I'm ten years old, playing Super Mario Bros with my two older brothers on the floor in my room. The games and consoles are outdated, and have been forgotten by their original owners since they were long ago replaced by newer, advanced versions while these gems were passed to me. Yet, here they are, those original players one and two, sitting with me on my floor playing a game while the tears begin to dry on my blotchy, red face.
The doctor my mother had taken me to six months earlier declared that I had ADD, that I should be taking Ritalin, and that I would be much more manageable for her while taking them.
The medication makes me awkward and painfully antisocial, which would be difficult enough to deal with had I grown up among my current classmates. But all the kids I bonded with way back in kindergarten are all 2,000 miles away, where they ought to be, where I feel I ought to be. There is no loyalty to depend on at school. There is no one to see a difference in my behavior. No one, save my brothers.
They, not my parents, witness my coming down off the medication my mother insists on force-feeding me every morning. They witness the shakes, both physical and emotional. They sit with me when I sob from the frustration of not understanding what is happening to me, to the point where my lungs hurt inside my chest and I can't breathe. They, not my parents, sit with me, distracting me, probably as scared as I am.
But their voices, if used at all in this matter, fall upon deaf, stubborn ears. Their concerns probably meet the same response I get every night when I tell her how much I hate taking the medication, "The doctor said there may be some adverse reactions, at first. Stop being dramatic. Do your homework."
Or, perhaps merely witnessing my struggle every morning deters them from seeing a point. A woman so bent on drugging me up does not seem open to the opinions or viewpoints of others. Except, of course, unless that person's name is followed by, 'MD.'
At the ripe age of ten, I will experience what it feels like to come off cocaine - an experience I will find myself in much later in life, after experimenting with drugs at the seemingly generous will of a future boyfriend I wish to impress. I'll recognize the dip in emotions, the aches, the lack of hunger, the cloudy head. The memories of the toll this feeling took on my childhood will ultimately be what turns me off to cocaine and, as a result, I'll be weary of taking any recreational drugs and eventually drinking altogether. This will be the only perk of the whole situation, and in fact, that behavior doesn't win me any gold stars among drinkers as I age, causing me to remain somewhat antisocial and aloof for life.
I will always fear others trying to control me for their own benefit, especially women. It will destroy many relationships.
I will have no respect for the older generation, to the point of seeming cold and ungrateful.
I will not want to have any children, and dread settling down, for fear of being the next generation of this type of parental behavior.
But, for now, my brothers try to make me laugh, a banter I am not able to join in on. I don't understand why yet, but they instinctively leave me out of it.
It's my turn and I pick the Princess for the chosen level.
"You're like a princess," one says, thinking incorrectly that this would cheer me up.
"They're always in peril, something's always going wrong for them," he explains.
"No," I gesture to the screen at the pink dressed icon floating around the bombs and waterfalls.
"Well, if you aren't a princess, what are you?" Later in life, he'll learn how to control a conversation to make you think things like this were your ideas. He'll be so good at it that it concerns me, but for now I'm not convinced by his claim. After all, it doesn't feel like someone's coming to rescue me.
My other brother puts his arm protectively on my shoulders and responds calmly and quietly, "She's someone who is going to get far away from here one day."
A tear rolls down my cheek and he adds, "We both will."
Years later, after this brother moves three thousand miles away on his own, he'll give me the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh The Places You'll Go," with an inscription that LA was made for me and I will remember this moment.
The hard part is over, my cheeks will be dry by the time we hear the garage opening for her, in about an hour. It will still be midnight before my heart will stop racing and for my brain to stop reeling. And then it will all happen again, more or less, tomorrow.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Princesses are Always in Peril.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Today's Meditation: Trusting Your Own Instinct and Running With It.
In the past, it has occurred to me that I don't like recipes because of how restrictive they are. A recipe leaves no room for your own instincts, no respect for your own voice saying, "do this," and "use that." This is dangerous because your inner voice (which urges you to favor one ingredient over another) is very, very well in tune with what your body needs nutritionally, whereas a recipe is like a guess from someone you don't know.
You want more protein because you're working out. Your body wants more carbs, but you've decided carbs are bad because some diet you half read about (and yes, reading the method of a diet without researching the criticisms is only HALF reading about a diet) is counterproductive to meeting your goal of being healthy. Cutting out hummus because chick peas contain carbs is silly. If you want to cut out carbs, stop eating tortilla chips, french fries, and candy. Do not lump the carbohydrates from the former in the same category as the latter when chick peas contain an abundance of nutrition that, if you're craving hummus, your body is telling you it needs. Dip some carrots and/or sliced peppers in your hummus and enjoy.
Diets are a huge pet peeve of mine in the same way that recipes are: they devalue your inner knowledge of yourself, cut off communication from your instincts, and deny you the opportunity to listen to what you really need in order to to give yourself what you subconsciously already knew you needed to be healthy.
Don't diet and exercise for a "beach body" because any body in a well fitting bathing suit is ready for the beach. Dude.
Eat healthfully and exercise so that you are better in contact with your inner voice, with what your body needs and is asking for - do it to be healthy inside and out. It'll work out, vanity-wise, but that really shouldn't be a goal. Released endorphins and permanent giddy-lik-happiness, guilt free lifestyle, pride in your accomplishments: may those be your health and physical goals.
Today, I overslept, still ran for 15 minutes (total distance: 1.37 miles). After I returned home, showered and dressed; I started craving something different from my usual greek yogurt with chia seeds. I started craving a blend of banana, peanut butter, and chocolate. So, trusting my inner voice, I put a banana, some PB, and a heavy splash of chocolate soy milk into the blender and ran that. Then, I scooped it into tupperware to eat at work, mixing in a moderate sprinkling of chia seeds. The mixture had thickened by the time I made it to my desk, and the chia seeds had transformed into a gelatinous tapioca-like consistency. This little breakfast was sooo good.
Sure, I couldn't eat it every day, but there was something about the way I was craving it - this mixture that I hadn't even really known existed until I made it - shows me that I have an ability to listen to my body in a way that benefits my taste buds and my nutritional needs. Yay, me.
My little vegan-tapioca concoction totaled 504 calories, 27 grams of fat, 58 grams of carbs, 17 grams of fiber, and 16 grams of protein. So, while I'm not exactly cutting back on the carbs, calories, or salt; I also didn't think about food again until 1 pm. For those four hours, I didn't need a snack, my body was content - happy, even - and healthy because all those things have nutritional value beyond numbers and a small part of the impact.
How degrading to food to be classified do crudely. Nothing should be broken down and defined by small parts of what's inside them; especially when the chemical compounds that lead to those classifications all react differently inside the body than similar chemical compounds found in other foods which lead to the came classification. Beyond that, even; when ingredients are combined, the body digests everything differently.
The same claim of degradation could be said for recipes. The same recipe that makes an excellent tomato sauce made from fresh ingredients in Plainfield, New Jersey with taste very different in Cross Plains, Wisconsin. That is because the ingredients grown locally will have different minerals from the soil and the water, resulting in a different taste. Everyone knows the basic ingredients to a tomato sauce, even if they think they don't. The best meals happen without a recipe, but from an instinct.
Your inner voice knows what your body wants - not what is easy, not what is simple, but what nutrients your body truly wants - and it tells you every day. All you have to do is listen.
You want more protein because you're working out. Your body wants more carbs, but you've decided carbs are bad because some diet you half read about (and yes, reading the method of a diet without researching the criticisms is only HALF reading about a diet) is counterproductive to meeting your goal of being healthy. Cutting out hummus because chick peas contain carbs is silly. If you want to cut out carbs, stop eating tortilla chips, french fries, and candy. Do not lump the carbohydrates from the former in the same category as the latter when chick peas contain an abundance of nutrition that, if you're craving hummus, your body is telling you it needs. Dip some carrots and/or sliced peppers in your hummus and enjoy.
Diets are a huge pet peeve of mine in the same way that recipes are: they devalue your inner knowledge of yourself, cut off communication from your instincts, and deny you the opportunity to listen to what you really need in order to to give yourself what you subconsciously already knew you needed to be healthy.
Don't diet and exercise for a "beach body" because any body in a well fitting bathing suit is ready for the beach. Dude.
Eat healthfully and exercise so that you are better in contact with your inner voice, with what your body needs and is asking for - do it to be healthy inside and out. It'll work out, vanity-wise, but that really shouldn't be a goal. Released endorphins and permanent giddy-lik-happiness, guilt free lifestyle, pride in your accomplishments: may those be your health and physical goals.
Today, I overslept, still ran for 15 minutes (total distance: 1.37 miles). After I returned home, showered and dressed; I started craving something different from my usual greek yogurt with chia seeds. I started craving a blend of banana, peanut butter, and chocolate. So, trusting my inner voice, I put a banana, some PB, and a heavy splash of chocolate soy milk into the blender and ran that. Then, I scooped it into tupperware to eat at work, mixing in a moderate sprinkling of chia seeds. The mixture had thickened by the time I made it to my desk, and the chia seeds had transformed into a gelatinous tapioca-like consistency. This little breakfast was sooo good.
Sure, I couldn't eat it every day, but there was something about the way I was craving it - this mixture that I hadn't even really known existed until I made it - shows me that I have an ability to listen to my body in a way that benefits my taste buds and my nutritional needs. Yay, me.
My little vegan-tapioca concoction totaled 504 calories, 27 grams of fat, 58 grams of carbs, 17 grams of fiber, and 16 grams of protein. So, while I'm not exactly cutting back on the carbs, calories, or salt; I also didn't think about food again until 1 pm. For those four hours, I didn't need a snack, my body was content - happy, even - and healthy because all those things have nutritional value beyond numbers and a small part of the impact.
How degrading to food to be classified do crudely. Nothing should be broken down and defined by small parts of what's inside them; especially when the chemical compounds that lead to those classifications all react differently inside the body than similar chemical compounds found in other foods which lead to the came classification. Beyond that, even; when ingredients are combined, the body digests everything differently.
The same claim of degradation could be said for recipes. The same recipe that makes an excellent tomato sauce made from fresh ingredients in Plainfield, New Jersey with taste very different in Cross Plains, Wisconsin. That is because the ingredients grown locally will have different minerals from the soil and the water, resulting in a different taste. Everyone knows the basic ingredients to a tomato sauce, even if they think they don't. The best meals happen without a recipe, but from an instinct.
Your inner voice knows what your body wants - not what is easy, not what is simple, but what nutrients your body truly wants - and it tells you every day. All you have to do is listen.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
the Importance of Annonymity, PART II
After reading this I feel dirty; and no, not the kinky/fun kind of dirty, but the kind inspired by annoyance and severe eye rolling.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
The Importance of Being Annonymous
There's not enough honesty in this world.
My boss once brilliantly said, "If truth were deodorant, most people would stink." She's onto something there.
People feel so much pressure to be good, passive human beings; but how many of us can be passive? I'm no Alpha, but I'm no Beta, either - surely, I cannot be alone in feeling that way.
What's funny, though, is how people regard you before they know who you are. It's like that girl at work who I would sometimes see walking around the building. Without fail, she would always eye me up and down, smirk judgmentally and, if we had to communicate for some reason, speak condescendingly to me. That changed the day she realized what team I work with and what role I happen to have within it. Her initial behavior was the truth. She didn't like my forever-unkempt hair, or maybe it was the lack of make-up on my face or my eclectic style. She judged me on that, and, while initially I found it amusing when she suddenly avoided eye contact and her tone changed to a polite whisper, after a while, I kind of preferred the judge-y behavior. At least it was honest - someone who takes a lot of time to look impeccable maybe wouldn't have much respect for someone who would rather spend her morning running than sprucing up. She had no problem being aggressive before she found out my name, when I was still anonymous to her. It gave me a chance to raise an eyebrow at her superficiality.
My name, ha! Like anywhere outside this company it means anything. I am neither famous nor actually important. The label I work for is exceptional, and through this job I shine, but what is Pedigree without a little pretension? Perhaps we all let it get to our heads a bit and maybe that's dangerous.
If I ever did create something worthy of being judged by others, I don't think I'd put my name on it anymore. There was a time I would have, but that ship sailed as I learned how people change their tone when they know they're speaking to you regarding your work. I even want the gender of the pseudonym to be androgynous and left to interpretation. I want the harshest criticism spoken plainly and in an impassioned manner.
I want that regarding anything I'd create.
My boss once brilliantly said, "If truth were deodorant, most people would stink." She's onto something there.
People feel so much pressure to be good, passive human beings; but how many of us can be passive? I'm no Alpha, but I'm no Beta, either - surely, I cannot be alone in feeling that way.
What's funny, though, is how people regard you before they know who you are. It's like that girl at work who I would sometimes see walking around the building. Without fail, she would always eye me up and down, smirk judgmentally and, if we had to communicate for some reason, speak condescendingly to me. That changed the day she realized what team I work with and what role I happen to have within it. Her initial behavior was the truth. She didn't like my forever-unkempt hair, or maybe it was the lack of make-up on my face or my eclectic style. She judged me on that, and, while initially I found it amusing when she suddenly avoided eye contact and her tone changed to a polite whisper, after a while, I kind of preferred the judge-y behavior. At least it was honest - someone who takes a lot of time to look impeccable maybe wouldn't have much respect for someone who would rather spend her morning running than sprucing up. She had no problem being aggressive before she found out my name, when I was still anonymous to her. It gave me a chance to raise an eyebrow at her superficiality.
My name, ha! Like anywhere outside this company it means anything. I am neither famous nor actually important. The label I work for is exceptional, and through this job I shine, but what is Pedigree without a little pretension? Perhaps we all let it get to our heads a bit and maybe that's dangerous.
If I ever did create something worthy of being judged by others, I don't think I'd put my name on it anymore. There was a time I would have, but that ship sailed as I learned how people change their tone when they know they're speaking to you regarding your work. I even want the gender of the pseudonym to be androgynous and left to interpretation. I want the harshest criticism spoken plainly and in an impassioned manner.
I want that regarding anything I'd create.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Better Left Forgotten?
I had a dream about a dress. I fell in love with it there, in the Land of My Subconscious. I awoke and, though it was 3AM, I took a lesson from instances before when I dealt with dream designs and immediately began sketching what I'd "seen." I do not keep a sketch pad and croquis on my nightstand, which means I had to leave bed, walk across my apartment, find my rarely used sketch book, and draw what had floated into my brain before it returned to the unknown forever.
When I finished drawing, I took a really good look at the dress and decided I didn't care for it after all. By then, I was wide awake and couldn't sleep.
New lesson: maybe it's OK to dream about something you could create and forget it the next day. The possible creation itself may not be what's important about the dream, or else there would be no problem remembering it, which means it would have floated to the subconscious from any bit of random inspiration. If the creation itself is forgotten, then the important part may be the emotion it sparked within you in the first place. That part remains in the memory banks, even if the idea that sparked it has gone off into the abyss of forgotten ideas. The motivation it stirs within is actually the purpose of the dream. It exists to light a fire for creation, not to give out free ideas. This gives the chance to consciously connect the final outcome from the inspiration - it allows for the creation to stem from a place of deep & critical thinking. And, well, isn't that better, anyway?
Perhaps it is just better to remain asleep.
When I finished drawing, I took a really good look at the dress and decided I didn't care for it after all. By then, I was wide awake and couldn't sleep.
New lesson: maybe it's OK to dream about something you could create and forget it the next day. The possible creation itself may not be what's important about the dream, or else there would be no problem remembering it, which means it would have floated to the subconscious from any bit of random inspiration. If the creation itself is forgotten, then the important part may be the emotion it sparked within you in the first place. That part remains in the memory banks, even if the idea that sparked it has gone off into the abyss of forgotten ideas. The motivation it stirs within is actually the purpose of the dream. It exists to light a fire for creation, not to give out free ideas. This gives the chance to consciously connect the final outcome from the inspiration - it allows for the creation to stem from a place of deep & critical thinking. And, well, isn't that better, anyway?
Perhaps it is just better to remain asleep.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Oh, hey there.
I passed along the web address of this blog to someone I love and respect today.
Last time that happened - the last time I shared the blog I'd been writing - things didn't end so well.
.
.
.
.
Let's hope it doesn't bite me in the butt.
Today's Meditation: Cope in Your Own Way
My morning's headache is passing, I must exercise. After Tim returns with an iced hazelnut liquid perfection, I'll be headed to the gym for an hour of laps.
One of my favorite parts about swimming is the meditation that naturally occurs when the body has been pushed to the physical point where endorphins are released but also while the exercise is far from over. The brain starts looking for something else to concentrate on to make it all bearable. These are the moments I use for prayer, mediation, self reflection, or to clear my mind of anything blocking the formation of creativity. It's like shuffling a deck of tarot cards - I go in asking a question or concentrating on a problem and I push myself until I have an answer.
Today, I'm going in with a thought from Piers Morgan, spoken while complaining about the brutality he has experienced from people who didn't understand him or the way his brain worked.
"One thing you, who had happy or secure childhoods should understand about those of us who didn't - we who control our feelings, who avoid conflict at all costs or seem to seek them, who you call compulsive, a workaholic are, above all, survivors. We are not that way from perversity. We cannot just relax and let it go. We have learned to cope in ways you never had to."
When I reach the point of endorphins-based creativity, I will think of his quote and use it to harness the way I feel about others from my past who didn't get me, who didn't understand why I wasn't or couldn't be like them. I will forgive them, which will be difficult because there's a heavy load of misdeeds, infringement, disobedience, trespassing, and offenses. I will not forget what happened (because you can't use what hurt you for empathetic moments unless you remember what it is that hurt you) but I will dissociate the experience with the person involved. Hardest of all, I will forgive myself for any role I played, whether I was aware of it or not, in the devastating times I faced.
One of my favorite parts about swimming is the meditation that naturally occurs when the body has been pushed to the physical point where endorphins are released but also while the exercise is far from over. The brain starts looking for something else to concentrate on to make it all bearable. These are the moments I use for prayer, mediation, self reflection, or to clear my mind of anything blocking the formation of creativity. It's like shuffling a deck of tarot cards - I go in asking a question or concentrating on a problem and I push myself until I have an answer.
Today, I'm going in with a thought from Piers Morgan, spoken while complaining about the brutality he has experienced from people who didn't understand him or the way his brain worked.
"One thing you, who had happy or secure childhoods should understand about those of us who didn't - we who control our feelings, who avoid conflict at all costs or seem to seek them, who you call compulsive, a workaholic are, above all, survivors. We are not that way from perversity. We cannot just relax and let it go. We have learned to cope in ways you never had to."
When I reach the point of endorphins-based creativity, I will think of his quote and use it to harness the way I feel about others from my past who didn't get me, who didn't understand why I wasn't or couldn't be like them. I will forgive them, which will be difficult because there's a heavy load of misdeeds, infringement, disobedience, trespassing, and offenses. I will not forget what happened (because you can't use what hurt you for empathetic moments unless you remember what it is that hurt you) but I will dissociate the experience with the person involved. Hardest of all, I will forgive myself for any role I played, whether I was aware of it or not, in the devastating times I faced.
I need to realize that I find comfort in ways the people who hurt me are unfamiliar with, that they hurt me because they didn't understand me. Maybe they thought they had to try to understand me but came up with the wrong conclusions. When I was working out my own issues and didn't have the answers yet, they saw dishonesty. When I tried to be creative in reaching out, they saw bravado. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe they just hate me. One can only guess.
When most people say, "forgive but don't forget," they're claiming they have the magical ability to forgive someone but still resent them. What the saying should mean is to forgive, but remember how it was to feel so low, to be grateful for those who stood by you and, in turn, be there for someone else who needs it.
You have to be able to look someone in the eye, smile at them from your heart, and sincerely wish them well before you can say you've forgiven them. You don't need them to be in your life, but if you can't bring yourself to do the former, you have not forgiven.
As for my laps, no matter how far I'll actually get with all that forgiveness (because that's quite a load for one hour... I think I'll be meditating on this, swim-wise, for a while) I think I'll spend the last few concentrating on what or, more importantly, whom I am most grateful for. Isn't that what life is all about, anyway? We can't create peace out of turmoil without the love of one place within us spilling over into another.
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