Be the change you want to see.

I am a day and a half off my 52nd birthday, and I'm just come home from a delightful evening dancing with five, or six other friends and new friends.

I keep receiving the same message and tonight was just the most recent. The message is move first. Then your brain will catch up. Do the thing first. Okay! Tonight I did the thing.

I listened to new music on the way out to my friend Michal's dance event, and the delightful part is that she actually hosted an angel wash, which is what my old dance teacher used to call hey it's your birthday, happy birthday to you.
...Just kidding! It's really this incredible meditative emotional opportunity for your friends to show you that they love you and want you to be happy.

Angel wash is something that happens once a month in the dance community I've been part of for years, the dance community that dissolved shortly after shelter in place started. It used to be if it was your birthday month, the last dance event of that month would include a dedicated space, for allowing the birthday people to receive loving touch from their community. And it's been 2 years for me, participating OR receiving.. I am not ashamed to tell you that I cried. I needed to cry but even so. We had two other birthday month people, so I got to do the angel wash also! Offering loving touch feels good in a different way, but I love doing both when I have explicit permission.

I needed to move so that the feelings would move and I needed to dance so that my body would have the chance to break down some of the things that are holding me back.

Sometimes taking the action needs to come first, a leap of faith if you will, trusting that the universe will catch you. That might be the case!

When I physically move it fixes some things in my body. Sometimes it's short-term fixed sometimes it's a long-term effects. Tonight it's a short-term fix, my hip is already tight and tender again and that makes me sad cuz it's sign that I'm getting older. But getting older is still better than the alternative so.

Update from the morning: I drank wine last night with my post dance snack (I made on fries potatoes!) And that plus a little acetaminophen meant I guess that I woke up with mild pain of exertion but no joint pain !! Yay!!

And then Jeff was out in the very hot hot tub and I joined him and stretched and gosh that felt good and right now I don't have pain, it's 5 to 11 and my tea is brewing (a chai blend my sister and niece got me) and I need to eat something.

It's a good last day of my 52nd year. Looking forward to starting 53 tomorrow

i spend enough of my days feeling numb that i simply don't have pretty words to spend.
yes it's the pandemic
but i didn't have enough pretty words recently to do more than write something tiny

i want to paint with words but with me the feelings happen and then the words happen.
no feelings? no words.

numb feels safer right now.

i feel helpless. i feel angry. i worry about catching coronavirus but i worry more about this future i assumed i knew the shape of and now it's this blank desert sand, blown by the wind into ripples and dunes, nothing permanent.

i've been ostriching pretty hard in my house for months. well before the shelter in place

numb means i don't abuse myself about how i should be doing more, though I *think* I've broken myself of that habit?

=-/

*exhallllllllle*

our girl wrenb brought us masks. I'm so glad for her and her quiet competence, love and support. I finally test-ran a mask i made today on a walk with Spouse who used to be Eeyore42... and my fabric is too dense to manage even light exertion. the flannel's gotta go, which means unpicking 17 or 18 mask blanks, dammit. but i could run up 10 or so fresh ones once i pick out and tear up new lining material. And i could put the ones that need seam ripped in the living room with the seam ripper and just grab that as a project the next time i sit on the couch.

*huffs* and suddenly i have a plan. clearly i need to write here more and stop lying about the house reading quite so much facebook. Make shit feel better. write words feel better.

okay then.

I've hardly written anything ANYWHERE for three weeks or more because my whole bodymind has been dealing with stress from this Bell's Palsy.

Physical therapy is coming along well, I think. I'm trying to make sure I work my muscles multiple times a day. this is where it's unfortunate that I WFH because i see less people, and speech and expression are actually crucial parts of PT, doing more of what you need to be doing is the ideal PT.

Embarrassing shit about Bell's has included: having to use my fingertip to blink my eye (called a "manual blink"). Leaking liquid I'm drinking out of the weak side of my lips, until i figured out how to cup my tongue to the roof of my mouth and drink in small sips. Large gulps lead to leakage, still, sometimes, though after three weeks.

Also it's not like anyone is ever there to see it because we only have one bathroom sink so Jeff and I take turns brushing our teeth, but when your lips don't work right you can't SPIT cleanly. Dribbling out your mouth ugh

I'm glad i came to terms with my own fidgety nature a long time ago, because i have no shame or hesitation in massaging my own face whenever it's sore, or whenever i think about it. Massage helps with the blood flow and the stiffness/inflexibility.

i'm pretty proud of the fact that I continue to troubleshoot my own face. (I need to figure out what kind of band "troubleshoot your face" would be the band name for) By observing and analyzing what muscles make which expressions, I'm learning a lot about the practical things for my anatomy... did you know that your eyebrows raising activates muscles buried under your hair?

I did not know that until yesterday. So I'm working on things there.

Made it to Dance class last night. the Refuge class is a moving meditation class (which reminds me, I need to send a link on moving meditation to my trainer, who thought meditation was only about sitting still). We dance, sit, walk, dance, sit, walk, dance, sit. Claire brings music that consistently something surprises me, and something is familiar, every time. I love it.

I shared at the end of class (our last Sit is followed by an Integration Circle) about being grateful for class being a safe place to Show Up Imperfect (also it's a good place to Dance Ugly), and how my body betrayed me and broke the half of my face temporarily... J came up to me after when we were breaking down and said, what's it called, what happened to you? I say Bell's Palsy. He says, you know, I had that in 2012 after I was finishing chemotherapy? I was like whoa. He says It seemed kinda unfair that that got piled on on top of chemotherapy, and I agreed with him. Sounds like his Bell's episode was milder than mine, thank goodness.

Claire told me that she'd been worried about me (I've been sharing some of my stuff on facebook). I thanked her and said it was good to be back, and that I was happy about my own progress... that there was even a silver lining in that I'd had to take prednisone for the Bell's. I don't understand what exactly steroids do, but my muscles all felt lubricated and luscious and moved well while I was on the prednisone. And a bunch of the hitches and sticky muscles and joints? Just slid, released, let go. I can squat all the way down now! my shoulder and my hand from where I broke my hand NYE 2016, all that shit let go! my lower back and my hip let go!

Claire said, well, that is a nice silver lining about a shitty situation.

I haven't called it a shitty situation because I need to keep positive to keep going because I cannot allow the alternative. I cannot NOT keep going, you know?

But it is, has been, kind of a shitty situation.

Thing is. The Thing Is, that if we are lucky enough to live so long, our bodies will start to fail us in varied and unpredictable ways. We can't control it, so we shouldn't be ashamed of it.

We can only do as much as we can do. We can only fix what we can fix. WE can try to choose our attitude, but sometimes you gotta cry and rail against the gods, you know what I mean? And that's totally okay.

I'm crying and sweating as needed. I'm doing the things I need to do. I'm pretty proud of my own determination and my relatively new habits of self-care.

Keep on keeping on.

You'd think, with how good my life is now, that it'd be easy to pretend.

Pretend WHAT? says the acidic voice in the back of my head...
Pretend that you were happy? Pretend that you felt loved? Pretend that you ever felt safe?

"Yeah," I shoot back at the Nasty. "Pretend that I had a 'happy childhood.'"

I'm an optimist now. It feels as though I have always been an optimist, and perhaps I have. I'm not SURE, though.

From a very early age, I remember... melancholy, and a sense of disconnect from the world around me. I remember deep suffering, and an almost equally sharp despair. I remember a fierce yearning to BELONG somewhere, or to someone, as I never did at home. Convinced that would never happen, I still determined I would somehow learn to be happy. I knew that people were happy, somewhere (though not my family, except in brief glimpses.)

Wasn't it Tolstoy who said that unhappy families were all different and happy ones were all the same? I disagree. I've met so many people from unhappy families, and we all have so much in common... It feels like Tolstoy had it backwards. The folks I know who had happy childhoods seem to me like visitors from another planet.

My own childhood feels as though someone else experienced it. It feels like a story I was told long ago that no longer apples to me, so I have mostly forgotten it.

It's no longer relevant to my current life, my childhood, but it's still true. And it's still a part of my story.
*thinking*

Joy staining backwards. That's how Lucy Maud Montgomery defined it... In her book The Blue Castle, the main character has a miserable life under the thumb of her family and the small minded society of the small Canadian town she lives in. Valancy has a brush with death, determines to make a change for herself in the short time she believes remains to her, and finds happiness for the first time in her life. Her joy in her new life with her new husband is so vivid and rich that she finds even her memories of the miserable grey childhood of neglect, control, and verbal abuse, seem happier as she looks back on them. Like looking on the past with rose colored glasses, her past did not change, but her present joy gives her a new perspective on the horrible events and the grim family that were all that she knew for most of her life.

Sometimes, nowadays, it does seem as though my life has only been contented, full of love, happy, and with my needs met. It's because the contrast between then and now, makes THEN seem completely unreal and distant. Now is what's real. This hilltop I live on now, these woods I ramble through with those I love and those who challenge me and make me laugh. I don't delude myself anymore that I was truly happy, back then. I was lonely, miserable, heartsick, and friendless.

But I am none of those things anymore. Even when I am completely solitary, I am none of those things anymore.

I am standing beneath the same moon as my childhood self, and it is a comfort to me... a comfort that I still have a childlike sense of connection to the universe, to the impersonal unending beauty of nature and the cosmos. I have joy, I have courage, I have friends and family and beloved community. I have plans and goals that draw me on to the next chapter, the next goal, the next adventure.

I know that this moment is just a pause to rest and refresh myself. Anticipating the next big adventure, like my heroine in The Blue Castle, doesn't mean I've forgotten my past, or am in denial of what life was like, then.

Now is different. These hiking boots don't come with a rear-view mirror. They do help me carry my permanent sense of wonder, along with all the other tools I now possess. Life is amazing, NOW.

And Now? That's where my focus is.




This has been my entry for therealljidol, week 11. The prompt was "recency bias."

I'm enjoying writing within this community very much. If you enjoyed this post, or got something out of it, please consider voting for me so I can continue to write with these amazing and supportive people. The polls are available HERE , and I'm returning back in Tribe One.

ghost_light is having an Anniversary of her LJ, friending friendzy over at her journal, OVER HERE, so if you are looking for people to interact with here on LJ, you could probably find some new interesting folks.

(I saw tatjna and Frank over there, who I'd met on someone else's friending Friendzy, so there's still a few die-hards over here who are interested in sticking around.)

Maybe it's an inconsequential thing to notice (but it doesn't FEEL LIKE IT) but I can see my ankles now, they look bony and strong, and we've uncovered a long elegant sweep from foot to calf.

The arches of my feet are lower, my feet are more flexible and rarely cramp up nowadays.

My legs are gaining muscle, I'm finding many weight bearing movements are becoming more fluid and graceful (getting in and out of the car for example), and I'm starting to feel muscles in my waist and belly also.

My muscles are frequently sore and tired from twice weekly hard workouts. Tal wants me to do cardio a minimum of three times a week, pretty hard cardio, like periodically huffing for breath kind of cardio. Its a fair cop. I'll get stronger faster and hopefully hold it longer if I get in the habit of regular cardio, and I *should * have more confidence for small physical adventures.

I'm embarrassed by the fact that it has taken so long to try and get fit but I've got to remember that my knee was messed up for close to fifteen years and that I believed the doctors when they told me nothing was badly wrong, in spite of not consistently being able to walk straight, and I internalized a lot of the wider culture's fat shaming. And in this regard, I need to relax and forgive myself. I need to allow myself to be proud of the fact that I'm less than two years post knee surgery and I'm making progress and gaining strength and muscle and wind and the habit of movement in the last two years. After a long time of being mostly stationary and mostly flabby, this is good.

I do have some shame around "having to hire someone who teaches me how to move and how much" and I have some of my version of white liberal guilt" that Jeff's salary (& not my own) is paying for this. Working on feeling like I am worth the spending money on. Its an ongoing thing.

That said, I feel stronger and like I am moving forward in the physical part of my like.

Now, I need to generate more of that towards the occupations finding part of my life and much more should improve. Like kicking my bike into higher gear.

Okay.

I walked to work and back yesterday, my last day teaching (supervising) the choir class at the high school. Had a great chat with one of the ninth graders in the Womens Chorus. She challenged me to do something I've been saying I would do for a decade: join the ACLU. She has a point there. I also walked out on my errand to try and find a new pair of exercise pants at Target. Unfortunately that attempt was made of fail. BUT! but I did get a new package of cotton underwear! that fits! and doesn't have holes! and they are all blues and purples~!

such is my life that I am excited to spend <$10 for 6 pairs of cotton underwear. Heh. Feels a bit like pampering myself. And so, a fair bit of walking yesterday. Did not get to gym.

Going to gym today after shower & breakfast, flip laundry, start dishwasher, & library drop off. I'm really looking forward to it. Planning to ask the desk for one of the trainers to do an orientation on the machines so I can be sure I'm using correct form and to have an idea of the kind of challenge they think I can go with. I am probably not challenging myself *enough* to really build muscle mass, but I am challenging myself enough to warm up the muscles and get them and my joints to start to be flexible again. So I'll get some professional advice. =) Planning to spend about 2 hours there total, though I think I'm missing the window to try a class (today), I think it will be just right after two weeks off.

( Medical TMI behind cut, or, why I can't yet use the pool at the gym, dammit )

I want to get to swimming. I really like swimming. So I am totally taking care of this detail both so I can swim and so I can get back to (ahem) other things as well. Heh.

This much said, time for my shower so I can go get brunch so I can finish my other errands and get my butt to the gym around 1 pm. Ought to ping angelkatharine and see if she'd like to meet me there.

Finding myself lately, looking at a lot of older people. I see people with white hair and wrinkles, in athletic shoes and support hose, walking confidently or with a walker or in a wheelchair, hand in hand with a companion - a sweetie, a daughter, a son (or so I assume), or a caregiver (again I assume)...

and I realize I am indeed at middle age.

42 is a good age to be at, but I will be exceptional for my family if I live to significantly past 80.
So now is a good time, especially since I HAVE the time right now, this year, this season, to think and plan out what I want middle age to look and feel like, and to think and plan and imagine what eldering will or may look and feel like for me.

I think I need to really re-examine what I think I know about getting older, and what it will feel like from the inside. I think I am learning that a lot of assumptions I used to have about how the world worked, drove COMPLETELY off the tracks after I discovered a pagan practice, after I discovered a polyamorous lifestyle, after I realized I don't, and I can't, fit tidily into the boxes that pop culture seems to want to put everyone into.

I overflow. I am large and abundant and have way too much love and hope and earnest curiosity and quirky interests. I am not nearly sarcastic or bitter enough for "what it feels like is expected of me". I'm an idealist. I'm inclusive. I'm passionate and frequently relaxed and forgiving. I like to make things myself, to find things out myself.

I don't think we have enough dialog about what it means to leave the Youth Culture behind and move into ... what? What does it *mean* to "get older" or to "become mature" or "adult"?

Who are the models of behavior? What do we need to do to move from here to ... wherever there is? What can, what MUST we shed and leave behind to make the journey?

If I think of this process in a pagan context, I can use the five-stage model, which goes Maiden-Mother-Teacher-Warrior-Crone. (the last four steps, I feel, interchange and interweave in women's lives as we grow older and more experienced and sure of ourselves, rather than being concrete, definable stages we progress through in an orderly fashion.)

I've been through Maiden, Mother/Teacher stage (my teaching and librarianing all had a deeply maternal caretaking quality), have spent some time in Teacher/Warrior stage and want to spend more there and gain in strength and confidence. I want to return to Mother/Teacher stage as an artist, birthing words and images and inspiration... since I can't birth my children, I will find children to mother and mentor and teach; I can't "lose myself" in childrearing, so I will strive toward finding myself in artistic and community endeavor. I will find my own teachers, and worry later about Being Teacher, if I choose to return to that. Teacher/Warrior needs community, and I've let my community drift away from me for too long. If I rebuild and regrow Community for myself, I think that over time, my other needs will gradually be met: needs for people time, needs for meaningful work, needs for playful and productive connection and belonging. And my need for FUN. =)

Have been living in "stuck" mode for too long. Been struggling to do *anything* productive. I've been homecaring, and taking care of my own body. The good part of that, is that for the first time in my life, taking care of my physical self is an unconflicted, unguilted, first priority. Too many "wake up" calls about my health in the last few years.

No more "shoulds": The change is here. I *am* moving my body. I *am* finding the foods and activities that help me feel strong and healthy and good. I *am* looking to the future, to 50, 60, and yes, to 80. I'm Off The Path. I have NO idea what these years are "supposed to look like" and you know what? I don't care. I can survive in the wilderness, I can feed myself and take care of others and make all my own tools.

Not getting any younger. (in some ways, thank Gods for that!) Therefore: NOW it is time to take stock/inventory, time to truly see where I am as I descend into the season of Dionysos, into the dark and the cold, into the introspective time and the Lesser Madness. Sink my Roots. Allow myself the time to make my Tools, talk with others about the Path Ahead, laugh and eat and drink wine around the fire, love hard and plan to Do Important Things before I die.

Ripples in the pond. Are my ripples from a big ol' PLONK or are they the cascade of light, sweet rings shimmering out from a single smooth stone skipped far across the pond? I'm hoping for a many-times multiple skip with a surprising dogleg hop at the end before the splash...

as seen on apocalypticbob's Livejournal.

15 years ago I was 25. That was the "existential birthday" because after 25, I hadn't imagined at all what my life would be like. I had detailed expectations for every year up till 25, then 26? No clue what I should be doing with myself. Interesting, I haven't thought of that in a long time.

At 25, 15 years ago, I was back living at home with my mom. My dad had just died, about 6 months earlier. We were living in a house we rented, very near to the school that she worked at (also my old junior high). Our house had a little cement and stones waterfall-pond in the backyard, and mom spent hours dredging out that pond, shortly after we moved in. We wanted to put some goldfish in it. We discovered, once it started raining, why it needed mud dredged out of it: the rest of the yard was on a slight upslope, and the dirt from the lawn and garden flowed down hill when the waterlogged dirt... yeah. =) I loved that yard: spending time watching the fish, practicing kata on the back porch. I had just started the librarian job in the Grant district, was doing taekwondo at the community college, and feeling physically strong for the first time in my life. Emotionally, not so strong, though.

Advice for the Me of Fifteen Years Ago: (Granted if I had taken it I wouldn't be where I am today:)

* Gods, DITCH Francis already. He's not emotionally available, he's sarcastic and unsupportive, his parents are clutterholics, and so is he. He wants to keep everything the same. This is not a relationship that will help you to grow.

* Keep up with the Taekwondo. But: find a mentor who you feel comfortable going to for help in breaking down complicated moves, find someone who you can ask stupid questions of, regularly (and get used to asking uncomfortable, stupid questions). Practice jumping kicks at home, and ask for specific drills involving falling and getting over the fear of falling. And if this Do-jang doesn't do that, find another class to take, because it was the fear of asking for help/looking foolish and the fear of falling and hurting yourself that caused the knee-sprain. Twice.

* When you realize after about a year that you are still PISSED at dad for dying and everything else, give a call to that 800 number for employee mental health, and find someone to talk to about this, keep calling till you find someone. It's not natural nor good for you to be angry for six years and to be unable to remember any of the good things about your father. Also, that headspace puts you as a good match for another emotionally unavailable, sarcastic first husband. =( Talking to people is a Good Thing, and asking for help, well, you won't get help unless you do, and you won't know if you'll get help UNTIL you do ask, so talk to people.

* In that same vein, say yes more often to social events with people you like and who like you. It's good for you and builds your self-esteem and the friendships with those people as well. (The number of social events I flaked on, to have a date with a boy who didn't really make me happy...!)

* Make more stuff. Actually USE your craft supplies, you'll be sorry you didn't. Make gifts for friends and family, even if you "don't think it's good enough". The pillow that Scotty saved the dog's hair to stuff? Make that first. =(

* Do more professional development in the librarian gig, and find more ways to interact with the kids. Follow up on the mobile mini-library idea for classroom projects. Pick the brains of the English and history teachers more. Go do social stuff with Sandy and Cathy and ask Regina and Sharon out to tea. Knowing smart, experienced, older ladies is Good. Also, look into academic counseling at Sac State, you won't finish the teaching credential your first time through, but they'll understand, what with dad dying. They might be able to help you stay on track or find support services, bereavement counseling, stuff like that.

* Call your brother more. Find out more about his life, his girlfriend Sarah, have him tell you more tacky fraternity stories and explain why his fraternity was so important to him. Ask him about the trip to Hawaii, and about coaching his baseball team. Find a way to get down there and go out to dinner with him and Sarah.

* Call your sister more. Even awkward conversation is better than no conversation. Get to know Matt, and you and Jen can learn ways to support each other, and to support mom (and Scott) as well, through the grieving period. (I don't have any memories of spending time with my sister during the first year after dad died. I may be misremembering but yeah.)

* Try casual dating, and dates-with-friends. Also, dates-with-self. Strengthen the muscles of independence and self-sufficiency.

* I'd say "purge the clutter" or "get rid of the crap" but I know the crap is a security blanket that isn't going anywhere till you feel better about yourself. In addition to working on your social skills and other crafty things, try going to Al-anon, and hell, learn more about being an Adult Child of Alcoholics. Fran gave you that book because she recognized where you were, even if you didn't. Believe her. Try a meeting.

* Learn to give yourself manicures and pedicures. Seriously, you ARE worth the effort to learn to do such small things that make you happy, make you feel pretty.

* Hug your mom more. Take her along when you go out to walk the dog. Talk to her more, ask for stories of your dad from college and when they were early dating.

* Take your mom out on social events as often as she will let you. She was very very lonely for a very long time, even married to your dad and with you kids and the social life she did have... and she was primary caretaker of your dad during his final illness, even if you helped. She deserves some good times with loving, friendly people, and she won't meet them on her own for over 10 years. Help her out, it'll help you out as well.

* Enjoy the pagan community you're on the verge of joining. Talk with those folks more often, they'll be good for you. Read the books they recommend, seriously, READ them. All the way through. And read some more original sources, too, and as much other mythology as you can lay your hands on. This will be more fun and more useful than getting lost in crappy romance novels. They're good people. If you have to be shy, be shy, but ask them about themselves, learn more about who they are, how they problem solve, and the obstacles they've had in their own lives. This will help you problems-solve, and overcome your own obstacles, and again, give you confidence in your friendship-building skills, coincidentally more friends as well. =)

* Just so you know, you are sexy, and there are often people who think you are cute and want to see more of you. Don't grip so hard onto a relationship because you are worried no more are going to come around. There is enough, you have enough, you are enough. Feed yourself before you feed EVERYBODY else around you. You know about being alone, it hurts but it's not the worst pain ever.

* BTW, the worst pain ever? It's yet to come. You will handle it, and you will learn what you're made of, and it will open your eyes to who and what you are, where you are, and what your path is. It's a kind of birth. Remember that, and treat it as such.

* Be honorable, and be honest. Live by those two rules as much as you can, and treat yourself with kindness and respect.


... If you like, write a letter to the Yourself of Fifteen Years Ago, (assuming you're old enough to have figured out some life-lessons to share with that Yourself), and share with me.

My ACoA meeting went great tonight. It was good to be back.

The "shares" went deep, scary, trusting places. One person shared that her sisters told her, six months ago, that her nickname in the family was "Doormat". WTF? How could they call her that, how could they tell her? But maybe it's for the best thatshe know now. Seems she's slowly transforming herself...

In spite of deep, scary places, it was inspirational & uplifting to be there. I keep realizing how incredibly blessed & lucky I have been on my journey toward wholeness and growth & love & honesty & compassion. And uplift, my own, and the pay-it-forward kind I try to do for others.

Blessed & lucky. I made connections tonight. I was seen, I was heard, and I walked out lighter than I walked in.

And I offer this: if you want to go to a local ACoA/Dysfunctional Families meeting and you live <two hours drive from me? I will drive to go with you. Because then we are no longer alone with the crazy inside our heads and habits. And together we can achieve something we could not do alone.