Finding my “Why”

I’m considered “obese.” Every doctor I have gone to weighs me, documents on my chart my weight and my height, and then the markers come in.

“OBESE.”

Let’s look at this word. What does “Obese” mean? According to dictionary.com, obese means ‘very fat or overweight.’ Yep. That’s what it means. In clinical terms, obesity is “A disorder involving excessive body fat that increases the risk of health problems. Obesity often results from taking in more calories than are burned by exercise and normal daily activities. Obesity occurs when a person’s body mass index is 30 or greater. The main symptom is excessive body fat, which increases the risk of serious health problems. The mainstay of treatment is lifestyle changes such as diet and exercise.”

The Centers for Disease Control says “Weight that is higher than what is considered healthy for a given height is described as overweight or obesity.”

I would like to say I’m not overweight, I’m under tall.

But seriously.

Why do we put so much emphasis on looks? Why do we look down on people, women specifically, for being overweight? Why is it a failure to be even a pound or three over the “ideal”? What IS the ideal?

Bannerhealth.com says that an “ideal” weight for a woman who is 5’4″ is 108-132 pounds. 108?! 132?!!

Well, by that reckoning, yes, I AM obese. I am not sure how healthy I would be if I was that weight. I haven’t seen that kind of weight since I was…quite young. I’m not telling how long ago it was but it’s painful.

So how did I come to this point and why don’t I DO something about it?

I have been living with weight issues all of my life. My mother used to tell me all sorts of nasty things like she would have to buy me clothing from “Omar the Tentmaker.” I was not an active child. I played with my siblings, yes, but that was on the swing set in the yard, not out playing tag, running, or anything else. I have been a stress eater all my life. There were nasty things going on at home. My response to that was to eat. I would go into the kitchen after hours (read: after everyone was asleep) and eat. Eating without exercising leads to gaining weight.

Fast forward quite a few years.

Marriage. Children. Going back to school. Finding exercise classes. Health issues. Every visit to the doctor is followed by the same thing: You’re obese.

I’ve gone to fitness classes. Those fitness classes are wonderful, but I’ve not lost weight.

I’ve been out walking. I’m not losing weight.

I retired from a job I held for 30 years. Was off work for a year. Found a new job. That job lasted almost a year. I walked more. I didn’t lose weight then either. I listened to office mates talking about how they were exercising for an hour a day. They were talking about it all the time. The one lady was extremely thin. I felt huge. I felt like a loser. Not the loser I wanted to be.

I quit that job. Took the summer off, but didn’t lose weight. I wasn’t really trying hard at that point, but I attended my fitness classes every week. In October, I got another job. Now my exercise time has been reduced. I sit on my rear for eight hours a day. I don’t go out walking, even though I know I should. There are a lot of things I know I SHOULD do.

I shouldn’t compare myself to other people. I have a tendency to do that.
I’m jealous of the people I see who work out daily or every other day, those who are successful at their weight loss. I want that loss for myself. Again, it comes down to the need to exercise and eat better. I could go out and walk in the park, but I don’t. This is my problem.

I should eat better. I’ve been increasing the amount of fruit I’m eating. I try to have at least one piece of fruit a day. I know I need to eat more fruit and more vegetables. I need to increase my exercise.

I was recently asked, “What is your why?” I’ve had to think about that for a really long time. Why do I want to lose weight? Do I want to lose it because it’s the popular thing? Do I want to do it to silence that nasty little voice in my head? The one that tells me I’m a horrible person because I’m overweight? Why do I want to lose weight?

I’m fairly healthy for all that I’m fat. My blood pressure is great. My A1C, the last it was tested, was okay. It was a little higher than I’d like to see it. Normal is below 5.7. Mine was 5.5. Pre-diabetic is between 5.7 and 6.5. Diabetic is over 6.5. For me, that 5.5 is a little scary since I’m so close to that 5.7 mark. I’m going to have to concentrate on getting that down.

I’m spending time thinking about my “why.” I’m thinking that my why has to be my health. I need to get that A1C number down. I need to get myself healthier. I’m not a fan of exercise but if it will help with the A1C, I’ll suck it up and do it. I do like walking. I can put music on and listen to it while I’m walking. I need the “oomph.” I need someone to kick my butt and get me to focus on my health more. My kids are grown. My husband takes care of himself. I haven’t been taking care of myself but I need to.

My why is the woman I am now, and the woman I hope I can become.

She’s been here, living behind excuses for a really long time.

It’s time to give her her voice, to allow her to see the light.

What we have here, is failure…to communicate

I don’t know how to deal with people sometimes.

Let me tell you a tale.

I met someone on the internet, in a game we both played. I was thrilled to have someone I could chat with. We talked a lot, made jokes, and had fun with the game. The casual acquaintance became a “Here’s my number, can you text me when something happens in-game?” and went from there. It sparked a friendship. We were talking every day. We shared information. We talked via text.

Things progressed as time went on. We talked more. We discovered we had a shared love of books and coffee. We laughed a bit. My friend shared some of their deep, dark secrets, which I won’t disclose because it’s not my story to tell. I was pleased to have someone I could confide in and talk to.

Time went on and my stepfather had a heart attack. I wound up having to go see him in the hospital. I was stressed and butt-dialed my new friend as we drove to Fort Worth to see him. My friend and I had a couple of laughs over that. Then again, after that incident, we started talking on the phone periodically. He was supportive. He would talk to me while my husband was busy with other obligations. We started talking while I was at work which gave me a break from the tedium of what we called “The Cage.” It felt like a cage. I drove an hour to work and an hour from work and we chatted about books and things as I drove home.

I made plans to go to the West Coast in 2019. I was going to meet up with my friend and have coffee while I was there. Now bear in mind that the job I had been doing was being farmed off to someone else as a part of a “reorganization” and I had no option but to train this person to do my job. I had put in for vacation in September of 2019. It was not approved until almost mid-September because the meters needed to be done and the person who was taking my job hadn’t had time to assimilate the job. By the time my vacation was approved, it was too late to properly plan a meet-up with my friend. We just decided we’d wing it as best we could due to the circumstances.

I left early in the morning that September and drove, alone, through back parts of Texas and into Colorado. I wound up talking to my friend off and on during the day when my husband wasn’t available to talk to me since he had to work. My friend helped me drive over several bridges that I would have otherwise panicked over. I couldn’t talk to anyone in Utah as the phone service was spotty at best. My poor husband worried when he couldn’t catch me on the phone. In the places I could get a signal, I called him and we talked for a minute while he figured out that I’d made a wrong turn in Utah and had driven halfway around the state. (Never again and never without him!!)

I made it through Utah and into Idaho talking to my friend. Then I made it through Idaho and into Oregon. My friend stayed up extremely late to talk me to the Air BnB I was staying at and was able to help me get in. He said we’d talk more the next day.

We did talk more as he talked me through driving out of Oregon, into Washington, and up to Spokane to pick up my husband at the airport. We never got a chance to talk again while I was there, nor did we have our planned coffee. Instead, that went by the wayside but we chatted via text. We continued to text throughout the next year.

In 2020, I retired from “The Cage” and was ostensibly free. The people from that place would continue to call and my friend asked, “Why don’t you stop helping them? Tell them to figure it out themselves!” I didn’t listen because I’m a person who likes to feel needed and who likes to help. I continued to take calls months after I had “retired” so it was almost as if I wasn’t retired, really. I answered a lot of questions.

At the same time, my friend offered suggestions about talking to my adult children and dealing with my pets, which were two subjects I had spoken of a lot. I heard his suggestions and at first, I said nothing, just filed it away. He continued to offer advice whenever I’d complain about things, but instead of me talking to him and telling him that I felt uncomfortable doing that, I just stopped talking. I’d let him have his say and I’d listen but not follow the advice. I stewed over things he had pointed out about the job and the kids. It came to a head one day when I read something and sent it to him and said, “This is how I feel.” That insulted him. Looking back on it now (hindsight being 20/20), he’s right. I could have and should have, found a better way to deal with things. I sat and thought about what he said and being me, thought he was “attacking” me. He was trying to help, but I didn’t see that at the time. Instead, I was an idiot and blew up at him in an email. There was also an incident where he needed to talk to me but I was unavailable because I was playing a different game. That I wasn’t able to be supportive of him was the last straw and he got upset. Justifiably.

There was a period of about a month or so that we didn’t speak, or if we did, it was only to communicate about the game we both played. We didn’t talk about anything else. In fact, I wrote several “I’m sorry” emails to him which he answered, albeit, coldly. He was still unhappy with me. We finally had it out one afternoon on the phone. I called him and asked to talk to him, which we did for a bit. He said he would have to think about whether or not he wanted to resume the friendship. I agreed to let him think about it. Eventually, he decided that it would be okay for us to speak again, but I was not to mention my family or my pets as they were the trigger to the hard feelings. I agreed and, probably foolishly, thought everything was going to be great.

Things were not to follow the same path going forward. He stopped helping me talk in Italian. Messages were brief but were better. It wasn’t the comfortable chatter of earlier times. I thought that I could give him time and it’d go back to being as it was. I thought wrong.

In 2021, I had the opportunity to go to Washington for a pre-interview test for a position I had wanted. While I was there, I took the opportunity to go across the river and meet up with my friend. We finally had our coffee, exchanged hugs, and talked a lot. One afternoon, after my test, I picked him up and we drove around, went to Pendleton Woolen Mills, and just talked the entire time. I was sad going home but happy that I’d had that time to talk to him.

He had a family tragedy that I couldn’t have foreseen. I tried to be there for him and offered my strength, should he need it.He mourned. I didn’t push anything. Things were, I thought, getting better, but then I noticed, toward the middle of 2022, that it was awkward talking again. I tried to mention it. I said that we needed to communicate better. We had another period of minimal talking, then it picked up again. I shrugged it off and moved on. He doesn’t talk a lot. He’s very stoic and keeps to himself. If he wanted to be silent, I would observe that and follow suit.

I got a new job toward the tail end of last year. We talked a bit, texted, and worked past my training period with messages. I could count on seeing his messages about “Good morning, how are you doing?” that sort of thing. It was nice. Work picked up and got crazy. I have not had a lot of time to really communicate other than “Yes, doing well.” It’s rude, I can see that.

I noticed on Tuesday that messages were…clipped, shall we say, on his side. I shrugged it off, thinking it was just a one-off thing. The next day, things seemed slightly better but then they got worse again. By Friday, messages were terse. He said that since I was not offering information, he was choosing to “follow my lead. If I wanted him to know something, he thought I’d tell him.”
I asked what I had done wrong. I asked him for examples, which he gave. He said that I acted like it was an inconvenience to tell him when I was at lunch so we could text at that time. He’s right. I didn’t send him any messages saying “I’m at lunch.” I know that when he politely asked what I was having for lunch one day, I snipped back with “I don’t know, whatever I find in the fridge to eat.” He didn’t ask for me to be a bitch. It was uncalled for, I know.

So now I’m sitting here, wondering if I’m really dumb for pursuing this friendship. I feel like I’ve ruined it. I want things back the way they were. I know “you can’t go back again.” I know that things have to change to grow.
I feel bad. I cannot apologize again because I have spent nearly three years apologizing for the first transgressions. While he says he has forgiven me, I can’t help but feel that he hasn’t. I felt like he was shoving me away and mentioned it to him last week. He said no, but then…this.

Friendships are a two-way street. There’s giving and taking. You have to bend in order to compensate for the winds of change.. Trees bend. Those that don’t, break.

I understand my friend’s anger with me. I understand that he’s hurt.

I am not sure if he understands that I am also hurt. The freedom of shared laughter is now gone.

I want my friend back. I told him last night that essentially he told me I was a bitch. I was.

I do not like hurting people. It hurts to think that a friendship such as we had is now tarnished and not what it was.
He said he’s likely keeping his barriers in place to protect himself. I get it.

He’ll never know that he’s not the only one who hurts. I feel like I’ve been pushed away.

It’s not a happy feeling.

The moral of this story is Don’t get snippy with people you think are your friends as you will alienate them if you are. If you have a problem, talk. Find a way to COMMUNICATE.

Walls

Walls are designed to prevent things from getting in or getting out. Houses have (at least) four walls. Then there are other less tangible walls but no less critical. Those walls are emotional walls. We put them up to prevent ourselves from being hurt or hurting others.

Osho said, “Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at a great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.”

Why would you build a “wall” and how would you do it? Well, walls are not always tangible, as I said at the beginning. Emotional walls allow us to withdraw into ourselves and keep our feelings in check. We don’t want to trust people for fear of being hurt. This is understandable, especially if one has been repeatedly hurt by those they have loved. If a person repeatedly puts themself out to be loved, only to be rebuffed, they will withdraw. Instead of allowing a potential relationship to flourish, they will do whatever they can to discourage it. This is the easiest way for one to prevent heartache. Unfortunately, it can backfire, especially if they are around new people because they simply will not trust them. They may talk with the newcomers, but there will not be much personal interaction.

What can we do to help prevent this type of wall-building? If we are approaching a relationship that might have the potential to be meaningful, it would be for the best if both parties sat down and talked to each other with as much honesty as they can provide the other. Allow someone to get just a smidgen closer so they might be better able to understand your fears. Try not to be pushy as this can and likely will backfire.

And what about those who have tried to trust and were hurt? They put up walls and it is possible that no amount of apology or “good faith attempts” by others are going to be enough to overcome that hurt. The one who is putting up the walls may feel extremely vulnerable like they are in a position they don’t control. In order to prevent the hurt they are feeling, they work on the control they crave. Call it a wall. Call it protection. Call it what you will. In their eyes, it’s the only way to prevent being hurt again. This is what they can control and control it they will.

What do you do if you come across someone who has raised walls against you? Well, first, try to understand their why. This isn’t always a conscious thing. It may be so deeply ingrained in them, they don’t realize they’ve done it. You can try talking to them. Don’t be accusatory. Try to keep an open mind and don’t approach things offensively because that will trigger the defensive mechanism that allowed the person to raise that wall in the first place. Talk rationally. If you are in the wrong, apologize, but do not continue to apologize. This may not do anything more than to make you feel better. It may not have any effect on the one you’re speaking with. You certainly do not want to blame them for being protective of themselves. If they have suffered some sort of grievous hurt, their walls would make sense. All you can do is to listen and offer your support and let them know you care.

You can’t tear down a wall that has been raised without the consent of the other party. If they refuse to remove that wall, back off and allow them their space. Maybe they will see that they are depriving themselves of emotional closeness. If they don’t immediately see this, don’t give up on them. Be their friend. Be caring. Don’t try to control a situation you’re not qualified to control. If the other party cannot relinquish their control of the situation, let it go and step a distance or three back. Let them come to you.

If it’s meant to happen, those walls will inevitably crumble and you will be allowed that closeness.

If not, let them go. Step back a few paces and be as supportive as they might allow you to be.

Things have been known to change. It takes time and patience.

Storytellers

When you were younger, did you have someone who told you stories?

If you did, was it an older person in your family or a sibling?

Why do we tell stories? What purpose do they serve?

“Storytelling has been a prominent feature of civilization from the beginnings of prehistoric civilization. Whether these stories come to us in the form of ghost stories over a campfire, local urban legends, the newest Netflix series, an age-old cult classic film, or classic literature; it is undeniable that a good story holds an immeasurable amount of power.” (https://www.grin.com/document/424622)

The Greek, Etruscan, and Roman cultures used storytelling throughout their history. This was a way of preserving their culture and heritage. In ancient Greece, a storyteller was called a Bard.

For some, it is a way to teach lessons. The Indigenous People had many stories that we may think of now as “myths,” but which were actually meant to convey a specific meaning. This is how they passed along their knowledge and wisdom, and how they taught the next generation to live and behave.

I asked someone I know if he had someone to tell them stories when he was younger. He said, “No, but I wish they had.” This has me wondering why we don’t tell stories? We have books, sure, but the oral tradition of storytelling seems to be a seldom used thing.

I asked another person if he’d been told stories. He said that yes, he had several. As was noted above, they were used for teaching as he is an Indigenous person.

This has me questioning things. When did the European settlers of this country stop telling stories, or did they ever tell them? What makes the Europeans so much different, other than things I will not go into in this blog? Did they at one time tell stories? Were they used to ignite a person’s passion, to get them interested in something after they “grew up?” We don’t seem to have a “mythos” that teaches things like making good choices.

I have had the honor of being allowed to read certain Native stories since I am extremely interested in that culture. One of the stories I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to is Iktomi. As I understand it, Iktomi is a spider-being and was rather…mischievous, to put it mildly. I do not know if I have the right to repeat any of those stories as I am not Indigenous, so I will just say that I have learned things from those stories. I enjoyed them. There are other stories that I have read and enjoyed as well, and I would love to hear them told to me directly instead of me reading them. I feel that it would lead to a better understanding of the stories.

I love stories. I love to read, but again, there is something magical about hearing the words. I read out loud when given the opportunity because I enjoy trying to bring stories to life for someone else. I had a friend who would tell me stories when we first met. He shared with me stories of his life. In those stories, I got a feeling for the man he has become. He tends to not rush through his stories, rather, he chooses his words with care. There are things he will not talk about, but I understand that is him. I won’t push for anything more as I know the reasoning. This isn’t my story to tell, so I will leave it here.

Do you have a child or children who make up fabulous stories? If so, encourage that as it may carry on your family history. It’s a good thing to continue the oral tradition of storytelling. It would bring families closer and we would be less dependent on our ‘electronic pacifiers.’

I will listen to your stories if you choose to tell them to me.

The world is too judgemental

We, humans, are judgemental.

Why do I say this?

It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.

Why do I think humans are judgemental? I’m going to tell you. And lest you think that I’m saying I am not judgemental, that is far from the truth. I am just as guilty as the next person about being judgemental.

For example: We see a person on a street corner, holding up a sign that says “I have x number of children. I need money for food.” This person may look nice-they may be wearing a nice jacket or the current fashion of ripped jeans or something like that, but we don’t know their story. When I’ve seen people like that, I wonder why they’re on the street, begging drivers for money instead of somewhere, trying to get help. Do I know their story? No. But have I already pre-judged them based on where they are and what I see? Yes, unfortunately, I have. I am not innocent. I’m working on trying to be a better person, trying to understand their back story.

I personally have felt judged a number of times. When I was a new mother and had to go back to work, a neighbor who was not working told me, “I would never put my child into daycare and work! I would stay home.” She didn’t know my story. She assumed that I wanted to go to work every day, putting my child/ren at risk for whatever germs were running rampant in daycares. I heard a lot of things about that from other people too, believe me.

Then, when my kids were older, I was judged for not giving them cars, for not paying for expensive college tuition, that sort of thing. I had a relative jump on me for standing up for one of my children when a social media post they made hit a sour note with the relative. And I have relatives who judge me on my religious beliefs and refuse to speak with me anymore.

For that matter, I’ve lost “friends” because I had different political beliefs than them.

We judge people on their race, their sex, and their sexual orientation. What we see on the outside leads us to judgment as well. We see a “plus-sized” person and immediately think, “They’re lazy!” How do we know? These people may be dieting constantly. They may be exercising as much as they can. Possibly they have mobility issues. It may not be a “lack of motivation” or any of the other things that may come to mind. What if these people legitimately cannot move around due to injuries?

We live in a society that likes to compare itself to others and judge people based on what they see. If you see a person on the street corner, are you looking at that person as they might be a veteran who put their life on the line to defend our country? Do we really know everyone’s story? The quick and easy answer is, no, of course not. That doesn’t stop some people from continuing to be judgmental and rude about them. I’ve been around people who claim they are “just trying to be helpful” but they look down upon me for not living my life exactly as they live theirs. I don’t want to be a cookie-cutter replica of someone else. It’s called individuality for a reason.

My entire point of this is to say that we don’t always know what someone else is going through. Being judgmental and speaking negatively of someone else isn’t really a good thing. If we practice compassion and empathy, we might be better humans. We need to stop looking at someone and saying in our minds or to our companions, “Would you look at that person! What a Bum!” or “How FAT they are!” or “I’m so glad I don’t look like that!!” All of these things, I’m sure everyone has said at some time or another. I am the first to admit that I’ve been judgmental about others. Does it make me a good person? Oh hell no! Am I trying to overcome that? Hell YES.

Try to be nice to your fellow humans. We are all on this Earth. We all have a story nobody else knows. Try reframing your thoughts to reflect “I don’t know their story, but I wonder how I can help?” If you don’t want to help, fine. Don’t. If you do, but you don’t want to, say, give someone on the streetcorner money, then donate to a charitable organization that helps people down on their luck. Donate old clothes, go volunteer at a shelter. Just don’t continue to sit on your mental pedestal and tell yourself that you’re so much better than they are because you aren’t there where they are.

Be a decent person.

It’s not that hard.

Dealing with grief

I’m mad. I cannot express how mad I am. In October, I received a voicemail message from one of my sisters. I knew, even before Iistened to it, that my mother was no more. I even said it out loud at work. (Fortunately for me, nobody at work listened!) I told my boss, finished up some work, then left. I didn’t go back until the following week.So through this, my sister called because she needed to talk-it apparently hit her harder than it hit me. She and her other sister spent time talking. I didn’t really have anyone but my Drumba family, my husband, a dear friend and my kids to talk to. I let her vent, listened to how broken up she was, offered whatever comfort I couldn’t give, then sent her on her way. I was numb.

Back story here–I wasn’t close to my mother. I won’t pretend that we had the best relationship. In fact, she was abusive, didn’t acknowledge my son or husband, only my daugter, but she was my parent. I didn’t break down into tears or anything. As far as I am concerned, it’s a bit surreal, knowing that my mother’s passing will be one year ago this coming October. All I can say is “wow.”

After finding out that she had passed, I found out, AFTER THE FACT, that my stepfather had her cremated. To me, it seems really fast. He even had a quick funeral for her. I wasn’t advised of it That was saved for her dog friends and my sister. Okay. He was mad at me for not coming to see her in her final days. I didn’t know she was going to die! I didn’t know that I needed to see her in a hurry. NOBODY stressed that to me! The only thing I was told was that I probably should go see her.

I wanted to go see her. I wanted to read her obituary. I wanted to have something that said, “This was this person’s life. We are celebrating it, even though she’s no longer here.” I didn’t get that. Okay. I get that I screwed up. I get that. I really do. What I don’t get is why I didn’t even get a chance to attend her funeral? Why didn’t I get a chance to receive some of her belongings? Those were packed up and sent to the sister in California to “dole out.” I don’t even know what she had. At this point, I’m not sure I even give a shit. I wasn’t important enough to receive a phone call from my stepfather!! I had to receive it from a sister!!!

Sometime after that, my sister called me and asked me to help my stepfather find a lawyer. She wasn’t really going to but I as I live in Texas and he lives in Texas, she thought I would be able to help. (well, except for a certain condition she put on it…which turned me off to helping, so I let it go.)

In the four months since her passing, I’ve heard from him once, and that was just to ask if I’d heard from the sister. He apparently had sent her stuff, tried to help and she didn’t respond. He told me he wished I had gone to see her. He told me about getting rid of her truck and buying himself a new car. He wanted to talk to my sister. I sent her a message telling her to reach out to him. That’s all I could do.

I haven’t posted anything on Facebook about my mother’s passing. My Drumba family knew. My co-workers knew. My best friend and my family knew. I am not going to try to force tears to roll down my face. She is out of whatever pain and misery she was in. That much I know. I also know that there’s a lot I do NOT know about her final days/months/years, things that will never be mentioned to me. My sisters don’t talk to me. One of them unfriended me on Facebook a few years ago for defending my daughter. My immediate family is important to me. I love them and while I am not the best parent, I would hope that my kids know I love them and will be willing to accept that I’m who I am.

I’m frustrated, I’m angry and I’m sad.

I want to know what happened to my mother.

I would have liked *someone* to write an obituary for her. She loved her dogs. Couldn’t you have said that about her? She was not a good parent, but she had three children, not one, not two.

I don’t want to be excluded.

March Miscellanea

I’ve had an ill family member who has consumed my life recently. He has been hospitalized for three weeks now. I’ve gone out to see him in the hospital twice, and each time, I had to have my husband take me. I can’t tolerate the way other people drive very well. Long distances are an issue for me. I have to have companionship to make the trip. For both trips, I’ve had my husband driving and a friend talking to me via text. That helped my trip anxiety.

In addition to the ill family member, I’ve been communicating with my mother more than I had been. I think this stems from receiving a text message on the advent of the news about the ill family member, telling me, “you probably don’t give a rats ass, but…” That rather pissed me off. I do care. Yes, I have my issues, but everyone has issues. That doesn’t mean I’m an unfeeling, uncaring cretin. At least, I HOPE it doesn’t mean that!

I haven’t gone to see my mother yet. I have seen my ill family member, but I’ve kind of left my mother alone. I have called her regularly. She doesn’t seem interested in speaking with me for great lengths of time, which may be for the best for both of us, but she does know that I care because I call. I don’t know about other people, but this is the best I can do right now. I’m not going to pretend to be sweetness and light. There is history between us that needs to be put to rest, but until I spend a lot of time reflecting on the WHY and move on to the “this is what you’re going to do,” I am keeping my distance. At some point in the next few weeks, I will make that trip out to see my mother.

Maybe this is the beginning of healing a heart that has been damaged by strife? Only time is going to tell. I haven’t written off a visit to her, I’m only postponing it. I am working on my issues with her.

February musings

February is running by rather quickly. It always does. I’ve noticed that it just starts and *poof!* The next thing I know, it’s the end of the month. Kind of creepy. I don’t think I ever noticed it as a child. It wasn’t until I reached the half-century mark that I noticed how quickly time has been flying by. Can I stop the wheel and just take a break???

Along with time flying come the various weather changes associated with this time of year. The weather goes from cold to hot (not blisteringly hot–yet!) to cold again. We’re in another pattern of warm/cold/warm/cold here in Texas. People in other states are dealing with massive amounts of snow/ice/sleet/rain/snow, so I really shouldn’t complain. I will complain a little–I rather like snow. I have two friends, one on each coast, who periodically send me pictures of their snow so I don’t get too lonely for it. This is what happens when you’re a transplant to Texas. I’ve been in this state for over thirty years which nearly gives me native residency status, but I will always call Washington State my home.

February is a good time for changes though. I’ve added more classes to my fitness routines. I now attend Drumba classes Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, plus a Latin Dance and a Stretching class on Tuesdays. I have noticed that I’m now getting sweaty (TMI, sorry!) when I work. It tells me I’m actually getting a benefit from the classes. It helps to have a group of supportive and motivated people in the class with me. I still love the format. I’ve been there for five months now. I’ve even toyed with the idea of taking up belly dancing again. That’s how my mind works though.

A new friend has introduced me to a “new” old concept–trying to let go of issues/conflicts that keep me from being my best ME. I’ve been thinking about this a lot more recently. I can’t change anyone but me. I have to learn to let go of what troubles me and I’ll be a happier person. I know it, but it’s hard to overcome years of “Oh my gosh, this happened…” and dwelling on it. I’m not sure why I’ve done this, but maybe, as my friend says, it’s time to let that destructive behavior go. Otherwise, I will not move ahead on my path to me.

You can only move forward if you allow yourself to not look behind.

I was thinking the other day that I was going to start writing again. I hadn’t quite blocked out the time to do it, but decided “there’s no time like the present.” It’s part of the changes that February is bringing.

Beautiful people

I’ve been pretty lucky in the past few months to have met a couple of really beautiful people.  I don’t mean purely physical looks either.

I’m talking about an internal beauty.

In the past month, I was able to meet a lovely young lady who graciously allowed me to sit next to her on a highly crowded airplane. She and her friend chatted with me during the entire flight, when they could have just kept to themselves. Instead of doing that, they extended warmth and friendship and let their inner beauty shine through.

Another person who is extremely beautiful is the lady I met through an email I sent her. She answered questions, invited me to her studio and has extended her friendship. She has several other beautiful souls in her studio with her. The entire place is full of energy which is positive and caring. This group is one that I feel quite comfortable with.

You know you’re in a good place when you don’t feel overly awkward or out of sorts. I like the “crowd” I’ve fallen in with. I feel like this is something I’ve needed. There’s a challenge there, yes, but there’s also a lot of camaraderies, silent encouragement.

If the people here weren’t beautiful, I wouldn’t have gone back after the first visit. I’d have said, “Yeah, this isn’t for me.”  Instead, I’ve been there pretty much every week. I’m still looking for my “I can’t live without this” moment, but I’m getting there.

I’ve noticed that I have fallen in with a group who shares their energies freely. I told one person that the energy of the place attracted me. I stand by that thought. This place is another ‘home’ of sorts.  It’s my go-to place that lets me work off my stress and frustrations of the day. I love that this can be the end of a long day at work. I usually have about thirty minutes to spare between getting off work until I need to leave for class. This will, of course, change once my office completes the move across town to Addison. I’ll have to plan my evenings so that I’m dressed for class and can go straight over there and ‘play.’ I’m already planning on that.  I start that on Monday…I’ll take clothes with me to work and head for an appointment on Monday evening and we’ll see how well my planning works.

I can only aspire to be one of these beautiful people.

 

Finding my happy place

Cue the James Brown imitation.  “I feel good…You knew that I would…”

Seriously.  I feel really great!

Ask me why.

Okay, don’t ask. I’m going to tell you anyway.

I’ve found my “happy place.”  I found something that I am really enjoying and I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time.

I’m taking Drumba classes. Drumba is a cardio drumming class that combines dance with drumming. The instructor and all the people there are wonderful! I haven’t had this much fun in…well, it’s been a while.  A LONG while!

I found this group through a mention on a local groupon page.  I emailed the studio directly and got an immediate response from the owner. She told me to come in and try a class, which I did. I actually showed up on a Latin Dance class night, but she took time from getting ready to lead that class to come over and talk to the weird person who was standing in her waiting area about classes.  I liked the energy from the room that evening and promised I’d be back the next night.  I did go back. Not only did I go back on that next night, but I went on the following Saturday. I signed up after that Saturday and have been attending since then.

That was in September. We are now in late October and I’m making at least two classes a week. I went to a weights class on Thursday night as an addition to my normal Wednesday/Saturday classes. I was sore after that class on Thursday but it was a good sore. I’m planning on going again. I told my husband and son that they need to go to this class (the weights class) with me.

Something “clicked” for me, I think.  I’m noticing that I am pivoting on the ball of my feet when we’re moving from one ball to another in class. My martial arts instructors tried for years to get me to pivot on the ball of my foot when turning toward something that was to my left or right  I’ve started pivoting in class during the shift from home to the right or left.  That was a surprise to me. I didn’t expect to find myself moving like that.  It’s pretty cool.

The only thing I haven’t done since I started this Drumba journey is to measure myself. I was told that I appear to have more energy.  I just have to tweak a few more things and I might actually be a healthier person by the end of the year.