My Arizona Blerg Blog

One Year

March 24, 2019March 24, 2019 MichelleR

A year ago this weekend I was finishing up the Young Playwrights Competition at RTAA as Franky and my family finished packing up our house and loading the moving van. I spent the evening being surprised out of my mind at the outpouring of love and well wishes and to this day I wear the watch the board gifted me with every single day. There is part of me that will always remain there as a spirit on that stage that was my home for over 25 years. I have spent a lot of time reflecting this past year and here are some nuggets. This is more of a journal entry so most of it will not make sense to anyone but me. But, feel free to try.

Women are essential: This is a picture of Katie’B. Katie’B was my cubicle mate at Childsplay and acted as my trainer on Patron Manager and a host of other duties. For the past 7 years I had spent almost every single day with my partner, Jennifer, who knew my every nuance and could read me better than I could read myself. I took her for granted and I wish I could go back and spend more time with her outside of work. Katie’B represents the new women I have met since moving here; Arizona is filled with amazing women too! Women who cheer for each other and accept me into their circle without hesitation. I could name so many but if I left even one out I would be remiss. From Childsplay to the City of Peoria to my family living here I have finally been able to take stock in how much other women impact me. I regret being so busy for so long that I missed the opportunity to know the amazing women I left in California. And to my California family and friends who have continued to be a part of my new journey please know I love and value you. I wish we were closer and could be together more. I hate that it took me moving away to know your impact.

2. Having the right partner is paramount: To quote Sinead “Nothing compares to you.” (And you have to sing it to get the full effect) How can I ever feel homesick when home is a person? Home is feeling his support and love. Home is encouragement to pursue whatever my dreams are – including Marie Kondo, bullet journaling, needing an entire room of scrapbooking supplies, traveling, acting – you name it – this man has never discouraged me. Everywhere with him feels like home. When I ask him, “Did we do the right thing?” – and yes, I have asked that, he just grins and says, “well we can’t go back now.” That is how he lives his whole life – he doesn’t wander though the past and ask what if’s. He regrets nothing because it put him exactly where he is today. He lives each day as if it were a new chance, a new start. He doesn’t carry expectations for tomorrow or pull out old scars from the past – and he is teaching me. I love this man with every fiber of my being and I pray that my daughters find a partner like him one day to sit shot-gun with in the great moving van of life. 10-4 Good buddy, come on.

3. Time zones are stupid: I love that I never have to set my clock forward or back. Neener-Neener.

4. Sometimes a theatre goes dark: This one is a difficult subject for me. Someday I may choose to make it public why my personal “theatre” went dark, but not yet. Let’s just say I needed to check my premise (there is only one person who will get that reference). What is beautiful is that it has clarified for me why I love theatre, what I am passionate about, and what my purpose is. To that end – let’s leave it as my “ghost light” is still on.

5. Even a cactus holds beauty: I LOVE the desert. I just love it. Right now the blossoms are getting ready to bud. I feel just like them. Something is getting ready to bloom. I feel it; I will it. I don’t accept a different result. This year has not at all been what I planned or how I planned it. But at the same time I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

“This was reality, she thought, this sense of clear outlines, of purpose, of lightness, of hope. This was the way she had expected to live – she wanted to spend no hour and take no action that would mean less than this.”

The Path is The Path

February 28, 2019 MichelleR

Today I almost didn’t. I had the day off and as I drank my coffee I thought of the million little things I needed to get done. I need to finish Marie Kondo-ing my books/papers. I need to wash my car. I need to do meal prep for the week. The list is endless, just like yours. But recently it hit me that we will be in Arizona one year at the end of March. And I haven’t done the one thing that pulled my heart to this state to begin with. I want to be in it’s beautiful desert. And yes, we live in a desert state but seriously, the Phoenix valley is developed. I mean get IN it. Why haven’t I done the one thing my heart really wants to do?

I simply find the path of least resistance easier, like many of us do, and I chose to do what is easy rather than what is new or maybe appears harder. This is why I battle with weight, this is why I don’t blog or write every single day, this is why I cannot for the life of me seem to finish knitting my sister-in-laws scarf I wanted to give her two Christmas’ ago! I’m just gonna say it: I’m lazy and most days I choose to just “blerg” my way through. But not today.

Today I just got up and went. I got my water and left a detailed description of my clothes with Frank (in case someone has to identify my remains after the coyote attack) and I got in my car and drove the 5 minutes to the most beautiful desert trail, the Thunderbird Conservation Park. I felt like a dork because I am not an experienced hiker at all. So I had a back pack full of water and granola bars in case I got my hand stuck between two rocks like that guy from 147 Hours. I realized it was a little overkill when a couple in their 70’s asked to pass me because I was too slow. But my point is that I got on the path.

The view was glorious and the air was fresh and cool. The sun warmed my soul and my shoulders and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “What took you so long?” my heart asked me. “I was just stuck,” I said. I was so excited I climbed up the Ridgeline path because I wanted to be able to see how far I could go before a heart attack occurred. As I climbed, my mind raced with ideas, both for writing and for returning. Now that I had disrupted my inertia could I come back every week? How long will it take me to train so I can hike around the whole preserve?

This is what I do though, I jump from one thought to the next. So, as I reached the ridgeline, I stopped and I took out one of my water bottles and sat. I looked at the view and thought of nothing. I just let my mind rest. And my heart rate slowed and my eyes focused on the small rocks and shrubs at my feet and I saw a lizard and an orange butterfly (that may have been a moth). And I thought of the work that I moved here to accomplish for myself. After a while I made a stone stack overlooking where the paths split below. I’m trying hard to let go of my need to know which path is right or where I should be. Whichever path I take is correct because I am on it and there is so much beauty to see.

Give Me Some of that Marie Kondo Kool-aid, Please.

February 14, 2019February 14, 2019 MichelleR

Step 1: The Challenge

In my continuing quest to better myself and really enjoy my life, I wanted to actually try one of the things I read about. I have a Pinterest type habit of seeing or hearing something I think would be fantastic for me and then “pinning” it to a board in the back of my mind to be lost forever.

I watched the Marie Kondo program on cable a few times and was intrigued by her absolute confidence that you would never go back to old un-tidy habits. I raised my brows as she had clients talk to their clothing. I marveled at how much “stuff” people owned, and how much they could part with. And, part with it happily. So I decided on my latest trip to our fantastic city library to check out her book. And I read it. I found myself agreeing with her; the logic behind her reasoning was making sense. I wanted to try it for myself.

Step 2: Diving in

I announced this plan to Franky who basically rolled his eyes and smiled. But I will prove to him that this was not my knitting, dieting, baking, gardening, exercising, painting, or daily blogging type of commitment. I am serious about this. I want to be happy with less and by God I am going to do it so I can find joy in my damn tidy house!

This is where you come in, my tens of fans. I need the accountability of knowing that someone will follow up. What better way than for me to blog through my steps and show my progress. Plus I really want to follow through on something I start for once. I will not just “pin” this!

This absurd pile is ‘step one’ in the Marie Kondo method: clothes. I love her requirement that you do not clean room by room but by category. I was to take all my clothes from all 3 closets, my dresser, side table and floor and put them in a big pile. She divided them into sub-categories for people with off the chain issues and that is me for sure. This pile is just tops.

Step 3: Don’t sink

At first I just stared at the mountain of clothes (tops ) in front of me, embarrassed by how much I had. Even more ridiculous is that there are sweaters decades old, threadbare and torn shirts, and jackets that look horrible on me. I don’t even wear more than half of this. Yet, I let it accumulate and shove in whatever is new. Enough!

I did exactly what Marie suggested: I held up each top and waiting to see if it made me feel joyful. If it did, I kept it, regardless of size (which is important and I will get to that later) or age. If it didn’t, if I felt it’s usefulness was over, even if it was relatively new, I put it in a bag. At the end of the pile I had five Glad bags full of top. And it felt good to let the clothes go. I kept going. Bottoms, suits/hang-up item like dresses, socks, underwear, bras, swimsuits, even hats, gloves, scarves and belts. It didn’t stop there either. I was so excited and actually felt lighter and lighter as I let things go. I then hit those things sacred to women everywhere:purses and shoes. And even then I was fine. The safety net is that if you really love something you will keep it. So there is nothing to worry about. You will keep everything you love and makes you happy. Even if it doesn’t fit and is faded and worn. If it brings you joy, it belongs with you.

So many of my past attempts at purging were unsuccessful because I would reason that I may loose weight so I’ll keep it. Or the worst idea, if you haven’t worn it in a year throw it out. Those methods didn’t work for me. Kondo’s method did. At the end of the clothing purge I had nine full Glad bags of items to donate. And more closet and drawer space than I ever imagined. One closet will be plenty for me. With at least 1/3 of my unwanted, non-joy-giving, clothes gone for good I am ready for the next steps.

The results of just purging my tops. Five Glad bags filled.

Results: Still Swimming

I can’t say I am anywhere near finished yet. In fact, in her book, Kondo suggests that to fully “tidy-up” you home may take six months to a year. After clothing comes books. And boy will that be a big process. But I am excited and motivated to keep going. I folded all my clothes in the particular way she suggests and put them neatly in the drawers. Now I just have to hang my clothes back up. But I already feel less cluttered, lighter and more organized. I love being able to see every piece I own and that I love each of the pieces I see.

Care to join me?!

Alright, who’s in? I know my daughter Morgan started this even before me and she loves her newly organized closet. I know my friend David in NYC started and was thrilled with getting some space opened up in his dressers. I’d love to hear if you have tried any of Marie Kondo’s suggestions and what tips you might have! Leave me a comment and let me know. I will be posting my progress here as I go along and any other fun tips I get!

Kaleidoscope

December 7, 2018December 7, 2018 MichelleR

So, remember that part where I spent about 25 years of my life in community theatre in some form or another? And then, like, Frank and I decided it was time to move to like Arizona or something, and then I like got this other theatre job and like I was all like, ‘I only know theatre and can only work in theatre’? So apparently it turns out I was ready for a bigger change than just moving states.

This week I started my new career at the Peoria Police Department as a Communications Specialist. Yes, I said all those words and they are true. I have turned a corner, well more to the case, I have crossed a bridge, to a new adventure. And as the majority of my friends are also from the theatre world this probably comes as sort of a shock. Maybe not. I don’t know. But let’s assume you are confused, concerned, and possible cranky. (I needed that final alliteration or I would go bonkers.)

I used to think that once you decided to work in theatre you never leave. You grow old there, on that stage or in that lobby, and that your molecules become interchangeable with the molecules in the theatre and you just slowly become a part of the fixtures, lighting and props. And to some extent I think there is truth to the idea that at times the line between your “life” and your passion starts to erase and you are okay with that. The all consuming creating fire you feel is exhilarating and I will not deny that. People admire your dedication, you feel justified in your devotion and for more than two decades I cannot deny that theatre was my purpose. But what if…

Ah, the “what if”! That is the question that started in the back of my mind a short while back. That is the thought that sprouted! What if I have more? What if I am, not greater than – but in addition to, this beautiful beast of a life?! The journey had already started once that question found me. You are apprised of my path already that lead to this blog – but the question now is: You work where?!

First off, I remain steadfastly devoted to my life’s epitaph I came up with over a decade ago. “I never feel like my more authentic self, than when I am on stage pretending to be someone else.” I enjoy occupying the space of other characters and for a moment being an additional self. (Aside: I have always believed that a small part of myself informs the characters I play so I prefer the term additional to other. ) Didn’t Shakespeare say that all the world is a stage and we but poor players strutting and fretting? (He also said we are idiots in the next line.) But, to my point! Maybe I am more than the one role I had always seen myself in?

Think of looking into kaleidoscope and as you turn the end the image you see changes and falls into the next one and the next one. Each one beautiful and different and ultimately all a part of a kaleidescope’s entire purpose. That is how I feel about my life. I kept feeling frustrated that the image was changing and falling but when I finally let it, it fell into another image. Equally beautiful and important, just different.

Look, circumstances put me into a position that forced me to examine the fervor with which I was holding onto the definition of myself. When I finally let go of what I told myself was my purpose and the only thing I was good at I was able to see there was still so many more images of me to see. I am truly excited about this new journey. I am even more excited that I am not by any means in the “swan song” of my performance.

Yes, I will keep attempting to write Children’s Shows and yes, I will go back to stage when I am ready. But for now, I am really enjoying figuring out my current character and what inspires her. Turns out, she’s a real conundrum. 😉

It makes no difference

October 6, 2018October 6, 2018 MichelleR

In light of the past few weeks and the looming confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh as our next Supreme Court Justice, I find myself compelled to respond to the many comments on social media and even from members of our legislative branch that have asked the question, “But if this woman was sexually assaulted why didn’t she come forward right after it happened?” As if that is what would make them believe the allegations.

I have a response to them: because it would have made not one damn bit of difference. Let me elucidate.

These woman could have reported it immediately after the assault occurred, they could have seen a doctor, had a rape kit performed, be able to positively identify their attacker and have ligature marks around their necks. And, yet still, be told it is a “he-said, she-said” case that will not be pursued in our courts. How am I so sure of this? I know because I watched it happen.

In 2006 my best friend, Laurie Dishman and I boarded a Mexican Rivera cruise on Royal Caribbean. On the second night of our week-long trip we went up to the dance club to enjoy the night and were approached by two men in ship security guard uniforms who asked to see our ID/room key cards to make sure we were “old enough” to be in the club. We, being trusting people at that time, complied simply because they were ship security. Later that night I dropped Laurie off in our room so she could go to bed while I went back up on deck with Franky (my now husband). The so-called Security Guard went to our room because he knew where it was, knocked on the door and, Laurie, thinking it was me (there were no peep-holes at that time) opened the door. The security guard pushed his way into our room choked Laurie unconscious and raped her, impacting the tampon inside of her and left. I will not be able to put into words the enduring pain of seeing my best friend come to and the look realization on her face when see realized what happened. Just imagine this being your wife, your daughter, your best friend, yourself.

I immediately and without hesitation called the ship security (which was tricky seeing how it was a guard that just raped her) and what we now know is that the ship was immediately on the phone with corporate trying to figure out how to “handle” us. We were confined to our room after repeatedly asking to leave the crime scene, Laurie was taken to medical only after hours of asking and begging then an expired rape kit was used on her to collect material. The ships officers taking our statements SAT on the bed where she was raped when they came to our room and then we were asked to collect the clothing and bedding as evidence in a garbage bag. We were also accidentally told by a mournful looking security officer that the attacker was actually a janitor in a security guard uniform because they were short-staffed. I am sure he lost his job for trying to help us. After demanding to get off the ship, have the FBI called, speak to the captain, and given a new room, the officers (no women present) called Laurie and I in one at a time to “identify” the crew member. Laurie picked him out of a photographic line up in seconds. She knew who her attacker was.

We were picked up by the FBI from the Long Beach airport and spent hours giving our statements. Though clearly traumatized I still believed Laurie would see justice. That this man would be arrested and tried and Laurie would have the right to face her accuser in a court of law. I. Was. Wrong.

In order to keep this blog to a length shorter than the novel that she and I need to write, here is the result of our reporting “IT” right away. The answer to the question that so many people seem to ask. Not ONE thing happened. The case was thrown out of federal court because there was a lack of evidence.

US: A lack of evidence? We had a rape kit!

THEM: Oh, it appears the rape kit was expired Ms. Dishman and therefore inadmissible.

US: But we have the impacted tampon, the DNA from the sheets and clothing!

THEM: Oh, Ms. Dishman that evidence was compromised because it was all put together in one bag and you collected it yourself so there is no chain of evidence.

US: But the ligature marks on my neck?

THEM: Those photos aren’t very clear.

US: I know who did it, I identified him!

THEM: Well, he claims the sex was consensual so you see Ms. Dishman, it is simply a he-said, she-said case and we do not feel we can win and therefore we will NOT proceed with prosecution.

US: But what about MY rights? Does anyone care about ME?

THEM: Well, Ms. Dishman the law is the law and if you do not like it, feel free to try to change it.

And, by the way, that is just what she did and that is a whole other story. Her attacker never spent on day in jail or the brig. We found out through a private investigator that he continues to work on cruise ships and was transferred to a different line. Reporting it right away did absolutely nothing.

So, is it any wonder that when my beautiful, intelligent, confident daughter was sexually assaulted in college that she cried and kept it to herself? Is it any wonder that the story that has been handed down to her – the legacy we have left her is that no one will believe you no matter when you tell your story. That even if you call for help, and have evidence and try to be brave and speak out it will not yield justice. So keep it down, girl. Keep it down. Keep yourself so far down that even other woman will step on your truth and be afraid of even their own stories. And we will still pass out the most important robe and gavel a person can hold because “she waited until now to speak up.”

I am so angry I cannot see.

The Drain

September 9, 2018 MichelleR

The girl’s dreadlocked hair looks like the shower spray it has never seen;

shooting out of the spicket of scalp.

Her left armpit hair spells out the letters, F and U;

I guess the other two letters are under her right.

She asks for spare change, plays three chords on her guitar, sings a song I have never heard before. I think she has wasted her life, let it go down the drain.

She could really make something of herself, if she just cleaned up a bit

And, every time I spread the foam and shave, I look closely to see what I might have cut off

that now moves in circles towards the grate that will separate us, where I picture it riding the shit like a ship.

All the hair I sheer, all the DNA of me that rides in the sewers, surfing that internet,

shouldn’t it by now have evolved to some newer, better me?

But I stand naked in the spray of chlorinated clarity staring into thousands of pores,

and follicles, hoping to see a daisy push through,

which can be a weed,

but seeing instead a Monet, or is it a Manet? When it doesn’t matter because the woman in the steamed mirror, waiting for me to get out of the shower so we can talk is someone I have never seen before. So I dress in the dark, already feeling the prickles of hair under my arms that wait for me to send them too, down the drain.

(2008)

Walmart Sonnet for Denise

September 4, 2018 MichelleR

Oh Walmart I see you above all stores;

All my needs fulfilled on your every aisle.

Traversing a short-cut across waxed floors,

the smells in pet-care fill my mouth with bile.

Your customers are varied as your crap;

Rich, poor, pre-teen and the geriatric.

They buy cucumbers, fleece sheets and roach traps.

PTA Presidents, truckers, addicts;

People of Walmart live in every town.

Styling in mesh crop tops or pajamas,

Maybe a queen in a full length ball gown,

Will be shopping for her ripe bananas.

Excavations one thousand years from now,

Unveil Slim-Jims as sacred, and bow.

Where have you been?

September 3, 2018September 3, 2018 MichelleR

It’s been 5 months now that Frank and I have called Arizona our home. My last blog was about 4 months ago at our 1 month mark. What happened? Where have I been? What am I working on?

No one cares and that is reality. We all live incredibly busy and, I hope, full lives. I do not expect anyone to wonder what I am up to. I do not think more than 2 or 3 people will read this post – especially to the very end – and, really that is fine by me. I’m brain dumping so it won’t make much sense to anyone anyways. Plus, I’m in Arizona, it’s summer. Obviously I have sweat myself into a puddle or locked myself in a meat freezer.

However, a big part of this move was to focus again what I love most: writing. A deeply personal job that feeds me and frees me. Moving to Arizona was the result of around 2 years of what I will call a quest for being able to see the me I know I am, instead of the me I pretend to be or people think I am. It’s a spiritual journey for me because there is a great deal of thinking involved and then listening and reflecting. That is why I love writing. It is a chance for me to try to organize and galvanize the hundreds of thoughts that race across my mind while I am “thinking”. I call it spiritual because these conversations are with my “higher” self, for lack of better words. The self that laughs at me when I say I am fine and I am not. My quest is far from over and while I believe the move was completely meant to happen for us, I have spent time considering the, “did we do the right thing?” dilemma.

We have bought a beautiful house that we love. We call it our forever home – as we can seriously see ourselves here forever. But it came before the assurance of “forever jobs” and that is now petrifying. I grapple frequently with the how can this one thing feel so right and yet I do not have assurance of the ability to sustain it. I doubt. I question. I pray. I receive. And yet I do not write any of it. That is a problem. I keep hearing the voice (no, stop worrying – it’s not audible) that repeats the mantra, “But you are not telling your story. That was the deal.” I am now letting the business (read busy-ness) of my days and work and chores once again interfere with the path and process and ultimately the point. (I love alliteration.)

When we moved I promised myself more time at the keyboards. More revelation and expression about my spiritual walkabout and anyone who wanted to read it with me could join the journey. I allowed myself to stop and it has caused me to get a little lost. This random, rambling blog is my trying to get back. Seriously – this is the very definition of blerg. Blerg…

It’s What We Do

May 13, 2018 MichelleR

Present fears are less than horrible imaginings. – Lady Macbeth

My grown, adult, daughters recently returned from a trip to Paris together. I worried the entire time. I worried they didn’t get the right cell phone plan. I worried their planes would crash. I worried they would lose their luggage, eat bad escargot, fall off the Eiffel Tower, get hit by a baguette delivery van, and worst of all: Be Taken. JUST. LIKE. THAT. MOVIE. I do NOT have certain set of skills to enable me to rescue them, though I would give it everything I had.

Even when they landed safely back on US soil and my toes uncurled a bit, I worried still. My youngest daughter (who had been traveling the equivalent of about 24 hours – aka the reason for the affordable adventure) was going to drive another 5 hours home from her sister’s house. In the middle of the night. I made her promise to keep me posted on her drive home. I tried to fall asleep. I spent the next 5 hours between imagining and dreaming a host of scenarios that included, but were not limited to: gang-bangers carjacking her at the gas station, her falling asleep and careening off the highest cliff on the Grapevine, trying to answer my phone call and swerving into oncoming traffic, and my favorite, just disappearing into the thin air and never arriving at her apartment. She sent me a text when she got home at about 4 am that she was safe and she felt bad she made me worry. I wasn’t mad or vexed in the slightest.

I’m a mom. It’s what I do.

I thought about all of us moms lately and what we do. The worry that we also gave birth to. For some of us even at conception. And people tend to say, don’t worry, be happy. They explain with a two-sided coin either: Everything happens for a reason and a purpose or, that we can’t control the universe and our place in it and we all die eventually. Ew. Blerg. Here is what I have concluded from my very unscientific research called: my gut. Worry is okay, even good for moms. Obsessive need for control is not. Let me take you down this rabbit hole.

My girls and I ten years ago. No worries that day!

At the most base point we worry because of our genetic desire to protect our child(ren). On one side we want to protect them from, well basically, death. And we evaluate everything that enters our child’s life with a litmus test. We rate it as to how likely it is to cause or bring about death to our offspring and act accordingly. If we allow our mind to play out the worst case scenarios we picture our worst fear, which is their death. Their death, we imagine, would take away our reason, our hope and bring us despair, pain and eventually our own death emotionally and maybe physically. (My mind goes to Debbie Reynolds.) What a lovely Mother’s Day blog right? Wait, I am just acknowledging the truth of our fears. We want our children alive.

But the reason we want our children to live, the reason we worry, at its core, is beautiful. We worry because we hope. We want the best for them. We imagine their life and all the potential it holds. We picture them with a successful education, which leads to a fulfilling career with fortune, family, and fame. We imagine them finding love and happiness and creating their own children to worry about and thus ensuring our legacy for generations to come. Those are not bad things to imagine and hope for our children even if they are not all realistic or probable. And the risk is that as a mom you may impose these hopes on your child, therefore causing them to possibly confuse your dreams for them with their ability to create and find their own path. But from a mom perspective, “I just want the best for you.” There lies the rub: what we hope for is not always what is best for them and we have to allow for experiences bad and good to shape their lives. It sucks, but let’s face it. We don’t always know what’s best and if you think you do you are robbing the wisdom of your future self.

Like our love for our children, our worry never ends, no matter their age, strength or health. “Mom, I’m fine,” is the constant reply of my adult daughters. But you don’t know. People DO get their foot stuck in a railroad track and until further notice I have a right to worry about the cage match between you and that train! I don’t mind that I worry. Selfishly, I know that it means I’m still a mom. I am well aware that my worries are mostly made up in my mind and so banal in comparison to the millions of mother’s currently standing over their child’s hospital beds or sitting in the jail visiting room. Believe me when I say, I worry mostly because I know how blessed I am and I wait every second of every hour for the ball to drop on my world announcing, “Time’s up lady. Your turn to hurt.” I run from that day, filled with worry but also with hope. That my turn won’t come. And I see the life I imagined for them continue.

My and my sweet momma on a wine-tasting trip.

The tables have turned for me now as a daughter too. I worry about my mom, who suffers from advancing Alzheimer’s. I worry about all the scenarios I will not discuss today. But I smile too when I think of her this morning. Knowing our souls are forever knit in the worry stitch. Knowing she wanted the best life for me, that she worried about me keeping me safe so I could create her legacy. Oh sweet mother, your worries are over and a job well done. For now, worrying will be my job. But don’t worry my daughters (see what I did there?) I’ll pass the baton soon.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Walk This Way

May 2, 2018May 10, 2018 MichelleR

It’s not hard to get up early in Arizona, it seems the sun is always up. With both our jobs requiring an early start time I find myself getting up about 5:30 am and ready to start my day. I’ve been trying very hard to go for walks in the morning. I notice I feel better when I do them. My head feels clearer, I notice the beauty around me like the cactus, the sky and hot air balloons, the wild-life. In fact I saw a coyote on this morning’s walk. (Hope he’s not hungry – or that could have been the reason he was following me, not sure…)

Regardless, I feel better when I get back from my walk. Mind you, I’m not a power-walker or under the false illusion that at some point I may break into a jog. I walk at a nice pace, I can talk on my walk (or yell at the coyotes to leave me alone) and I don’t have to bend over to breathe at the end. It’s just getting outside and being in nature, enjoying how beautiful everything around me is. I’m trying to “notice”. I want to be present and if I happen to get in a little cardio I am sure my doctor would say that was good.

Have you ever noticed how even if you really know that something is good for you, and even if you really want that change for your life it’s still almost impossible to do it. For example, I know how much better I feel when I cut wheat out of my diet. My head feels clearer. I’m less sluggish. And yet despite knowing that it makes me feel better and despite the clear understanding that I will continue to feel better if I don’t eat wheat, I see that piece of bread and my desire to eat it suddenly outweighs my desire to feel good. It’s ridiculous and horrifying at the same time. It’s like I care so little about myself that I would allow the momentary delight of a few taste buds defeat the overall wellness and good feeling of my whole body. All of which takes place in my mind. And I’ve struggled with this every day for years.

I’ve been listening to an audio book called, “12 Rules for Life” by Jordan B. Peterson. Audible recommended it to me. I don’t know how they know what books I’d like to listen to because they just met me, but the first two books were free so what the heck. I’m only on Rule 5 and the one rule that has really stuck with me is,

“Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to someone else today.”

For me, that rule is a game changer. In many ways it’s what my thought process has been about for decades. It’s not that I have ill-will or anger or even jealousy towards the people I compare myself to. It’s more of a disspointment I’ve felt with myself when I compare myself with others. I think, “Oh if you were more dedicated you could look as fit as her”, “If you had more will-power you could wear the clothes that she’s wearing”, “If you had spent more time reading books instead of watching TV you could be more successful”, and my personal favorite, “If you had just played the lottery yesterday, you could have won the 111 million dollars and buy the dream mansion”. But, I think the point is that in order for me to really and truly find out who the very best “me” is I have to stop looking at others and ask myself who I was yesterday. Today, can I make one better choice than yesterday? Can I go for one more block on my walk? Can I eat the hard-boiled egg without the slab of bacon today? Can I wash my face before bed? And to remember to forgive myself and love myself when the answer is “no, I was absolutely not a better today than I was yesterday.”

I think that counts for my behavior too. I think kindness is a behavior I need to practice more. It’s so easy to say, “Be Kind.” But kindness is about how I behave inside not just how I treat others. Anybody can fake being kind, I know, I’ve done it millions of times – like most people. “Have a nice day.” “You too!” But then there is the kindness that come from inside, my compassion. When I look at someone and think, “You don’t know what that person is going through. You don’t know what kind of illness they may be fighting, whether someone they are close to is passing away or ill. Whether or not they cry in bed at night, or their marriage is in shambles and they pretend it’s not. Yeah, there is a lot of thing you don’t know.” And so maybe instead of getting so annoyed with somebody because of their attitude maybe you just think to yourself, they must be really going through something right now. That’s compassion and I’d like to practice that more.

How did I get all this from going for a walk? Let’s loop back.

If I know the facts to be that A.) Getting up early is not hard. B.) When I do it I feel better. C.) When I’m in the walking in the quiet of the morning with no one in the neighborhood out yet I can have clear moments of processing, thinking and planning my day. I can maybe plan ways in which I can be a little bit better today than I was yesterday. That involves reflecting on yesterday. How did I behave yesterday? What did I do physically yesterday? What ways can today be better?

The author of the book also suggest that I treat myself as a younger version of myself. I reward myself for doing something good. To my horror this has worked. In the morning I bargain with myself and tell myself that if I go for a walk I can bring my iced coffee to work. Now, I know very well that I can bring iced coffee with me to work whether I do the walking or not. But the fact that I do not bring a coffee with me if I don’t go for a walk has set some sort of psychological message to my brain. I am waking up saying, “Get up and go for a walk, because you want to bring your iced coffee with you.” It’s weird I know and in a way I feel weird about myself for doing it. But on the other hand, it works. I go for a walk. I want to be better today than I was yesterday.

I’n not healthy. I’m not in shape. I’m not doing it so I an be skinny or fit or prepared to roll myself into the sausage casing of a swimsuit I’ve got. But I walk because I think I need this time to reflect on the person I am. And I need it every single day.