Point of View

Can you change your way of thinking?  Like actually wake up and decide you’re in a good mood and you’re not going to let anything shake you?

Not your will-always-be-stressful-just-face-it job, not the overcrowded subway and the dude that lies on the pole not the constant phone ringing and email answering and overall life pressure crap that dogs you day in and day out until you feel like you’re going to snap.

This is hard, right?  It’s so much easier to ride the wave of what you’re feeling and be bummed out, cranky and cynical.  But making that conscious decision to not be this way is simply that – a decision, a choice.  

And this decision, this choice, is yours. 

Can you do it?  Can you be rational?  Can you pause?  Can you listen?  Can you simply take it in and not lash out?  

Yes, yes you can.  It’s all your frame of mind, your attitude, your decision and your point of view.  The point that your view is facing is all up to you.  I want mine facing up. Way up …

15 Minutes

I’m not big into yoga.

I’m not sure if it’s because I can’t really do it or because the whole mumbo jumbo be one with the world thing doesn’t really resonate with me.  Thing is, I want to be into yoga because it’s good for you – or so I’m told.  It can change my life.  Or, at least my posture, which for sure is atrocious. 

So I keep trying.

Last night I tried again and entered class with a clean slate.  Please, please be the class for me.  Sooth my weary mind.  Unkink my bricks for shoulders.  Do not chant.  Help. Me. Teach-dude had an incredibly soothing voice, the kind that could walk you right off a cliff.  This is good.  Great, even.  I’m ready.

So, we’re yoga-ing away and it always comes back to downward dog, which I hate because it hurts and apparently I don’t let my shoulders “go” enough and I’m doing it wrong.  Where are my shoulders supposed to “go”?  How can I make them “go” anywhere?  Well, Teach-dude made them go somewhere and, oh, yeah, okay.  FEELING IT NOW. 

I’m trying to feel calm and enlightened but it’s hard.  It’s hard to find inner peace.

Am I finding inner peace pretzeling my stiff body into position after position?  Uh, no.

Am I finding inner peace as Teach-dude tells me “relax your face and become a good yoga person”?  Uh, no.  And, quite frankly, I think this is very anti-yoga.  What's wrong with me face?

I won't be deterred - onwards I go.  Warrior, Tree, Eagle, blah, blah, blah.  It was neverending.  Relentless. The end of class is in sight and we lie on the floor for 15 minutes and chill out.  I’m not sure where Teach-dude told me to put my tongue in relation to the roof of my mouth, but I don’t care.  I’m lying on the floor and pretty quickly there is nothing in my brain.  I know this may not sound like anything new, but it is.  My brain is typically working overdrive thinking of a zillion things I have no control over and a million things I do have control over.  It’s exhausting.   I’m exhausted.  But not for that 15 minutes.  There’s nothing going on upstairs and I actually feel relaxed.  Maybe not inner peace relaxed, but sort of getting there.  If I tried to do this at any other time I would feel completely guilty and unproductive and wasteful of my time but in that 15 minutes I have nowhere else to be.  Nothing else to do.  Nothing on my mind.

So I see how this works now:  I have to suffer through pain and agony for an hour so I can enjoy 15 minutes of bliss.   Obviously, not fair.  Why do we have to work so hard to get to where we want to be?  Nothing’s easy is it, so why should yoga be any different?  Fine. I’ll be back next week.  I’ll work on my downward dog and my face and Teach-dude can pretzel me a little more and it’ll all be okay.  Especially that last 15 minutes. 

Fit

I’ve been feeling crummy and what better way to alleviate my foul and sullen mood than with a bit of retail therapy.  I know it will only bring a temporary big smile to my face but that’s enough for now.  Mass consumerism is a valid first step to recovery.

I’ve been marginally obsessed with Mary Jane’s lately, and now I know I want - NEED - the mother of all Mary Jane’s.  Mr. Blahnik is speaking to me and he knows how much I need these Mary Jane’s.  He knows they will make me feel better because when all else fails we will always have our shoes.  He understands. Off I go, ready to drop some serious dough on these babies and never look back.  I will walk proudly and defiantly with these shoes until I return to my former glory as a happy well adjusted person.  I’m excited, and hopeful. Until I try them on.  And.  They.  Don’t. Fit.  It’s not the size, it’s my feet.  My feet are too wide for these damn beautiful shoes.  Admittedly, my feet are the width of shovels (yes, I know I am prone to self – deprecating embellishment but seriously, they are as wide as shovels) and well, Mr. Blahnik’s Mary Jane’s are not for me.  The strap is in the completely wrong place and the shoes look terrible.  Supportive friend agreed.  Helpful salesgirl agreed.  I think I actually pouted.  To what end my disappointment!

They just don’t fit and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. 

Can't force it.  Can't fake it.  Fuck it.  They just don't fit. 

Look at them.  You'd pout too.



Move Along

I’m in a bad mood.  This is offsetting to people.  Why?

Why is it a personal affront to humanity at large that for now, and perhaps the next little while, I will be a sullen crabby bitch?  I’ll be back – smiling face ablazing soon, I’m sure, but for now can you just accept it?  Why do I need to feel better?  Are you one of the maybe three people in my whole world that I'd bother talking to about why I'm feeling this way?  Then really ...

Don’t try to cheer me up. 

Don’t tell me your personal story that is undoubtedly worse than mine so how could I possibly be upset.  (This is THE WORST type of feel better strategy I have ever encountered in my life - if you do this, stop now.  People (I) hate it and (I) may kill you.)

You realize it’s not normal to be happy all the time.  If you are, you are absolutely delusional.  I am an optimistic type of person but this doesn’t preclude me from being in a bad mood and I would totally appreciate it if I was allowed to be in this bad mood without feeling bad that I was making you feel bad because you can’t rely on me for my usual cheery outlook on life and the state of things in general.  Because you know what? Sometimes life sucks; sometimes the state of things in general sucks.  Most of the time things just don’t go your way and hopping through life all Mary-Poppins-styles is really, really tiring.  Even for me.  So, please, let me embrace this suck-iness for awhile and don’t make me apologize for it.  Let me wallow.  I will get back out from under it the way I want to: by myself.  Which, quite frankly, is where I should have stayed in the first place: by myself.  Seriously, please.  There is really nothing you can do.  Do not send clowns, send ice cream if you want, but really, just let me be. 

Thank you for caring, but please fuck off.

Oh, Garth

You know I hate to exercise, right? Everything about it, I hate.   Most especially, the fact that I have to do it.  I hate that the most.  But, I’m oldish and have zero metabolism and love to eat and would prefer to buy shoes rather than more (bigger) clothes so I do it. I do it and hate every single minute of it.

I’ve started this new routine that I’m sticking to, but it’s only been about a month so don’t pat me on the back just yet.  I’m getting used to it, but I still really really hate it. 

I don’t think I have more energy.

I don’t think I’m sleeping any better.

I am sore all the freaking time.

I don’t really care.

I don't really care because of Garth.  Garth is, well, great.  Garth teaches a class every Thursday over lunch called Cardio Party.  What does that even mean?  Cardio doesn’t sound like any party I’d ever want to go to.   Cardio Party is simply crazy.  We star jump and kick back and high kick and indecision lunge (like that isn’t the best exercise for me, huh?) and Jesus Christ the whole fucking time is just pure and utter torture, but there, in front of the room is Garth.  He’s floating.  And smiling.  The class is obviously no real strain for a super – fit guy like Garth.  He doesn’t even really wear proper work out clothes.  Yesterday, for example, he was wearing these long-ish seersucker shorts that one would typically find, accompanied by topsiders and a crisp polo, on a prepster in the Hamptons. Garth was wearing them with a perfect fit long sleeve T-shirt and, well, it was all allright.  Quite all right.  His dreds (yes, I know.  Dreds! But they don’t smell like many other dreds I have had the misfortune of encountering) just sort of bounce and he does too and he smiles and laughs and has real fun at this Cardio Party of his.  I can’t stop staring at him.  I mean, thankfully, I’m supposed to but I think it’s too much because I always seem to be going the wrong way in class and starting off the particular sequence on the wrong foot.  It’s all Garth’s fault! He’s long and lean and almost sinewy with the most perfectly formed muscles that are on view in the most discreet way beneath his long sleeve-T and long-ish shorts. I'm not sure how this all sounds, but trust me - it’s all very, very nice.  In fact, if you don’t believe me check him out yourself:  his quite perfect form is on display for all to see in a poster ad for the club which is hanging in the sportshop window right before you get to the club.  He is shirtless, but that's just an added 6-pack bonus really.  Isn’t he just the perfect host, welcoming one and all to his Cardio Party?  Coming Garth!  I’m coming! 

So, yeah.  I still really hate exercise but yesterday I actually found myself laughing in the middle of Cardio Party.  It absolutely wasn’t the lunges.  It may have been the music.  But you know it was because of Garth.  Thank you, Garth – I still hate every minute of exercise, but you’re making it a wee bit bearable. 

Wanna join the Cardio Party?  I’ll hook you up with a Guest Pass – Garth will be thrilled and so will you.

Pole

Dear People Who Ride the Subway:

You do not own the pole.

The pole is not for your entire body.

The pole is not a resting spot.

The pole is not just for you.

The pole is for your ONE HAND.

The pole is for EVERYONE.

Get off the fucking pole.

Kind Regards,

Balanceless

Soft

Are you soft? 

Not muscle – wise, insides – wise. 

Soft.

Not weak or incapable or dependent or lost.

Soft.

Are you open?  Are you not unmoving? 

Soft?

Do you look at the everything of everything and live with knowing that you’ve looked at this everything of everything in all possible ways and considerations and come to a point where you know that your heart is open in a way that takes it all in and considers the everything and everyone.  Can you let your guard down to a point where you are free and vulnerable and open to anything and everything because that place between the what you want and the what you’re scared of is usually where all the amazing stuff is sitting, just waiting for you?

Can You Be Soft?

Be Soft.   

Pie

How is it possible that one tiny word containing a mere 3 letters can make me so damn happy?

Pie! I love pie!

Any kind of pie!  Honestly speaking, though, raisin pie isn’t really pie, it’s gross and blueberry pie is rather yucky because blueberries are best eaten cold.  Picky?  No.  Particular!  Pie is serious business!

Pie!  I love pie!

Maybe because it’s customarily served with ice cream? Who knows.  Who cares.  Hot, cold, fruity, creamy, double crust, crumble, fluted shell or plain.  Oh .. Pecan ...

Pie!  I love pie! 

And now, taking my love affair to a whole new level, I’m making pie (still working on the Clooney Factory).  Imagine the possibilities.  It’s all so delicious.  And as an added bonus my place smells great all the time. 

Pie!  I love pie!

Quotable - Part 11

"You are my Internet"

                                 
                                        C. Vaughan, dear friend and co-worker,
                                        Monday October 3rd, 2011,
                                        when I referred him to the Internet.
                                       
                                        That's a whole lot of pressure.