the emotions they are in response to. If not, let me help:

"I'm depressed." - "There's no reason for you to feel that way."
"I'm angry." - "Get over it."
"I'm hurt by your actions." - "Why? It's no big deal."

Seemingly normal conversation. Right? These are common responses to negative emotions every day. But we dismiss them, we belittle them. We have no "reason" to feel angry, depressed, or hurt, so we deflect when people make these statements. We roll our eyes, lamenting that someone is over reacting, telling them there are other things to worry about that are bigger, more important, more urgent.

Translation: You're problems are insignificant. You are being selfish. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Imagine if you heard these responses to positive statements. Imagine being the person sharing your vulnerability with another person, then being invalidated.

"I am happy." - "There's no reason for you to feel that way."
"I love you." - "Get over it."
"I am thankful for you." - "Why? It's no big deal."

I posted a blog recently that aired a few of my online grievances in a snarky and somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner. These are things that agitate me the same way whiny children annoy their parents, siblings in the back seats of cars on long road trips poke at each other, spouses who have had too much time off together get on each others last good nerve. I shared these feelings because they are such small annoyances that I don't normally notice them, or I can at least over look them, but when a perfect storm of emotional discomfort, anxiety, depression, and frustration swirl into a hurricane of angst. Sometimes you just have to vent.

I don't like doing it, but sometimes I feel like if I don't I will explode. It's just how I work. I'm a firm believer that if you're angry at something, BE angry at it. If you're frustrated, BE frustrated. If you have to tell the world about it. TELL THE WORLD ABOUT IT. I've spent too long now just trying to tell myself I shouldn't feel negative emotions. I was over reacting, I was being unreasonable, disagreeable, and BITCHY. I should be accepting of other people's choices and what they want to do, and how they want to live, and so what if all of their bullshit encroaches on my personal borders. I should just get over it and be happy because that's what other people do.

I'm done. I'm done being the one that everyone spews their negativity on like I'm some sort of emotional doormat. I'm done being the one that just puts my feelings aside so that everyone else can feel comfortable. I'm done listening to people when they say there is no reason for me to be anxious, there's no reason for me to be depressed, there's no reason for me to dislike Christmas, pictures of feet, my birthday, or peas. There is a reason. The reason is that I JUST. DON'T. Just like you might not like brussel sprouts, pictures of my dogs, or Valentine's day. I'm not telling you you're wrong, I'm not belittling your preferences. I might try and understand why you feel that way, but I'm not going to tell you there's no reason not to like Valentine's day.

And honestly, I don't care if you constantly update getglue, foursquare, photos of your feet, or self taken photos of you in the bathroom with your best snooki face. I do care that one day I might remove you from my friends lists on my various social networks when I can no longer tolerate constant spam updates about who is at which bar and what they are watching because they are polluting the other friendships I am trying to cultivate in these same arenas. It doesn't mean we're not friends, just that I want my electronic interactions with you to be more than push updates from your online activities.

I want to hear your opinions, what you are thinking about, what you are doing. I don't want you to litter our friendship with the electronic equivalent of junk mail. I want to see photos of you doing stuff with your friends and your family. I want to see you enjoying life, not just photos of your feet or you in your bathroom mirror.

And I swear the next person that tells me that I shouldn't feel a certain way, or that the key to being happy is finding religion, I will vehemently pray every day, to every deity, that you stub your toe and bang your shin on every step and table you encounter. If that doesn't work I'll gladly intervene and step on your toe and kick you in the shin.

Seasonal Snark

2011-12-28T20:27:00.001-05:00

I'm not a super huge fan of the winter season and even less a fan of the Christmas part, but that's another story. See, not only do I have a bit of an issue with seasonal depression, part of my glorious need to hibernate and hate everything is a substantial level of snark. I don't really like who I am in the winter months because of this, because, while some of it is funny to those with a more crass sense of humor, when it finally does escape the depraved depths of my internal monologue, I just can't take it back. I like being nice, I like being uplifting, encouraging, positive. I like making people smile with positive joy rather than degrading sarcasm.

That being said, I can't always suppress this nonsense. I recently realized that the fantastic mix of exercise and suppression might not be the best way to deal with my anxiety issues, because a simple meditation that focused on running anxiety and dispelling it left me with the most vicious sickness I've had in years. So here is a quick run down of a few of the things that really make me snark hard. If you can identify with any of them let me know, if you are one of them, I'm sorry, but really, I'm human. Sometimes, stuff just pisses me off.

Yep. This about sums it up.

I hate foursquare and getglue. If you don't know what those are, God bless. These are the two most annoying social networking things ever. Foursquare is a glorious way to say, "I'm here, it would be super cool if you stalked me, because then I would totes have something else to tweet about! Like Oh Em Gee." No one cares where you are. If they did, they would have called and asked to hang out. Or you would have called them to hang out. To me it just screams "I'm lonely and slightly pretentious. I want everyone to know where I'm at, and it would be super amazing if you came to hang out. Because I'm alone. And cold. And alone. Drinking. By. Myself." Having had a stalker or two, announcing in a public forum where you are is the DUMBEST THING EVER. (This is also why I hate Edward Cullen. Also, a different story.) GetGlue tells people what you are watching. It's like foursquare for your couch from what I have seen. "I'm watching 'Your Mom' with 345,876 others via @getglue." This is especially annoying when you see someone tweet or facebook this announcement every 30 minutes to an hour. All I can think is, "I love tv as much as the next guy, but no one cares what you are watching, unless they are watching it too. In which case if you were friends you would text them, call them, tweet AT THEM, or facebook them, to talk about it." Announcing what you are watching is like saying "I'm awesome, but only on my couch, because I watch this show that you've probably never heard of, or this other show that is so old it's cool again." Seriously, I would fantasize about gluing your face to your television IF IT WASN'T ALREADY THERE!

Social networking updates about how terrible you feel while simultaneously announcing your disgustingly poor health choices make me want to throat punch you. Example: OMG I feel so horrible, bleh! Can't move, body aches, FML. BUT I'M GUNNA MAKE BACON STUFFED PANCAKES AND TOP IT WITH SO MUCH FRIED EGG AND SYRUP AND SAUSAGE AND CHASE IT WITH A MILKSHAKE! Guess what, if your diet is primarily comprised of low quality processed, fatty meats, sugary, bready carbs, and a massive amount of milk, egg and other processed animal products, and exercise is the last thing on your to-do list, NEWSFLASH: You are going to feel like utter shit. I won't judge you if these things are done in moderation, but when I see this status update (or something similar) every other day, know that I've nearly bitten a hole in my tongue and broken my fingers to keep from responding to you and telling you it's your own damn fault, shut up and do something about your miserable existence. Go for a walk, eat a vegetable, a banana, SOMETHING that isn't meat or bread or a derivative there of. Yes, I can be judgmental. Yes, sometimes I'm guilty of chocolate and wine gluttony, and Lord knows I love anything with the suffix 'cake,' but I am also a huge fan of working out, eating healthy, and personal accountability. If you are bitching about your misery for sympathy and commiseration, I will NOT indulge your pity party. In fact, I will gladly crash that shit like "that guy" that gets too drunk at a quiet wine tasting and starts swinging from the rafters singing Lady fucking GaGa.

Please for the love of God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, Krishna, and all that is holy - STOP TAKING PICTURES OF YOUR FEET! That is absolutely D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G! I don't care about your pedicure, I don't care that you are "enjoying a day at the beach! OMG feet in the sand! YAY!" I have homicidal urges that involve your feet. And while I AM a control freak, there are some things that I just can't keep in check after prolonged exposure. Seriously, I loathe your feet. I loath my feet. If they weren't necessary for walking, running, and yoga, I would beg to have them amputated. I. HATE. FEET. Every time you post a picture, I dry heave, every time you post an up close photo, I vomit a little in my mouth. This has officially passed schadenfreude humor and has now crossed over into "I want to cut your fucking toes off and gouge your eyes out with them."

EDIT: Duck lips. I hate it when EVERY PHOTO EVER of someone is them trying to look sensual and pouty and seductive like Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox. You don't. You look ridiculous. You look like you are trying to hard to convey some sort of smoldering attitude that could possibly come through if you actually had an expression other than "look at my pouty lips! Don't they make you want me?" No they don't. They make me want to punch you in the mouth. I don't because I'm afraid it would further your cause.What with the big fat lip you'd get and all. Stop it. Smile like a normal person, or make a mean face, or a goofy face, or cross your eyes. SOME EXPRESSION! Otherwise I'm going to confuse you with a robotic duck and comment "Quack" in binary on every one of your photos ever.

I'm sure there's more. I might even add to this later, or post an entire new post, not sure yet. For right now though, this is the dumb shit that pisses me off.

Traffic and Life

2011-12-13T12:34:00.001-05:00

This morning as I was pulling out of my neighborhood to go to work, I was waiting at the intersection to turn left. The main road is 6 lanes and while it's usually not too difficult to turn left, traffic was a little heavier than normal - and I had been sitting at the stop sign for about a minute and a half. I look up in the rear view and there's nothing there, I look right to see how traffic is coming and when I turn to look to my left there is a giant white SUV with ridiculous spinner rims next to me. ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD. He had to have been speeding down the very residential road where the speed limit is 25, because I didn't see him in the 4 seconds it took for me to look from my rear view mirror to the right and then to the left.

This jackass pulled up to my left, to stick his big, fat, stupid SUV out into the middle of the lane so he could turn right onto the road I was waiting to turn left on. God forbid anyone want to turn into our neighborhood, the would have crashed right into him. Meanwhile, he almost took off the front end of my car when he decided to turn right.

Dear dude in the busted ass blazer with the ridiculous wheels: I know it's not a very nice thing to say, but I hope your rims get stolen and someone slashes your tires. You're an asshole. I could have turned left at the same time you decided to turn right, but NOOOOOO you had to be a self entitled, impatient wanker. I almost wish you would have taken the front end of my car out. Insurance certainly would have totaled my car considering it would have been the third accident it's been in. I also would have had the opportunity to call you a fucking idiot to your face.

Eventually, I turn left and am on my way to work, reminding myself it's not nice to wish ill will on people just because they are in a hurry. Maybe he was late for a really important meeting, with a judge, to go to court, for being an idiot...no no no, maybe he was running late for a job interview. Those are hard to come by. Then I catch every single light. I'm blaming the guy in the SUV instead of myself for leaving 3 minutes later than usual. Whatever, he's a jerk.

Finally, I'm in the home stretch before the highway, there's one light left between me and the road my office is on. I'm in the right hand lane of the 4 lane road because I'm not going that fast and I know a lot of people on this stretch turn left and so I'll spend 2 miles slamming on my breaks because people can't figure out what a turning lane is. This guy (another guy in a giant SUV) seems to think those painted things on the road are COMPLETELY arbitrary.You know the ones-I think they call them LINES. I couldn't tell if he was indecisive as to which lane he wanted to be in, or if he was just a jerk that thought he could take up the entire road because he had the biggest car on the road. As I sped up to try and get past him, he swerved right into my lane, nearly taking off my front end. Twice in 10 minutes, it's a good thing I was almost to work. I didn't want the third time to be the charm. I hit my brakes and honked my horn. Not politely. I slammed my horn down for a solid 3 seconds. Mostly because this guy had been doing this for the last mile. He meandered, yes MEANDERED, back into his lane. I sped up to try and pass him again, I managed to just inch by him, and as I looked in my mirror to change lanes - he was back in the middle of the road!

It's funny, I want to think that this was just a bad traffic day, but it's not. Today was worse than most days, but it's like this every day. I am beginning to believe it is a metaphor for life. Many people have no respect for personal boundaries. They go speeding through life paying no attention to the damage they have or could cause to others, there is little to no respect for themselves. They use more than they need, unapologetically. They demand that you move for them, cater to them, and then flick you off when you honk your horn in protest to their intrusive behavior.

Put the brakes on your life. Slow down. Be considerate. And if you think you're not one of those people, hop on a bicycle and head out into traffic. Make sure you wear protective gear.

To Be Thankful

2011-11-23T22:33:00.001-05:00

Despite the fact that thanksgiving sort of represents the genocide of an entire indigenous people, it's my favorite holiday. Not because of the food, not because of football, not because of pilgrims and native americans. But because it is the one holiday we celebrate that is ultimately about breaking bread with those you love and giving thanks for this life's blessings. Pumpkin pie helps with the giving of the gratitude, but at the end of the day, it's really about spending a day with family and/or friends without the pressure of consumerism. It's a day about tradition, family, friends, love, and THANKS.

I hear too much of people complaining that they don't have the newest iphone, a newer car, a cleaner house, a higher paying job. It makes me crazy, but I'm thankful for them.

Without those that lament what they don't have, I may not think to appreciate what I do have.

This year I have SO much to be thankful for.

My mom has a second lease on life.
All of my other parents are in good health (knock on wood)
My husband is healthy and loves me.
My siblings are thriving, even amidst the occasional left-field curve ball that life throws at them.
My friends are AWESOME.
I'm getting better at making and keeping friends.
My social anxiety is starting to give me a reprieve.
The Well Written Woman is doing well. I get warm fuzzies every time someone is excited that we publish their work. To me that is a better gift than any money. Knowing someone can check off a publishing goal because of Lauren, I and our site gives me a big freakin' happy.
I am thankful for yoga, and Hot House, and the community that thrives there. I've learned so much about myself, I've made so many amazing (hopefully life long) friends.
I've finally acknowledged that just because you occasionally create something that isn't your best, it's not a sign you should stop creating, just a sign that you should practice more.
I've learned that a smile can make someone's day. I knew this, but it was something completely different to have it brought to your attention first hand. When you sit down next to a person on a bench and offer a smile in acknowledgement of their presence, not only do they feel noticed, they feel they have been positively recognized. "Thank you for smiling at me when you sat down. Most people just turn their nose up and ignore me." - the man on the bench.
I'm thankful for chocolate peanut-butter milkshakes and days spent people watching.
I'm thankful for so many of my friends who have experienced parenthood or will be experiencing parenthood this year.
I'm thankful for pets. I have amazing pets, nothing says "Unconditional love" like a dog who loves you more than he loves himself. I'm positive it's no coincidence that "Dog" is "God" spelled backwards.
I'm thankful for work.
I'm thankful for my home.
I'm thankful my husband has work.
I'm thankful that I know so many amazing people that are working to help others.

Even though I've never been a big fan of the holiday season, I'm always a fan of giving thanks.

I wish all of you a joyful and slightly gluttonous thanksgiving. Don't forget to take a moment to be thankful for the things that really matter in this life.

Intellectual Electrical Short

2011-11-16T20:31:00.001-05:00

My brain has been shorting out. I come up with a million good ideas, but they never happen when I can do anything about them. The best blog post comes when I have no pen, paper, computer, or even my phone to take notes. Then 30 minutes later when I do finally have access to any sort of note taking device - NOTHING. This leads to a creative short. It's like an arc of electricity that can't complete it's circuit. It's a live wire that burns hot for a second, then nothing.

Then the self doubt kicks in, "What if I only have so many of those ideas, and just one could be the next big one, and if I can't catch it in time it's gone and that bitch of a muse has taken it to someone else!"

So, I wait. I wait for the next idea. It comes, but I'm at my real life job and can't take time to write it, or I can't dig deep enough to thoroughly explore it, because I'm too busy bracing myself for the next wave of work stuff.

I'm going to put a sign on my laptop that says "Will write for food."

This is why I'm terrified to possibly take the leap to full time writer. I'm afraid of losing that spark, that creative path that will always have energy.

I'm terrified of losing passion, so I try to ration it out.

I'm terrified of being thought a fraud, or worse: being confirmed a fraud. I don't think I'm fake, I try and be as honest, truthful, and authentic as I can, but then I just get pissed off because I feel like I sound like a cliche. Not just any cliche, but an absolutely fucking terrible cliche. Or worse than cliche, a broken record.

I'm reading some of my past stuff and all I can think is "blah blah blah peace, love, grace, blah blah blah"

I'm agitated. I'm pissed off at the state of the world, and I think maybe part of me doesn't want to turn the few readers I have off by ranting about the miserableness that's in permeating the edges of my sanity.

But I evolve, intellectually, spiritually, creatively. You'll still like me if I don't always express rainbows and flowers in my ramblings right?

I'm always concerned that people think I'm something that I'm not, or expect the second layer of who I am to be just like the first layer of what they see.

I spend too much time worried about what people think.

I suppose I do have to take the good with the bad though. It is also closing in on that dreadful time of year.

I hate the holidays. The whole energy of the season makes me want to hide in a bottle of wine. Consumerism, materialism, C&E religious folks pretending to be holy as if their deity and santa didn't have that same "knows when you've been bad or good" omnipotent shtick.

Then there are people. Not any particular people. Just *People*

The ones that want to puke all their energy all over your space and simultaneously usurp any positive vibes you might have. Putting up energetic walls to keep bullshit out is exhausting. So I've been hiding out and staying away from people as much as possible.

Then I lose what little social skills I have and have to start all over again every time I talk to new people. It's a vicious cycle.

I must now save my cat from losing a staring contest with a bottle of hot sauce.

/end self indulgent schmaltzy rant

A Good Goodbye

2011-10-06T22:08:00.000-04:00

photo via James Nibbe

I don’t remember exactly when we met, I’m sure it was lifetimes ago, but in this life, time doesn’t seem to work right for me. I know it had to have been when I was a teenager, because one of my fondest memories was running into you and your beautiful soulmate on your motorcycle adventure to St. Augustine. I was working in a shop down town carving candles, and on my lunch break I walked to the cafe on the next block over to get lunch. There you both were: relaxing after lunch, enjoying the afternoon sun, whilst playing tourist in my historic city. I couldn’t have been more than 17, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I nearly begged you both to stop by the shop I carved candles in so I could show off at the most awesome job a teenager could have. An hour later there you were, Joanne and you both praised my work and I hugged you both knowing it would be months before I saw you again.

Time is a funny thing when you are young. There’s so much of it and the possibilities are endless. I would see you at least once or twice again in my little historic city before I finally migrated to greener pastures.

Then there was Feast. After I’d left home for the wild adventures of adulthood, I rarely saw the community I was so fond of as a teen. Most teens dread any extra-curricular activities their parents drag them into, but I loved the science fiction conventions and renaissance fairs because it introduced me to such wonderful people. When mom organized feast, I came because I knew it was an opportunity to see the people who helped shape who I was becoming as an adult.

It was also the only time I was fortunate enough to spend with you. Once a year you hugged me like I was the last person on earth. Faces came and went, scenery changed, but every year I walked through the ballroom door and there you were, sometimes so strong and healthy and others I could see you were masking the frailty of your illness with a positive attitude and an unparalleled exuberance. No matter what, you hugged me, you accepted everyone in a look and a laugh, in an unconditional embrace.

You were what we all strive to be. You were good. You were the pillar of unconditional love in our community.

I broke the rules this past weekend. I half-hugged you. You were in a “bubble,” your immune system was shot from the treatments you’d been receiving. No one was supposed to touch you.

I wanted you to know I loved you.

You were one of those people I didn’t have to share words with. I felt like we knew each other over multiple life times. Simple language was superfluous. I could write all the sentences in the world, I could speak every thought on my mind; you would just look at me and smile and wink and I’d throw my arms around your neck.

You loved your friends in the moment. The past didn’t matter, the future was yet to be written, all that mattered was this second.

May well all learn to gain even a fraction of the wisdom your heart held.

You are so loved and so missed. May we meet again in another life as we have in lives past.

P.S. Joe named his Klingon character in his Star Trek MMO Malah Bandy Gholjub.

Sometimes I'm a Bitch

2011-09-12T22:27:00.001-04:00

Today I had a bit of a freak out. I edited one of our writers and sent the piece back with more edits than I'm accustomed too. She's a great writer, so it was probably just an off piece, but as much as I love editing, I always feel terrible when I have to send something back with lots of corrections.

Then I sort of spazzed out on our new web designer. I tried to not be bitchy, but I'm 99.9% sure I would have easily been nominated Queen Bitch of the Universe had there been some sort of contest.

On one hand I feel really terrible, because I probably could have been less succinct, a little more encouraging, a little softer in tone. On the other hand, I have a specific vision that these folks have offered to help or have agreed to help fulfill, and I shouldn't feel bad about being specific about my needs, right?

Being critical is hard. It makes me feel mean and selfish, even though I know that's not what's behind it. I'm just terrified that people assume I'm just being a bitch. I am a bitch, there's no doubt about that, especially if by "Bitch" you mean any woman who is willing to pursue what she wants without allowing herself to be held back by the demands of others. But my intention is never to be malicious, only to be concise.

I should worry less about what people think and focus more on making my dreams a reality. Accept that things won't always go perfectly on the first try, or the second, and maybe not even on the third.

I swear I'm not a bitch for the sole intent and purpose of being bitchy. It just sometimes comes off that way because I have a certain vision in mind and that which does not lend itself to the creation becomes superfluous.

I find myself once again a slave to my own ambition. Hyperfocused on a goal, anything blocking my path will be obliterated, in the nicest way possible, of course.

Please forgive me if I'm crass, succinct or lack encouraging discourse.

As Snoop Dog once said, "I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind."

Only it's not money, it's progress. Progress and a little money, but mostly progress.

Word Letting

2011-08-30T17:21:00.001-04:00

Writing is easy: All you have to do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. - Gene Fowler

If only it were that seemingly painless. I think a good portion of creation - the culmination of my creative process - is an ability to sit still while I cut my chest open, remove my heart and let it bleed all over the page.

Sometimes it's less dramatic than that. Instead of cutting out vital organs, it's more like making multiple slices on the skin of creativity just to draw enough blood to write with.

I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it. - William Carlos Williams

Writing what I think isn't that difficult, writing thoughts and reactions to events is fairly easy for me. Turning the emotion of a situation into a phrase that someone can identify with is sometimes as easy as folding a paper airplane and sending it soaring over my desk. I can write blog posts, essays and even some terrible poetry with little more than a twinge of discomfort.

The real words though, the ones that depict the vulnerability of character, the haunting reflections of the fractured selves - that's where the bleeding comes in. Writing a character that is so much of you, but absolutely isn't you feels like shattering a mirror with bare hands picking up a piece and painting the portrait of a familiar stranger in blood on the wall using only broken glass.

It shouldn't be so painful, right? Maybe it's just like childbirth where the first one is a lesson in excruciating endurance. Not that I know first-hand, but it seems to be the norm.

Someone tell me 80 pages is too much to scrap and it needs to be finished even if it feels like a lesson in spiritual self mutilation every time I open the file.

I know it sounds terrifyingly sensationalized, but giving birth to fictional characters is hard.

Brothers and Sisters

2011-08-15T22:55:00.002-04:00

Holy crap it's been 10 days since I blogged. I feel like such a slacker, but then I remember I'm doing 21 days of yoga, 21 days of Well Written Yoga, a weekly post on MindBodyGreen, as well as working full time and taking care of the every day responsibilities of life.

My brother came to stay with me this weekend, which was absolutely fantastic. We have a fairly large age difference, but we are thick as thieves. I've been an only child and a sibling (which is a really awesome dynamic to have experienced both), and I can honestly say, I prefer being a sibling.

See, siblings are like best friends who are stuck with you forever. I can do the most ridiculous stuff and my brother still loves me and usually laughs about it. Then is awesome enough to bring me a chocolate covered graham cracker when he goes to the store with my husband.

I forgive him for trying to infiltrate every level of my privacy when we were kids and in exchange he forgives me for slapping him when I found him in my room. Even though he's 21 now, and an adult, with grown up needs and desires and habits, he's still my little brother. He's still that kid that I hug when our parents hurt our feelings, he's still that sweet face that says "I love you sissy", he's still the one I cling to when family stuff goes crazy.

My husband, my brother and my father are the only men I have ever been able to be truly vulnerable with. In all of my "Queen-Alpha-Bitch-Nature" - they are the only ones who know the absolutely terrified little girl I truly am, and my brother is the only one I can share the trials and tribulations of my family life and my romantic life with that will give me an unbiased, yet still protective and honest perspective.

We share lots of whimsy, lots of hilarity, a ridiculous amount of chocolate and wine and more blackmail opportunities than I care to admit. To my sweet, bubby, bestest brother ever: I loves you.

Guest Posting for Alise: The Blank Slate

2011-08-05T10:42:00.000-04:00

Neither of my parents were religious. We never went to church, we never discussed God, we never prayed at dinner or bedtime and any questions I had about the origin of the earth, humanity or the universe were answered as scientifically as possible. If my parents couldn’t answer my question directly, the referred me to a full set of encyclopedias that were purchased for exactly such a reason. See, my parents were raised Mormon and Southern Baptist. Both fled their religious upbringings as quickly as they could. My grandparents didn’t hold it against them, but neither have been back to the church in my lifetime (though dad sometimes attends an Episcopalian church to appease my stepmom).

I had essentially been raised as an atheist, though the more militant of the Red A crowd called me an agnostic. I didn’t get the memo that for one to be an Atheist you had to have a strong desire to tell people who believed in God that they were wrong...read more Alise Write: The Blank Slate by Camicia

The Earthbound Misfit

2011-08-04T18:42:00.002-04:00

In my meditation Tuesday, the Pink Floyd song "Learning to Fly" came to me as we focused on our third (the throat) chakra. It wasn't the entire song, just the basic chorus "Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit"

I have been so tongue-tied and so terrible twisted lately that I do feel terribly misplaced. Things are coming together slowly, but the words 'out of sorts' are a bit of an understatement.

In my meditation space I see the universe, I look out at the vastness and feel as if that is where I belong, scattered among the ether, drifting, swirling leisurely dancing amongst the heavens. I could gladly lose myself in my inner universe for days at a time. Yet, here I am, (quite happily) tied to the earth, corporeal and tangible.

There are two quotes that have truer words than I think can speak for this feeling.

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience"-Teilhard de Chardin

and

"If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probably explanation is that I was made for another world." - C.S. Lewis

It's interesting to see the occasional glimpses of what I can only assume heaven truly is. Peace, calm, stillness, giddy joy and endless contentment, a brief showing of the before and after of our earth bound lives.

The Trouble with Terror

2011-07-28T23:21:00.001-04:00

I have talked quite a bit about fear in the past. Mostly because I feel like so much of my life is spent in perpetual terror. It can be absolutely paralyzing. There is nothing worse than seeing your goal right there in front of you, all you need to do to achieve it is rush forward and grab it. You inch forward as if you were reaching for a flag over a cliff whilst walking a high wire with no net, then some asshole moves the flag and laughs at you.

It seems like lately all I've heard is "You SHOULD do this, or this would make this better, maybe you should do this that way." No one ever seems to think about how this affects the person their saying "should do this" - frankly, it's borderline insulting. Especially if it's a creative venture on the recipients part. People are sensitive. I am sensitive, despite my random fits of rage, seemingly no-shit taking nature, hard shell exterior and fiery redheaded tendencies. I'm easily hurt, I take criticism to heart, I take it personally, I try not too, but I do.

When someone tells me "You should have written about this, or this should be changed on the well written woman website, or you shouldn't have said this that way. How offensive."

I cry. Seriously. I don't care how un-independent-tough-girl-your-internet-name-is-sadist you all might think that is. When I pour my heart and my soul and my life into something, every time it's criticized I feel like I've been punched in the teeth then kicked in the gut. When someone says "You should do this!" All I hear is "I would have done it that way." with a smug sense of superiority. Then I shrink down into my insecurities and wonder if I'm on the right path. I start to get scared that lots of other people dislike the way I'm doing things, but no one bothers to say it. I am terrified that I'm not going to be successful because ONE person vocalized their critique.

I have never started anything with any intent other than to just enjoy it, until I started writing and editing. I loved that I could write something that would resonate with just one person, then two, then three, then hearing people say "Hey you're that blogger!" - but when I set out to create a space for other like minded people, I seem to recently be met with quite a bit of resistance. Historically, when met with opposition, I will stand and fight, because what I'm defending is usually an established product or brand (after all my background is in sales and customer service), fighting for something that's not established, but is struggling to make a name for itself is a different beast.

This is me, vulnerable and putting forth everything I am capable of giving, sometimes at the expense of aspects of my life that are far more important. When it's criticized, insulted or looked down upon, I feel as if it is a reflection of how that naysayer feels about me personally.

I know I should brush it off, stay the course, have faith in myself. It's only the internet and it's full of trolls and people that think they can do everything better.

I'm working on it. I'm new at this whole having self confidence thing. And for the record, if you are going to offer up a suggestion on how someone should do something with their art, their creation, their heart - you should perhaps offer a way to do it and offer to help. That makes the sting of your smug self centered elitist criticism a whole lot easier to take in stride.

Check Your Judgments at the Door.

2011-07-25T22:21:00.003-04:00

This morning I tweeted "Can you listen without judgement to someone saying something that doesn't align with your belief, practice or life philosophy? Try it today"

Apparently it was clever, because it was retweeted quite a few times and was even reposted to facebook.

Judgement is a struggle for all of us. We look at the homeless man on the street and we label him as lazy, addicted, worthless. We see a well dressed woman exuding poise, grace and professionalism, but we judge her to be stuck up, feigning modesty in public whilst gaining all of her professional accolades on her back. We see those with different religious beliefs and we say "heathen, hellspawn, angry evil-doer" or "ignorant, sheep, mindless and delusional" never considering that each of these labels, these judgments, become barriers to knowing another soul truly and honestly.

See, to truly know someone you mustn't be afraid of being vulnerable in their presence. Judgment prevents vulnerability. When we judge someone, we tell them they are not worthy. We invalidate their feelings, make them feel unloved, unnoticed, unimportant.

You are important.

You homeless man, housewife, sinner, stripper, shamed and broken, tax collector, deviant, diva, virtuous vixen.

You are loved. You are human, you are fallible, you are forgiven.

Atheist, Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Muslim.

All labels that make you no less capable of giving or receiving love.

You are valued. You are adored.

We are all suffering an incurable disease called life.

It will bend you, push you, pull you. Sometimes even break you.

Only to rebuild you.

Stronger. Faster. Steadier.

Let us not judge that which makes us uncomfortable. Instead, listen, relax and know.

Know that while our lives are finite, our compassion and knowledge are renewable resources.

Re-Centering

2011-07-19T22:26:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I wrote about my internal dialogue, the insanity that had really taken root over the last 2 months or so and the meditation that led me to look at the fear I was experiencing.

I've been barely keeping my head in the game because fear and frustration has had a death grip on, not only my mental process, but my physical body.

After I hit publish yesterday, I felt as if the weight was on it's way to being lifted.

The anxiety I've been feeling, suffering from, has been because my body has bracing for impact where no impact has been felt. The adrenal system is certain that something terrible is about to happen, because for nearly a month my whole world was on the brink of something terrible possibly happening. The mind isn't sure if it should follow the body or if it is the part of me that is truly in control.

The heart just laughs, because the heart knows. Union in all things.

It's amazing how slowing down to reflect on how the union of the mind, the body and the spirit can make a difference. A meditation on intuition vs. intellect - as an intellectual, yet imaginative creature neither can exist and thrive without the other. My anxiety is because these two aspects of myself have been out balance, torn from their union with the heart.

Tonight I re-center. I remember. I am in control. It is the consideration that I show for myself that will bring the parts of me together to form a complete compassionate being.

Acknowledgement. Appreciation. Accomplishment.

My Fear is Naked

2011-07-18T17:42:00.002-04:00

It's always funny when the world lines up just enough to tell you to pay attention. On the fourth of July I had a tremendous anxiety attack. My emotions were already raw and I had committed myself to a gathering of people of whom I didn't know many. The store I wanted to buy wine at was closed. I wasn't positive the other store I sometimes shop at had what I wanted and I had to drive across town in holiday traffic to accomplish my purchase. I was already hot, sweaty and near hyperventilation when I nearly ran over a tourist; every molecule of my adrenal system was screaming at me to go home and sob under the covers with whatever cheap bottle of crap I could find in the cupboard (which would have been a not-so-cheap bottle of bombay sapphire).

Oh, I'm stubborn. I had to fulfill my commitment of appearance, else the consequences be more guilt inducing than the actual attending. Anxiety exacerbated at the entrance of my destination. I couldn't open the gate to the courtyard and stood in front of the entry way where I couldn't be seen and begged my brain to not run screaming in the other direction. I stood there and debated running home and making up some terrible excuse as to why I never showed up, but all of my excuses sounded terrible. I could have just told the truth "I couldn't open the gate, almost burst into heaving sobs, had to go home and pray for the end of the world" but that would have just made me sound like a complete asshole. I managed to make it through and survive. Thankfully.

This is my life though, every day is an exercise in anxiety. I battle with fear, panic and a constant level of anxiety. It's nothing I'm not accustomed to struggling with. But since July 4th I've been having problems breathing, which naturally sends me spiraling down the rabbit hole of terror even faster. I could only think about the fact that I smoked for years and it had to be something horrible like lung cancer, or emphysema. Mom has heart disease and usually any weird genetic trait that shows up in my parents shows up exponentially earlier in me, "I just turned 30 and I'm going to need open heart surgery! I'm having a heart attack! I know it! My hands are all tingly and my chest is tight and I feel dizzy and I can't breathe! I'm going to DIE!" I felt my heart beat and while it was POUNDING it wasn't irregular, when I walked across the kitchen and began eating my snack, I started to feel better. My next thought was "Blood sugar! I bet I have blood sugar issues! I can't be diabetic I eat healthy! Maybe I'm hypoglycemic! What does that even mean? Is that possible?" then relief I'd had in my chest had now been placed squarely back into the stranglehold of mental slavery.

My internal dialog then went like this:
"I have to call the doctor."
"If you call the doctor all of your fears will come true. You will be dead. D-E-A-D! Stroke, heart attack, hypoglycemic brain eating lung tumor monsters are going to break through your chest wall and strangle you before you get there!"
"Shut up. That's ridiculous."
"Ok, I'm exaggerating, BUT it's probably going to be a heart attack or something like that. Remember that heart murmur you had as a kid, but decided to continue smoking anyway? Yea it's coming back to bite you in the ass. YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"
"Stop being so dramatic. It could be heart disease, but I'm young, it's treatable. Mom is recovering fantastically."
"You're right I'm being dramatic. Maybe it's asthma. Go ahead and call the doctor. He's going to tell you I'm right though. D-E-A-T-H"
"Seriously. Shut. The. Fuck. UP! I'm calling the doctor and whatever it is will be treatable!"
"With lots of scars and surgery and medical bills and lack of employment and you're already tight on money, then you won't be able to pay your mortgage and you'll be HOMELESS too!"
"I swear to holy mother of God if you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to pull a Tyler Durden with a twelve gauge."
"Hums the tune to 'The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, in your stomach and out your snout"
"REALLY?!?!"

I called the doctor and made an appointment for Friday. I figured if it was anxiety then my Thursday night meditation class would lessen my symptoms.

I walked into the yoga studio and Shelly greeted me with exuberance and "We're talking about FEAR! Time to clean out your chakras!"

Fear? Really? FEAR? Of which I have ad infinitum?

I struggled with meditation that night. Every moment of peace and serenity I was feeling was immediately followed by an epic struggle to not burst into heaving sobs. It was one of the most difficult meditations I've been through, but it helped me put a few things in perspective and for a moment I could almost breathe. I said goodnight to my fellow meditation friends and hopped in the truck. The stereo was synced to my phone and the Tool song "Bottom" was playing. It was about half way through the song and as I turned the volume up Henry Rollins' voice punched me in the chest

If I let you, you would make me destroy myself But in order to survive you, I must first survive myself I can sink no further...There's no choice but to confront you, to engage you, to erase you I've gone to great lengths to expand my threshold of pain I will use my mistakes against you There's no other choice Shameless now Nameless now Nothing now No one now But my soul must be iron cause my fear is naked I'm naked and fearless

Ok, universe, I get it. You're an asshole and I should trust you over that ridiculous voice in my head. I went to the doctor Friday, all of the tests were normal. He asked me what's been going on in my life and I said, "Well, I had a lot of extended family in, My mom was in the hospital for 2 weeks and had a triple bypass a few days after I turned THIRTY, I'm working full time and trying to start my own writing website/possible publishing company and maintain my regularly scheduled domestic duties such as housekeeping, cooking, grocery shopping and being a good wife."

He tried really hard not to laugh as he said "You know what I'm going to say right?"

I raised my eyebrow as a signal of caution that mocking me was not a good idea. "No. What?"

"Anxiety. Everything else is fine, heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels. You're stressed and it's catching up with you."

My mental response was essentially part shock and disbelief and part "AKHLDSGH(*&(*^#Q*HAKJSBDFGKGSHD:FAI&UY&^%*%ANXIETY!?!?!"

Moving Right Along

2011-07-11T22:54:00.002-04:00

The Well Written Woman is a little over 2 months old now. There's not a single day that goes by that someone doesn't mention something to me about something they read or how they love what's happening on the site or how they really want to write if they could find the right niche to fill. I can not even begin to express the amazing and overwhelming feeling of gratitude I feel. Every. Single. Day.

When I see someone that I don't know and that has no mutual friends on facebook 'like' The Well Written Woman - I get all sorts of warm fuzzies. When someone links a link because they truly connected with the piece, I want to hug them. As someone who is accustomed to having words to express everything, I'm truly at a loss for them. Thank you to everyone who has contributed, even a little bit, to this amazing community.

Mom is doing fantastic. For those that were unaware, she had a triple bypass on June 20. If there were ever a question as to the strength of the female lineage running through my veins - mom has answered it. We are some tough bitches. Through this process though, I've learned there are some definite vulnerabilities we have. I'll write about those another time though - when I'm a bit more comfortable truly diving into frustrations and failings. For now, Mom is kicking ass, and I'm cheering her on and taking names.

Next on the agenda is more writing and creative adventures. The next 21 day challenge is coming up, and I'm at a loss as to what I can do to top the 21 days of blogs that I did last time. I'm hoping something will come to me in the next few weeks. I'm not a competitive person with others, but I always feel a need to up the ante when it comes to my "personal best".

I'm working on a book review. Which is a new thing for me. I've never done a book review. To add to the pressure, the author is an acquaintance of mine. We really only know each other via the internet, but it's still a bit awkward for me. See, most of my social anxiety comes from not knowing how people are going to react to the things that I say (or write). Also, I hate being wrong, so if I make an educated guess or an assumption about something or someone, and it's incorrect I fear being publicly corrected. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I fear the author will hate my review, even though I absolutely loved the book.

I know. I think too much. Sue me. Despite my nervousness, I'm really looking forward to completing the piece. Partly, because I hope to encourage others to buy the book, and also because I did thoroughly enjoy it - and I think it is a piece of literature that will change a lot of skewed perspectives.

For now, I think that's it. I've been spending so much time editing and focusing energy to places other than this particular blog that I feel as though I've been neglecting this space. Maybe I am a little, but changes come - and this little corner of the internet is not exempt.

The Slave

2011-06-28T12:20:00.001-04:00

There's an old euphemism about being a slave to one's ambition. I used to use it quite frequently, as I tend to be a fairly ambitious person. I'm constantly moving forward, reaching higher and higher for my goals, rarely stopping to celebrate success, but instead pushing ambition ahead to the next achievement.

This makes me not a slave to my ambition, but the master to a snarling, gnashing sometimes violent beast of a slave controlled only by the leash of my desires.

Dear Ambition, Remember - you're MY bitch. Love Always, Me.

This morning in yoga, my forehead pressed into the mat and arms stretched before me in child's pose, I set an intention for my practice, a single word: Celebrate

Celebrate life, celebrate health, celebrate achievement, celebrate the abundance of blessings I have received. Ambition pulled me forward and looked back snarling at my hesitation, wanting nothing more than to race ahead and attack the next achievement forcing it viciously into submission.

"No" I said, "This is where we rest."

The beast sat, albeit impatiently and obeyed.

Ambition is not meant for stillness, but stillness is necessary to appreciate achievements.

Today I celebrate balance, peace, achievement and ambition that obeys!

Post Birthday Post!

2011-06-23T22:45:00.000-04:00

Chocolate Peanut butter Cupcakes & Sugar cookies. AMAZING!

It’s been a roller coaster week and a half. Last week I turned 30. This week my mom had a triple bypass surgery. I had an amazing birthday with beautiful friends in one of my favorite places. The best present is having my mom recovering well, of course, but the second best gift was the gift of knowledge. Knowing that I have so many beautiful, wonderful, amazing friends who took the time to show me that I am blessed and loved.

Normally, I despise birthdays. In fact, last year it was a milestone for me that I made it through my birthday without sobbing. You would think that turning 30 after 15 years of crying on my birthday would be cause for a catastrophic meltdown. Add to that my mothers’ health and you’d think I’d be purely catatonic from anxiety and locked in a rubber room. Any other year, you’d be absolutely right, but not this year. I don’t know what the difference was this year.

Maybe I’m finally figuring out who I am?
I’m deciding to not give the negativity and anxiety my energy?
For the first time in my life I feel as if I’m absolutely surrounded by nothing but genuine, wonderful, positive people?

The answer to all of those questions is an overwhelming “YES!”

Every year up to this point my birthday has been a reminder of all of the things I saw as failings. I hadn’t accomplished what I felt I should have, even as early as 15 and 16 years old. Over the course of the last few years I’ve realized that I do have time to accomplish the things that I want to do, and that it’s alright if I don’t acquire the sun and the stars and the moon before I turn 40 or even before I die. What matters is that I enjoy the journey.

This year I made the conscious decision to stop lamenting my perceived failures and instead celebrate my adventures. I have been so blessed this year to have found a place where I feel like I belong in a circle of friends.

My friend Mike posted something on my facebook wall that said “I noticed something last night. I noticed that your life has had an amazing, positive impact on the lives of many that you have touched with your heart.”

The truth is Saturday night, surrounded by friends that I’ve known for only a few months to friends I’ve known my entire life, and even a few family members that had never lived within distance to celebrate a birthday with me before, I couldn’t help but recognize how many people have helped shape who I am, how many people have truly touched my life with their hearts.

The old adage says “It takes a village to raise a child.” We used to joke when I was younger that I was the vagabond raised by a village. My grandfather called me a hobo because I was always carrying a bag of clothes, not knowing where I was going to be from one night to the next. I was constantly encountering new people, learning new things and just generally passing through. This year I had the beautiful opportunity to see, in person a sample of all of the villages that have raised me, encouraged me and enlightened me.

I can never express how truly thankful, blessed, humbled and grateful I am to know each and every one of you. Most women want to run from 30, you all have made this the absolute best birthday ever. Well except that one year that dad made me a pink car birthday cake with oreo cookie wheels...that was pretty spectacular.

I especially want to thank Angela for the absolute most amazing cupcakes ever and for being the sweetest, most caring, authentic person I think I’ve met as an adult, Andrea for helping Angela and for the most amazing hair ever, Paul and Kimber for driving SO far just to hang out for a few hours with people you don’t know, my Well Written Women: Pam, Sandi, Lauren and Crystal that were there - I’m so glad to have you as part of this amazing project. And Samantha for putting up with me for 21 years and taking time away from your family to celebrate with me. I love you. Kim Person who sent me a snail mail birthday card with words of encouragement for the Well Written Woman, that arrived the day I found out mom had to have surgery. Your card was the moment of happiness I needed that day.

I am so thankful that almost all of my family came, really and truly the only thing that could have made it better was my mommy. I was so sad she missed it, but I am SO SO SO SO SO thankful she will now be here for many, many more birthdays.

Thank you to the 150+ people who wished me a happy birthday via facebook and twitter and thank you to everyone who celebrated with me. My life is better for having you in it.

Brace for Impact

2011-06-10T07:59:00.086-04:00

Do you ever feel like no matter what you do you feel emotionally or spiritually barricaded? Normally I have a fairly open dialogue with my inner self and the universe. I meditate easily, I feel the vibration of life readily and freely, the world is open and flowing through me effortlessly.

Then the universe shifts and I find myself scrambling to find my way back to that place of peace. Imagine falling asleep in a hammock in the shade of your favorite beach every day for months. Then one day, you wake up to find yourself locked in a veritable fortress of solitude. That's me right now.

About 3 weeks ago during meditation we were grounding ourselves and normally I have a pleasant visualization of sitting in an open clearing in the midst of a forest facing a beach. As I ground myself the green life of the earth playfully wraps around my feet and vines travel over my calves and legs gently forming a comfortable place for me to sit securely but not bound. This time it was different. I called the earth to ground me and instead of this lush mossy comfort I was met with tree bark forming a defense around my legs and all the way up to my neck and over the back of my head until only my face was exposed. It was like I was some weird video game character in an earthen suit of armor. I was grounded.

The universe was essentially telling me to brace myself. Since then all of my meditations feel as though I can not reach as far into the ether as I am normally accustomed to. I feel trapped and claustrophobic in my own psyche. Well, as cliche as it is to say, the universe has it's own plan, and right now I'm really pissed off at it.

Hang in there with me I know this sounds like some new age mumbo jumbo - but I promise I have a point. I recently received some news that requires me to essentially compartmentalize my emotions and focus all of my energy on essentially not breaking down. That sweet, vulnerable open part of me has to be contained for a while because "shit just got real."

I can't really go into details, but for those that know me and with whom I interact regularly, please do not be offended if I seem short or caustic. All of my positive energy is hyperfocused on the events at hand and keeping my head above water as this all happens. I may not be blogging as much here, but I will still be updating The Well Written Woman daily with our contributors and the pieces I write there.

I hope to be back to normal soon! I have a pretty epic birthday to celebrate!

Who Wears Short Shorts?

2011-05-31T22:01:00.001-04:00

I caved into imaginary peer pressure. I needed retail therapy and was in the mood for adventure. I've mentioned at least three times before how I feel about shorts (you can find those links here, here and here). I dislike my legs. I think my thighs are fat, my legs are short, pale and pilsbury dough boy-ish; about the only thing I do like about my legs is the fact that I use them to walk and I don't have cankles.

According to some *coughPam*coughDanny* my legs are perfectly fine and even awesome. I'm sure they come to this conclusion because they've never actually seen the pasty white appendages holding me upright.

Yesterday I was feeling rather angst filled. I was grumpy and going stir crazy and couldn't decide which creative pursuit I wanted to follow. I was inspired but uninspired. I wanted to create something but I felt like every time something was making it's way to my fingertips my muse suffered a seizure.

Enter the most awesome husband in the world "Here honey, here's my credit card, go buy something for yourself."

So what did I buy? Two pairs of shorts, two shirts and a new pair of shoes. Yes, you read that right. Shorts. I bought them. I'm even wearing them. I'm really uncomfortable having my photo taken, but here's some proof of my pasty paleness.

Me @ Hot House

Me after meditation at the yoga studio. It was funny we had a discussion about bullies and how certain experiences had caused certain habits and patterns to form. I mentioned briefly that I hadn't worn shorts since I was teenager because I had had certain comments made about the shape of my legs, the length of my legs, the fatness of my legs, the musculature of the. Hell, if we are *really* digging in, let's go all the way back to 5th grade when I wasn't allowed to shave my legs but all the other girls in my class were and I was made fun of for it. I didn't wear shorts again until I was old enough to shave. I was once called bow legged that same year.

They Glow

I decided that since this year is going to be the year that I break out of my old patterns. This year is going to be about me. Learning to love me, learning to accept all of me and accepting that I'm not skinny model perfect, or even voluptuous model perfect. I am only Me perfect. I refuse to avoid and hide those aspects of myself which make me feel vulnerable for no logical reason.

So what - some kids said some shit that hurt my feelings when I was a kid. I'm a grown up now. I have friends who think I'm beautiful (and tell me so often), I have a husband who after 10 years still can't keep his hands off of me and I have enough sense to know that if someone is judging me for how tall, short, fat, thin, pale or whatever I am, that it is their problem. Not mine. I will no longer let opinions from my childhood dictate my behavior as an adult.

For the record yes my legs are really that pale, I've tried tanning, it doesn't work. Thank you to Shelly and Angela for reminding me that milky white skin is actually very pretty.

Following Dreams

2011-05-22T21:07:00.001-04:00

I used to be scared to follow my dreams. I still am occasionally. In fact, I'm scared of following my dreams quite often. Self doubt creeps in and I feel the wheels in my head spinning, winding me up with disastrous thoughts.

"You'll never succeed. That's a silly dream. Why bother? That's already been done!" This is my inner monologue. This internal discourse is probably the reason I'm not an archaeologist, astronaut, actor, director, interior designer or any other exciting profession. I've now decided to ignore this bit of one sided mental dialogue from now on.

This is probably going to sound a bit cheesy, but I'm going to say it anyway. I have decided that if I can dream it, I can make it reality. If I pour my whole self into a dream, it will come true. It may not happen exactly as I envision it, but it will happen. I don't think you can invest energy into something and not receive some sort of return. I firmly believe that there is something to Karmic Law. You receive what you give. If I give all of myself, wholly, infinitely, passionately - I will be rewarded with something similar to what I put in.

I'm trying to remember to be mindful of my expectations. I do expect a return on my investment, but I have to remind myself that the return will often be only a third of what I put in. So when I look at chasing dreams, I have to constantly ask myself, "Is this worth only a third return?"

Yes. Yes it is. Any dream I chase that I feel in my heart is worth chasing, is worth minimal return. Chasing a dream is chasing your heart. It's a journey down the rabbit hole of self exploration, ingenuity and excitement. If you can dream a dream, you can make it come true. It's just a matter of diligence and patience.

My biggest fear is coming to the end of my life and looking back only to realize that I never lived the life I deserved, that I was to scared of being burned to fan the flames of ambition.

I will not let my fire go out.

Resignation vs. Surrender

2011-05-19T22:29:00.000-04:00

I've been going back to group meditation classes once a week. I swear it's probably better than therapy at times. This week we focused on the differences between resignation and surrender. I'm still not sure I'm done processing this (or ever will be), but it's an interesting dynamic to consider.

Both words conjure imagery of one throwing their hands up to the sky and a face towards the heavens. Upon closer inspection that is the only similarity in either situation.

Resignation

When I think Resignation - the word itself invokes thoughts of handing your boss that piece of paper that says, quite officially, "I quit."

When I think Surrender - I imagine rapture, voluntary release, submission.

According to thesaurus.com the two words are synonymous. I disagree.

To surrender, to me, means to complete submit to something. It is a complete release of control. I give all of my self, willingly, unabashed, completely and wholly. I bow to that which is greater than I am. There is freedom in surrender, elevation to a higher power, elation and enjoyment.

When I resign, I give up. I'm done. I'm finished. There's nothing more to discuss. Obstruction. Resistance. Stonewalled. Stopped.

Surrender

When I surrender, I relinquish myself to an unknown adventure. When I resign, I snub, I renounce, I abandon. I find another path.

The differences between the two are subtle, and the more I think about it the harder it is to explain. I think it's almost something that is best explained through body language. One is breathtaking, the other is a punch in the chest. In fact as we meditated on the concept of resignation, all I could imagine was an empty, gaping hole in my center that I wanted to shield. When we meditated on the concept of surrender a light shone brightly through that gaping maw and made me whole.

What do you think? Where does your line fall between surrender and resignation?

Guilt and Focus

2011-05-10T17:22:00.000-04:00

It's no secret I've been spending most of my free time toiling away at The Well Written Woman. I've poured so much energy into this project because I truly believe it's something worthy of great personal investment. It's one of the few projects I've started that I feel deserves a quality contribution of myself. I want it to be a success. I need it to be a success, and so far it has absolutely exceeded my expectations.

Unfortunately, because I've been pouring everything I have into this project, I've had little energy for much else. In fact, I have been so hyper-focused that I forgot about food, well not just food. I forgot about a dinner date with my mom. The Friday before Mother's Day. That kind of makes me a bad daughter, I think. It definitely makes me feel like a bad daughter. In my defense though, I never skip a meal and I definitely never pass up a meal that I don't have to cook or pay for. Thankfully my mother knows that if I managed to forget about such a thing it's because I was super distracted and focused on something.

I find myself so incredibly driven by something that I often tend to neglect other things. Not intentionally, mind you, but it just doesn't occur to me that the world outside of what has my attention might need some minding too. I'm working on that. I promise. I feel like I've been neglecting my friends and sometimes even my family. I am trying to be aware of this behavior and I am trying to make sure that I save some energy for people, but when I am hyper-focused on something it's like trying to turn an air craft carrier around at full speed on a dime. I know that if I don't pace myself that I will burn out fairly quickly. I don't want that to happen. I also feel that if I don't pour positive energy into it, it may not become the success I want it to be. I'm working on the balance here. I know I'll find it, but it might take a little while.

I want to apologize to my friends and family, whom I feel as though I've neglected. I promise as soon as I find a rhythm and a balance between work, yoga, writing and WWW I will be back to my regular self and will call and write and text and facebook you until you are sick of me. If you feel like I'm being rude or short or self absorbed or anything else along those lines, feel free to shake me. I promise I'm not immediately aware of it, but days later I'll realize what a jerk I was and be overwhelmed with guilt.

Seriously, if I'm a jerk slap me like I'm a prom queen in hysterics. I probably need it.