How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was the change gradual, or a sudden burst?
---
Friendships... There are so many ways that they change us, in little ways and in big ones. Sometimes in ways we don't even notice until long after the fact. Sometimes in ways that are blatantly obvious.
All my friendships, few of them as there have been, have changed me drastically. In junior high, they taught me about mortality, the risk of losing the things you love, of having to deal with complex medical issues. My freshman year of high school, they helped me discover facets of my sexuality, and my capacity to color outside the lines in terms of love. Later on in high school, they taught me what it really meant to be part of a family, to have people care for you unconditionally because of you, and not just because of how you might inconvenience their lives. As an adult I have learned incalculable lessons, not just about the world at large, but about myself.
In the past year... I have learned more about myself, through the eyes of my closest friends, than ever. A large number of those things were things I already knew, but for one reason or another had forgotten. And a good number of those lessons were taught by one particular friend, Jaye. He reminded me about who I was, brought me out of the shell that being sick had put me into, highlighted so many wonderful things about me... Things I hadn't seen in myself for so long. Things I didn't even realize I'd stopped seeing, that I'd lost. But he helped me find them. The feisty, flirty, ambitious, creative, strong, confident, interesting, metal/motor head that I always have been -- but that got lost under all the stresses and fuckups life dropped in my lap. As if that wasn't enough, he showed me that it was okay to let down my guard once in a while. Show that I was unhappy, that I was scared... Be less than perfect. And that I was still worthy of being needed, and wanted, as more than just a mom, or a corporate cog, or a life partner.
I don't know that I'll ever be able to say how much that means to me. Or how much of a difference it's made, having that sort of love, acceptance, and encouragement... How much of a difference it makes every day.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
5 minutes
Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for 5 minutes and capture the things you most want to remember.
---
Would anyone mind if I just skip this one? I hate this "set a timer and write" thing -- it didn't work in elementary school, didn't work in high school, didn't work in college, and still doesn't work. I think too deeply. Being this shallow... Feels forced and wrong to me. Shouldn't I be able to devote the amount of time appropriate to each memory instead of just spouting out a flat boring list?
---
Would anyone mind if I just skip this one? I hate this "set a timer and write" thing -- it didn't work in elementary school, didn't work in high school, didn't work in college, and still doesn't work. I think too deeply. Being this shallow... Feels forced and wrong to me. Shouldn't I be able to devote the amount of time appropriate to each memory instead of just spouting out a flat boring list?
Appreciate
What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?
---
Sun.
Growing up in California, sun was something we took for granted. Or, in my case, came to despise. I've always been somewhat nocturnal, and the insult that the sun was to my eyes just can't be understated. That giant nuclear reactor in the sky and I never really got along. If it wasn't handing out sunburns like advertising flyers in a mall parking lot, then it was at least bumping the temperature up higher than any human being should reasonably find comfortable. I hid from it, avoiding the outside world and all the joys thereof in the process. Even in California, I was more Goth naturally than any face painted lover of the dark, if only due to my skin tone. I loved rainy days, and the deeper the cloud cover the happier I was. And then, I moved.
There's a reason people make the joke that I live in the frozen north. Most of that reason is based on stereotypes that don't really apply to the specific area I live in, but sometimes that stereotype holds true. This past winter was one those times. Since late november, if it hasn't been snowing (which, it hasn't much though it did more than it last year) it's pretty much been raining. And when I say raining, I don't mean what I'd normally mean by "raining" here. You see, typical Washington rain is light. It's barely even there. More like the sky spitting at you occasionally throughout the day. It's not even a full on drizzle. Not like down in California. In California it was much more like the sky splitting open and dumping a swimming pool on your head. This year, it's rained like it did in California. Huge torrential downpours that lasted not just days at a time, but weeks. Weeks, and weeks, and weeks, of nothing but never ending walking around with a spillway emptying onto your head. The creek out front has flooded twice. Once badly enough that the city had to send out trucks to block off the road so no one attempted to drive through and get their car stuck. Normally that creek is only about a foot and a half wide, and 8 inches deep. Just to illustrate the point. The ground is so completely saturated now even after a break from the rain, when it starts up again there are flash flood warnings for half the county. And when we get wind, like we did yesterday (hurricanes, woohoo), the ground isn't solid enough to keep the trees from blowing over.
That much rain wears on a person. That little sun also wears on a person. I mean, it's bad enough that I live far enough north that in December we're lucky if we get a full 8 hours of sun in a day, but on top of that, at noon it's been almost pitch black because of the weather.
So. I am now a BIG fan of sunshine. I crave it. I get up in the morning and look outside hoping, praying, that the sun will be out. And when it is, no matter how cold it may be, no matter what else I had planned for the day, I head outside -- even if it's just for a lil bit of a road trip. I revel in sunshine now, just standing on my balcony basking in it, letting it soak into my skin, drowning in the warmth of it. As proof I've got more of a tan now, even in winter, than I ever did living in California. Skin cancer risks be damned.
---
Sun.
Growing up in California, sun was something we took for granted. Or, in my case, came to despise. I've always been somewhat nocturnal, and the insult that the sun was to my eyes just can't be understated. That giant nuclear reactor in the sky and I never really got along. If it wasn't handing out sunburns like advertising flyers in a mall parking lot, then it was at least bumping the temperature up higher than any human being should reasonably find comfortable. I hid from it, avoiding the outside world and all the joys thereof in the process. Even in California, I was more Goth naturally than any face painted lover of the dark, if only due to my skin tone. I loved rainy days, and the deeper the cloud cover the happier I was. And then, I moved.
There's a reason people make the joke that I live in the frozen north. Most of that reason is based on stereotypes that don't really apply to the specific area I live in, but sometimes that stereotype holds true. This past winter was one those times. Since late november, if it hasn't been snowing (which, it hasn't much though it did more than it last year) it's pretty much been raining. And when I say raining, I don't mean what I'd normally mean by "raining" here. You see, typical Washington rain is light. It's barely even there. More like the sky spitting at you occasionally throughout the day. It's not even a full on drizzle. Not like down in California. In California it was much more like the sky splitting open and dumping a swimming pool on your head. This year, it's rained like it did in California. Huge torrential downpours that lasted not just days at a time, but weeks. Weeks, and weeks, and weeks, of nothing but never ending walking around with a spillway emptying onto your head. The creek out front has flooded twice. Once badly enough that the city had to send out trucks to block off the road so no one attempted to drive through and get their car stuck. Normally that creek is only about a foot and a half wide, and 8 inches deep. Just to illustrate the point. The ground is so completely saturated now even after a break from the rain, when it starts up again there are flash flood warnings for half the county. And when we get wind, like we did yesterday (hurricanes, woohoo), the ground isn't solid enough to keep the trees from blowing over.
That much rain wears on a person. That little sun also wears on a person. I mean, it's bad enough that I live far enough north that in December we're lucky if we get a full 8 hours of sun in a day, but on top of that, at noon it's been almost pitch black because of the weather.
So. I am now a BIG fan of sunshine. I crave it. I get up in the morning and look outside hoping, praying, that the sun will be out. And when it is, no matter how cold it may be, no matter what else I had planned for the day, I head outside -- even if it's just for a lil bit of a road trip. I revel in sunshine now, just standing on my balcony basking in it, letting it soak into my skin, drowning in the warmth of it. As proof I've got more of a tan now, even in winter, than I ever did living in California. Skin cancer risks be damned.
Action
When it comes to aspirations, it's not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?
---
My next step is to bitch about how stupid this prompt is. Seriously. This prompt is full of shit. Here's why:
Having an idea, just the mere act of imagining something other than what is, is infinitely more important than making that idea happen. It can, in and of itself, be life changing. I'm not talking about anything silly like "The Secret" or thinking things into existence. That's just nonsense -- if you want things in life, you have to work for them. Instead, what I mean is that being creative enough to have an idea in the first place affects more than just the idiopathic thoughts in your head. It affects how you see the world. Just changing that view, skewing it even slightly, can be cathartic. Or it can be a catalyst for a metamorphosis of spirit; the metaphysical trailhead on a journey of self discovery and personal growth.
I guess the thing that rubs me the wrong way about this prompt is that it embodies one of the things that rubs me the wrong way about modern society as a whole; this focus on results, events, end points. The road we take to get to those places is completely ignored or, even worse, discounted as unnecessary. We no longer care about the journey, as long as the destination is satisfactory. For me, that journey is important. More important than the destination, even.
And this is where I'm struggling with life, in general. I don't have a destination in mind. I feel like I need to, though. Is that me, saying that to myself? Or is it all the external pressure from everyone else, family, friends, society, saying that I need to conform? Who do I listen to? Do I really need a destination to avoid the stagnation that I'm so frustrated with myself for? Or would it be okay to just pick a direction to walk in, at random? It worked out okay, following my body and my inner self in terms of body integration... Didn't it?
But it's not socially acceptable, wandering, nomadicism (look at me, inventing words -- screw you Dictionary, that's the word I need). We are agrarian, stable, static. Going against that, even in spirit... Sets me out there on that fringe again. Maybe it's time for me to just accept that the fringe is where I belong, and leave it at that.
If only I could figure out why that's such a depressing thought.
---
My next step is to bitch about how stupid this prompt is. Seriously. This prompt is full of shit. Here's why:
Having an idea, just the mere act of imagining something other than what is, is infinitely more important than making that idea happen. It can, in and of itself, be life changing. I'm not talking about anything silly like "The Secret" or thinking things into existence. That's just nonsense -- if you want things in life, you have to work for them. Instead, what I mean is that being creative enough to have an idea in the first place affects more than just the idiopathic thoughts in your head. It affects how you see the world. Just changing that view, skewing it even slightly, can be cathartic. Or it can be a catalyst for a metamorphosis of spirit; the metaphysical trailhead on a journey of self discovery and personal growth.
I guess the thing that rubs me the wrong way about this prompt is that it embodies one of the things that rubs me the wrong way about modern society as a whole; this focus on results, events, end points. The road we take to get to those places is completely ignored or, even worse, discounted as unnecessary. We no longer care about the journey, as long as the destination is satisfactory. For me, that journey is important. More important than the destination, even.
And this is where I'm struggling with life, in general. I don't have a destination in mind. I feel like I need to, though. Is that me, saying that to myself? Or is it all the external pressure from everyone else, family, friends, society, saying that I need to conform? Who do I listen to? Do I really need a destination to avoid the stagnation that I'm so frustrated with myself for? Or would it be okay to just pick a direction to walk in, at random? It worked out okay, following my body and my inner self in terms of body integration... Didn't it?
But it's not socially acceptable, wandering, nomadicism (look at me, inventing words -- screw you Dictionary, that's the word I need). We are agrarian, stable, static. Going against that, even in spirit... Sets me out there on that fringe again. Maybe it's time for me to just accept that the fringe is where I belong, and leave it at that.
If only I could figure out why that's such a depressing thought.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Body Integration
When did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?
---
I can picture the day clearly. The blue of the sky, cloudless and bright. The sun slanting sharply from the south, even at it's highest in the sky, signaling winter's fast approach. But it wasn't winter yet, despite the sting of late autumn on the air; a cool breeze across the heat of my skin as I climbed the ridge to gaze down on the river raging below.
I'd started out intending only to do my normal two mile walk to the creek and back. But for some reason I'd kept going. Something inside me wasn't ready to turn around. And when I got to the Whatcom falls fork in the trail, I knew why; I needed to see the falls.
I didn't question myself. There were no "what ifs" about the decision. I took no pause at the idea of turning my two mile hike into five, or more, on trails I'd never taken. I felt no fear, no trepidation, no anxiety. I was... I just was. And as I climbed that ridge, I continued to just be. Breath heaving in my throat, flowing across my lips in short sharp gasps, I wound my way into the trees. The drive of the Metallica playing on my iPod set the pace of my feet, pounding against the packed dirt trail. The slow hot burn in my thighs and my shoulders seeping through me, a pleasant pain, telling me I was doing good, hard, worthwhile things...
I passed people. I know I did. I can see them, plain as day, in my mind's eye. Two skinny women in workout tights and fleece vests over skin tight jogging shirts passed me going the opposite direction. They had a dog of some sort, one of those ones that I can't help but think of sewer rats when I see. But, despite knowing they were there, and being able to recall them, it was as if I was the only person on the trail. I was. I just was. For an hour, two, as I climbed further, the path winding along the river, up and up again into the hills, there was nothing except the breath in my lungs and the beat of my feet against the ground.
And then the falls. I heard them before I saw them, the rush of water falling on rock. The sound of nature's raw power. And as I came around a turn, there they were. Tumbling over granite, sheets of snow and glacier melt cascaded down to shallower calmer pools. I was breathless. Not just because of the hike, but because of the sheer intensity of the sight. It was so much more than me... So much more than I ever would be, leaving marks upon the earth to be seen and felt hundreds and thousands of years later. Knowing that if I were to step off into that current, I would be as much a deterrent as a gnat venturing too close to the river's surface. I don't know why I find thoughts like those comforting, why I take solace in the idea that I am just one more insignificant upon the planet, but I do. It wasn't even a conscious thought then. It was, in that moment, a divine truth. Undeniable.
And still, I just was. No argument in my head. No conflicting feelings. No undesired thoughts, or memories. Just me. Breathing hard, leaning against the rail of the bridge across the river, muscles on fire from the 3.5 miles uphill I'd just come, hair and clothing sweat soaked, the beating of my heart indistinguishable from the roar of the falls that filled my ears. I wanted to stay, forever, in that moment, to never lose hold of that feeling, or that lack of fear. And, I suppose, part of me always will.
---
I can picture the day clearly. The blue of the sky, cloudless and bright. The sun slanting sharply from the south, even at it's highest in the sky, signaling winter's fast approach. But it wasn't winter yet, despite the sting of late autumn on the air; a cool breeze across the heat of my skin as I climbed the ridge to gaze down on the river raging below.
I'd started out intending only to do my normal two mile walk to the creek and back. But for some reason I'd kept going. Something inside me wasn't ready to turn around. And when I got to the Whatcom falls fork in the trail, I knew why; I needed to see the falls.
I didn't question myself. There were no "what ifs" about the decision. I took no pause at the idea of turning my two mile hike into five, or more, on trails I'd never taken. I felt no fear, no trepidation, no anxiety. I was... I just was. And as I climbed that ridge, I continued to just be. Breath heaving in my throat, flowing across my lips in short sharp gasps, I wound my way into the trees. The drive of the Metallica playing on my iPod set the pace of my feet, pounding against the packed dirt trail. The slow hot burn in my thighs and my shoulders seeping through me, a pleasant pain, telling me I was doing good, hard, worthwhile things...
I passed people. I know I did. I can see them, plain as day, in my mind's eye. Two skinny women in workout tights and fleece vests over skin tight jogging shirts passed me going the opposite direction. They had a dog of some sort, one of those ones that I can't help but think of sewer rats when I see. But, despite knowing they were there, and being able to recall them, it was as if I was the only person on the trail. I was. I just was. For an hour, two, as I climbed further, the path winding along the river, up and up again into the hills, there was nothing except the breath in my lungs and the beat of my feet against the ground.
And then the falls. I heard them before I saw them, the rush of water falling on rock. The sound of nature's raw power. And as I came around a turn, there they were. Tumbling over granite, sheets of snow and glacier melt cascaded down to shallower calmer pools. I was breathless. Not just because of the hike, but because of the sheer intensity of the sight. It was so much more than me... So much more than I ever would be, leaving marks upon the earth to be seen and felt hundreds and thousands of years later. Knowing that if I were to step off into that current, I would be as much a deterrent as a gnat venturing too close to the river's surface. I don't know why I find thoughts like those comforting, why I take solace in the idea that I am just one more insignificant upon the planet, but I do. It wasn't even a conscious thought then. It was, in that moment, a divine truth. Undeniable.
And still, I just was. No argument in my head. No conflicting feelings. No undesired thoughts, or memories. Just me. Breathing hard, leaning against the rail of the bridge across the river, muscles on fire from the 3.5 miles uphill I'd just come, hair and clothing sweat soaked, the beating of my heart indistinguishable from the roar of the falls that filled my ears. I wanted to stay, forever, in that moment, to never lose hold of that feeling, or that lack of fear. And, I suppose, part of me always will.
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