Friday, December 26, 2008

How I Spent My Christmas Vacation

Wow. Snowpacalypse in Seattle. Normally, I love any excuse to stay in PJs and watch movies for days on end. But apparently when it is imposed on me, serious cabin fever/claustrophobia can develop. Especially when trapped in the vortex of childhood memories. There is only so much HGTV I can watch. And even catching up on my favorite TV series (thank you high speed internet), can only distract me from reality for so long. The demons eventually break through. It was interesting.

When I woke up to even more snow falling Christmas Eve and fought visions of being stuck home miserable and alone, I braved the snow to go buy the perfect paint to compliment my new purple wall in the dining room [see before and after].


But it worked out(ish). My parents made it in to the city despite the snow. I managed not to giggle when saying "ass" in front of the whole church. Then survived being stuck in a VW Passat with 5 people (1 with dementia), 1 40 lb dog, 3 pies, 1 violin, luggage and presents for 2.5 hours on the way to Mercer Island via Sea-Tac. Of course, the Xanax helped.

But I got a label maker and got to play Legos on Christmas. So maybe it's all worth it.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Happy Blogoversary

One year ago today, I started wearing my heart on the internet. "High Five" was born... kinda by accident, but it happened (obviously). And it has actually stuck around longer than I thought. Seems to do something for me. I forgot how much I enjoyed writing. Especially when no one is grading it. (Assuming you're not; please don't start now.) It's been all about finding my voice. Taking a risk. Putting it out there.

Who knew the adventures my blog would chronicle over the year? I think the high five story was a great start. And come on, the Trader Joe's/Craigslist saga was made for blog. I survived surprising heartbreak and even more surprising connection. If you told me this time last year that I'd be taking over my parent's house, I would have called you crazy. I wish I had more juicy stories to share lately, sorry. I'm working on it.

The act of writing/posting has had some interesting effects on me life. I've had the regular wrestling match with perfectionism with each post. And have been known to edit old posts when something amiss catches my eye.

But I swear the "no apologies" idea has steadily crept into the rest of my life. Or maybe that was already starting when I decided I should blog. Either way. I'm a little less worried about what people think. A little less worried about being acceptable. A little more WTF; in a very good way. Aren't I getting old and wise?! ('Bout g*d d*mn time.)

Blogging. Was a foreign, outlandish concept. Now feels like a normal way to express myself. Lucky you.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Nesting

Well, I'm settling in. I've had a few "what have I gotten myself into/when do I get to go home" moments, but also, more surprising, "I kinda feel like I'm home" moments. I was right about the ghosts. I still expect to hear the excited barking from Millie and Winnie in the kitchen when I walk in the front door. (Luckily there are two little black cats waiting for me to soften the heart-wrenching blow.) I keep looking at the painting in the hallway expecting to see myself in the mirror that hung there growing up. All the while, I am battling confusion about what is childhood emotion and what is adult reality.

But the stress of the move, the inability to rest until I'm unpacked and settled, feeling the need to decorate for Christmas, and general holiday angst have caught up with me. I've gotten sick twice in two weeks. And having trouble keeping my head above water. One morning I was feeling so tired, sick, discouraged, and trapped that I couldn't stand up long enough to brush my teeth (at which point, I decided it was time to call in sick).

But after a nap, I looked at the bathroom (while finally successfully brushing my teeth), and for some reason, felt compelled to start painting it the mocha/gray I used in the bathroom of my last house that went so well with the dusty purple towels. I may have been influenced by my new 24/7 access to HGTV... And it felt so good. Creative outlet. A fresh start. While the color it was before was fine, I was making it my own. Re-bonding with and claiming the space, one square foot of wall at a time.

It felt so good, in fact, that I decided to see how the red paint leftover from an accent wall in my last house would look on the kitchen wall. Then the other walls. Pretty soon I had a red kitchen. It's kind of a shock. But I like it. It's a tiny little kitchen and the rich color makes it feel cozy and cottage-y.



I feel completely different about those two rooms. Amazing what some paint can do. Now I'm dreaming of a rich tan bedroom and a purpley-mauve dining room wall with a collage of old plates hanging on it...

Friday, December 12, 2008

Prince Charming Works at Home Depot?

What does it mean when your parents want to set you up with their new best friend, the cabinet designer at Home Depot? And you laugh, but think, "Maybe I do need to swing by Home Depot and look for new kitchen hardware..."? Open minded? Or desperate?!

I'm feeling alarmingly OK with being single at the moment. I've had some male attention recently, but my brain is full of other things. So I don't think it is desperation. Do I finally have the full and happy single life I've been looking for? Or am I hiding and/or have I given up hope?

Or perhaps just focusing on other things for the moment. And feeling open but not compelled to force anything.

P.S. I did stop by Home Depot, half to help my parents with design decisions, half to get a look at this new best friend. He was nice, though seemed kind of timid. No big spark. Although, maybe flirting in front of your parents while he is at work would be a little awkward and possibly inappropriate. I may need to stop back by (alone) to look at lighting...

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Facebook Nation

My newest passion. Virtual social interaction. Now I can be alone, but never alone. (I have 130 friends, tyvm.) There's always something happening with someone on there. Or games to play. Or quizes to take. (Who has a crush on me?) I'm all about social contact from behind the safety of my computer. (Seriously, though. I may be addicted. I think not being able to wait for you browser to refresh your live feed is a warning sign.)

It's a whole new twist on human intimacy. You can share everyday tidbits with a hundred of your closest friends, near and far. People make announcements of big life events, travel, sharing photos of thier kids, relationships... In fact, it seems to have created a whole new ritual around defining relationship. You know a relationship isn't official until your your status says so, and you know it is REALLY over when you change back to "single". (Unfortunately, one of my recent brief relationships never seemed to recover after I tried to show my growing affection by playfully suggesting I change my status to "in a relationship" - apparently he wasn't ready for that kind of virtual commitment!)

My younger "friends" are fun to watch. So much of their daily life is logged... music, plans, friends, health, hilarious videos of nothing and everything. Although some of them really have 500 friends?! Lately, even my 130 seems like a lot to manage, and I'm wondering how awful of a Facebook faux pas it would be to "un-friend" a few people I don't know that well, who I don't need to hear about ALL the time.

Is this really the future of social interaction? Short, sweet, no need for get-to-know-you small talk or conversation filler niceties. It's easy to just make a funny comment about someone's "status" and leave the communication at that. And I feel happy and connected. (Am I shallow?!) For someone who lost touch with a lot of people because I had such a hard time initiating contact with friends when I was depressed, this is a wonderful way to reach out.

But what happens when this is a primary form of communication for kids who then don't have as much of a chance to develop face-to-face social skills with their peers? Texting, email, myspace, etc. does not communicate tone - no matter how many emoticons you squeeze in. (:-P) To say nothing of facial expression, body language, energy, the vulnerable experience of saying how you feel with someone right in front of you - things that are so hard to read no matter how old you are and how much practice you have.

For me, Facebook recently took on a new dimension when an old high school friend announced the death of her brother. Things suddenly got serious. Facebook life and real life merged. But I quickly saw how it can be a forum to communicate and connect about hard things as well - like the CarePages/Caring Bridge web pages have been for several families in my community dealing with cancer. This person mentioned that it seemed like a really personal thing to put on Facebook, but said she didn't have the internal resources to answer individual calls and emails. Maybe this was a wonderful compromise in an impossible situation.

Who knows?! See ya on FB. But quit throwing snowballs at me.


UPDATE: I'm not the only one wondering about "unfriending"!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

What Not to Blog

I keep catching myself in situations where I exclaim, "If only I could blog about this!" Crazy things keep happening to me (or I do crazy things), but for various reasons I'm reluctant to put them out into the great wide internet. Like the juicy details about the aforementioned inappropriate crushes & flirtations. Or making out with my cousin (distant cousin, I promise - but still, how does that happen?!).

It's good material. I'm tempted to share, but wondering where to draw the line. What is fun and/or helpful to write about? What privacy am I willing to sacrifice for the sake of therapeutic catharsis or just good comedy? What if someone I write about reads it? What if my parents are shocked and appalled by my antics? Who reads this anyway?! (Although, there is a link on my Facebook page, so I try to be careful.)

I've considered starting a top secret, invitation only, "High Security High Five". But it gets cumbersome to manage multiple blogs. And probably not necessary. So some tales will remain unblogged. Sorry, we must protect the innocent. Or at least half-heartedly try to preserve our own reputation.

So for now, just use your imagination.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Change

November 4, 2008. The whole day was electric with energy. People were a-buzz. Parties were brewing. I wasn't up to the big shindig downtown on a school night, so I took the invitation to watch election results at my friend the school librarian's house (and perhaps meet the young single nephew she's always talking about). I was optimistically buying champagne on the way, and the checkers said they were selling it like it was New Years. I think we could feel it happening.

When the official results came in, the choir director/composer in the group jumped on the piano and lead us in a rousing version of God Bless America and a few other patriotic standards. It was probably the first time I ever momentarily let go of the shame I usually feel about the awful things our nation has done and how we continue to treat the people around us.

As you may know, I had been leaning towards Hilary when this all started and thought Obama could use a few more years of experience at the national level. But my heart sang as if I'd known he was the one all along. Especially since the stock market crashed and everything seems grim... we need hope. We need a leader we can look to for wisdom, with natural charisma and magnetism - like what we saw during first speech at the DNC four years ago.

I though his acceptance speech was beautiful and perfect. Greatness happening in front of us. I drank in every word. And the feeling of victory was thick in the air, like we all just won the world series. I heard stories of people flooding the streets downtown so cars couldn't move, but drivers just got out and started hugging people. Amazing.

Justice. Finally someone other than a rich gray-haired white guy prevailed. And though I would never want to undervalue the great struggle that lead to this historic victory, what I love about the election of the first black man to this office is that often I don't even remember that he is black. Maybe that is another luxury of being a member of the dominant culture, but I feel like one of the victories here is that everyone is talking excitedly about Him, his words, his actions, his ideas... our admiration of him is transcending race and identity. It makes me hopeful that there really is a shift happening - towards our differences not being bigger than what we have in common and what we can do for one another.

(Then, of course, my buzz was completely killed the next morning by the news that things like Prop 8 passed... and I was ready to hurl judgment and hatred at people I don't understand all over again.)

What will happen? What can be done, really? Even by this amazing person, in this historic context. Our country is polarized and completely overextended. We need to reel our over-consuming selves way back in. Think small again. Focus on what is tangible. Create and exchange products and services on a local level. Focus on the people right in front of us; notice what they need. Share the burden, while being responsible for our own actions. Agree to disagree on a few things. Decide that getting our way is less important than getting things done. The only hope is if we can all be bigger, more emotionally generous people, right when we are feeling nothing but scarcity around us.

Change has come. It's exciting. But we forget that change is also really hard. Even good change comes with confusion and loss that are really easy to get lost in. Even I let my anger re-cloud my vision the very next morning.

I'm bracing myself.

I'm just glad that I'm moving someplace with a paid-off mortgage and space to grow some of my own food in the backyard. Just in case.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

To Tattoo or Not To Tattoo

I always assumed that a tattoo was a youthful whim that you usually regretted later. And I never thought there was an object or symbol which I identified with enough to live for the rest of my life. Then a few years ago, the art teacher at my school got a tattoo for her 50th birthday. She had survived cancer, diabetes, divorce... and designed a branch with turning leaves symbolizing this new phase of her life. And the wheels started turning.

I started thinking about my own bumpy life experience. Thinking that perhaps tattoo could be a creative expression of self knowledge and self trust. I began to get excited about the idea of decorating/adorning the body which has carried so much pain. Reclaiming. Declaring its beauty. And a way to stay rooted in not allowing myself to be limited by conventional society.

As this idea began to brew, it hit me that my attraction to spiral designs and their symbolism of growth and contemplation - something between old Celtic designs and the wrought iron things I'd been collecting - might be perfect for tattooing. So I started doodling on myself...


Once my tattoo radar went up, I happened to see a TV character (Carmen on the L Word, yum) who had a tattoo curving along each hip, and I started thinking about designs fitting in with the curvature and lines of the body rather than a graphic just being stamp on somewhere. But where? I decided it would need to be somewhere on my body that could be hidden when I wanted but visible when I wanted to out. I got excited about the idea of the inside arch of my foot or on the inside heal...


Then I learned that most places wouldn't do those parts of the foot because the ink fades unevenly. I was really attached to that idea, so the excitement faded for a while. But it has slowly built up again and a new idea has emerged. I'm thinking a slightly larger scale (if you're gonna do it, do it!) design riding the womanly curve on the side of my right back/hip, with at least an an end that peaks up on my belt line (I love it when you are surprised by a glimpse of someone's tattoo on their back when their shirt lifts up a little). And a friend recommended an amazing artist whose style might be perfect to make it happen.


But still, fear of making a decision I might regret is holding me back. Once when I asked someone if they ever thought they might regret their tattoos when they are old and saggy, they told me they far more expected that they would regret not having done it. I think I agree. There are too many ways I have held myself back out of fear. But I'm giving myself time. Thinking maybe it could be a reward when I get out of debt.

Or it might never happen - it might just be just something fun to dream about. And look for meaning through. I draw on myself with sharpie and then test every situation I'm in as I go through the day, asking would I be glad I had it right now? Right now, YES!

Monday, October 27, 2008

Haunted House

It just sunk in. I've been distracted by the anticipation of a dishwasher, low rent, a patio for a grill, etc., and I didn't stop to fully consider what this means... I'm taking over the house that houses my childhood.

I had distanced myself from the difficult parts of my past by no longer thinking of it as mine. But now when I walk in, bits of memory and emotion jump out and nip at me at unexpected moments. With the familiar hop up the front stairs and the smooth door latch in my hand. With the familiar creak of each floorboard. With the unique sound of each door - which I can hear before it even swings. Like the back of a hand I thought I had amputated. Surreal memories from a past life. Plenty good. Plenty hard. Lots that just were. All of which surprise me with their force as they surface. Not really sure what was real, what was imagined, or what I've long forgotten.

The closet I open and expect to still see clothes that I wonder if my sister will notice I borrow. The bookshelf that housed the encyclopedias confirming my suspicion about Santa Claus (after one more quick look at the word "mythical"). The wood floors that I could never clean up well enough to not leave a mark when they got wet. The storage loft that was my private safe haven. The bathroom where I was perplexed by tampons but too ashamed or too proud to ask for help. The room in which I spent hours flirting and making out with high school boyfriends, but also spent hours holding my favorite dog while she was dying. And, of course, the kitchen where it became clear my hunger was an unfortunate and unsatisfiable urge.

A vortex. Where I am all of those parts of my past selves again at once. Where I can't always remember the difference between who think I am supposed to be to fit in and who I really am. Where the constant fear I may be doing something wrong still lingers in the air.

Can I be an adult in my childhood home? Will the substitution of my grown up stuff and some new color on the wall make it my (grown up) own? Will the legs I finally stand pretty steadily upon still hold me up when I walk in the door every day? Or will I wake up terrified of that same old boogie man outside every dark window.

I'm not sure I'd trade any of what that house has held. The wounds healed over stronger. I can see the undeniable love, now that I've learned to interpret it. But I'm bracing myself. Anticipating getting briefly knocked off-balance by the whirl of old selves.

I figure my only defense is to just immerse myself in whatever the house throws at me, messy as it may feel. Welcome the ghosts. Listen to what they have to say.

Then maybe have a cleansing. Burn sage. Gather friends to bring in new energy. Fill it with music and laughter and new life. And get ready for the selves yet to come.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Nina Luna Goes to Church

One Sunday morning after I heard I was losing my cute little house and felt like I needed a safe place to go, I surprised myself and joined my mom at her church. And then I went back - several times now.

It's a tiny "Community" church (actually Baptist, but not really advertising it). Very casual and intimate. Enthusiastic young minister. Lots of music. Relatively diverse population, though I stick out as the sole representative of my particular demographic - without kids or gray hair. This whole impulse has made me think of rekindling my long abandoned "church shopping" to Unity/Unitarian type churches thinking they would fit me better, but this one has stuck so far.

I'm still not convinced by the whole Jesus thing. Sitting there, I wrestle with the uncomfortable memories of my own blind enthusiasm about Christianity growing up and with feeling limited by this one point of view. But I've long suspected it is mostly the language that I stumble over. So much about the themes, ideas, and human experience are universal. So I try translating as I listen... God=the life force of the universe. Bible=one form of ancient wisdom. Prayer=energy/meditation/reflection. And that gets me pretty far.

Don't worry, my social and political liberalism are still fully in tact. And psychoanalysis will probably always be my first line of defense when trying to figure out issues of life/love/soul. I am just feeling drawn to looking for other kinds of wisdom as well. A place to think and talk about it. How to exist in the world. How to love and be loved. To connect with things greater than my own problems. Be part of community, with people of all stages of life. And sharing an important connection with my mom feels wonderful.

Not sure what it means yet or how long it will last. But it feels good for the moment. And I may have just signed up to sing in the choir...

Monday, October 13, 2008

Checking Out

So I'm at my local public library to return my most recent items (researching ironwork design for tattoo ideas), when a cute boy with no ring on his left hand catches my eye (the stealth with which I can detect a band amazes me). My nerdy self thinks: library?! How freakin' wholesome and lovely would that dating story be.

I can't see what he was checking out (literally) without obviously & intrusively craning my neck. So the obvious conversation starter was out. What the heck do I say? How's the weather?! Don't online book reservations and automatic checkout stations really take away the personal relationship we used to have with our librarians? Do you have trouble remembering your PIN? My six year old nephew knows his whole 13-digit library number by heart! Somehow I don't think that would be it. I need to check out a book with pick-up lines for real people...

Is lack of conversation topics just an excuse to superglue my lips shut? Was I not feeling up to the risk at that moment? Or just not needing to force anything that doesn't happen spontaneously?

The baby/family urge has been quelled for the moment (perhaps satisfied vicariously through pregnant friends) and activities in my life are in full swing so I usually welcome being home alone (rather than the empty no-one-to-go-home-to feeling that sometimes takes over). Could being more connected to my family through my housing situation be filling some of that hole?

A friend who was breaking up with a boyfriend once told me, "I'll just need to find other ways to get my emotional needs met." Which kind of blew my mind at the time. Is it possible to get all that feeling of connection and belonging from friendship and family? Isn't there something unique and irreplaceable about romantic love that we need? Am I looking for everything in a man when so much of what I need is right in front of me?

It could be possible that I use the excuse of not having a romantic relationship to check out of relationship all together. Certainly safer that way; no way to get hurt. I thought I had shed that defense way back in The Dark Years. But my connection with other people seems to be up, and the loneliness I have been attributing to the lack of a man is down. Maybe I still have been pinning it all on Him. Interesting...

Monday, October 6, 2008

Long Time No Blog

No need for public introspection in the last month? Unlikely. More like I stopped being able to steal high speed internet from my neighbor and have been banished to the realm of DIAL UP. And I've been using Facebook for my virtual social interaction (at least that's slightly more two-directional, right?!). But lucky for you, the impulse to pour my heart out on the internet has flared up again.

Since I've been gone...

Budget: pretty darn good still. Amazingly. How glad am I to already be on the right track when things like suddenly have to move and global economic crisis hit?! And I actually feel like I have more money now, by knowing how much I actually have. Though, I still often wish "how much I have" was more...

Food: lovin' cooking things from the Farmers Market. Slowly building my competence and confidence in the kitchen. Did you know you can turn on the oven to 400 degrees, spritz with a little olive oil and salt and pepper, and roast just about any vegetable to perfection? Just a matter of knowing when it's best to pull it out. Why didn't someone tell me that earlier?!

Health/Fitness: looking into it. Not loving the post-injury waistline. Not cute - even when we call it the "sympathy bump" for one of my best friends who is pregnant.Goin' easy on the knee; still frustratingly temperamental. Played some volleyball OK last week. Yay.

Love Life: sucks. Pulling myself together after some quality time only being attracted to people I can't or shouldn't have. Apparently, I refuse to pursue the one lead on a possibly mature adult I've gotten - yet, I reserve the right to complain.

Moving Shock: recovering and adjusting. Big News... I'm moving into my parents' house. My parents have pretty much moved out to the beach full time, so their cute little house sits empty. They've offered to move out of the main part of the house and just use a bedroom in the basement via the downstairs door for if/when they do want to stay in town. Will it be a safe refuge while I get my own "house" in order? Or opening an old can of worms?! We'll see. Maybe both. Luckily, I have until the end of November to actually move.

Current state of mind: hangin' in there. It's that time of year when everything/one starts getting crazy busy - all the while talking about needing S.A.D. lights for our Seattle depression. (I already have one, btw.) I've started living on Emergen-C to try to avoid the munchkin germs.

And the instinct to turn inward for the winter has begun.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Rug Pulled Out

My landlord is selling my house. My beautiful little house in the trees. With the secret staircase to the studio/sewing room. And the tool bench. And the Catrium. (I can't bare the loss this means for the kitties.) My beautiful little house close enough to ride my bike to work on sunny days and walk to the Farmers Market. The little house that I rent for way less than should be possible. The little house that made me feel like I had room to breathe.

And the news came at a particularly bad moment when I was already teetering on the edge of losing it, mourning other loss and disappointment.

Suddenly, all I see is injustice. There is no way I can ever find anything comparable in the same price-range. At least nothing I'd want to live in. I'll end up in a dark cramped basement. My cats will hate me even more than they already do. And all my work on my budget will be blown. I won't have enough to live on. I'll plunge back into debt. I will never get ahead. And why me? I don't want to have to pack up my entire house and move right now! Why do I even try? Or so the Chicken Little in my head tells me.

After a generous amount of denial, tears, and wishing reality was different, the news is settling in. I am adjusting. I have at least two months. More if it doesn't sell right away. Maybe it is time for change.

Farewell Catrium...

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Greatest Love, Biggest Fear

It's been a while, but I finally got back out there.














I was ready for it. Mountains. Trees. Waterfalls. Wildflowers. Little scurrying friends. (Luring them with our best marmot impressions.) Views so wide you can breath deeper than you knew possible.

Except for the good old-fashioned panic attack in the middle of the first night when I woke up and freaked out that I was in the dark woods without walls to protect me from boogie-men. Vulnerable and exposed in the big dark unknown. But that's why you have best friends who you can show all the dark corners of your soul to. Who have seemingly limitless patience right when you need it, even in the middle of the freakin' night. Who tell you funny stories until the tranquilizers kick in.

So continues my battle to not be held prisoner by fear of the dark. Determined not to let my love for being outside be taken away my fear of being outside.

Even after living through a nightmarish visit from my own private demons, morning always feels fresh again. Thank god. We set out on what was supposed to be a relatively good, but super easy day hike (trying to be easy on my knee), but we slightly misinterpreted the hike description and serendipitously ended up in THE most beautiful picnic spot I've ever seen. We ended up with a 360 degree view of Baker, Shuksan, and other peaks all around us. Magical.

Later we tried to figure out how the Yellow Aster Butte trail head could have dared to actually lead us to a place called Yellow Aster Butte instead of the other place called Twin Lakes that we thought we wanted to see. Yes, we are that stupid sometimes. And that lucky.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Screaming Like a Girl

I've always thought of myself as the kind of girl who is made of sugar and spice but also keeps her cool in the face of snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails. A thoroughly modern, well-balanced, active, capable young lady, right? But apparently even being of a post-feminist generation with a naturally adventurous spirit only gets you so far when it comes to dead rodents.

Friday night, as I am trying to recover from being sick and prepare for a weekend trip, my friend calls me up in a panic (which immediately makes my heart jump because she is 5 months pregnant). "You have to come over! There is a mouse in a trap under the sink, and I can still hear it moving around..." Her husband, of course, is golfing and not answering his phone (thanks, Josh). The urgency in her voice and my desire to be the kind of friend who will drop everything in a time of need propelled me out the door before I could really think about what I was getting myself into.

I arrived to a frazzled friend, two agitated dogs, and a wooden spoon through the handles of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Luckily, we had established that my role was mostly moral support. Or I may have turned around as soon as we peaked in, screamed a few times, and saw the huge dead mouse body. Aaaahhhh. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

What do you even do with that?! We don't want to deal with that! With great emotional intensity, we brainstormed possible solutions and searched the house for carcass extraction implements... I was very clear on the fact that there needed to be something rigid and opaque for transporting the body from the house (there would be no dead rodent floppiness on my watch). We decided BBQ tongs could be effective, then thrown out. Maybe the gardening hand rake? And maybe hazmat suits.

Finally, using a combination of tongs, broom, and brown paper bag, my friend coaxed the mouse corpse from the back of the cupboard as I screamed at the top of my lungs over her shoulder (aren't I helpful?!). Then tiptoed the bag across the alley to the industrial dumpster (shh).

Didn't retain much dignity, but got the job done.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Just When I Think I'm Getting It

Why, when I am so sure that I know what I want, am I pulled in other directions? I spend so much time trying to learn to listen to my heart. Then when I listen, it leads me astray. Attracted directly to people I can't or shouldn't have. Not fair.

Why, when I am so sure I have a clear head about certain old issues, can they still blow me over with one small puff? I can't/don't want to spend money, so where does that longing go? Back to Food, apparently. Perfect timing for it to be the hot topic all around me. People finding the answer to their problems by controlling what they put in their mouth. Perfectly awful timing.

Solution: quit being so sure. (?)

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Big Girls Don't Cry (at least not in public)

It's official. STP left without me. There was no way my knee could even make it to Seward Park, much less Centralia, much less Portland. At least that made it an easy decision. But sad.

My big plan to reclaim the weekend was to hang out with my aunt, make gnocci (hopefully, a more accomplishable item on my list) and take a sewing class I had my eye on. Unfortunately, the class turned out to be last month (oops), but time with my aunt in the sun was perfect and I'm planning on having a go at the gnocci.

Since the signs were pointing towards my not being able to do the ride for quite a while, I was able to ease into the reality and the disappointment. But it came flooding back when I went to the "Send Off" party the other night. I felt really left out as we heard all of the last minute logistics. It didn't help that the program coordinator pointed out someone else who was injured and couldn't ride, but didn't mention me.

So one of my worst fears snuck up on me. Suddenly I'm crying in front of relative strangers. And to make matters worse, they didn't seem to know what to do with me. So I put my sunglasses on and slid out. It was an important cathartic release. But uncomfortable. Only slightly less embarrassing than several years ago when my favorite dog was dying and an instructor lightly criticized my "creative" knitting technique - when suddenly I'm bawling in the middle of knitting class. They didn't know what to do with me there either. I didn't even know what to do with myself that time, so it was a mess.

They're just tears. You've seen them before. And will undoubtedly see them again. Why does it make us so uncomfortable? Though, I can't really blame them; I'm often the same way.

Just give the girl a hug, people.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Holding a Number in My Hand...

Another blind date?! Eek.
I just don't want to call. It's too hard!
Why so hard?

Thursday, June 26, 2008

What Goes In Must Come Out

Good news. So far, so good on "The Budget" (also referred to as "the Financial Integrity Plan", "that Pesky Budget", or "G*d D*mn Financial Integrity" depending on my mood). Interesting things are surfacing as I carefully consider whether I want it, need it, and or just think it will solve all my problems (or all three).

First off, I've been discovering and valuing the expanding potential of things already available to me like the library, free podcasts, places within walking distance from my house (instead of driving), and additional services my health insurance already covers. I really do have so much already.

But which other new things that I feel the urge to buy do I really need to bring into my life, fridge, closet, etc? This consideration has begun to feel similar to my obsessive-compulsive planning for backpacking trips or emergency preparedness. It is liberating to realize how little we really need to survive. It's the line between need and want is tricky. For example: I need food, but what food do I need? I NEED to give myself enough of what I want, or the whole thing collapses into destructive behavior again. Meet my friend Delicate Balance.

So how do I maintain that balance I've worked so hard to learn and still cut back on spending? In the past, I've tried things like going to the Grocery Outlet and cheap clothing stores, but I can't handle the low quality of the products and the low energy of the surroundings. I may not need a lot, but I need to love it, enjoy it, and value it for it to be satisfying. (The curse of having discerning taste?!) So one answer I turn to the farmers market. It is fresh, seasonal, and local (and sticks-it-to-the-man a little). It represents the values I hold but haven't necessarily been acting on.

What I didn't expect was that my brain has also become really interested in what is going out of my life as well as what's coming in. What am I leaving in my wake? All the garbage, packaging materials, junk mail, etc. coming from my house feels so unnecessary and unfortunate. And when I choose the food I buy so carefully, it feels like such a loss for it to go to waste. So suddenly I'm even more motivated to think more, to buy things with less packaging, to bring my own bags, to make sure to compost, etc.

A natural broader desire to live with more integrity continues to grow - a welcome relief from fighting myself to try to do all the things I "should" do to be a better person. Strange (and lucky), but true. For now.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Balancing My Checkbook

So the most recent Chaos seems to have shoved one last skeleton out into the light. Apparently, my relatively destructive relationship with Money is no longer allowed to stay hidden, most of all from myself.

While growing up in modest surroundings, my sensitive young self somehow got the message that wanting anything was bad. You can't afford it, you've got a lot of nerve to want it, and you don't deserve it anyway (or so the voices tell me).

So after college, little by little, I found a way to reclaim my right to have desires and explored how I want to live regardless of my economic restrictions. Unfortunately, this came at a large price... Credit Card Debt. [gasp!] Sorry, I know we're not supposed to talk about it. Even though I know only two or three people my age who have never had any.

I don't actually regret a whole lot of it. This is how I've learned about what I value and figured how I want to live my life. I explored my needs and desires on my own terms. I set up a household as a single, independent woman. I was able to take advantage of opportunities that I couldn't have otherwise. Honestly, most of that time I had much bigger battles to fight. And now I get to learn how to clean up a nice big mess. I'm sure it won't be the last mess I make.

I think I'm ready to face reality. To no longer act unconsciously. To choose something different. Freedom, hopefully. Admission to a land where real value is valued. And a financial life that has the same integrity I strive for in so many other areas of my life.

I have an opportunity to turn things around, if I'm ready. And getting it out into the open has changed it already.

But can I change the way I see money? I know what I'm supposed to do. Make a budget. And stick to it. But something short circuits when it comes to connecting budgeted spending to actual spending. There is no way to anticipate every expense (nor can I stand a life devoid of the unpredictable parts). And as soon as I feel too restricted, like I'm not allowed to want anything again, I can't breath. So I usually give up. I've used a credit card as a buffer at the end of the month to make up for it. And assumed someday I'd have a real job that makes real money.

So, my new passion is financial planning. And being the nerd that I am... I've read every financial/self-help book I can get my hands on (through the library, of course). Dave Ramsey and Suze Orman are my N.B.F.'s (New Best Friends), and I can't WAIT to get my own Roth IRA! I've developed a new color-coded spreadsheet to budget with. All projected monthly spending is laid out on one page. Then once a transaction actually happens, I enter the specific transaction details and change its color. I can then make small changes in the remaining projected spending as needed. So far so good. Although, it is only the first month still. We'll see.

Let me know if you have any secrets.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Chaos and the Dancing Star


"One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star."
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Chaos has been swirling.
Back with a vengeance.
Playing a familiar old tug-of-war.

Defeated.
Convinced I am defective.
Desperate to be oblivious to these depths.
(Why can't I just be normal?!)

After a good while in battle,
Something starts working itself to the surface.
Chaos has knocked it loose.
To help me shed something destructive that I've clung to
for the illusion of safety.

When I'm ready to turn the corner,
I catch a glimpse of Hope.
I begin to lean forward.
And timidly reach out.

Life never feels quite as valuable
as in those moments
on the other side of Despair.
When my heart is freshly open.
And I understand that it is through shadow
that I know light.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Back On The Market

It's official. The saga of "the Trader Joe's Guy" has come to an end. After an roller coaster ride together, we have decided to part ways.

I'm sad. I really did like him, even though it became obvious that not enough fit for a long haul. Every once in a while when we were out in the world together, I saw strangers who seemed to have what I want, and my heart ached. So I not-so-gracefully withdrew and avoided him as I tried to change how I was feeling, which was cowardly and hurtful and made everything worse. In the end, I had to give in and admit that what I really wanted wasn't what was in front of me - as much as I wanted to want what was in front of me. And I am so sad that I hurt someone.

I'm angry. Angry and hurt and sad. About the way we parted. I was reminded that you can see a whole new part of a person when they are hurt. If we are like most people, we instinctively just create hurt in return. It's those talented few who can open their heart up big enough to hold everyone's pain in that moment. It's the latter that I'd recommend thinking hard before parting ways with. The former certainly makes it easier to let go.

I'm confused. Angry at the universe. What was that?! He seemed to have been dropped in my lap for some reason. But I haven't been able to figured out exactly why. I am desperately clinging to the hope that there is a reason why, so I can continue to believe that there is some order in this crazy universe. I can't bare to face a world without healing forces nudging us towards growth and leading us to all forms of love, if we pay attention.

I do feel some relief. It was so hard to admit it wasn't working, and I hate the person I was acting like while I was so conflicted. After all the raw emotion fades, I think I will remember him as the bright flash that he was. A stroke of fate. A lesson on savoring the moment. And super yummy while it lasted.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Hiding Out From Life

Life is too much for me right now. I can't stand to hear about natural disaster devastation, but I can't turn away. The tragedy sinks right into my soul. And lots of smaller losses are piling up around me. Cancer is back with a vengeance in the mother of a wonderful young girl whom I love. A friend is dealing with the complicated death of her father. Friends are moving away. Other friends' lives are moving on in ways mine just isn't. (And riding 73 miles in 90 degree weather probably depleted some of my resiliency this week.)

Why is my life so easy compared to people in earthquake leveled China? How is that right? And why does my life still feel so hard? Life is delicate. Time is short. Make the most of it, right?! I believe that. But I just waste more time feeling guilty that I may not be making the most of mine. What will actually make it be the most? What do I even want? And if I know what I want, how do I get it? Do I even deserve it?

Right now I want more...
more time
more sleep
more freedom (aka more money)
more knowledge
more experience
more direction
more Project Runway
more Nancy Drew skirts to sew
more ice cream

And here's my big question of the moment: How much of what I want has to overlap with my significant other's? What can I compromise? If it is not possible to compromise, then how long do I hang around in the meantime? What do I really want?

I'm not sure. Or I'm not ready to stand up for it. Much less go after it.

So I slowly retreat. Turn inward. Hide out while it all churns in my head. Bury my head in Project Runway or whatever other distraction I can get my hands on.

Not sure when I'll be ready to come back up for air. Might be a while. My only glimmer of hope is that perhaps I'll come out the other side of all this rumination with some sort of brilliant epiphany...

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Nina Luna Meets Project Runway

I finally got my hands on Project Runway, and now I can't get enough. Seriously. This, combined with the task of coming up with a Nancy Drew costume for my niece... and I'm off running.

I made a cute skirt reminiscent of the recent Nancy Drew movie look (hopefully). Headband and magnifying glass are on their way...

Now I'm on the hunt for a more vintage Nancy Drew look for myself for next Halloween. I already have the magnifying glass necklace. Now I just need the right dress/suit. Something very prim and proper 1940/50s with youthful full skirt. Perhaps plaid with a crisp white collar... Did you know they sell vintage sewing patterns on eBay?!

Inspiration is everywhere when I am tuned in. On the Nancy Drew quest to every local fabric store (it was incredibly hard to find plaid this time of year!), I got distracted and produced a purple and orange paisley corduroy skirt and a laminated cotton bag for Mother's Day!

Fun! Thank you Heidi and Tim Gunn (am I the only one who wants to take him home with me?!).
Make it work, people.
Carry on.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Lilac Watch 2008

I once heard a story about a woman whose life's work was her amazing lilac garden. She had many, many beautiful and unique varieties which she had collected and many hybrids that created herself. People loved her lilacs, so she often gave them lilac cuttings so they could take them home to grow their own. One winter there was a terrible storm and flood waters from the nearby river engulfed her garden and left it completely ruined. But slowly people heard about her devastation and brought back cuttings from the bushes they had started from hers, and she gradually replanted her garden again and restored it to its full beauty. I think you can extract the moral of the story.

(I think I found the real story about the garden which is actually just outside Portland. They say that people actually bought their starts from her and make rebuilding sound like no big deal. I'm going to stick with my romantic version.)

I think of (my version of) this story every year when the lilacs come out. That, combined with their old fashioned charm and the fact that they come in every gorgeous shade of purple imaginable, has made them one of my favorite things in the world. A few years ago I caught myself saying, "The lilacs have never been so beautiful!" Then it was pointed out to me that that I say that exact phrase every year. But every year I genuinely feel that way.

Several years ago I was down in Portland for Easter and the lilacs were in full bloom already. What happened this year? I know Easter was early but things have looked a little more like this...

Yes, that is snow in April in Seattle.

I think of lilacs as being in full bloom around Mothers Day, so maybe we are not that off schedule. But you have to agree the weather in Seattle is seriously wacky this year. I am in desperate need of Spring!!! Please.

But they're here. Take a look around. I found a few of my own lilac branches sprouting purple on the bush in my side yard (in the shade between houses, it's a little behind its cousins with sunnier real estate)...

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Nina Luna finds her kitchen.

I don't cook very often because I don't think I do it well enough. Perfectionism (aka my constant companion and shadow) keeps me away. And of course eating is still not uncomplicated for me even after over a decade of healing from an eating disorder. If I do cook, it is in a Conquer kind of way: get a big idea and make a big production trying it once, then good or not - it usually seems like too much work to bother again.

But an unexpected result of my current romantic relationship is more time in the kitchen... somehow the gentle and accepting company of this particular companion has helped me be open enough to take this risk. Luckily, I have received a lot of personal coaching from my friend who cooks good food as naturally as she breathes. It started, of course, with bacon and brussels sprouts. Then came the fajitas - which turned out OK, but a little too chewy. Then I successfully tackled lasagna - after my friend calmed me in the midst of a dating crisis with the wise words, "A lot can be healed with lasagna." There was even a side trip into baking apple pie, which I have lots of practice at - I seem to be more comfortable baking. Or just more motivated to eat those baked treats.

Then, last Monday I read my favorite food/love/life blogger and came home to happily make her latest recipe for dinner. This might seem pretty ordinary to some people. But to me? Miraculous. Cooking on a weeknight just feels like way too much unnecessary frustration. And I am often limited to certain foods or textures as dictated by my emotional state, like my fascination with cottage cheese and rice crackers when I have an angry need to crunch but a milky comforting longing as well. In general, I often don't feel satisfied with a meal unless it somehow involves cheese. I probably ate Trader Joe's frozen pizza and a wild greens salad at least four nights a week for about two years. I'm still not sure exactly what emotional need that was filling, but the compulsion seemed like a little more than really liking pizza.

But the point is that something may finally be shifting inside of me. With some help and new perspective on food itself. This blogger, Shauna, gives recipes and directions but with rich context and an amazing passion for food. Like my friend with the lasagna advice, Shauna speaks in the language of textures, smells, and preferred taste more than exact volumes and specific amounts of time. The openness and focus on learning the process rather than rigidly following directions gives me the information, but with freedom. And the way she talks about food is teaching me to savor each aroma, color, and flavor with real creativity and love. Food not only can sustain life but enrich your life. It's not just something to fight against and control and resent. Who knew?!

And enjoying my kitchen tools really helps - I am in love with my cast iron pans (thank you Uncle Jim). There is something so timeless and wholesome about them. Seasoning them feels like caring for old friends. I picture pioneers cooking with them over open campfires and grandmothers with rich equatorial skin pulling them out of outdoor clay ovens. And they work really well.

This week I was inspired enough to feel like it was creative and fun. So I made Shauna's savory black beans. (The grape tomatoes on the top make it a masterpiece - I couldn't find yellow, but red were delicious.) I cooked them along with some rice, quick chili-lime prawns, and roasted asparagus. And enjoyed myself.


File under: small victories and simple delights... like actually using my sewing room to sew. I know, I'm getting it. Sometimes it just takes me a while.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Winning is fun.

It's true. Winning might not be everything. But it sure is a whole lotta something. Something super fun.

My volleyball girls played SO well this weekend. We experienced moment after moment of sheer delight and joy. Even the girls who have never been the strongest were passing with precision and pounding the ball down on the other team. Are these the girls who couldn't set a ball to save their life a few months ago?! Amazing what a little instruction and happy motivation can do. I am proud because I think I am actually learning to be a technically good coach and would like to think I've had something to do with it. But I am also so proud of them. With a heart full of love. Like the proud volleyball mama.

I've certainly grown along with them. The "playing time" dilemma nearly got the best of me. But I think I found where I am comfortable. I had to fight a few people around me to make things fairer again, but that felt noble. And I swear everyone started playing better when things got more equal again. Who knew?!

The semi-final game this Wednesday may well be our final game (I've seen the team we're playing, and it might not be pretty), but I think we will remember this season very fondly (angry parents and all) regardless.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Love. Injure. Retreat.
Recover. And Repeat.

I received another complaint about my coaching, but from a parent this time. Eek. And it touched on something I wasn't entirely happy with myself at that moment. Those complaints that ring in the vicinity of true are especially hard to take.

They were not happy with the amount of playing time their daughter is getting. (Apparently, she was devastated and ready to quit?!) I freely admit that balancing inclusivity vs. competitive edge in the heat of the game is by far the hardest part of coaching volleyball for me. As a group we've talked through their frustration with losing and chose to be more "strategic" with who we play when. I actually haven't been comfortable with how far we've swung toward the competitive side recently. But I really didn't think that if you counted up the minutes (which apparently they had) that she'd been on the bench far more than anyone else. That really wasn't my intention. But they didn't care. They were MAD.

I am sure we both see what we are looking for in the situation. This year I am noticing how hard it is to sift through my assumptions about players to see what they are actually accomplishing on the court. The appearance of how athletically they move and the actual result of their action doesn't always match up. And growth creeps up on us. I don't always see each person with fresh eyes each day, even though I desperately hope other people give me that chance to grow in their eyes. This girl had been working hard and doing better, and I was slow to respond.

But please tell people how you are feeling before it reaches crisis levels in your eyes!!!!

It is devastating for me to feel like I've injured someone. Especially when my intention is exactly the opposite. For a brief moment after hanging up the phone, I actually wanted to quit. To retreat completely. From this, one of my favorite things to do in the world. Because of one hard conversation.

Then I remembered that I really do trust my intentions. To understand and teach and love all of those girls the best I can. Not only that, but I am open to learning to do better, which is rare and remarkable. I also remembered it will feel better the next day. And even better the next.

Injure. Retreat. Recover.

And then I had a date where I thought that I had ruined everything. As my words came out, I felt like that girl who needed a boy's validation to be OK. And I didn't get the response I thought I wanted. Pain. And so I pulled back.

Injure. Retreat.

But I remembered that I am not that girl - I am an honest individual who is brave enough to risk revealing my messy insides. (Although, I admit it can get confusing for everyone involved. Often I'm not really sure what I am feeling... then I spend a lot of time wishing that I wasn't feeling what I am feeling... then I'm not sure how to express it... but eventually I get there.) I retreated and recovered. Then I was able to say what I actually meant. And it went back to being joyful and fun.

Recover. Repeat.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

My Love Affair with Bacon

It was bacon all week last week. No joke. It started with BLTs and root beer floats (the brilliant boy's idea), yum. Then eggs and bacon. And a strip of bacon here and there on the go. Another BLT for good measure. Then the clincher... the Bacon Party thrown by good friends.

The Bacon Party was lovely. Probably one of the loveliest parties I've ever been to - not just because of the bacon, but because of the mix of good friends to see again and really nice people to meet. Usually I dread "stand around and talk to people" parties. But I credit L & B, the hosts, for being two of the kindest, most genuine, and intelligent people I know, so I shouldn't be surprised when the people they surround themselves with are stellar as well. The brussels sprouts and kale I made (cooked in bacon fat, of course) turned out really well. I've never cooked brussels sprouts, but I thought it was a fantastic balance of seemingly opposite foods.

But as someone who has had so many painful issues with food and weight, allowing myself to savor something so devilishly good is simultaneously essential and a miracle. And I'm trusting those miles on the bike to start paying off...

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Time On My Hands

For the record, it is very hard to think (much less write) about anything but dating right now, since my brain is consumed by the current deliciousness. Thank you blog for the opportunity to remember the other sides of myself that I've worked so hard to cultivate for at least a moment...

Life has actually been good. Although, a little romance tends to make just about anything rosier. We just had Spring Break. The kids at school all asked, "Where are you going?" Because we are all headed to some exotic tropical location, of course [yes, that is a hint of bitterness that you detect]. I answered, "To my couch." And pretty happily, actually.

My usual plan of attack for any open expanse of time is to dive onto the couch and indulge in the luxury of doing nothing. And "nothing" inevitably means television. But the TV binge usually ends up feeling like a hot dog does for me; a fun idea at the time, but empty and regrettable. I was determined not to feel like I had wasted this gift of time. It took me a while to figure out what I needed to for that to happen. Turns out shopping isn't entirely the answer (though I gave it a good shot). I realized that the first flash of intuition is usually the answer... I needed a project. Like the vacation when I locked myself in a garage with some power tools and came out with a bookshelf.

So I decided to finally make a skirt out of some vintage fabric I have been holding on to. I am lucky enough to have a finished room in my basement, and I have done my best to make it conducive to creative endeavors. Great color and inspiration on the walls. Convenient and attractive storage for lots of supplies. A big fold-out table to spread out on. But I can never actually get myself to use it. It's cold. Kind of dark. I'd rather lug everything upstairs for the slight distraction of the TV... Just more shades of resistance and perfectionism, of course. And a reluctance to be entirely alone with myself.

But I had a breakthrough. Did you know I have a whole room in my house just for creating things?!
Somehow I was ready to quit making excuses. I turned on the lights, turned up the heat, and put on some music. And got lost (or perhaps found) in the work.

The cats loved it, too. They even tried to help - if you can call lying on top of whatever I am trying to work on "helping".

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Love Me, Love My Blog?

I've discovered a new, uniquely 21st Century, dating dilemma. We have always had to decide when to introduce a new man to friends, family, unattractive personal attributes, deep dark secrets, etc. Now, I am wondering how you decide when to tell them about your blog. I'm all for full disclosure, but I'm a little afraid there is such thing as too much disclosure all at once. And there are many things I'd rather share naturally and in person than via technology.

Out of respect for the party who doesn't yet know they are being discussed and a desire to keep some things just for myself, I will suspend the practice of sharing specific dating details until a more appropriate time. Sorry.

But first, let me just say that (in my opinion) we had a lovely first date. Long, luxurious, meandering. Fun. No need for any contrived tests - especially after we discussed at length a mutual love of bacon (and loathing of raisins!) and spit off the Aurora bridge together. The best test that I forgot about: I thoroughly enjoyed not only his presence, but the parts of myself brought out in his presence. And awareness of possibility for the person I am still becoming.

Yes, there are plans for a second date.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Test the First Date

So it looks like I have to/get to go on another first date - often the most anxiety inducing activity I can imagine short of public speaking in my underwear. But after a good long chat on the phone, I'm actually looking forward to this one.

In my house growing up we joked about "boyfriend tests." These included seeing what he did when the dog inevitably jumped in his lap (it should be something affectionate towards the dog) and if he would stop to look for a lost contact lens. Unfortunately, I never wore contacts, but I think one of my sister's boyfriends got extra credit for searching the bottom of a canoe.
Since then, I have discovered a few things that can start to answer the compatibility question right off the bat...
  1. (Of course.) How does he react to a high five or other genuine expressions of playful exuberance? Or better yet, does he happen to high five me first?!
  2. Does he stop to pet dogs on the street? An incarnation of the old dog-in-lap test. Quadruple points for that guy who taught his dog to high five.
  3. Does he notice the color of my eyes? I borrowed this one from my best friend in high school who actually had two different color eyes. Mine are an interesting hazel. And conversely, did I notice the color of his eyes? I can tell I really like someone when I catch myself drinking in their eyes.
  4. Am I surprised when I look at the time? It better have inexplicably skipped ahead.
  5. And perhaps after a few dates, has he noticed my favorite color? I have a noticeable propensity for purple which you'd have to be blind not to catch on to after a while. (In the interest of equal opportunity, I would, of course, be happy to amend this one for the visually impaired.)
  6. NEW this year: Does he know what NPR is? He doesn't have to listen to it, but he needs to have at least heard of it. Seriously. (Longer story for another time, but I have to say even my seventh graders agreed with me on that one.)
Disclaimer: These methods have not been scientifically tested and may not have any direct corelation to compatibility. Really, if I just find myself rooting for the guy it's a good sign, and we may very well just write it off as a pass.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Too Nice

I received the first open complaint about my coaching... apparently I am "too nice". In the grand scheme of complaints, that's not so bad. But it still stung. Especially because it came from two girls I appreciate and respect. And they told someone else, not me. (And I'm already dancing on the edge of neurotic at the possibility going on a date with the Trader Joe's guy. More on that later...)

I'm just not so good at receiving criticism. My first instinct is to tear up and feel like I'm failing because I'm not perfect. I stayed there for a while. And might go back in a minute.

Then I point out all the reasons why they are wrong (to myself or sympathetic ears only, of course). I'm insulted that people don't see the complexity of what I try to accomplish. I'm not a pushover; I'm not trying to be their friend. I have good boundaries. I expect them to work hard and pay attention. I just know the value of facilitating an open group process, so I am not an authoritarian. And I'm not willing to sacrifice any of the girls' feelings about themselves in the pursuit of a win. The bottom line is that I'm there to have fun, so I'm going to create fun. I quess it's been so much fun for me that I forgot about my own learning and growth here - which rarely happen painlessly.

I'm not sure where to look for guidance. The other coaches around me seem to have no problem being relatively insensitive - the kids all want to win, don't they? Tell them what they are doing wrong (along with praise for what they are doing right, hopefully). And play the best players without feeling bad for the people left on the bench. Can I be authentic and sensitive and still win? I think it's possible I could be tougher. Not everyone is the sensitive and perfectionist little girl that I was.

It's a balance I haven't completely found yet, even if I thought I had. Great. If only growth didn't hurt in the process.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Craigslist Gives Out Second Chances

BREAKING NEWS: the Trader Joe's guy answered the ad! No joke. What are the chances?! I'm mean, really. My response to his response? Joy, delight, faith in magic and possibility... then, "Holy [explative], now what do I do?" It feels like a lot of cosmic pressure, and suddenly I'm not so brave all over again. Stay tuned.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Cracking Under Pressure (aka Why I'm Still Single)

This evening I was in the checkout line at Trader Joe's, trying to decide if I should make friendly conversation with the checkout guy or just remain aloof since I was tired and disappointed that we lost our volleyball game... when a voice asked if I had tried the green tea mochi ice cream (a box of chocolate mochi ice cream was on the top of my grocery pile). I looked up to see a tall guy with square glasses, and I pointed out the two boxes of green tea hidden beneath the chocolate. I told the (hopefully semi-charming) story about my anti-corporate aunt in NYC who disapproves of Trader Joe's but tried those particular tasty treats when she was visiting me and now drives to New Jersey to buy them herself. Mid-story, I realized how cute he was, saw how much he was smiling, noticed his bare left hand, and decided that there was a good chance he wasn't just being friendly merely for the love of groceries.

My brilliant response? Get completely self-conscious and clam up. Why?! I thought my seasoned dating self had learned how to do this. Keep the conversation going. Ask a question or two. See where it goes. If something is there, an interest or place that could be an excuse for second meeting will usually come up. Or just ask them out. Risk a little! But in this moment the checker and the people in line are watching, I am momentarily paralyzed by the fear of actually getting something I want... and I'm pretty sure I'm turning bright red. So I said goodbye (at least I managed that much) and walked out.

Spotting him walk down the street as I drove away, I was half filled with the excitement of an attraction-charged encounter and half infuriated with my own stupidity. I circled around, fully prepared to roll down the window and ask if we had indeed been flirting, but alas, he was gone.

In an attempt to reclaim some power over my cowardice, I posted a Craigslist missed connection. Just in case. (It's a strange forum I can't quite figure out. But a couple on Oprah met on an airplane and didn't exchange info, but then reconnected via Craigslist. Then he proposed there, as well. So it could work, right?!) Apparently, I am much better at being vulnerable behind the safety of a computer.

Just when I think I could be ready to fall in love again, the evidence shows me running away at the slightest hint of possibility. Perhaps something(s) else must unfold inside me first. If only I had a clue what it was.

Completely tangentially: Oprah's Craigslist couple? Stark contrast to the cute California preppy/surfer guy (I thought) who I met on a plane back from Florida last year who I did exchange info with - who later emailed me interested in my medieval sword fighting reenactment experience?! Not that I'm against all that; I'm just not into it. And I'm not so into guys who I'm not memorable for. Maybe it's OK if some connections stay missed.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Reasons Not to Do Acrobatics in Your Office

...unless you are an actual acrobat, I suppose. But even then, you probably don't rehearse in an office...

I have a wonderful student who comes to eat lunch with me every other week. We spend some quality time together, and I try to exercise my half of a counseling degree (don't worry, she's only allowed to tell me half her problems). This particular young lady happens to be passionate about gymnastics, so our conversation often goes in that direction. Somehow, our joint enthusiasm about handstands led to a knowingly unwise decision to demonstrate my favorite handstand technique. Unfortunately it has been months since I practiced them on a regular basis. And yes, I fell in a pile on the hardwood floor of my office. So now I have a grumpy left shoulder and an angry hand that won't be able to set at volleyball practice. OW!

A little pain I can deal with, especially after seeing old family friends who just wrote a book about living with Cystic Fybrosis. Although it is amazing how humbling even a small injury is for me, and it always reminds me how much I take for granted.

The real problem is living with the repeated task of explaining my poor judgment. (People have asked about the involuntary groaning.) If only I didn't feel the need to maintain that pesky integrity, I would come up with a cause of injury far more appropriate in a professional environment. Or at least something more glamorous.

But I'm told that I provided a wonderful model of vulnerability and imperfection to my young friend. Well, you know - I try.

Note: Adjacent photo is my attempt to prove that I have indeed been capable of such acrobatics in the recent past. I swear.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Losing it over cheese (and believing in God for a few minutes)

I was sick all last week - feeling so bad that I even temporarily lost the will to blog [gasp]. Along with feeling physically down, it gets frustrating to be vulnerable and emotionally complicated to call in sick. I feel guilty, worry they'll think I'm lazy and faking it, wonder if I really should just suck it up and deal with it, worry people would be mad that I was spreading my germs if I went in... that internal battle in itself is exhausting.

And then making my way back into the land of the living was difficult. My group was in charge of providing snack for the weekly staff meeting. As we all volunteered our ideas via group email, I volunteered to get bottles of water and sparkly water from Costco since I had to go way up north anyway. But then someone suggested that I get cheese along with the water. I'm not sure how it happened, but for some reason the idea of having to track down cheese nearly put me over the edge. Maybe it was just that it wasn't my idea, and I wasn't feeling like I had the internal resources to do anything that wasn't on my own terms. People tried to tell me I could get cheese at Costco, but I was picturing only the mega-loaf. I didn't think we wanted that kind of cheese or that kind of investment in cheese. Someone tried to continue the conversation with me at lunch, and I had to leave the room before I started crying.

Part of me could see that this would probably be a temporary feeling, since I am usually pretty agreeable doing whatever needs to get done to in this kind of group situation. But I couldn't mentally adjust no matter what I did. So I told them I couldn't handle it. And somebody kind of let me off the hook, so I felt a little better.

I made my way to Costco, and I saw that there are tons of cheese choices. And I felt momentarily generous enough to buy a lovely little party platter. I felt good leaving the store, having gotten that and several other things taken care of. As I was loading my car, I wedged my clutch/wallet in the front of the cart for safekeeping, despite
very clearly thinking, "That's dangerous; I could totally see myself forgetting that there." And of course I did.

I realized this as I pulled up to my next stop ten minutes later. I dropped everything and zoomed back up Hwy 99 PRAYING that it would still be there. I solidly belive in greater spiritual order and meaning in the universe, but I usually shy away from the Christian labels I grew up with. It's amazing how in the moments of desperation, I go back to my roots and the big "G".

Luckily, it was right where I left it! Maybe there is a God. I took it as a sign that I should pull into PaperZone as I passed it for the second time for some fabulous scrapbooking/collage paper. I often find my higher power in creativity these days.