Weight, BMI and Resolutions

So, for a woman of my height, in order for me to model in Spain, I would have to tip the scale at a whopping 112 lbs; that is enough to get to me to a BMI of 18... the article states, that most of the models, are, in fact, between 14 and 16 on the BMI scale. Ok, so in real terms, that means that they weigh between 87 and 99 lbs. When you think about it in the actual weight, I guess it makes sense to think that someone who weighs 112 lbs is slightly more healthy than someone who weighs 87-99 lbs. I guess those women might not collapse on the runway...afterall, it does seem that it was the death of one of the models on the runway that made these folks react. Surely, there were models dying off the runway from complications of starvation.

However, the calculator that I used to make these comparisons states that my ideal weight is between 117-143 lbs. I hate to disagree with whomever made up this ideal weight, but honestly, 117 is just unrealistically low; even according to the calculator, someone of my height would have to get all the way to 124 lbs in order to be "healthy."

Also, that upper range of ideal weight is also misleading. According to the calculator, I can get all the way to 155 before I am "slightly overweight." So, why list 117-143 as my ideal weight? No wonder we all have messed up body image issues!! (Each one of the calculator links is a different BMI calculator on the internet.)

So, why do I care about all this?? Well, of course, like everyone else in the US, I am overweight... not morbidly obese...for that I would have to tip the scales at 185 lbs (I have been there before, it's not comfortable). Just yesterday, I decided to take control of my weight by making a plan... here it is:

I want to exercise regularly (I just finished my second half marathon). Starting October 1st, I will be back to running after giving my body a well-deserved two weeks off. I am back to walking as much as possible, three miles today, one mile yesterday...more tomorrow. With the fabulous tools available on mapmyrun.com, you can calculate the miles run or walked and how many calories you have burned according to your age, weight and pace.

I plan to do yoga as much as I can, with a goal of three times per week, starting next week. What else? I plan to eat well. With all of these goals in mind, I walked to the farmer's market today to buy some fresh fruit and veggies.

What will I not do?? Starve myself... breakfast is my new best friend; usually oatmeal, but also my favorite pancake mix. Check out these great products. It's great to find good-for-you food that tastes great as well. In case you are wondering, eating better to me means getting my daily recommended 23-25 grams of fiber per day. When I can get that much fiber, it usually means I can eat just about anything else I want to eat (ok, not a whole box of donuts, but one donut for sure).

Ok...happy eating and exercising.

the demise of women's colleges?

Though I did not choose (or even consider) attending a single-sex college, the death of yet another one is sad. The thing is, I had a choice... if the trend continues, women will not have the choice.

Watching my sister's progress through the women's college she chose to attend, the value of having a choice became clear. It is not to say that my sis would not have thrived in a coed environment. I am sure she would have kicked ass and taken names just about anywhere she decided to go. The point is, she CHOSE to go to a single-sex college.

I never really understood her decision. I am not sure if there was a particular reason that pushed her towards the choice. All I know is that she only wanted to apply to single-sex institutions.

Whatever the reason, the results are undeniable. It was amazing to watch the changes in her over a very short amount of time. Maybe the changes would have come as easily at a coed institution. Maybe not. But, in any case, I would hate to think that in 20 years, there were only coed colleges and the lovely daughters just born this year to my dear friends would not have the chance to experience a women's college if they wanted to do so.

The pencil is behind your ear, or, No, I don't have your phone

Chilling after the luau, trying to take pictures with a potential beau, a friend (let's call her Paquita) was accosted by a short white woman (let's call her Crack-er Head) . One of you took my phone, she accused. Ok, honestly, when she walked up to Paquita and her beau-to-be (lets call him Sam), the camera was about to be snapped.

So, everyone is all smiles and not sure we just heard the drunken accusation that has been thrown. We sat there trying to figure out the joke. But the bitch was serious. My friend's sister (let's call her Lisa) countered, We don't even know you.

But the Crack-er Head was determined to find her phone; you know, the one she thought Paquita and Sam were hiding. She made Paquita and Sam get up and move out of the way, so she could look where they were sitting. We were all still watching her, amazed that anyone could be this sloshed and ridiculous. What was this girl's trip? She must have downed MANY mai-tai's at the luau.

How did Crack-er Head decide that we were the offensive crew who had conspired to steal her cell phone? I guess we will never know the answer to that question. But, it could be that we were the only people there. Or it could be that we were the only people of color in the vicinity. Both of those statements are actually true.

Cracker-er Head was furiously dialing someone else's cell phone to make her phone ring. I hear it ringing.

Not finding the phone underneath Paquita and Sam, she decided her phone was in Paquita's bag. One of the guys who was with Sam suggested that maybe it had fallen into the bushes. She was not convinced, but she took a look anyway. In any case, our offensive crew was half compliant, half incredulous: Paquita and Sam not only moving out of the way, but actually helping Crack-er Head look through the bushes. Sam's friends were torn between watching the spectacle and helping find the missing phone. Lisa and I were watching and laughing.

She just kept saying that she could hear it ringing. Bending over the bushes, looking for the phone, her boyfriend realized that the phone was in Crack-er Head's back pocket.

He looked embarrassed; but she was still pissed, somehow we had caused this problem by slipping that damn phone into her back pocket. She did not excuse herself, apologize or thank us for the trouble. She just marched off, indignant and annoyed, phone in hand.

non-political?

Not sure how to understand how Bush's 9/11 primetime message could NOT be political. Then I listened in to his message and confirmed not only his inability to not make political hay out of such a tragedy, but also his determination to make 9/11 about IRAQ.

Disgust doesn't begin to cover my reaction. I watch/listen in because I want to have a right to complain afterwards; but, honestly, I knew he would take the opportunity to aggrandize himself and the hapless war he created. But, these folks are not my plants, I swear. It turns out I was not the only one who thought he was being self-serving and insincere. Then again, when don't I feel that way?

9/11 offered our nation the opportunity, after mourning, to step back and take stock of our image to the rest of the world. Our image, the one we created with our deeds as well as our words, is the reflection people in other nations see. It is not the figment of Osama bin Laden's imagination or any other would-be or actual terrorist. We continue to give these guys fodder for their extremism.

The people who died in the towers, PA and the Pentagon that day were, in fact, just going to work. They had not provoked the attack. But as a nation, we did provoke the attack; and we continue to poke sticks in the eyes of many people who see our tarnished image as crass exploiters through our power-grabbing political antics around the world.

I mean no disrespect to the families of those who lost loved-ones. We are in this together, but they have suffered much more than we can imagine. It has been long enough, though, since the attacks to begin to unravel how we, individual citizens, are complicit with that image if we are unwilling to let our "leaders" know that we will not allow them to do these things in our names.

Step back, America, and ask yourself: what am I getting from the fruits of the multi-national's labors?

Nothing of value as far as I can see.

Must Wear Long Socks (white) with Sandals

Oh, the perils of internet dating: everything you see reminds you of what you DON'T want in a partner, and simultaneously, you make headlines out of the most ridiculous observations.

While visiting with old friends and colleagues this week in New Jersey, conversation over drinks turned to dating.

A little back story: there were three of us bar-hopping (yes, you can do that in Princeton now as there is more than ONE bar!) Friday evening. All three of us have been married and divorced. We were all long married; I log in the least amount of years in the relationship at nearly 9. We differ though in that one is remarried (not me) and one is more recently divorced, within the last two years (also not me). None of us, however, has had much experience in the divorced dating scene.

So, I relate my fear and loathing of match.com and internet dating in general. I think it's creepy. I will just admit it. I know, I know, there are many wonderful people who have met through match or some other fine online dating service and now are happily partnered. I am sorry. It still creeps me out. Every once in a while I am cajoled into taking a peek, and have even been on one disastrous date. But, for me, it is just not the thing.

I am disturbed by the utter lack of frankness displayed on these sites. I would much rather that you say plainly that you think you can get more sex with more partners this way. I am sick of reading about wanting to find a friend and soulmate, only to scroll down to the "my date" and notice that this friend/soulmate must be blond, tall and slender.

Then we can talk about how the men on these sites are convinced that their body types, however they may appear in the mirror every morning, are SLENDER or ATHLETIC/TONED. When you can see the gut in the best picture you could find to post, that isn't even ABOUT AVERAGE. I don't want to talk about the height thing. I can't take anymore of it.

My friend was saying how she had started using an internet site that is like a virtual parents without partners. Sounds like good, clean fun, right? I mean, yes, hook-up central for sure, but maybe slightly less creepy. She related good-naturedly that one man she had been emailing/chatting with seemed really nice and she was thinking about meeting up with him for a drink or dinner. Another mutual friend, ex-coworker of mine, had been talking about a man she met on this same site. The more my friend heard, the more she became convinced they were chatting up the same guy. This is where we differ... I was creeped out. What a jerk, I thought to myself: two-timing before they are even actually seeing each other. She was much more level-headed about the situation. Her take was this way they could all three meet up for drinks somewhere. It would be safer to meet this stranger with someone else instead of by herself. They could work out the dating arrangements later depending on who felt there was chemistry.

By the end of the evening, we had given up drinks and bar food for Thomas Sweets. And we laughed as we watched the other folks who had gathered to listen to live music outside the ice cream shop. There is my man right there, my friend asserted.

Which one?

The one with the socks and sandals. I have to remember to post that on my ad, she said. Must wear long socks with sandals. White Socks!

the local bar

I decided today, especially since I am officially liberated, that I should attend happy hour. Nevermind that no one I know was available to go with me... I don't need company to go to happy hour, right?? I mean, plenty of other people will be there. It's just that, well, other people irritate or scare me or both, alternating.

Since I have been having difficulty not having responsibilities in my freedom, and especially since when I told my friend today, proudly, that I was so proud of myself for taking myself to the Starbucks to work on my resume, she replied, I would like to hear that you went to Starbucks to read the paper, I decided that maybe I was taking freedom too seriously.

Instead of going to volunteer at the non-profit where I am on the board, after my productive morning at Starbucks (and the morning run!), I visited with a friend, and then I went to a leisurely pupusa lunch with another friend. After all that, I still could have gone to do some volunteering, but, instead, I came home, watched some tv and then went to the bar.

I have been without a regular bar for a while... partly because I relaxed the one night out a week rule, and partly because I just haven't been up to organizing happy hours. Well, tonight, I went to a bar I consider a meat market to have drinks. Not quite the neighborhood bar, ala cheers, but it turned out ok.

I ended up sitting next to the woman who works in the office as the financial manager, who was probably all of 25. She was interested in life and had a great sense of humor...so, well, we chatted and pretty soon, it was two hours later and we hadn't run out of things to talk about.

It turns out I am a nice and fun person to be around. Imagine that.

Maybe the working on how I present myself and trying to JUST BE MYSELF without walls, recrimination or other defense mechanisms works.

I can hardly really believe it, but I am trying.

hunger

I guess I had a sense of the power of the mind with regards to appetite given that I acknowledge being a worry-eater and I know that anorexia and bulimia exist. I just never contemplated how one might have such complete power in the mind over the feelings of the body.

Such was my revelation at the meditation retreat... though my stomach bulged with the amount of food I consumed relative to that which I could work off walking and sitting and meditating, I felt hunger. Not random pangs here and there but the instinct to shovel whenever I was near food. The inclination to hide food somewhere so I could go back to it when it was NEEDED.

Notes on Hunger from today's (8/10) reflection:

Sometimes I have a driven need to eat, shovel, really; it's not at all about being hungry or really needing nourishment, but it is a craving.

In my body, it is a deep craving for food even when I have just eaten; or it is a desire to eat what's in front of me quickly.

I experience it as empty, bereft, hungry in my heart or soul; it's hard because it has an urgency that drives me to try to quench it. It's helpful if I ignore the urge by giving it reality: you just ate!

Lock the keypad on your phone, please

As some of you know, last Monday was my last day at my former job. My reasons for leaving the job are many and varied, but the top of the list is that I was not a "good fit" for the work environment. That is to say, that the director of the organization, and her management style, and I were incompatible. There has been a lot of finger pointing and other blaming tactics, but the bottom line is that it is her organization and she needs to run it as she sees fit; and I do not need to stay somewhere if I feel uncomfortable. This is truly the most reasonable and no-fault way for me to encapsulate the troubles over the last year.

When I decided to leave, you would think that would make her very happy. Finally, she would be rid of a thorn in her side. I was moving on in a very non-threatening way. I gave the organization plenty (over 2 months) notice and offered to train my replacement. I thought I was doing the right thing staying to help, but apparently I had moved beyond the ability to do the right thing. I was no longer included in communication about new or existing projects, many closed door meetings became the order of the day (I was not invited behind the closed door in case you were wondering), and the director's office now needed to be LOCKED at night.

I am on my fifth day of freedom, and, obviously, still coming to terms with what it means to be officially separated from the organization.

That is just to give you a little context for what happened Thursday night (actually 2 am Friday morning) and then again Friday afternoon.

Not quite sound asleep due to too much caffeine the afternoon before, my phone shrieked at 2 am. I jumped out of bed sure that someone in family was in serious danger and grabbed the phone. I love called id. Even in my fear-adrenalined half asleep state, I stopped to see just who would be calling me at 2 am. My ex-boss's name was illuminated in blue.

IGNORE.

Seeing her name allowed me to switch from fear to anger. But not quite that easily. I lumbered back to bed imagining just what sense of entitlement she was feeling that she would call me in the middle of the night on her vacation. [Why and how I know she is on vacation this weekend is just another reason why I am glad to be an ex-employee.]

I climbed back into bed and realized that my heart was still beating furiously...maybe more now that I was noticing it. I would like to say it was still the fear-adrenaline from believing that one of my loved ones might be in danger. But I know better. I was thinking and worrying about what my ex-boss was calling to yell at me about. She never called me to chat. NEVER. It was always some unreasonable request at a markedly not professional time to be calling. But 2 am is a far cry from 7 pm or 8 pm or even 9 pm. And, even worse, I was thinking, What did I do to piss her off this time. [She is like that; since nothing is ever her fault, when she is upset about anything, she will find someone and something to blame for her latest mood.]

I had finally calmed down enough to go back to sleep when my phone beeped. Oh my god, a full five minutes later, my phone tells me there is a message. "She just left me a five minute message?!?!" This incredulous, indignant statement kept repeating in my head. I desperately wanted to just ignore the message, but I knew the phone would keep on beeping. So, I got up and I listened.

It was a good thing that I went ahead and listened. It turns out she had inadvertently dialed my number and was utterly oblivious to the fact that she was leaving a message. From the message, I could tell that she was out. Where I was, it was 2 am; where she was it was 5 am. While listening, I imagined, she was out still. I know that when she is out on vacation, that means she doesn't come home until the sun has long been out. I could hear a lot of noise, so out at a club I imagined. I heard a lot of women's voices and laughing. Eventually, I was bored with this and stopped listening way before 5 minutes were up.

I was disappointed in myself for imagining that she was calling me to take a final, parting shot. I was relieved that it was just a mistake. I was disappointed to see that she was incapable of locking her keypad so this kind of thing wouldn't happen. I had to remind myself that she was not my problem. I went back to bed.

The next day, I had completely put it out of my mind except to think I should share the story with one of my ex-colleagues who would appreciate the story...maybe laugh.

Then, my phone rang at 4pm. I was in the middle of an interview with a high school student, so even if I wanted to, I wasn't going to answer the phone. When I reached in my bag to press IGNORE, I noticed that the called ID said "unknown." In that case, I wouldn't have answered it anyway. A little while later, I noted a message.

When I had a free moment, I listened to the message. It was her again, only this time she had dialed my number on purpose. She must have realized that she had called me in the middle of the night. Unfortunately her ability to manage the features on her phone left much to be desired. I could hear her telling someone that she was mortified and that the phone had gone straight to voice mail.

I realized that she was leaving an unintended message again, only this time I could hear words. I could hear her puzzling about where she had been at that time, what had she said, had she mentioned anything about the doctor?? She went on to say, she is the one; I told you how bad things had been with this girl?

I listened on but there was nothing very interesting said. There was no apology for having called my phone in the middle of the night. No, sorry to bother you, I called you inadvertently. It was all about her. What's new?

I was puzzled, though, how had things been bad from her perspective? She never seemed to notice when she was being impossible. Perhaps it was when I pointed it out and didn't take her raging and raving and yelling? I wish I could say that I didn't care, that it didn't matter. But it does. It is the reason I am no longer there.

Onward and upward. I am moving on, slowly but surely.

mean spirit

I will definitely rate this move as more mean-spirited than outlawing folks from feeding the poor in the park in Las Vegas.

This prisoner, who has been in solitary confinement for so long he probably doesn't remember what it feels like to live among other people, got his story on the front page of the NY Times... and NPR did a series on the implications, good and bad, of solitary confinement this week. And now, he must be punished.

That's not revenge for making a cruel system seem as inhumane as it is? Please.

Someone in solitary confinement has had the temerity to use his free time to express his creativity; he must be squashed.

When was the last time those folks feeling threatened at the jail have donated $10,000 to the children of the prisoners they keep in solitary?

NEVER. But, this artist/prisoner must be punished.

This the same day that reports of waste and abuse come out on the prison system.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Kick me please

Self sabotage is a very complicated, dangerous and persistent problem.

It takes a long time, in my opinion, to figure out that self-sabotage is what one needs to deal with... that is to say, we follow the same pattern, over and over again; we wonder, what have I done to deserve this? when we end up in the same hole we just climbed out of; and then, finally, it dawns on us that the "please kick me" sign we are carrying around on our back is written in our own handwriting.

Yessiree Bob...we wrote it, we taped it and we pick it up and put it back on when it falls off. And, we do this in a sleep walking state where we can't see that it is indeed US creating our "groundhog day" existence.

Then we talk to our friends about it...some listen in such an attentive way that they hear the pattern and after a while, tired of watching people they care about falling into the same hole in a very Pooh-like way, they try to stop us before we fall back in. Sometimes they pull us out and try to give us advice on how to avoid the hole the next time.

All of this is very frustrating for us (we don't believe we are really falling in the SAME hole each time; I mean, we really do believe we learned and changed from the last 100 times we fell in the hole) and for them (they just want to lock us in a closet and play the video of the last 50 times, thinking that will be enough to convince us that we have, indeed, been right here before).

What they don't know is that we can't really hear the advice. Partly, we are determined to get out of the pattern, and we mistakenly believe that we can solve the problem by getting back in the pattern and just doing it RIGHT, this time.

What we don't know is that solving the problem doesn't mean getting back into the pattern and getting it right. In order to solve the problem of self-sabotage, we need to acknowledge that we DO NOT need to be punished. We do not deserve punishment for our selves, our behavior or any past bad acts. It's worse than a messiah complex because we are not just saving the world, we are judging it, starting with ourselves and meting out what we think is appropriate retribution.

Solving the problem of self-sabotage entails loving ourselves enough to be open to constructive, productive and healthy interactions/relationships with ourselves and others. It is the opposite of seeking the interactions/relationships that will ultimately put us back in the hole.

Getting out of the hole and staying out of the hole can be accomplished by believing that we have no reason to be in the hole.

Generosity and compassion demand that I have more patience with myself and my friends who are struggling with self-sabotage. Today that means not feeling bad that I just gave harsh feedback to someone who keeps jumping into the hole with two feet. It also means cutting myself some slack for dreaming about my hole last night.

It is a daily struggle to stay out of the hole. For the past few months, my solution has been to limit my contact with new people. I mean, if I don't meet any new people who will potentially trigger the pattern, then I am safe, right? Wrong.

Being afraid to go out and deal with the world is a better symptom than denial of the pattern. But it is not a long term solution; it's not a solution at all. It demonstrates some willingness to recognize the problem and even to start to battle the desire to jump back into the pattern. Ultimately, though, it does not confront the underlying issue: taking head on the issue of loving myself, or rewriting the agreements about the life I deserve.

I am trying.

What would Jesus think?

So, the city of Las Vegas (aka SIN CITY) has decided that it will be ILLEGAL to feed the homeless on the street. In the myriad of acts, illegal and legal, that go on in Las Vegas on a daily basis, the city feels the need to make up a law about something charitable; dare I say, Christian. I mean, is there one of Jesus' acts (besides rising from the dead) that is more well known than the feeding the folks with the fish and loaves.

For now, it is still ok to feed them in a shelter, but we would hardly want the homeless to feel WELCOME in a PUBLIC place like a park. Parks, apparently, are only for the home-owning tax payers. Oh, and it is still legal to feed the homeless on The Strip... makes me want to go to Las Vegas just to set up a homeless feeding site on The Strip.

Favorite line from this article:

“I don’t think anybody in America wants people to starve to death,” Mr. Reese
said. “But if you want to help somebody, people can go to McDonald’s or Kentucky
Fried Chicken and give them a meal.”

Ok... who knew that taking someone to KFC or McDonald's was HELPING? Thank you City of Las Vegas for clarifying that for us do-gooders. What homeless people really want and need is fast food. So good to know. I am holding on to that tidbit for future reference.

A new verdict for Andrea Yates

I don't know why this feels like a personal victory... I have never met this woman; I probably would not have much if anything in common with her except my body's ability to birth a child.

It's just the idea that we would judge this poor woman in such a way that didn't allow for mercy that made me crazy. I mean, obviously she is mentally deranged. She killed the very thing that was her life. She killed them rather than kill herself because she thought she was sparing them. If that isn't crazy talk, I just don't know what is.

Also, in some very perverse way, I feel as though this whole need to get revenge at any cost and for the slightest thing or the most heinous thing does feel like it creeps into every day. First we are trying children as young as 8 as adults. Have of the adult population can't act like an adult from day to day, but we expect the children watching these adults to know better? We get a bee in our bonnets about something or the other and then we go off like the mob in the night with pitchforks...meanwhile we let pedofiles lead our churches, for years.

convoluted, I know. But with the recent goings on in my professional life, it just seems like we, as a society, have decided that we get to decide individually when a slight requires REVENGE and then we just do what ever we want. Recent article on a study about retribution was somewhat enlightening on this point. (I need to find the link.)

finding comfort

Monday night, at Spirit Rock, I was trying to meditate for the first 35 minutes of silent meditation and felt like I was failing miserably.

I was wondering, to myself (when I was supposed to be focusing on my breath), how the hell I was going to make it through 7 nights of this?

My back hurt, my head itched, all I could hear was the guy next to me snoring, at least that is what it sounded like.

Then Jack gave his talk and we had a few more minutes of silent meditation.

I closed my eyes and the tears began to flow... freedom, safety, comfort... how had sitting in silence for two hours become comfort??

I don't know but it did...

Reprieve

I read the headline: Elephant that Killed Handler Spared with irony and relief. On the one hand, finally, a person has decided to use some of the mercy he/she (in this case a she) possesses and "spared" the life of an animal that was acting instinctually in an unnatural setting. On the other hand, why is this the exception?

Why is it that animals automatically get the death penalty?

We never stop to think that we are the ones with the supposed higher order thinking skills that should keep us from encroaching on the wild animal habitat, putting ourselves in danger, and/or relocating wild animals into settings so divergent than their natural habitats that the animals are unable to behave naturally.

If you place yourself on the tracks with a train approaching, and you get killed, should the rest of us try to KILL the train in retaliation.

Worst, of course, is the go out and kill in revenge instinct that we humans tend to exhibit way too frequently. Someone goes out on a trail in the wilderness, in theory to get near nature; nature, in this case, turns out to be a mountain lion. Person gets killed. Now we are going to go out and hunt down a mountain lion and kill it, claiming we are going to match the teeth marks or some such nonsense. Do we honestly believe that by killing a mountain lion we will somehow deter other mountain lions from killing people on the trail??

Abundance

Just when you think you have hit rock bottom...ok, not that dramatic.

Picture it, there you are, trying to answer what seems like a straight forward question from the DISCOVERY MATERIALS (no pressure).

Over the years, you have created (and been created) from your life experiences, your accomplishments, your disappointments and your longings. Who are you today? How would you describe yourself at this point in your life?

And you are trying to answer honestly, but not too cynically. Instead, you are circling the drain, that is circling the answer, maybe dancing around the edges of what you think. In any case, at the end of too many tortured sentences, there is no resemblance to you on the paper.

Thankfully, the gong is struck and that means put your work away and get ready to meditate. Saved by the bell, for sure.

It is your incredibly good luck to be in a room too full of people who are all waiting to hear Jack Kornfield give a dharma talk. Talk about positive energy.

What is the opposite of grasping? (he asks it very innocently, and the word pops into my head: Abundance) Of course he prefers GENEROSITY. I mean, who doesn't??

Weaving in and out of stories, making his point carefully yet gently, he finally gets to the "how to" portion of his talk. There are three kinds of generosity: tentative, brotherly/sisterly, royal. He keeps telling you that it is ok to be tentatively generous, but that you will just feel more of the love when you are royally generous. Now you are just about to feel badly about yourself for only ever having been tentatively generous when he lowers the boom. With whom should we be most generous??

You got it, yourself.

Lesson learned: when you feel like giving, do it. Don't let yourself give it a second thought. Remember to be most compassionate to yourself. The more you have, compassion that is, the more you will be willing to give.

what you don't know...

I am trying to learn the maximum amount from my latest employment situation. (I wanted to say debacle, but I am trying to be less cynical and more silver lining.) Here's something I learned, or re-learned. (I wish I could say that I don't need to re-learn this, as I feel I have been in this space FAR too often.)

There is already a lot of subtext to this post, and it is only the second paragraph. YIKES.

Lesson: what you don't know will allow you to live blithely along.

Subtext: I would have done much better to note the craziness inwardly and never say a word about it...just plot my escape without ever trying to fix it or offer suggestions to fix it. I mean, so the boss may never hear from me the fascinating and fabulous idea for fixing something; or he/she won't hear how that latest idea is a dog; but he/she DIDN'T want to hear any of that anyway. What my quiet, acquiescent colleagues have on me is that they don't have to become the anti-christ, but I do. Trying to be honest in these situations was just another way for my boss to read me as disloyal, uncommitted and disrespectful. No return on my investment on truth and honesty. Write it down in your journal, tell your friend, keep it in the book of THE WAY I WOULD DO THINGS, but whatever you do, don't tell the boss. This will be my new mantra. I am going to make it into a little sign and post in near the light switch at home. I am going to make it cute and small and keep it in my pocket.

Inferred lesson: not all broken things need to be fixed; especially not by me

Subtext: I admit it, I do have an oversized sense of responsibility. After reading the OCD book, it makes me WONDER about myself. (But that might be another way for me to make this my failing; [haha, my subtext has a subtext which now has a subtext...super YIKES.] {So glad no one really reads this blog but me.}) As a result of the SUPER-SIZED conscience, when I see broken things, I want to fix them. No, I feel compelled to fix them; even worse, I feel compelled to tell people how to fix them. I just need to LET GO and let some things be broken.

Not really related lesson, but on my mind anyway: people who quietly contemplate and only pipe up once in a long while really do have the right idea. [Even though these kind of people really make me crazy, perhaps that is just me not understanding all the true lessons in the world.]

Subtext: It certainly would make my life easier to just SHUT THE FUCK UP. I am looking forward to learning about WISE SPEECH and then practicing it. Thank goodness, god, the goddess, all the little beings that make this world go round that I am going on the residential retreat. I can't wait; now I am on two countdowns.

5 work days left/11 days til retreat

m&ms in solitary

This article is not too long and thoroughly FASCINATING. Please read it if you get a chance.

Thinking about solitude or at least free time has made me wonder what I will do with my idle hands. I note that I need to constantly be handling something if I am not working on something. Sitting on the bus this morning, spare the air, I played with my earring for quite a while before I even realized that was what I was doing. Pulling my hands away from my earring, my fingers immediately found a piece of my backpack that I could fold, unfold, fold again, unfold again, etc.

When my mind is idle, and sometimes even when it is not, it is always searching for something to fill it up. I listen to the news as background at work in part so that I can focus on my work; so that I won't be searching for noises in the background to keep my mind busy. Now, I do the same thing with the clock radio in the morning. I can count on at least another half hour of sleep after the alarm goes off because the news will keep my mind busy and allow me to sleep. The stories will be folded into my dreams, but I won't wake up.

I worry a little as my residential retreat at the meditation center approaches that I will have trouble emptying my mind. I have always been unable to meditate for this reason, or at least believed myself to be incapable of meditating. Why am I going to a retreat then? Because I really want to empty my mind of the "business" -- that is the busy-ness... all of those crazy, random, usually self-sabotage thoughts that run through my mind continuously. I don't seem to have an off button and I can't tune it down; or I haven't found the controls.

In a few weeks, I am hoping to force myself to uncover the controls...to implement a quiet time; to force myself to focus on breathing, living, listening to my heart beat.

So, reading about this man in solitary confinement captivated my imagination.

Think...all you have is time, in a controlled environment with very little stimulation, if any. How many grains make up a cinderblock? I think I would have an answer if I had had to spend every day and night in a small box made out of cinderblock for 20 years. Turning things over and over in my mind, might I have gone crazy? Would I have figured out a way to see in my mind beyond what I could see with my eyes? Would the world have progressed in my mind as it progressed outside the cellblock? What kind of art could or would I produce under these circumstances?

I wish I knew without having to experience the sensory deprivation of solitary confinement.

Beyond the musing of the by-products of solitary confinement, I was also struck by the brutality of this treatment. Perhaps it is not technically torture, but it is certainly a form of psychological mistreatment. What could possibly be gained by doing this to someone? In what was is this treatment rehabilitation?

One more thought raced through my mind as I read this piece: how is this like mental illness? Is someone who struggles with keeping track of what is real and what is imagined living in the same kind of confinement in reverse? So much stimulation with few tools for filtering which is true and which is not. Do those with mental illness long for a day outside this cell? Are they so used to the over-stimulation that they would not know what to do without the extra stimulation? Would they be like the borg disconnected from the collective, bereft, alone, solitary??

What if that's all it is

Lately, I have felt, again, overwhelmed. [Not as bad as when I was having nightmares or not being able to sleep.] It is just that feeling that everyone around you is in need, and you are too. I start to feel like I might not have anymore to give. I think other's needs are only a part of this overwhelmed feeling; it is more about what their needs trigger in me.

Just when I think that I need to be mindful of reserving some resources for myself...that friend who is needing something, asks a simple question that furthers my own quest for understanding.

[Ah...it was RIGHT to give a little bit more of myself, again. Fears of scarcity aside, I usually err on the side of giving more than less, but I am ashamed that I worry about running out of the energy I need to keep giving to my friends.]

What if that's all love is?

"That" in this case is someone who likes you; the way it feels to be "adored" by someone else. At its essence, "that" was a wanting someone else to know you not necessarily anything you felt for him/her. "That" included having someone to hang out with, to be there when you get home, to be the place you lay your head. I mean, we all want someone who is FOR us, right? We want someone who likes who WE are and that looks different depending on the person. It sounds like it is about ME not about US at all. Is that love? Is there something else besides that?

Yes, yes, the butterflies, the obsession, but what about after the lust fades? Is there some greater emotion, some greater connection? I have to admit, when my friend turned to me and asked, "What if that is all there is?" I know she was thinking, what if I gave up when I already had whatever this thing called love is? Well...if you weren't feeling good in the relationship, there was something missing...but was it about the relationship? These are sticky questions, they are like gak being lobbed at you. Of course, we all have issues that we bring to relationships and these issues can cause us discomfort or downright depression. But, that doesn't mean that a bad relationship is just YOU waiting to be FIXED. So, then we are back to the original question....
who the hell knows?

I can only really say this, I know that we expect WAY too much from relationships. I have been accused of thinking of relationships through the lens of the fairy tale. Guilty. Yet, companionship is not relationship. Marriage is too difficult to try to make it work with someone who you don't LOVE. I want to say I believe that LOVE is more than companionship. But I was hard-pressed to really express what I used to think was LOVE.

But, I did come out with another view of an old picture, maybe it will become a panorama; maybe it will be a 360 view that makes more sense when I am done. [Are we ever done?]

Big Moose Lake's Miss Brown

Ok...for a lazy, summer afternoon or hectic hump day, this article is truly a must read.

To give you a sense of what you are in store for with this piece, here's my favorite quote:

boats take "the mildly curious and the recreationally obsessed to the site of Miss Brown’s death."

Sounds like just the perfect vaction spot for me.

Seriously, I am the one who picked a ring out my mother's jewelry box (at 15) because it looked like a coffin.

I wish I were taking a trip to Big Moose Lake...

What if he NEVER loved me?

Is there any thing more pathetic than that question? [NOTE: I mean pathetic to me and not to anyone else who might ask this question, keep reading, I will explain.]

Well, there may be, or there may not be.

But, it IS the question that haunts you when you are trying to "get over" the relationship.

It is actually a string of questions:

What if he (she) never loved me?
What if no one ever loved me?
What if I am not lovable? (that is, what if there is something wrong with me that makes people not love me?)

It goes from pretty bad (read pathetic) to completely debasing yourself and making self-worth nil.

It was a little too much of a coincidence when my friend told me she had been thinking about this question and her ex. I mean, for a week, I have been carrying around a letter to my brother in which I am hoping to explain to him that he doesn't need to worry about this. Somehow, though the words are right on the tip of my tongue (and obviously on the tips of my fingers), I have been unable to write the letter.

It is a little intrusive to hear these emotions from him when he hasn't said any of them to me. Ok, maybe very intrusive. It is possible that these emotions are just too close to the surface for me, so I hear them everywhere. It is definitely possible that I am the one that needs the letter.

Then again...when my friend voiced this question, out loud, not hinted about it, just asked it... it certainly validated my rumination.

Of course, though I have been puzzling about this question and what the answers might mean, I found it perfectly easy to turn to my friend and tell her, "whether it's true or not, it's irrelevant." And, "we can spend a lot of time obsessing about it, or we can work on the root issue." [Right, because I am so grounded, I can do these thing? PLEASE!]

Not that this isn't good advice; but why would anyone take advice from ME on this issue?? I heard the words coming from my mouth, and I knew I meant those words in the most supportive and positive way possible, yet I was surprised and horrified that I could turn to say that to her when I wasn't following that fabulous advice myself.

So, it wasn't about my ex-husband exactly, but I was thinking that terrible spiral of questions myself, JUST LAST WEEK...and I am not even sure what my final determination was.

I am going to now try to take my own advice: it's irrelevant. The root issue: believing myself not worthy of love, is what I need to work on until it is resolved.