Day 186 of 365: The Truth of Valentine's Day

The Oatmeal has a great comic about this: the annoying thing about Valentine's Day is not the rampant consumerism, or the pressure to have a date, or the reminder that you're not in a relationship. No, the annoying thing about Valentine's Day is the constant complaining about Valentine's Day.


The older I get, the more I understand that I am in control of how I view the world. I can let something bother me, or I can find ways to process the situation in a healthy and productive manner. I can view a holiday in the negative or I can view it in the positive. I can view Thanksgiving or Christmas negatively, focusing only on how things have shifted when I come home for the holidays ever since my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's, or I can focus on love and reunion and all the fun aspects of being back in my hometown, albeit for a short amount of time.


The same with Valentine's Day: I can focus on the fact that restaurants gauge their prices and every store is filled with headache-inducing glitter hearts and giant teddy bears (and if a snuggle maniac like myself finds something like giant teddy bears gaudy, they're @$&%ing gaudy). I can focus on how my Facebook is going to blow up with pictures of flowers and chocolates and equally-gaudy jewelry from Zales or Jared (can someone PLEASE explain to me the Pandora bracelet? I still don't get it. They remind me of the bead bracelets I'd make in Girl Scouts). Or I can focus on the idea that the day is a moment for reflection.


Eight Valentine's Days ago, I got stood up. I should've known I was going to get stood up, because the guy cancelled on me last minute for a previous date, but decided to "make it up" to me by taking me out on a nice Valentine's Day dinner. I remember being in the lobby of my dorm hall, texting him, angry as all hell, waiting around forever, only to have him reply back like we had made plans to grab a coffee before class and he didn't feel up to it after all. For me, that was the last straw: I had spent the first semester in an amazingly unhealthy pseudo-relationship, followed by a string of pretty terrible dating mishaps. I decided that I was going to focus on school and not on boys. Little did I know that I would meet the man who would become my husband four days later.


The last seven or so Valentine's Days have run the gamut. From being surprised with flowers as my last class got out to both of us forgetting Valentine's Day (and our anniversary) thanks to me being stressed as all getout from school and him being stressed as all getout from work. And I know it's easy to brush off Valentine's Day when you've been in a loving, committed relationship for nearly eight years, but the fact still remains: Valentine's Day is what you make of it.


This year, Valentine's Day falls on an off Friday for my husband. He mentioned yesterday how he hasn't made any plans yet and that he needed to get on it. I told him not to worry. As I joked, "As long as you're not spending all day playing video games, I'll be happy." I don't care if we go to a restaurant, or a rock-climbing gym, or just drive around New Hampshire all day. I don't care if we make a dinner and pop some popcorn and watch a movie. I'm just happy that I get all day to enjoy time with my husband (who, after 8 years, I'm still not sick of).


Valentine's Day is exactly what you make of it. Whether or you rename it Galentine's Day, or you take it as an opportunity to go out to the bar and find someone else who is looking for some fun for V-Day, or you do something fun (or nothing at all) with the person you're with. Valentine's Day is exactly what you make of it.

Day 185 of 365: Don't Be Egotistical. Maybe You're Not the Reason

So, I got rear-ended on Tuesday.


I'm fine, and my car is fine. I have two nasty holes where the license plate of the pickup truck hit me in my bumper, but that's about it. We've emailed our repair people about potentially fixing it out of pocket, and if the cost ends up being more than what the deductible would've been, we'll be filing a claim.


I can't even pretend: I've been playing the "why me?" game like you wouldn't believe. Especially since there was a car next to me on the road just seconds before the crash who had essentially driven side-by-side with me for half a mile and then ran the red light that I had slowed down and stopped for. In fact, I was remarking on how that guy had blatantly broken the law just as I heard the loudest bang and felt my car lurch forward.


Seriously, why me, why my brand new car, and why did it have to happen as I was obeying the law (while the person next to me was breaking it)? I was lamenting this to my best friend, who replied with: "Y'know, maybe sometimes things really don't happen for a reason."


And, as I told her, I disagree with that sentiment. I truly believe every single thing happens for a reason. We might not know it yet, but there is a reason for everything. But I think people get hung up on looking at the events in their lives and immediately going, "But how did this event at all affect my life for the better?"


I've been there, too. Been there too many times for me to keep track. And I arrived at one big conclusion: don't be so egotistical. Maybe the reason has absolutely nothing to do with you.


It’s not always an easy mindset to swallow. I struggled immensely with the idea when I found out my friend’s mother’s cancer had taken a turn for the worse. And it only became harder when she passed away. But maybe the reason has absolutely nothing to do with us. Maybe the purpose of this tragedy has nothing to do with the people who cried so much last week. Maybe the purpose has everything to do with a relatively unknown person, whose life was changed in such a subtle manner, but in a way that set off a chain of monumental events that I will never be a part of.


Maybe the reason for me getting rear-ended has absolutely nothing to do with me. Maybe my life is not going to shift because I have to get my bumper repaired. But maybe it will for the passenger in the pick-up truck. Or maybe someone who was driving by and saw the accident. Maybe witnessing the event changed how they acted that day. Maybe they drove a little slower than they normally would. Maybe, because they got to their destination just a few seconds later, they were at the front door in time to hold the door open for someone else. And maybe that someone who received that small act of kindness was kinder to someone else in the course of events that day. Maybe it snowballs from there. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it continues its ripple-pattern into infinity.


How narcissistic of us to assume that all the events that happen around or to us happened for a reason that involves us. We're one of seven billion. How silly it is to think for even a second that every single misstep is supposed to happen for a reason that will affect us and us alone.


This is a seven-billion-person dance. This is not a solo act with 6.999999999 billion background dancers.


So, while I'm frustrated as all get-out that I got rear-ended, I recognize that there's nothing to gain by whining over, "Why me?" I accept that I'm going to have that pretty pitiful thought process, but I also accept that there's nothing in it for me to stay there. It's time to drop the "why did this happen to me?" attitude and instead pick up the "how did this affect the overall song and dance?" mindset.

Day 184 of 365: Take It Easy

For the last two weeks, I've had this linger fatigue/achiness. It wasn't enough to fully cancel class or heat up the chicken noodle soup, but it was enough to affect how I went about my day-to-day life. I was frustrated over how tired I was getting, frustrating over the aches and chills I would get after a minor yoga practice. I said to myself, "If I am getting a cold, just give me a fucking cold. None of this pseudo-sick bullshit."


Be careful what you wish for.


Maybe it was because the weekend was super busy, what with two day-long class sessions for teacher training, with UFC169 on Saturday and the Super Bowl. I got a whopping three hours of sleep between Saturday and Sunday. But, either way, I woke up on Monday feel like someone had hit me with a Mac truck. My sinuses were filled past maximum capacity. My throat felt like sand paper. It felt like there was sponge in my alveoli, making it impossible to breathe. I had a low-grade fever and about 50% working capacity.


It's now Wednesday and there has yet to be any improvement. I'm frustrated beyond all measure: with the contest under two weeks away, I need all my brain power and energy to edit, edit, edit. And instead, I'm staring at the screen like I'm reading Greek. All I can do is look at everything and berate the situation, berate that I've spent the last two weeks muddling through editing, only to have the situation worsen.


I think one of the worst things I ever could do as Type A personality was work at companies where calling out sick wasn't really an option. There's a horrific irony that childcare centers -- which are right up there with pediatrician's offices in terms of germs -- have some of the worst policies when it comes to sick day (and sick pay). When I wasn't being guilt-tripped into coming in anyway because they were already short-staffed, I was weighing just how "sick" I had to be to deserve getting a dock in pay (since sick days do not exist for a good chunk of ECE teachers; just "vacation pay" that we can use in place).


That only reaffirmed my attitude that I should feel bad that I, well, feel bad. Being sick isn't a natural phenomenon that you treat by taking it easy. Being sick is a nasty impediment that should be ignored or squashed.


But, really, I have no choice but to take it easy. I'm not going to stop myself from wishing I could be up and doing stuff, but I can redirect it into getting caught up on my favorite TV shows (I have about 20 Late Late Show episodes DVRed and waiting for me) and maybe just glancing over some of my writing so I don't feel like I'm falling too far behind.


Besides, the more I try to fight it, the longer it's going to last. So, really, the most proactive thing I can do is nothing at all and let my white blood cells get down to business.

Day 183 of 365: It's Not Satan

Facebook has had quite the evolution over the past few years. As of late, it's become a bit of Pinterest Lite -- a lot of reposted pictures, recipes, articles, etc. And I love it: I made a delicious cannoli dip for the Superbowl thanks to a recipe I found on Facebook. And every time an essay of mine is published, best believe I link it onto Facebook (and best believe I check how many times other people shared my essays on the various social networking sites). But it's a double-edged sword: for every cool recipe, there's a whole lot of bullshit. And one of those came with an article that was titled essentially:


"This is Satan with your Children"


The actual title is slightly different (I didn't feel like calling out a fellow writer like that), but the overall feel is the same. In it, she talks about how Satan wins every time she loses her cool with her children, or gets anxious, or has a moment of doubt. She says that Satan is constantly around her, waiting to strike when she is vulnerable, ready to fill her mind with anger or sadness or frustration.


And, truly, honestly, genuinely: I can't. In the fullest internet/gossip-site definition of "I can't": I can't.


I just cannot with the, "Satan is doing this" stuff.


In some ways, people who get into this mindset are actually in line with what the Bible says: in the Old Testament, Satan is the guy who fills your mind with doubt. He's the Loki of the Christian world, playing tricks and causing chaos. But I doubt these people see Satan as a Loki figure. To them, he is evil, pure evil, and the reason for all the bad things in the world.


I can see how that's an easier pill to swallow. Is God to blame for the suffering in the world? No, this other guy is! Ignore the part where God is omniscient and omnipotent and nothing happens without His doing. This is all Satan's fault!


I get the mindset, and I get how people can find peace of mind thinking that way, but, wow, how unhealthy. How unhealthy to decide that all the pain, all the times we see red or have doubt or worry, is because of ~satanic forces~. I grew up Christian and, while my church was wonderful about preaching love and peace over hellfire and damnation, that didn't stop me from hearing about said hellfire and damnation.


And here's the kicker: when I was a kid/adolescent, I went to church every Sunday, prayed every night, said "Our Father"s when I was worried or scared for my well-being. I believed very much in hell and the devil and worried myself sick over people who didn't believe in God and were going to go to hell. Now that I'm an adult, I go to church sporadically at best, I rarely pray in the traditional format, and I've long-stopped believing that there is a hell awaited those who don't believe the exact thing they are supposed to believe. I opened my eyes to the idea that the spiritual world might be a lot more than we can even begin to believe as puny humans, and that -- the same way there is the contradiction of God as the Holy Trinity and God at the same time -- we can have the contradiction of a thousand paths to God, all saying they're the correct one, all being vastly different, and all being right.


And I think I have a closer relationship now with God than I ever did as a traditional Christian.


And while it's hard to imagine that all this suffering -- all the gang rapes and torture and child soldiers and war and famine -- is preordained, I walk away feeling a lot closer to God than I would had I said, "Well this is the work of the devil," and walked away with that unease about powerful evil forces in the universe. And I think it takes away some of the personal responsibility: when you blame the devil, you are looking at outward forces. It is no longer what you can do to better your own reaction to things; it is about how you can fight off offending forces.


But, of course, this is either preaching to the choir or preaching to no one. People who genuinely believe in the article I just mentioned will look at this essay and go, "Well, clearly this is the work of Satan's influences. Just look at how she talks about personal responsibility!"


Oh well.

Day 182 of 365: What Are We Missing?

"Cats can't detect beat or melody. Music is completely lost on them. This means they don't understand why you just picked them up and bounced them around the room."


I made that comment maybe a month or two ago. Just a little something to make light of the fact that I was probably giving my cat seasickness. In fact, aside from humans and parrots, music is lost on almost all creatures. A series of changing notes means nothing to the vast majority of creatures. They are just that: a series of changing notes, without rhyme or reason.


Music is so ingrained in our everyday life. Some anthropologists believe we actually sang before we talked. We remember things better when they are sung out in jingle format (yeah, pretend that you don't know the numbers for Luna Carpeting and the Cars for Kids Charity). One of my favorite radio stations plays orchestral covers of mainstream hits and I can predict the melody long before I can predict the lyrics (or even remember the song's name). This random series of changing notes gives us catharsis, a way of speaking and communicating complex feelings, a way to make the mundane extraordinary.


And it means jack shit to the most creatures.


It's purely chemical. Their brains take in the sound waves and deciphers them one way, while our brain deciphers them another. The sound waves don't magically go away for the dogs and cats. The perception of them simply changes. To them, music does not exist because they have never perceived it, and perception of reality trumps actual reality.


I had a philosophy class in college that tried a similar experiment when it came to dimensions. I argued that, outside of mathematical equations, we can never experience a one- or two-dimension object. Purely a representation. We live in a three-dimensional world, and that dot and line will have length, width, and depth, no matter how thin you draw the line, or how tiny the dot is on your computer. If we are so trapped in perceiving the world with three dimensions, how could we ever try perceiving any additional dimensions (again, outside of math)?


We trust in our five senses because we only have five. We trust in the colors we see because that's the only way our brain processes what's going around around us. We trust in the emotions we experience because those are the only ones we are given. Think of the cognitive dissonance we get when we see something that falls outside our usual schemas, or we hear something we cannot immediately categorize. Think of the anxiety we get when people discuss the universe at large and we realize just how little we actually know.


You can blame the hippy-dippiness on my recent string of yoga training classes, but, really, this is beyond New-Age philosophy. Just how much are we missing because we assume we know all there is about reality? We touch and taste and feel and assume those textures are what make up the fabric of existence. When we might just be nothing more than the average housecat, missing out on a life-changing symphony because we cannot detect beat and melody, and therefore assumes something like music just doesn't exist.

Day 181 of 365: You Are Here for a Reason

"You are experiencing exactly what you need to experience right now. You are here for a reason. Things are happening to you right now so you can learn from them."


I sometimes cringe at yoga philosophy. I've already gone into detail about how I tend to tune out about peace on Earth and life without struggle. But I'm almost always in agreement with the philosophies discussed during yoga class. It helps that I vibe so well with the group as a whole (the instructor reminds me of a grown-up version of my bridesmaid from New York, but that's for another time). But, really, if there were ever a time for me to be in this class, this is it.


I've discussed at length the emotional fallout from leaving the teaching world. While it opened a lot of doors for me, it has left me with a lot of uncertainty. An uncertainty that has only worsened as a yoga studio I worked under went out of business, a karate dojo gave me the runaround, the modeling world is in a winter slump, and I've yet to actually sell a manuscript.


"Embrace the uncertainty. Uncertainty means you are living life in the moment, without plan, without attachment to the outcome."


I ran my first sun salutation yesterday for the class. We've been upping the ante when it comes to learning about anatomy and adjustments. Today, I got a turn to be assistant yoga teacher, helping adjust a student during a small sequence. I got to talk about me being a tai chi instructor and how I use what I learn in class to help shape my classes better.


"Do not concern yourself with what minor details are considered 'wrong'. It is not 'wrong' to eat meat. It is not 'wrong' to leave your bed unmade. What is important is the intent behind your actions."


This is where I am meant to be. That feeling I got in September when I cut out of yoga class before the training info session is in the same vein as the feeling I get when I chat with my fellow students before class. It's the same feeling when I learn something new about the spine, or the abdominal muscles, or proper sequencing. And while there are certain things that still poke at the demons from my past, something akin to trying to go out into the dating world again after a nasty and drawn-out divorce (something I might get into tomorrow), I am confident that this is the right path for me right now.


I am exactly where I need to be, right here, and right now. These are the exact things that need to happen in my life to teach me what I need to learn.

Day 180 of 365: What Grounds You

I just got back from my yoga teacher training classes. Like every other time getting home, I parked my car in the garage, hung my keys up in our pseudo-mudroom in the basement, and walked up the stairs to the first floor. I opened the door and saw two sets of flowers in two of our post-wedding vases: one on the kitchen island and one on the dining room table.


"You seemed a little depressed over all the bad winter weather, so I figured I would brighten up the place with some nice spring colors," explained my husband.


I don't know what it is, but there is something about being surprised with flowers that gets me every time. I recognize the silliness when you strip it down to its must objective core: here, I bought some clipped plants. Because they are shaped in a way to entice bees, we consider them pretty. Here, enjoy them for two days before they die. But, oh well. It's an incredible wonderful token of affection.


I couldn't help but think about the very first hour of my class today. As part of a writing exercise, the instructor told us to list all the things that ground us. It could be physical: running, yoga, tai chi, etc. It could be creative: writing, drawing, dancing, etc. Or it could be intrapersonal: spending time with family, your husband, your cats (and cats are people, dammit). And, alongside running, yoga, tai chi, writing, drawing, dancing, I wrote, "my husband".


I honestly don't know where I would be without my husband to ground me. Plain and simple: he gets me. He not only tolerates the bullshit I can sometimes pull, but he understands where it is coming from and knows how to call me out on it without sounding accusatory. He knows how to challenge me even when I don't want to be challenged. He knows when to give me solutions and when I just need a hug. He has been the driving force behind why I've been attempting to transform my mind -- why I'm trying transition from a very hysterical girl who lets her past, her emotions, the situation get the best of her, into a better, more capable (and for lack of a better term) warrior.


This is sappy as all getout and I don't mind it. I needed something to write before darting off to watch UFC at our friends' place and the flowers inspired me to wax romantical about that dude I vowed to spend the rest of my life with.