Choosing a direction

Well, I seem to be feeling quite a bit better these days... mood-wise. I no longer feel like I'm teetering on the edge of depression. I probably wasn't really teetering. I was there. But I am very fortunate to have the support of friends and a good therapist.

So now that I'm no longer feeling at the bottom staring up the long climb back to feeling sort of normal... well, now what? I've still got so much uncertainty around me. That's tough for a planner like myself. I want to start feeling like I'm choosing my direction again. I've spent lots of my life just sort of floating along where life has taken me. A few years ago I started feeling like I was choosing the direction, at least in some areas of my life. This past last year has kind of thrown me and I've had that floating feeling again. Time to see the directions around me and make choices that take me in the healthy directions. No floating... moving with purpose. :) And when bad choices are made I must remember every day is a new day. Every moment is a new moment. If a bad choice is made... just make a good choice to get back on track. :)

Enough self-help psychobabble for tonight... my good choice at the moment is to shut down and go to sleep. :)

Weird day

I've had such a weird day. It didn't seem weird, but looking back it was just an odd combination of both good and bad things.

First I spent a part of my work day discussing with my coworker how we think they're going to close our branch this year. This is bad because I need a job. I've been looking the entire 6 months I've been at this job and haven't found anything. It would be good because I hate this job passionately and being laid off and getting unemployment again while I job hunt doesn't sound horrible.

Then I went to an aerial silks class. This is good. It's always a good thing to do something physical and meet new people. But I weighed myself before class. This was bad. I spent the entire class surrounded by mirrors knowing I have now gained the majority of my weight back. I can no longer say I'm just a little chubby. For my frame, for my health, for me... I am fat. Period. So in a way weighing myself was good. I know I have to do something now. When I'm teaching I feel strong. I realized I can ignore the weight. But in the aerial silks class I can't ignore it. I'm out of my element and hyper aware of my weaknesses.

So I drove home trying not to cry about it. I get home and had a check in the mail from the "unclaimed cash" website... I had sent off a form months ago to claim the cash. I had no idea how much it was. It was over $300! It will cover my vacation next weekend. So then I was all happy again. :)

So yeah, my day is a bunch of first world problems I suppose (though the idea of losing my job is a real problem)... so hopefully I'm getting my act together enough I will actually take care of this stupid weight and send it in the right direction.

Human Polaroids

You know I could line ten people up in front of me. And if each of them could become a human polaroid camera and produce a picture of who they see and what I look like... well I would be looking at ten completely different pictures of ten different people. And all ten would be different from how I think I actually look. So which vision is real?

The answer is none of them are real... and all of them are real. Everyone's version of reality is colored by their own thoughts, feelings, insecurities, confidences... basically everyone is a custom made polaroid camera. No two lenses are the same.

So I may feel like a wallflower. I may feel like a geek and an introvert. But someone else sees a bold, funny, confidant girl. Someone else sees me as sexy. So who is right? Everyone is right. All of that exists in me. I am all of those things. And one of the beautiful things about getting older is you begin to meld together what you think you are with what others see... you can embrace all the parts of you and start to believe the good stuff. :)

Mom, me, middle age, and the need for creativity and expression

One day long ago, I was at least a teenager, my mom bought a hand sized block of molding clay from the craft store. After playing with it for a while she presented a bust of a young girl wearing a bonnet. I looked at it in a rather dumbfounded way. I looked at her and said "where did you learn to do that?" I don't remember her exact words, but basically she learned it nowhere. She just wanted to try it. A few years later one of her coworkers was a very talented artist. She learned about acrylic paints from him. She had always assumed that people who painted used oils, and that didn't sound like something she wanted to try. But when acrylics were explained to her (they dry quickly and you can paint right over them if you don't like what you painted) she must have been intrigued. So around the age of 50 my mother started painting.

I remember being very impressed, and yet confused, by mom's sudden interest in painting. I was impressed with her obvious ability, though she would say anybody could do what she did. She was very technical. She would break down her canvas into a graph. She would graph out a picture she wanted to paint. Then sketch in each block... But I assured her that her technical approach to creating art was still a talent not everyone possessed. But my confusion came from the fact I had not seen mom ever be artistic. Even at age 20 my mother was still only a mom... my mom. Over the years I have started seeing her more as a three dimensional person... and even now I'm still making discoveries.

Today it occurred to me that I understand why she started painting. I understand why she molded that block of clay. I understand why she started tap dancing, choreographing dances, and making costumes in her 60s. I think we reach a point in life where we feel the need to truly be ourselves. We spend so many years going through motions. And suddenly the need to create, to express, to feel alive, to be authentic... that need starts to gnaw at us.

So here I am at that point. I teach at the gym. I write this blog (though I'm not sure it's creative, but it is a good outlet for my mental and emotional health... which I guess is part of the point of being creative). I've started working on a costume I want to make. And I've started collaborating on a short story with a friend. Fiction! :) And in doing all this I feel like I know my mom a little better. I do wish she were around to discuss it. I feel like I know what she'd say, but it would be better to hear her voice saying it. :)

Mom lights up the room!

My mother was seriously like a source of light. I almost said "ray of sunshine" but that just sounds too sugary sweet. And she wasn't sugary sweet. But when she walked into a room she brightened it and lifted the moods of anyone around her. She was always smiling and joking... always helpful. When she was in the hospital hooked up to all those machines my sister and I talked about how what a bummer it was that the nurses hadn't gotten to spend a few minutes with her awake. She'd already befriended everybody in the other section before her surgery, but the people in the Cardiac ICU didn't get to know her. We did our best to convey the fact that this pediatric sized elderly woman was a ball of energy and light. I hope some of them understood.

I find that writing about her helps keep her memories alive for me, but it also seems to be introducing her energy to people who never even met her. Friends of mine tell me how they like reading the stories about her... and the comments they make... well, it seems I am representing her accurately.

I was thinking about her last night. I have purchased 2 old dresses from the thrift store which I am going to attempt to turn into a Steampunk costume (google it if you don't know what that is). I figure it will be fun to try, and maybe it'll turn into something I can wear to conventions instead of my standard jeans, sneakers, funny t-shirt. When I get nervous about trying or starting the project I just remember the curtains mom made to match a single she already had... they looked the same. She just worked it out and did it. Or the costumes she would make for herself and her fellow dancers in The Silver Tappers. She was not a great seamstress... but she just went ahead and did it anyway. And I do seem to be following in her footsteps in that mentality... just do it. Very Nike of us.

She taught me to sew. She taught me to try. She taught me to do. Some days I feel like I carry the same light she had... I'm not sure it comes as naturally for me... but I do try to let it shine. :)

So who's view is accurate? Mine? Yours? or a Strangers?

I don't think it's possible to have an accurate idea of what I really look like. I think we all look completely different to each person. I catch glimpses from people sometimes that confuse the heck out of me.

Tonight I taught a small class at a BCBS center. It's usually pretty small. I had a lady stay after asking me about some Pilates and we were discussing general core training. Now I'm standing there in my normal teaching outside which is some version of cotton, lycra, and spandex. And I'm feeling pretty pudgy, as usual lately. And this woman, who is smaller than me, is complaining about her stomach area. And she makes the comment while gesturing my direction "yeah, but you've got a really small waist." What? Blink blink. What? I know my measurements. I know my size. I also know I am shaped in such a way that I am a bit of an optical illusion. I have always weighed more than I appear. But to me it seems quite obvious I do not have a small waist. But this stranger sees me that way. And I viewed her as being smaller than me. So who the heck is right?

Of course, I tell myself later "Oh, yeah, well, I have such a big butt and boobs that my waist just looks small." Then I told that voice to shut the fudge up. :) That voice is a loser.

I'm pretty awesome. I wish I could either quit wanting to be in better shape... or just get in better shape. That, of course, requires the dropping of my food vices. And that's just scary as hell.

That is all my rambling for tonight. :)

The weird saga of my ugliest hoodie attracting attentions to my, um, assets

I looked especially crappy today. Now, let me say I'm not really being down on myself. I'm just stating a fact. I woke up earlier than normal on this Monday after daylight savings time because the alarm on the living room clock had inadvertently been set while the clock was being changed. Then my stomach hurt so I couldn't go back to sleep. I crawled out of bed, showered, and put on clean clothes to the best of my groggy ability. Jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie sweatshirt are my typical attire. Today for some reason I grabbed my crummiest hoodie. It is by far the most ill fitting and least flattering, and it has little holes starting at the seams. I reserve use of this sweatshirt for sitting around the apartment. It is part of my "house clothes/pajamas." But I grabbed it this morning. It was cleaned, but let's just say I was dressed to unimpress today.

So I'm sitting at work truly unconcerned about my crummy clothing. I work around folks I don't care about impressing. In the afternoon I had one customer come in and while we were discussing his order I noticed that he seemed to not be able to make eye contact with me... It was like I had an eyeball on my left boob that he was intent on having a conversation with. I found this strange, but after a while it occurred to me he seemed somewhat awkward in a way that led me to believe he was just avoiding eye contact, and not really aware he was in a staring contest with my boob.

Then another guy came in toward the end of the day... and he did the same damn thing. I found myself checking my sweatshirt to see if I had some sort of bullseye on it... or just some weird spot that would call attention. Nope... nothing.

So what the hell? I deal with dudes every day. I'm aware I have boobs. Guys often like boobs and will look. It is what it is. But I've not noticed this in 6 months at this job. Then, on the day I have the grungiest, baggiest hoodie-clad boobs (and I do mean the hoodie is baggy and grungy... not my boobs thank you very much! They're holding up ok for their age) I have 2 dudes unable to make eye contact with me, but able to make eye contact with the girls? I was neither offended nor excited about this. Just extremely perplexed.

Whatever the case this ugly ass hoodie will be staying in my apartment from now on. :)

Could it be? I am who I want to be?

It is so nice to have a reminder once in a while that the way other people view you is not how you see yourself in your head! Today I made an appointment with my hairdresser, and friend, to get my hair colored. As we were talking she said "Tracy, you could pull off any hair color... just because of your personality. You could have blue hair, and you'd be like 'Yeah, my hair is blue! Awesome!'" And this woman has known me, been cutting my hair, for 15 years. I walk around feeling like a wallflower half the time... and there are people who see me as bold and crazy and not afraid of anything. Maybe I'm actually the person I want to be after all. :)

My pesky inner dialogue needs a serious attitude adjustment

I've been trying to keep an eye on my inner dialogue. I am not doing a great job. You read a lot of those inspirational memes on Facebook about the fact that "we are our thoughts" or "what we think is what we will become." There is truth in that I think. And I also know the things I say to myself... well, if someone said them about someone I loved I'd beat the shit out of them. But I love myself, right? So why do I allow it?

The worst thing lately is that I keep allowing some form of "worthless" in my mind. That I am somehow not worthy of good things. But do you know how I know that's not true? Because my mom thought I was worthy. And if Cathy thought I was good enough... for whatever... well, then I must be. Now I do know that the worthless thing is completely irrational. But if we allow the thought then we start to feel it. Hence the policing of my thoughts has begun. Sometimes I'll just make myself think things almost like a cadence: "I am strong. I am powerful. I am worthwhile. I am beautiful." Anything that is in the positive. I figure if I say the negative and feel it... well, then I can feel the positive too. Either side requires maintenance. Awareness is the key. Awareness is only the first step. But as we know the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. If you don't take the first step you can't reach the goal.

Goal? What is the goal exactly anyway? I suppose the goal is being able to wake up in the morning and be glad to be living in my skin. It should be easy... I'm Cathy's daughter. I can't imagine being anyone better, right? :)

Hormones vs. Depression

Hormones suck. It is such a drama to deal with them. I mean... they get me all irrational with my emotions. I was driving home today holding back tears and just telling myself "You're almost home. You can sit in your recliner and eat ice cream and it'll be okay." And the stuff I was thinking about was all manufactured... stuff my brain conjured up to feed it's stupid hormone driven needs.

I'm thankful I can usually recognize the hormonal stuff, though. I warned my roommate that I had been in a low-grade amount of pain all day (stupid abductor muscle pull) ,and I was really emotional due to hormones. I asked him to please avoid pushing any of my buttons. LOL. I find it's good to give advanced warning to those close to you when you're hormonal... then any weird behavior they can understand. I held it together pretty well actually. And now, almost bedtime, my hormones have finally chilled out.

It's my age. It's one of those early pre-menopausal things that happen. Your hormones go out of whack. Thankfully my doctor changed me to a different birth control that helps an incredible amount. The one I was on before... OMG! I missed work one day because I laid on my floor crying uncontrollably... for no reason whatsoever. That was a bad mix of hormones. And that's when I went to my doctor and said "HELP!" Now it's just "oh, I'm hormonal today... it'll pass." Not so bad. I'm not really looking forward to menopause, though, when everything really goes nuts.


It really is kind of weird being able to work out what's hormone related sadness/moodiness and what's depression related. This morning I had a really hard time getting out of bed. That seemed depression related (and I hate my job related). The rest of the day's moods I could say "hormones."

How Mom and Dad met and married... for their 45th anniversary today

Today would have been my parents 45th wedding anniversary. So to celebrate I am going to tell the story of how they met and married. It is a story my mother told often. And I've told it often. It's rather ridiculous... and it colored my expectations for many years. I no longer think I'll have anything like it. It was just for them. :)

A little back story: My mother was married at age 18. She had been married for 7 years before she left. I believe it was a bad marriage. She almost never spoke of it. They had no children. Dad had been married before. He had custody of his 6 children (ages 5-12ish I think) and was in the U.S. Air Force. They had both decided without a doubt they would never marry again.

Mom and Dad in the late 60s I think

Dad was stationed in Sumter, SC. He worked with my mom's brother (Uncle Woody) who was also in the Air Force. My mother was visiting her brother and his wife (Aunt Evelyn). They got a call from my Dad who had apparently wrecked his station wagon with his 6 kids in tow and could use a ride. So Mom, Woody, and Evelyn go to help him out. Mom said that they were all sitting in a room talking. She hadn't spent any time alone with Dad. But on the ride back to my uncle's house my Mom told Evelyn "I'm going to marry that man" very matter of factly. Evelyn just laughed at her.

So they are back at my uncle's house. Mom is looking out the window. Evelyn asks what she's doing and Mom says "Oh, I'm waiting for Ben (my Dad)." As Mom told me she and dad had not discussed that he would be coming by or anything. And shortly after she said that he comes driving up. He asks if she would like for him to show her around the town. So they go out. She never really told me what they did. She did say there wasn't much to the town, but they had a nice time.

In the mid 80s... I think at my b-day in Busch Gardens

A couple days later, on the weekend Mom, Woody, and Evelyn head up to Morehead City in North Carolina for the week. Mom gets a call from Dad and he asks if it's okay if they drive up to see her because he has something to ask her. She says sure... and as she told the story "I knew what he was going to ask me."

So she said they were sitting on the beach while his kids played in the sand and water. Dad pulls out his bank book and says something like "This is how much I owe (which Mom said was a lot), this is what I have, and will you marry me?" She said yes.

In Florida in early 2000s I think

Then after about 5 months when Mom's divorce was finalized (she hadn't bothered to start the process... you know because she wasn't going to marry again) she and Dad went to the courthouse to get their marriage license. The guy at the courthouse said "If you want I can marry you now." They figured what the heck. The bride wore a black pant suit with a blue shirt. Then they went out and bought furniture. Apparently the 6 kids were upset they had gotten married without them.

Last picture together, August 2011

So that, my friends, is the ridiculously true tale of Ben and Cathy. They did not repeat the mistakes of their first marriage. In my 39 years of knowing them together they did not fight. I never heard a voice raised in my home. And my Dad made my Mom laugh all the time... which is why I suspect she married him. This is not to say their marriage was easy. I know it was tough sometimes... all relationships are... but I was the most fortunate kid in the world when it came to the parent lottery... at least in my opinion.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. I love you.

Viewing ourselves as who we want to be

I think in my heart I am an athlete. I also think in my heart I am adventuresome. These are the opposite of my outward appearance growing up... even into adulthood. Also it is the opposite of how I viewed myself. I was quiet and introverted and fat. I watched A LOT of television. And I ate way too much. I can still be quiet and introverted. And sometimes I can be fat. :) But there is such a difference in the way I see physical challenges now. I ran an 8k yesterday. I've run a number of 5k races. I ran one 10k. I've run a marathon. But I had never done an 8k. A friend was signing up, and honestly without allowing myself to think I couldn't do it I said "Sure! I'll sign up!" I never did get around to training for it. The last time I ran was in October in a 5k. I wasn't worried about finishing. I knew my legs would get me to the finish line even if I had to walk. I was a little worried about finishing last. Thankfully that did not happen. I finished. I was not last.

And this coming Friday I've signed up for a beginner's class in aerial silks. Yup... I'm gonna suspend my big old ass up in the air and hopefully do some slight acrobatics. I saw the flyer, it was free, and I didn't hesitate. That's why I say I'm adventuresome. I just feel like I've reached a point in my life where physically it really will be downhill from here (I can slow the downhill descent by keeping in good shape... but let's be honest... we don't get progressively better after 40), and I want to do things that come my way that sound fun. I don't want to regret not trying.

I try really hard not to use the word "can't." It does no good. There is truth to the idea that if you really want something you'll do it. If you don't do it then you didn't really want it. So I'm trying to do as much as I can. It's not always easy. I know the depression takes a toll some days, but I do think I'm slowly climbing out of that. I hope I've already hit bottom and pushed back up. All I can do is keep moving forward.

It is important to view ourselves as what we want to be. So I say again. I am an athlete. I am adventuresome. What are you?

Work... part of my "real life"

A friend of mine was blogging about her job working in a kitchen. It's an interesting blog. It's called "The Kitchen's Gringa." She was talking about what direction she may like to take with her career. One of her possibilities was being a translator which to me sounded very fulfilling and worthwhile. And it got me thinking about why I hate my job so much.

Now, first I always have to say... I am grateful for my job. But I do truly hate it. Getting up in the morning to go there seems impossible more days than not. I'm sure some of that is depression related, but I know some of it is simply my hatred of the job. But why do I hate it? I think that's important to recognize so I can try not to repeat it. I hate it because it's meaningless. At the end of the day what I do there does not matter to anyone. I sell cabinet hardware to contractors. When I do have to deal with homeowners I want to crawl under my desk and scream because it's all so pointless. I don't care if your hinges match your hardware. I don't care if you can't understand why you see copper in the oil rubbed bronze finishes. I. Just. Don't. Care. And at the end of the day I make no one's life better.

Two days ago I taught a class at the gym... not a regular gig. I was just a substitute. I teach a class called BodyFlow which is a combination of tai chi, yoga, and pilates. And it's awesome. I always feel like I get so much out of teaching. But that night I had a girl come up to me after class and tell me that my meditation at the end was so amazing because it was the first time she'd been able to truly relax during meditation... and it helped her release some pain. Apparently she suffers from some chronic pain issues... and things I said helped her feel less pain. And she said she'd be following what I described in class from now on and ignoring the other people's meditation. I could not stop smiling. She truly made my day. I mean... I actually helped someone who feels tension and pain all the time... I helped them let some of that go.

I wish I could feel that every day. I wish my job meant something. When I was in my 20s right out of college I used to think that my job was just a way to pay for my "real life." But now I realize that 40 hours a week is part of my "real life" whether I like it or not... and it would be nice to be doing something that didn't drain my soul every day.

Anyway, I also am watching a documentary about Auschwitz... and all I can really think right now is "I am the most fortunate individual alive." I mean... really... I don't have problems when I look at this kind of horror. But at the same time I feel I need to not take my fortunate life for granted. I need to make it as good as I can.