As this year is nearly over and I think more and more about writing the book (I have all the material!) I realize there will be multiple steps ahead of me, least of all editing my writing. A primary goal after this book is written is to inspire people to have more new experiences themselves. Of course there is the inevitable trial and error along the way, but that is part of what makes the experience genuine. I have often needed to change plans because something "fell through." Once I was forced to come up with a plan D. It can be hard to see as far as plan D! Yet the stretching of your vision can leave you seeing farther down the road than you were once capable.
More fell through recently. My brother and I did not go to the firing range this morning as we had planned because of a large snowstorm. Perhaps we will go tomorrow, perhaps not. I will run the crazy 5K no matter what, so I am not worried about anything, yet it is a reminder to me how flexible one needs to be in order to continually pursue this goal which has now lasted almost exactly one year.
When my plans have fallen through, I think this has helped the book become more interesting. After all, this is natural. It shows the authenticity of life being life and of my will not being able to bend it, but able to roll with it. I just realized, I will have to think of not only what I learned from my successes, but my failures as well.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Final Week of the Year
I can't believe I have only one week remaining before I have done at least one new thing every week of the year! This week will be a bit of a challenge. There are actually two things which I'll include in my book; previously if there was more than one thing, I chose between the two because I don't want to overwrite this book. However, this week, both new experiences pretty much belong, so there will be two this week.
For Christmas, my brother Mike visited from medical school a bordering state away. In my family of five children, the siblings draw names for gift giving. Mike got my name, which he kept secret until Christmas day. When I opened my gift, I found a porcelain doll that belonged to me about ten years ago wrapped in a cardboard box. Mike said, "Don't worry, that's just a decoy." Then there was a sheet of paper beneath with guns randomly printed in a cheap font. This was a message about his Christmas gift to come . . . taking me to a firing range. He had suggested this once as a new thing for me, and while he's still visiting, we will do this together.
My second thing will be to end the book exactly where I started: with the Beat the New Year 5k. Now of course, this is not new because by now I've ran 5Ks and even a full marathon, so this in itself does not fit with the book. So to modify the race to make it a new experience, I will be running it in a bikini. That's right, even in the winter at 11:30 at night. I have made preparations to help myself avoid frostbite and hypothermia. It will be an experience, no matter what happens. People tell me, "You're crazy!" I just tell them, "That's what I'm thinking." But I'm doing it anyway. What a way to end 2009--to finish it with a race just like I started it, only this time I'm sure I'll be a little bit colder. And then my goal has been completed! Joyfully on to the next step!
For Christmas, my brother Mike visited from medical school a bordering state away. In my family of five children, the siblings draw names for gift giving. Mike got my name, which he kept secret until Christmas day. When I opened my gift, I found a porcelain doll that belonged to me about ten years ago wrapped in a cardboard box. Mike said, "Don't worry, that's just a decoy." Then there was a sheet of paper beneath with guns randomly printed in a cheap font. This was a message about his Christmas gift to come . . . taking me to a firing range. He had suggested this once as a new thing for me, and while he's still visiting, we will do this together.
My second thing will be to end the book exactly where I started: with the Beat the New Year 5k. Now of course, this is not new because by now I've ran 5Ks and even a full marathon, so this in itself does not fit with the book. So to modify the race to make it a new experience, I will be running it in a bikini. That's right, even in the winter at 11:30 at night. I have made preparations to help myself avoid frostbite and hypothermia. It will be an experience, no matter what happens. People tell me, "You're crazy!" I just tell them, "That's what I'm thinking." But I'm doing it anyway. What a way to end 2009--to finish it with a race just like I started it, only this time I'm sure I'll be a little bit colder. And then my goal has been completed! Joyfully on to the next step!
Random Acts of Kindness
I love the bumper sticker "Practice random acts of kindness and senseless beauty." On December 26, which is the second to the last week of the year and of course the week of Christmas, I found my fifty-first new experience. I wanted to do something giving, not only to go along with the holiday, but because I felt it would be a good addition to my book.
Originally I wanted to volunteer at a soup kitchen. It didn't work out and I knew it wouldn't because I didn't give myself enough time to plan ahead. All the soup kitchens I called were full of volunteers. So I came up with a plan b. My friend Heidi was visiting from California and told me she wanted to join me on this week's adventure.
We went to a nice fast food restaurant, ordered something tasty for ourselves, then each put down a ten dollar bill and told the cashier we'd like to pay for whoever comes after us. We were a little nervous because we didn't know if we'd even be allowed to do this. At least, I was a little nervous about it, even though it might sound ridiculous. The cashier just smiled and said, "You're so cute," and told us about someone who recently went through the drive through and said he wanted to pay for the people in the vehicle behind him; this couple consequently decided to pay for the couple behind them.
Even after the cashier's story, I guess I just pictured the next customers to walk inside the store, but it was a while before anyone came in and when they did, it was two men in business suits and we didn't notice any particular reaction. After we finished our own meal at about noon, we asked the cashier what had happened. The couple after us were in the drive through, which we hadn't considered probably because you typically don't think first about the people who are least visible. When they were told their meal had already been paid for, the cashier told us they looked like they were about to cry. It really touched us, and of course, neither pair knew who the other was or even what they looked like or anything about them, but it didn't matter. It really made our day, and hopefully we made someone else's too.
Originally I wanted to volunteer at a soup kitchen. It didn't work out and I knew it wouldn't because I didn't give myself enough time to plan ahead. All the soup kitchens I called were full of volunteers. So I came up with a plan b. My friend Heidi was visiting from California and told me she wanted to join me on this week's adventure.
We went to a nice fast food restaurant, ordered something tasty for ourselves, then each put down a ten dollar bill and told the cashier we'd like to pay for whoever comes after us. We were a little nervous because we didn't know if we'd even be allowed to do this. At least, I was a little nervous about it, even though it might sound ridiculous. The cashier just smiled and said, "You're so cute," and told us about someone who recently went through the drive through and said he wanted to pay for the people in the vehicle behind him; this couple consequently decided to pay for the couple behind them.
Even after the cashier's story, I guess I just pictured the next customers to walk inside the store, but it was a while before anyone came in and when they did, it was two men in business suits and we didn't notice any particular reaction. After we finished our own meal at about noon, we asked the cashier what had happened. The couple after us were in the drive through, which we hadn't considered probably because you typically don't think first about the people who are least visible. When they were told their meal had already been paid for, the cashier told us they looked like they were about to cry. It really touched us, and of course, neither pair knew who the other was or even what they looked like or anything about them, but it didn't matter. It really made our day, and hopefully we made someone else's too.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Number 50
I always thought I would be very excited when I reached the last ten weeks of the year, since it would be just a countdown until my completion. To be honest, I lost track of the weeks and no longer thought of it in a numerical sense anymore. Only the first month was "Water Running: Week Three" and such. But now that it is December and there are only two weeks remaining after this, I realized, this was my fiftieth new thing this year, that is as far as my book is concerned. It is a pretty amazing land mark. Had this goal not existed, how many new things would I have done? Ten? Five? I can promise you it wouldn't be fifty.
A few weeks ago before I owned a laptop and would go to the library to use their computers, I noticed a bulletin board with a sign announcing an anime club which meets the third Tuesday of every month (today!). It looked like a kids club to me. I used to work at the library two and a half years ago, and that was my perception of the anime club. The poster did say for ages 12+ however, so I thought, hey, I'm twelve plus! Sure maybe I'm more than twice that age, but that's okay! So I figured going to this kids club could very easily be my new thing this week.
I was a little late; I wasn't able to completely close my store until around 6:30, and the club started at 6:00. After pulling into the library parking lot, I actually felt a little nervous. Not the kind of nerves I felt before skydiving of course, but I admit, I noticed a little apprehension just doing this new thing. (Apparently that never wears off, but personally I kind of enjoy a few jitters every now and again.)
It was nothing like I expected. There was a group of people in the auditorium sitting around the overhead projector screen watching "Avatar", an Americanized Anime series on Nickelodean. The people there were not all twelve-year-olds; most of the people, I later learned, were probably around sixteen, and there were even several people my own age. It was the opposite of my visualization. I thought I'd be towering over elementary-aged children. I saw an episode of Dharma and Greg years ago when Dharma, very much the free spirit, decided she wanted to learn to play violin and joined a class where she could clearly be everyone's mom. My experience was not that dramatic.
So it wasn't exactly a kids class, more teenage, but it was still going out of my comfort zone by attending a club out of my age group. And as I want to learn Anime so I can teach other people how to draw it, this really was an ideal club to attend.
A few weeks ago before I owned a laptop and would go to the library to use their computers, I noticed a bulletin board with a sign announcing an anime club which meets the third Tuesday of every month (today!). It looked like a kids club to me. I used to work at the library two and a half years ago, and that was my perception of the anime club. The poster did say for ages 12+ however, so I thought, hey, I'm twelve plus! Sure maybe I'm more than twice that age, but that's okay! So I figured going to this kids club could very easily be my new thing this week.
I was a little late; I wasn't able to completely close my store until around 6:30, and the club started at 6:00. After pulling into the library parking lot, I actually felt a little nervous. Not the kind of nerves I felt before skydiving of course, but I admit, I noticed a little apprehension just doing this new thing. (Apparently that never wears off, but personally I kind of enjoy a few jitters every now and again.)
It was nothing like I expected. There was a group of people in the auditorium sitting around the overhead projector screen watching "Avatar", an Americanized Anime series on Nickelodean. The people there were not all twelve-year-olds; most of the people, I later learned, were probably around sixteen, and there were even several people my own age. It was the opposite of my visualization. I thought I'd be towering over elementary-aged children. I saw an episode of Dharma and Greg years ago when Dharma, very much the free spirit, decided she wanted to learn to play violin and joined a class where she could clearly be everyone's mom. My experience was not that dramatic.
So it wasn't exactly a kids class, more teenage, but it was still going out of my comfort zone by attending a club out of my age group. And as I want to learn Anime so I can teach other people how to draw it, this really was an ideal club to attend.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
There are only a few weeks left to go before I have completely finished my goal of doing something new all fifty-two weeks out of the year. I know what I'll be doing for the final three weeks, but I was unsure what I would do between this Sunday and Saturday.
I thought I could invite just about everyone I know to a big party for my birthday, since I really don't throw myself parties, but I didn't organize that and my heart wasn't set on using it for my book. I try to avoid anything of which I feel ambiguous; I do have to write about this too, so if I feel unsure about the idea, I usually find something else.
Instead of having a party, I thought I could to a spin on that by cooking a big meal--I've never cooked much of anything--and invite people over for it. But as my friend Jo said, would that really be something done out of kindness or cruelty? Of course I can learn to cook, but I have to give myself enough time and planning so what I've made is really enjoyable to eat. I'm not really prepared for that either. Preparation is the key for accomplishing all these things.
Yesterday I thought I could take a Pilates class--I've wanted to do that all year and never taken the opportunity. I looked at a schedule of a local studio and there was one the next day. Only then it hit me . . . like a few other new things this year, I've had something new and significant right in front of me the entire time I've been trying to figure out what to do. Portraits are one of the things I am known for, and right now I'm doing a commission for a girl named Jody who I met a few months ago. It is a Christmas present for her mom and there are eight figures: Jody, her husband, her sister, her three brothers and her mom and dad. I've never painted more than four figures in a single picture. The canvas is only 12x16 inches, but I managed to comfortable fit them all in despite the small size. So there is my new thing right there . . . I realized, "Wait a minute, I need to talk about my portraits somewhere in my book! That's what I do!"
It is amazing how fluid this whole experience has been. When I first made the decision to write this book, I felt happiness to the point of tears, followed by feeling sick to my stomach a few hours later when I realize I'd actually have to find fifty-two new things and then actually find a way to do them. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it. Yet sometimes when you make a decision your heart is truly set on, your perception begins to change and that which you were blind to before now is visible and accessible and its just a matter of keeping focused and being sure to keep your eyes and mind open. With only three weeks to go and already knowing my plans, it is now just a matter of fulfilling these final few new experiences before I can say I've done something new every week for an entire year.
I thought I could invite just about everyone I know to a big party for my birthday, since I really don't throw myself parties, but I didn't organize that and my heart wasn't set on using it for my book. I try to avoid anything of which I feel ambiguous; I do have to write about this too, so if I feel unsure about the idea, I usually find something else.
Instead of having a party, I thought I could to a spin on that by cooking a big meal--I've never cooked much of anything--and invite people over for it. But as my friend Jo said, would that really be something done out of kindness or cruelty? Of course I can learn to cook, but I have to give myself enough time and planning so what I've made is really enjoyable to eat. I'm not really prepared for that either. Preparation is the key for accomplishing all these things.
Yesterday I thought I could take a Pilates class--I've wanted to do that all year and never taken the opportunity. I looked at a schedule of a local studio and there was one the next day. Only then it hit me . . . like a few other new things this year, I've had something new and significant right in front of me the entire time I've been trying to figure out what to do. Portraits are one of the things I am known for, and right now I'm doing a commission for a girl named Jody who I met a few months ago. It is a Christmas present for her mom and there are eight figures: Jody, her husband, her sister, her three brothers and her mom and dad. I've never painted more than four figures in a single picture. The canvas is only 12x16 inches, but I managed to comfortable fit them all in despite the small size. So there is my new thing right there . . . I realized, "Wait a minute, I need to talk about my portraits somewhere in my book! That's what I do!"
It is amazing how fluid this whole experience has been. When I first made the decision to write this book, I felt happiness to the point of tears, followed by feeling sick to my stomach a few hours later when I realize I'd actually have to find fifty-two new things and then actually find a way to do them. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it. Yet sometimes when you make a decision your heart is truly set on, your perception begins to change and that which you were blind to before now is visible and accessible and its just a matter of keeping focused and being sure to keep your eyes and mind open. With only three weeks to go and already knowing my plans, it is now just a matter of fulfilling these final few new experiences before I can say I've done something new every week for an entire year.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Finally
I made the call today and have signed up to skydive. Just calling the skydiving center was scary! If I was that afraid just to call . . . oh what have I gotten myself into? But I really want to do this for my book, so no more excuses! The date is set for Sunday, November 15, weather permitting.
I decided months ago to continue my idea of doing something new every week into next year. This 2009 challenge has gone by so quickly, led to so many changes in my life, and I'm still loving this challenge to the point where I'm not wanting to stop. So there will be a sequel to my book as I do something new every week of the year for a second year in a row. As far as skydiving is concerned, I could say, "Well, I'll just skydive next year; after all, I can use it for my second book." But what if I decide to do a third book? Or a fourth? I can't just keep putting off jumping out of a perfectly good airplane; it will only grow scarier and feel more out of reach for me if I do. So I set the date, and it is in less than two weeks. Wow, this is not easy! But it wouldn't be rewarding if it was.
I decided months ago to continue my idea of doing something new every week into next year. This 2009 challenge has gone by so quickly, led to so many changes in my life, and I'm still loving this challenge to the point where I'm not wanting to stop. So there will be a sequel to my book as I do something new every week of the year for a second year in a row. As far as skydiving is concerned, I could say, "Well, I'll just skydive next year; after all, I can use it for my second book." But what if I decide to do a third book? Or a fourth? I can't just keep putting off jumping out of a perfectly good airplane; it will only grow scarier and feel more out of reach for me if I do. So I set the date, and it is in less than two weeks. Wow, this is not easy! But it wouldn't be rewarding if it was.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Taking Myself Out on a Date
I was thinking that many people will look at what I did new this week and laugh, thinking "Oh my gosh, she isn't even trying anymore." I wouldn't blame someone for this initial reaction. I mean, it's the middle of October, I have less than three months left before the year is over, it's possible I could be running out of ideas, so of course, by now one almost expects me to give up and start bs-ing my way to the end. Well, even though what I did may seem easy, probably even 'selfish' (how dare I!), it actually was a challenge. But I admit, a very fun challenge that I recommend to everyone else on the planet!
I 'took myself out on a date.' This meant, I put on my perfume and makeup, ate a delicious dinner, and then treated myself to a movie. Why was this a challenge for me? Of course it's not hard to eat food you love and then be entertained later! Even the greatest masochist in the world is going to like that. But it was a challenge because I don't do things like this for myself. I think twice before buying a Subway sandwhich. I see something I want and have the money for, but walk away because I feel like I can't touch my own money. I even deny myself things I need! There always seems to be some other purpose other than myself to justify the dollar symbol.
Last week, I looked at some books at the library and found a book called Healthy Selfishness. A questionairre in the book asked if you spend money on people you wouldn't even spend on yourself. My answer? Yes, yes, yes! Although I pinch my own pennies, I put cash down for others, and if this is a guy I'm dating and like very much, I am especially likely to spend more. I will buy others gifts I would never get for myself, whether its nice food or a concert or even if its given in the sense of my time. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not doing something 'productive.' Yet, I'll give much of my time to other people.
So this night my time and my money was just for myself. I went out to a sushi restaurant called Shin Sei, which is the second time this restaurant finds a place in my book as this is also where I ate the raw quail eggs. I figured this would be a good place to go because 1)I love sushi 2)there is a bar so I felt comfortable sitting alone and 3)it is a nice enough place that it feels 'date worthy.' I had two rolls, some tempura vegetables and green tea.
Then I went to a movie at the Ogden Megaplex which was just about two streets down from the sushi restaurant. Since I've moved, I haven't watched very much tv and don't even know what movies are playing. I wasn't too interested in most of what I looked up and was planning to see The Invention of Lying, but I still wasn't completely in the mood. Then I looked up the movie Paranormal Activity and remembered my brother saying he was going to see that. My brother has a nack for paying to see stupid horror movies, but I decided he got this one right. So not only did I see a movie alone, but a scary one at that (personally, I did find it worth the money).
After jumping in my seat and leaving the theater to go back to my car, I decided there was something just plain wrong about seeing a horror movie and then going home to bed without speaking to a single human being. I mean, I needed some recovery time, a little return to reality. And parking garages are kind of sinister in themselves when its midnight, you're alone and you just saw a freaky movie. So I called my younger sister. As I told her I'd just come from the movie theater, she told me she had just left her coworker's birthday party and was in her car about to head home. She had parked in the covered parking garage near the movie theater, the same place I had parked to go to the movie. She was on the second floor, the same floor I was. It turns out, we were less than one hundred feet away from each other. There was just a wall blocking the view of her car from mine. We were only a couple parking stalls away from each other. What a coincidence! We were both just about to drive away too. So even though I went on a 'single date', I ended up in familar company at the end of the night, which never would have happened had I stayed at home.
What I want to yield from this experience is greater balance in my life. Of course it would be unreasonable and grossly unhealthy to cut out other people and go solo to the point where valuable relationships begin to atrophy. But it is also unhealthy to feel like you can't treat yourself and be alone and happy at the same time, whether that happiness is generated from attending a cultural event, running a marathon or leaving the house on a Saturday night (or staying in).
The only time I've eaten dinner by myself has been at home or at a fast food restaurant. I have never went to see a movie by myself, not at any point. I didn't even really see people as doing such a thing, but I decided, if I'm going to learn a greater independence and be comfortable leaving the house and going to dinner and a movie even if I'm a party of one, I need to just do it! Admittedly, I was actually a tiny bit nervous to go out by myself just because it felt so odd. And it took a new perspective to justify spending money on no one but me. But I did it and now that I have, I will tell you, if I really want to leave the house and get some great food and some entertainment afterwards, you don't need a partner. You don't need a reason other than yourself. I don't have to make plans with anyone or feel like the only time I can do these things is if it benefits others. Another confession: sometimes spending my money and time on others is a way to compensate for feeling not quite good enough. As if I need to treat them in order for them to stick around. What I'm learning is to create happiness for myself, and appreciate who I am, and then know that the confidence within myself will manifest to others and that I, alone or in a group, am enough.
I 'took myself out on a date.' This meant, I put on my perfume and makeup, ate a delicious dinner, and then treated myself to a movie. Why was this a challenge for me? Of course it's not hard to eat food you love and then be entertained later! Even the greatest masochist in the world is going to like that. But it was a challenge because I don't do things like this for myself. I think twice before buying a Subway sandwhich. I see something I want and have the money for, but walk away because I feel like I can't touch my own money. I even deny myself things I need! There always seems to be some other purpose other than myself to justify the dollar symbol.
Last week, I looked at some books at the library and found a book called Healthy Selfishness. A questionairre in the book asked if you spend money on people you wouldn't even spend on yourself. My answer? Yes, yes, yes! Although I pinch my own pennies, I put cash down for others, and if this is a guy I'm dating and like very much, I am especially likely to spend more. I will buy others gifts I would never get for myself, whether its nice food or a concert or even if its given in the sense of my time. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not doing something 'productive.' Yet, I'll give much of my time to other people.
So this night my time and my money was just for myself. I went out to a sushi restaurant called Shin Sei, which is the second time this restaurant finds a place in my book as this is also where I ate the raw quail eggs. I figured this would be a good place to go because 1)I love sushi 2)there is a bar so I felt comfortable sitting alone and 3)it is a nice enough place that it feels 'date worthy.' I had two rolls, some tempura vegetables and green tea.
Then I went to a movie at the Ogden Megaplex which was just about two streets down from the sushi restaurant. Since I've moved, I haven't watched very much tv and don't even know what movies are playing. I wasn't too interested in most of what I looked up and was planning to see The Invention of Lying, but I still wasn't completely in the mood. Then I looked up the movie Paranormal Activity and remembered my brother saying he was going to see that. My brother has a nack for paying to see stupid horror movies, but I decided he got this one right. So not only did I see a movie alone, but a scary one at that (personally, I did find it worth the money).
After jumping in my seat and leaving the theater to go back to my car, I decided there was something just plain wrong about seeing a horror movie and then going home to bed without speaking to a single human being. I mean, I needed some recovery time, a little return to reality. And parking garages are kind of sinister in themselves when its midnight, you're alone and you just saw a freaky movie. So I called my younger sister. As I told her I'd just come from the movie theater, she told me she had just left her coworker's birthday party and was in her car about to head home. She had parked in the covered parking garage near the movie theater, the same place I had parked to go to the movie. She was on the second floor, the same floor I was. It turns out, we were less than one hundred feet away from each other. There was just a wall blocking the view of her car from mine. We were only a couple parking stalls away from each other. What a coincidence! We were both just about to drive away too. So even though I went on a 'single date', I ended up in familar company at the end of the night, which never would have happened had I stayed at home.
What I want to yield from this experience is greater balance in my life. Of course it would be unreasonable and grossly unhealthy to cut out other people and go solo to the point where valuable relationships begin to atrophy. But it is also unhealthy to feel like you can't treat yourself and be alone and happy at the same time, whether that happiness is generated from attending a cultural event, running a marathon or leaving the house on a Saturday night (or staying in).
The only time I've eaten dinner by myself has been at home or at a fast food restaurant. I have never went to see a movie by myself, not at any point. I didn't even really see people as doing such a thing, but I decided, if I'm going to learn a greater independence and be comfortable leaving the house and going to dinner and a movie even if I'm a party of one, I need to just do it! Admittedly, I was actually a tiny bit nervous to go out by myself just because it felt so odd. And it took a new perspective to justify spending money on no one but me. But I did it and now that I have, I will tell you, if I really want to leave the house and get some great food and some entertainment afterwards, you don't need a partner. You don't need a reason other than yourself. I don't have to make plans with anyone or feel like the only time I can do these things is if it benefits others. Another confession: sometimes spending my money and time on others is a way to compensate for feeling not quite good enough. As if I need to treat them in order for them to stick around. What I'm learning is to create happiness for myself, and appreciate who I am, and then know that the confidence within myself will manifest to others and that I, alone or in a group, am enough.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Taking My Sister's Blood Pressure
Doing something new every week isn't so difficult when you think about the different skills and talents of the people around you. If I always tried to do something artistic, or something that involved running or yoga, or I would be running out of ideas pretty quickly. So I need to do things that are foreign to me, or at least feel foreign. Looking around me, there are plenty of options and plenty of teachers. It is all a matter of getting outside myself. This experiment of doing something new every week has brought me greater appreciation for the knowledge and contributions of friends and family.
My younger sister Tiffani is in her first year of a nursing program. Recently she mentioned that one of the new things I could do is learn to take someones blood pressure, so that's what we decided to do tonight. In under a half hour, I learned the basics--although just the very basics of course--of this medical process. It is simpler than I imagined. My sister has taken my blood pressure a couple times as practice for school, and it looked like she was counting. I thought there must be some kind of equation in her head; now I've discovered it is more a matter of focus than anything else.
I learned how to put on the blood pressure cuff, with a few initial mistakes. Yes, even putting the cuff on facing the right way is important to remember but easy to forget when its the first of half a dozen new steps. I needed to be reminded of the correct position of the stethoscope as well. How to correctly wear a stethoscope was never an occurrence in my brain until tonight. A doctor could have worn hers incorrectly and I wouldn't even have noticed. (Not that this is my point; I highly doubt this happens too often.) Now if I were the doctor, at this point my skill would be pretty embarrassing because I'd probably have the patient rolling his eyes at me and telling me I'm not supposed to find his pulse with my thumb. (Because your thumb also has a pulse, you're not supposed to check a pulse with your thumb because it is a less accurate read.) Yet I do know how to take someones blood pressure now, thanks to my sister, and the exciting thing for me is that I will actually understand what is happening when my own blood pressure is being taken. This might sound like a small reward, but the more we learn about the world, the more the world has to offer us, so there is an appeal for the added comprehension.
It was the fourth time of taking my sister's blood pressure that I was able to give a reading and understand what she was explaining to me. After I have the blood pressure cuff adjusted, and on correctly, and the stethoscope on, facing the right way, I pump air into the cuff until I can no longer feel her pulse. At this point, I release the valve from the cuff with my stethoscope slightly below the cuff. The key is to release it slowly, especially for a first-timer like me, or there won't be enough time to get both readings. When the blood rushes back through the vein, this sound indicates the systolic pressure. Then, with my sister's arm, I heard the pulse beat about four times, slowly getting fainter, and the final sound of the pulse was the diastolic pressure. And then she was dead. No, of course I didn't kill her, but I don't understand exactly why the sound becomes fainter at that point. It must just be the pressure in the arm returning to normal. It is interesting though, and once I had done it and understood what she was telling me, I did feel pretty excited about it.
Afterwards my sister tried to take my dad's blood pressure and she couldn't hear anything. After the second time she realized the bottom of the stethoscope was turned and was not transmitting any sound. So the teacher embarrasses herself in front of the student! That's alright though; it made me feel comfortable to see that even someone who's been doing it much longer than me will make occasional mistakes. I was still learning from her mistakes, and perhaps she was also learning from mine. This is a meaningful new experience this week; it helps me better understand what my sister is doing. Like learning to play chess last week, there is also a fascinating realization that the basic understanding is not nearly as complicated as we expect.
My younger sister Tiffani is in her first year of a nursing program. Recently she mentioned that one of the new things I could do is learn to take someones blood pressure, so that's what we decided to do tonight. In under a half hour, I learned the basics--although just the very basics of course--of this medical process. It is simpler than I imagined. My sister has taken my blood pressure a couple times as practice for school, and it looked like she was counting. I thought there must be some kind of equation in her head; now I've discovered it is more a matter of focus than anything else.
I learned how to put on the blood pressure cuff, with a few initial mistakes. Yes, even putting the cuff on facing the right way is important to remember but easy to forget when its the first of half a dozen new steps. I needed to be reminded of the correct position of the stethoscope as well. How to correctly wear a stethoscope was never an occurrence in my brain until tonight. A doctor could have worn hers incorrectly and I wouldn't even have noticed. (Not that this is my point; I highly doubt this happens too often.) Now if I were the doctor, at this point my skill would be pretty embarrassing because I'd probably have the patient rolling his eyes at me and telling me I'm not supposed to find his pulse with my thumb. (Because your thumb also has a pulse, you're not supposed to check a pulse with your thumb because it is a less accurate read.) Yet I do know how to take someones blood pressure now, thanks to my sister, and the exciting thing for me is that I will actually understand what is happening when my own blood pressure is being taken. This might sound like a small reward, but the more we learn about the world, the more the world has to offer us, so there is an appeal for the added comprehension.
It was the fourth time of taking my sister's blood pressure that I was able to give a reading and understand what she was explaining to me. After I have the blood pressure cuff adjusted, and on correctly, and the stethoscope on, facing the right way, I pump air into the cuff until I can no longer feel her pulse. At this point, I release the valve from the cuff with my stethoscope slightly below the cuff. The key is to release it slowly, especially for a first-timer like me, or there won't be enough time to get both readings. When the blood rushes back through the vein, this sound indicates the systolic pressure. Then, with my sister's arm, I heard the pulse beat about four times, slowly getting fainter, and the final sound of the pulse was the diastolic pressure. And then she was dead. No, of course I didn't kill her, but I don't understand exactly why the sound becomes fainter at that point. It must just be the pressure in the arm returning to normal. It is interesting though, and once I had done it and understood what she was telling me, I did feel pretty excited about it.
Afterwards my sister tried to take my dad's blood pressure and she couldn't hear anything. After the second time she realized the bottom of the stethoscope was turned and was not transmitting any sound. So the teacher embarrasses herself in front of the student! That's alright though; it made me feel comfortable to see that even someone who's been doing it much longer than me will make occasional mistakes. I was still learning from her mistakes, and perhaps she was also learning from mine. This is a meaningful new experience this week; it helps me better understand what my sister is doing. Like learning to play chess last week, there is also a fascinating realization that the basic understanding is not nearly as complicated as we expect.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Challenging My Viewpoints
I felt slightly worried last week because for the past several weeks, I've had something concrete planned, and suddenly I had nothing. A natural rippling of finding new experiences had seemed to cease.
When I felt a little worried, I thought I could try acupuncture and I know someone willing to teach me to play chess, but then I realized, in the painting workshop I was signed up for, I was already doing something new right there.
Talking to my instructor last week actually helped me think of two new ideas for upcoming weeks. A very intelligent and well-rounded man, I thought about how this artist, in his sixties, has seen far more of life than I, at twenty-six. For example, what I have read about the Vietnam War and the fifties and sixties, he has lived. So I decided to pick his brain on the subject to which he obviously has more information.
What led me to think of his experience compared to mine was the days of my workshop coincided with the forty-year anniversary of Woodstock. I caught a documentary of Woodstock on VH1 (yes, incredibly the channel had a program actually relevant to music). That night I happened to be hungry for studying history, and the sixties has been one of my favorite decades to study anyhow. I had to roll my eyes however, when a girl being interviewed for the documentary regarding the event even her parents didn't attend said Woodstock was one of the most important events that have ever happened, maybe the most important event that ever happened. And she wasn't even stoned. It is telling that someone would describe a festival, a party, as possibly the most important event in the history of the earth.
It made me think how naive I was when I believed the lyrics of the Beatles song "All You Need is Love." Actually, I prefer to think I didn't really believe that nonsense, but I'll admit, I didn't really question it either, because it was coming from the Beatles, some of the most important people who ever lived, maybe the most important people who have ever lived. Only joking silly Woodstock-attendee wannabe girl who doesn't even have pot as an excuse for stupidity. But the Beatles were heroes of mine in a sense. Their music stands on its own merit; the Summer of Love may have needed them, but they didn't need it.
I used to believe that summer, in the year 1967, was a period I was meant to live and the stars got it wrong when I was born in the early eighties. I loved the whole idea of hippies and living together in peace with everyone wearing flowers in their hair and all that. I still love some of the music from that era. But as far as the flowers in the hair, you get to a point when you realize, if everyone is literally living together in their hip new society, someones got to maintain the garden where those flowers are being mercilessly picked (the hippies never stood for flower rights). And who is going to do that when one hippy is tripping on acid, another is busy trying to decipher the non-language of Timothy Leary, and the other one is meditating in the corner for world peace, because as you know, most accomplishments result from sitting in a corner with your eyes closed. The hippy who would be repeatedly tending the flowers which the other hippies insist on breaking off to put in their hair, soldiers' guns, and God knows where else, is the same hippy who would probably be stuck cooking the food (vegetarian and organic of course), sweeping the dirt floor of the teepee where a dozen other hippies sleep, and missing out on sitting nude in the human "be in" because there is still far more work to do. In short, this person becomes the horse in "Animal Farm." The whole muddied concept of "living together, everything equal" does not work because if everything is free and equal and no one has any responsibility--other than to show everyone 'love'--then the work falls onto the shoulders of just a few individuals who eventually can't bare the load. Where is the difference between this example and socialism? I was fascinated by the hippy culture as a teenager; as an adult, I see it as ironic that a 1960s hippy might insult someone by calling him a communist, but The Guess Who's song "Share the Land", with the lyrics "Maybe I'll be there to share the land, that they'll be given' away, when we all live together," defines socialism. Who is "they" who are giving the land away anyhow? And how is it shared? Everyone is just magically given an equal plot of land, and the people who work harder than everyone else are given the same share as the people who have never worked in their lives? Yet we all live together in happiness, everyone, even the Manson Family.
It is these realizations that make me want to ignore such inane slogans as "free love" and instead talk more to my elders (oh no, what a square thing to do!) My teacher was particularly interesting, and while I'll admit I'm a little shocked by some of the things he was saying, that is not because he was saying something against my code of ethics, but because he was saying things, especially regarding the Vietnam War, which I had never heard before, not by anyone, including the authors of my college history books.
I haven't sought out his side of the story. I wasn't alive for this time in history, and my knowledge of history is not bad, but I realize it could always be better because you're usually going to get only profiles of history rather than dead-on portraits. What I know very well is music history; I can spot those Orwellian-lyrics about giving away 'free' land. But I would very much like to educate myself further. The best way, in my opinion, is to look at both sides of the story (after all, if you're given two profiles, you're more likely to picture the face of the period more accurately). I haven't had very much political exposure, and I will state for myself that I know little regarding politics. At least fort the time being. What I have been exposed to is typically more anti-war, left-wing, and whatever I felt would be rebelling from my Utah upbringing. After talking to this artist, I decided it would be a good time in my life to look at that to which I've been least exposed.
I decided to check out a book by Ann Coulter from the library, because she is the most outspoken commentator on the right that I could think of. So far she is not telling me that we are all going to be happy living together on shared land that was given to us for free, while the pigs drink heavily into the night and the horse carries the load for every other animal; I guess that makes her opinions safer for our cultural health than the lyrics of "The Guess Who." Of course I'm writing with a load of sarcasm, but I do think its worth the time to look at the other opinion, which I honestly have not done until now.
This led me to another new idea for my book. One of the actions which the right side is known for is being Pro-Life. Again, I've never really looked at this debate. I know someone who is giving classes on what it is really like to have an abortion, in hopes of educating women into what they're really getting into, at least based on her viewpoint (which I haven't explored). I thought I would ask her if I could sit in on one of her classes. Most people who have given me their opinion have been Pro-Choice. Most feminist books I've read have been from authors who are Pro-Choice (although this is NOT to say all feminists think the same. There are Pro-Life feminists). I need to see all sides I can if I'm going to dare say I have a credible voice in the matter.
Given the choice, I would much rather listen to someone who had been through the Vietnam War and possessed a concise understanding of the military and its leaders than someone who had had never been overseas and based their entire opinions of war on, well . . . opinions. It has led me to think, did the protesters of that war have a clue what they were protesting? Or was it just that "war is bad"? Would someone who is Pro-Choice listen to the story of a woman who had an abortion and regretted it?
This is one reason why I love doing these weekly adventures; it has brought me not only to expand my passions and life experience, but to examine viewpoints I previously would not have given the time of day. It would be easy to just stick with the opinions already formed, but I'm seeking a balance of viewpoints, because the free speech to which I've been exposed doesn't mean all minds behind the speech are equal. There is no 'free credibility.' That should only come with work. Sorry "Guess Who," but I don't expect to have as much land as someone who works harder than me; I don't expect to have less than the dead-beat who hasn't even looked for work, and the freedom to work is paralleled with the freedom of speech. I don't expect my opinion to be as worthy as the person's who has extensively studied both sides; I don't expect the opinion of the person who hasn't bothered to think to be considered as valid as the students' of the subject. Anyone can speak, but anyone can make marks on a piece of paper, and I'm not going to taut one person's stick figures as just as valid an art form as the Mona Lisa. We should work for what we have, and this includes our opinions.
When I felt a little worried, I thought I could try acupuncture and I know someone willing to teach me to play chess, but then I realized, in the painting workshop I was signed up for, I was already doing something new right there.
Talking to my instructor last week actually helped me think of two new ideas for upcoming weeks. A very intelligent and well-rounded man, I thought about how this artist, in his sixties, has seen far more of life than I, at twenty-six. For example, what I have read about the Vietnam War and the fifties and sixties, he has lived. So I decided to pick his brain on the subject to which he obviously has more information.
What led me to think of his experience compared to mine was the days of my workshop coincided with the forty-year anniversary of Woodstock. I caught a documentary of Woodstock on VH1 (yes, incredibly the channel had a program actually relevant to music). That night I happened to be hungry for studying history, and the sixties has been one of my favorite decades to study anyhow. I had to roll my eyes however, when a girl being interviewed for the documentary regarding the event even her parents didn't attend said Woodstock was one of the most important events that have ever happened, maybe the most important event that ever happened. And she wasn't even stoned. It is telling that someone would describe a festival, a party, as possibly the most important event in the history of the earth.
It made me think how naive I was when I believed the lyrics of the Beatles song "All You Need is Love." Actually, I prefer to think I didn't really believe that nonsense, but I'll admit, I didn't really question it either, because it was coming from the Beatles, some of the most important people who ever lived, maybe the most important people who have ever lived. Only joking silly Woodstock-attendee wannabe girl who doesn't even have pot as an excuse for stupidity. But the Beatles were heroes of mine in a sense. Their music stands on its own merit; the Summer of Love may have needed them, but they didn't need it.
I used to believe that summer, in the year 1967, was a period I was meant to live and the stars got it wrong when I was born in the early eighties. I loved the whole idea of hippies and living together in peace with everyone wearing flowers in their hair and all that. I still love some of the music from that era. But as far as the flowers in the hair, you get to a point when you realize, if everyone is literally living together in their hip new society, someones got to maintain the garden where those flowers are being mercilessly picked (the hippies never stood for flower rights). And who is going to do that when one hippy is tripping on acid, another is busy trying to decipher the non-language of Timothy Leary, and the other one is meditating in the corner for world peace, because as you know, most accomplishments result from sitting in a corner with your eyes closed. The hippy who would be repeatedly tending the flowers which the other hippies insist on breaking off to put in their hair, soldiers' guns, and God knows where else, is the same hippy who would probably be stuck cooking the food (vegetarian and organic of course), sweeping the dirt floor of the teepee where a dozen other hippies sleep, and missing out on sitting nude in the human "be in" because there is still far more work to do. In short, this person becomes the horse in "Animal Farm." The whole muddied concept of "living together, everything equal" does not work because if everything is free and equal and no one has any responsibility--other than to show everyone 'love'--then the work falls onto the shoulders of just a few individuals who eventually can't bare the load. Where is the difference between this example and socialism? I was fascinated by the hippy culture as a teenager; as an adult, I see it as ironic that a 1960s hippy might insult someone by calling him a communist, but The Guess Who's song "Share the Land", with the lyrics "Maybe I'll be there to share the land, that they'll be given' away, when we all live together," defines socialism. Who is "they" who are giving the land away anyhow? And how is it shared? Everyone is just magically given an equal plot of land, and the people who work harder than everyone else are given the same share as the people who have never worked in their lives? Yet we all live together in happiness, everyone, even the Manson Family.
It is these realizations that make me want to ignore such inane slogans as "free love" and instead talk more to my elders (oh no, what a square thing to do!) My teacher was particularly interesting, and while I'll admit I'm a little shocked by some of the things he was saying, that is not because he was saying something against my code of ethics, but because he was saying things, especially regarding the Vietnam War, which I had never heard before, not by anyone, including the authors of my college history books.
I haven't sought out his side of the story. I wasn't alive for this time in history, and my knowledge of history is not bad, but I realize it could always be better because you're usually going to get only profiles of history rather than dead-on portraits. What I know very well is music history; I can spot those Orwellian-lyrics about giving away 'free' land. But I would very much like to educate myself further. The best way, in my opinion, is to look at both sides of the story (after all, if you're given two profiles, you're more likely to picture the face of the period more accurately). I haven't had very much political exposure, and I will state for myself that I know little regarding politics. At least fort the time being. What I have been exposed to is typically more anti-war, left-wing, and whatever I felt would be rebelling from my Utah upbringing. After talking to this artist, I decided it would be a good time in my life to look at that to which I've been least exposed.
I decided to check out a book by Ann Coulter from the library, because she is the most outspoken commentator on the right that I could think of. So far she is not telling me that we are all going to be happy living together on shared land that was given to us for free, while the pigs drink heavily into the night and the horse carries the load for every other animal; I guess that makes her opinions safer for our cultural health than the lyrics of "The Guess Who." Of course I'm writing with a load of sarcasm, but I do think its worth the time to look at the other opinion, which I honestly have not done until now.
This led me to another new idea for my book. One of the actions which the right side is known for is being Pro-Life. Again, I've never really looked at this debate. I know someone who is giving classes on what it is really like to have an abortion, in hopes of educating women into what they're really getting into, at least based on her viewpoint (which I haven't explored). I thought I would ask her if I could sit in on one of her classes. Most people who have given me their opinion have been Pro-Choice. Most feminist books I've read have been from authors who are Pro-Choice (although this is NOT to say all feminists think the same. There are Pro-Life feminists). I need to see all sides I can if I'm going to dare say I have a credible voice in the matter.
Given the choice, I would much rather listen to someone who had been through the Vietnam War and possessed a concise understanding of the military and its leaders than someone who had had never been overseas and based their entire opinions of war on, well . . . opinions. It has led me to think, did the protesters of that war have a clue what they were protesting? Or was it just that "war is bad"? Would someone who is Pro-Choice listen to the story of a woman who had an abortion and regretted it?
This is one reason why I love doing these weekly adventures; it has brought me not only to expand my passions and life experience, but to examine viewpoints I previously would not have given the time of day. It would be easy to just stick with the opinions already formed, but I'm seeking a balance of viewpoints, because the free speech to which I've been exposed doesn't mean all minds behind the speech are equal. There is no 'free credibility.' That should only come with work. Sorry "Guess Who," but I don't expect to have as much land as someone who works harder than me; I don't expect to have less than the dead-beat who hasn't even looked for work, and the freedom to work is paralleled with the freedom of speech. I don't expect my opinion to be as worthy as the person's who has extensively studied both sides; I don't expect the opinion of the person who hasn't bothered to think to be considered as valid as the students' of the subject. Anyone can speak, but anyone can make marks on a piece of paper, and I'm not going to taut one person's stick figures as just as valid an art form as the Mona Lisa. We should work for what we have, and this includes our opinions.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Unprepared
Lately life has seemed hectic, like I'm dropping the ball, and here it is a new week, and I don't have a plan yet! I have some ideas, but I am not committed, and this must change soon so I don't miss this week. If I don't do something new that I can use for my book, there is no book.
I don't have any free days to devote to something either. No mountain climbing or any other activity that will demand several hours. It will be interesting to see what I come up with . . . but I will come up with something. I have promised myself, if it is 11:59 pm on Saturday night and I haven't done anything new yet, I will go outside, dig in the ground until I find a worm and eat it right there on the spot (okay, I'd at least probably wash it first) but I am NOT going to let my book collapse! I'll do whatever I can to keep the ball rolling, because this means so much to me, I would have a deeper regret than I care to imagine if I let my book go.
I don't have any free days to devote to something either. No mountain climbing or any other activity that will demand several hours. It will be interesting to see what I come up with . . . but I will come up with something. I have promised myself, if it is 11:59 pm on Saturday night and I haven't done anything new yet, I will go outside, dig in the ground until I find a worm and eat it right there on the spot (okay, I'd at least probably wash it first) but I am NOT going to let my book collapse! I'll do whatever I can to keep the ball rolling, because this means so much to me, I would have a deeper regret than I care to imagine if I let my book go.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Looking More Closely at Myself
If I'm writing a book about getting out of my comfort zone and doing something brand new every week, I would be a hypocrite if I ignored areas of my life where I've remained stagnant. That's the most scary but worthwhile part of writing this book: by doing something new every week so far this year, I've had to not only keep my eyes open for new adventures, but I start to look more deeply at myself, thinking about what I haven't done and why. To be honest, I don't always like what I see.
This 2009 experiment has brought lasting postitive changes. I've gotten myself more together by learning to build a website; I've walked through a Mormon temple and discovered I feel no resentment about my own religious past. Yet I am far from feeling completely free. I've struggled with this for the past decade, but didn't have the confidence, even in my twenties, to make the change. If you were to ask me, with all these new experiences I've had, what is the one new experience I still need to have above all others, I would answer you, "living on my own." It is time I made that change.
I moved in with my sister several years ago, but I'm not counting that experience because it was with my older sister and it didn't feel like I was really on my own. My sister would hate hearing this, but at times it didn't feel that different from living with my mom and dad. So this time I'm moving in with friends. I have recently found a place to stay and have been planning on moving there next month.
Lately I have been feeling very positive about it, because this is a step I have no doubt I must take. Not because I'd be embarrassed to turn twenty-seven this winter and still be living with Mom and Dad--and I would be embarrassed--but because I need to grow into my own authentic self. Now I'm wondering if that authentic self is really going to come out with the roommates I've chosen. They're nice friends, but both have shown an overprotection of me at times, and I wonder how they might change when I live with them.
What I have to remember is I do have options. No one is applying any force on where I'm going to live. It is so ironic that I've been able to find something new to do every week, realizing just how much there is available to me by through my commitment of this book, and here I am, preparing to move out and feeling like I don't have options! I can create the event of myself, my siblings, and relatives eating chocolate-covered Cambodian ants, but I can't find a place I want to live? Even with my expanded life, I still find it so easy to forget the possibilites surrounding me! I think quite often then not, abundence exists; it's just not as out in the open as expected, so it is missed, replaced by a feeling of inadequacy and loss. Or the opportunities remain undiscovered even in plain view. If I'm resigned to a frustrating vision of home, I don't believe any other possibility exists. I look out the window and almost feel like there is only two doors open to me, and right now I don't know if I want to enter one. What about the other doors? I've created opportunities for myself every week this year. I've accomplished more than half of my book already, and here I am, wanting to move out and feeling like I lack opportunities? I only feel that way because it is ingrained in me in this example. I have convinced myself down into my core that I can't create my own home. Hopelessness is often a failure to search for and discover solutions.
There are other places I can live. Even if I follow my current plan and find I don't like living there, I can always move again with different roommates. Wow, who would have thought! I mean no need to hit me over the head with this idea or anything . . . I don't need to get it perfect the first time. Most people probably move several times when they're young adults. Another option I'm not seeing: I can withstand their opinions. I'm free to create myself. I don't need my roommates to survive, just as I don't need my parents. It is the belief in such dependency which creates lead chains.
So what am I anticipating withstanding?
This sudden intensity of emotion about where I move did not come from a void. Yesterday I saw the brother of the last guy I was dating. Today I saw his mom. Both incidents were random; one happened to be in the store where I work, the other at a community event. I haven't seen any of his family in over two months, which was when I said good-bye to him. I've decided it's about time to say hello to him again. I will leave it at that. I left because I was slowly becoming aware of the chains I mentioned; they were a barrier between us. I didn't have the words for it back then, but I knew it wasn't going to work at the time. I've spent the past two months figuring out some of the causes of this wall, and I believe moving out will bring it down--not fully, because it will take consistent work--but it will help. My worry is, will moving in with these roommates draw it back up?
They have their own ideas for who is right for me, but so will other people. I can learn to accept that without apologizing by sharing overly personal explanations or yielding by forgetting my own passion and reason. I listen to different points of view, but what does considering their opinion do for and to me if I don't also consider my own opinion as equally valid? I must reach the point of true adulthood, having faith in my own vision and being able to create my life, despite anyone's desire to push me onto the path he or she feels is better. There is much to be said for the person who can shake off the opinions of others.
I guess this means if they don't like the way I live my life, what can they do about it? Are they going to insult me as well and tell me I'm going to end with my life completely fallen apart? If they do, I can learn a laugh and a shrugg can be a the strongest response I need, because I don't need to convince them that what I do is right for me, I just need to convince myself. What is the weight of the world on Atlas's shoulders if he choses to shrug? What could roommates really do if I live my own life? Do I really need to let what they want for me become what I think I need? I was able to walk away from the Mormon church and walk into a Mormon temple without feeling the slightest amount of pressure to somehow change my life to better fit Mormon standards. I felt neither uplifted nor guilty, just an exploring, living being. It is my goal to live within this position of strength: someone capable of becoming more sophisticated within all realms, even those they have rejected, and if the knowledge gleaned from the study suggests or proclaims an error within your own heart, there is no rejection of the sacred self.
This 2009 experiment has brought lasting postitive changes. I've gotten myself more together by learning to build a website; I've walked through a Mormon temple and discovered I feel no resentment about my own religious past. Yet I am far from feeling completely free. I've struggled with this for the past decade, but didn't have the confidence, even in my twenties, to make the change. If you were to ask me, with all these new experiences I've had, what is the one new experience I still need to have above all others, I would answer you, "living on my own." It is time I made that change.
I moved in with my sister several years ago, but I'm not counting that experience because it was with my older sister and it didn't feel like I was really on my own. My sister would hate hearing this, but at times it didn't feel that different from living with my mom and dad. So this time I'm moving in with friends. I have recently found a place to stay and have been planning on moving there next month.
Lately I have been feeling very positive about it, because this is a step I have no doubt I must take. Not because I'd be embarrassed to turn twenty-seven this winter and still be living with Mom and Dad--and I would be embarrassed--but because I need to grow into my own authentic self. Now I'm wondering if that authentic self is really going to come out with the roommates I've chosen. They're nice friends, but both have shown an overprotection of me at times, and I wonder how they might change when I live with them.
What I have to remember is I do have options. No one is applying any force on where I'm going to live. It is so ironic that I've been able to find something new to do every week, realizing just how much there is available to me by through my commitment of this book, and here I am, preparing to move out and feeling like I don't have options! I can create the event of myself, my siblings, and relatives eating chocolate-covered Cambodian ants, but I can't find a place I want to live? Even with my expanded life, I still find it so easy to forget the possibilites surrounding me! I think quite often then not, abundence exists; it's just not as out in the open as expected, so it is missed, replaced by a feeling of inadequacy and loss. Or the opportunities remain undiscovered even in plain view. If I'm resigned to a frustrating vision of home, I don't believe any other possibility exists. I look out the window and almost feel like there is only two doors open to me, and right now I don't know if I want to enter one. What about the other doors? I've created opportunities for myself every week this year. I've accomplished more than half of my book already, and here I am, wanting to move out and feeling like I lack opportunities? I only feel that way because it is ingrained in me in this example. I have convinced myself down into my core that I can't create my own home. Hopelessness is often a failure to search for and discover solutions.
There are other places I can live. Even if I follow my current plan and find I don't like living there, I can always move again with different roommates. Wow, who would have thought! I mean no need to hit me over the head with this idea or anything . . . I don't need to get it perfect the first time. Most people probably move several times when they're young adults. Another option I'm not seeing: I can withstand their opinions. I'm free to create myself. I don't need my roommates to survive, just as I don't need my parents. It is the belief in such dependency which creates lead chains.
So what am I anticipating withstanding?
This sudden intensity of emotion about where I move did not come from a void. Yesterday I saw the brother of the last guy I was dating. Today I saw his mom. Both incidents were random; one happened to be in the store where I work, the other at a community event. I haven't seen any of his family in over two months, which was when I said good-bye to him. I've decided it's about time to say hello to him again. I will leave it at that. I left because I was slowly becoming aware of the chains I mentioned; they were a barrier between us. I didn't have the words for it back then, but I knew it wasn't going to work at the time. I've spent the past two months figuring out some of the causes of this wall, and I believe moving out will bring it down--not fully, because it will take consistent work--but it will help. My worry is, will moving in with these roommates draw it back up?
They have their own ideas for who is right for me, but so will other people. I can learn to accept that without apologizing by sharing overly personal explanations or yielding by forgetting my own passion and reason. I listen to different points of view, but what does considering their opinion do for and to me if I don't also consider my own opinion as equally valid? I must reach the point of true adulthood, having faith in my own vision and being able to create my life, despite anyone's desire to push me onto the path he or she feels is better. There is much to be said for the person who can shake off the opinions of others.
I guess this means if they don't like the way I live my life, what can they do about it? Are they going to insult me as well and tell me I'm going to end with my life completely fallen apart? If they do, I can learn a laugh and a shrugg can be a the strongest response I need, because I don't need to convince them that what I do is right for me, I just need to convince myself. What is the weight of the world on Atlas's shoulders if he choses to shrug? What could roommates really do if I live my own life? Do I really need to let what they want for me become what I think I need? I was able to walk away from the Mormon church and walk into a Mormon temple without feeling the slightest amount of pressure to somehow change my life to better fit Mormon standards. I felt neither uplifted nor guilty, just an exploring, living being. It is my goal to live within this position of strength: someone capable of becoming more sophisticated within all realms, even those they have rejected, and if the knowledge gleaned from the study suggests or proclaims an error within your own heart, there is no rejection of the sacred self.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Reaching page 358 out of 1084
For one of my new experiences I wanted to read a book with over a thousand pages. I love to read but have never completed a big of that size, mainly because most books just aren't that big. It has been a fluid goal of mine since around the eighth grade. I definitely won't read a thousand-plus pages in a week, so I started reading one in May and whenever I finish it, that will be the week I count as my new experience.
The book I'm reading is Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I am into the second part of the book now.
This is an excerpt from her book:
What he knew, what he had discovered that night, was that his recaptured love of existence had not been given back to him by the return of his desire for her--but that the desire had returned after he had regained his world, the love, the value and the sense of his world--and that the desire was not an answer to her body, but a celebration of his will to live.
He did not know it, he did not think of it, he was past the need of words, but in the moment when he felt the response of her body to his, he felt also the unadmitted knowledge that that which he had called her depravity was her highest virtue--this capacity of hers to feel the joy of being, as he felt it.
At an earlier part in the book, when Hank and Dagny, the characters above, first slept together, Hank viewed Dagny's desire as base and depraved. It is this moment when Ayn Rand really simplifed the feelings of these two characters, Hank and Dagny. They were brought together through their love of existence, as Hank at once realized. The sex between them stands in contrast to other characters who are either going through the motions or holding themselves to higher moral values because they deny themselves pleasure on no moral grounds other than denying themselves pleasure. To me these paragraphs hold so much clarity on the real essence of life; to enjoy our existence, to use our great capacity to love life. It is not that they are happy because they are sleeping together; it is that they are fully present as human beings that they desire each other in the first place. The pleasure is created before sex is even in the picture, which I think is the opposite of how too many people view it. To reduce sex to an isolated event, with no connection to our immense potential for happiness, and our present level of it, is I believe one reason why some people struggle with it and go through the motions, expecting sex to fully create happiness rather than realizing it is meant to be borne of it; they wonder why it does not live up to their expectations. Additionally perhaps this is why it is so common to denounce it as something evil and depraved. If the capacity of enjoying existence is closed, it is closed in all realms.
When thinking of an example of someone who savors the moments of her existence, I think of a woman named Molly who was a former co-worker of mine. She worked at the Weber County Library and regardless of what she was doing, she gave it her full awareness, as if she never forgot she was alive. When she helped patrons at the desk, she was rewarded both by their presence and her ability to help. When I asked her what she would be doing over the weekend and she talked about cleaning and getting ready for the following week, she said it with zeal, not exhaustion. She looked forward to cleaning; it was her preparation for days ahead which she would enjoy because she had the capacity to live an organized and autonomous life. Autonomous not only in the sense of taking care of herself financially, but emotionally. Even when she had to talk to a patron who struggled to take care of himself and had a hygiene problem addressed by other patrons, she even seemed to enjoy talking to him about it, if for the knowledge that she could handle difficult issues with her competence and social grace.
She moved away from Utah a few years ago, but I know wherever she is now, she still possesses the smooth self-confidence of a person at ease with her own happiness. There was a simple joy of just being alive that seemed to state itself in every action she took. She remains an example to me of a person who already knows the meaning of life is inherent in the simple pleasures of being alive.
The book I'm reading is Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I am into the second part of the book now.
This is an excerpt from her book:
What he knew, what he had discovered that night, was that his recaptured love of existence had not been given back to him by the return of his desire for her--but that the desire had returned after he had regained his world, the love, the value and the sense of his world--and that the desire was not an answer to her body, but a celebration of his will to live.
He did not know it, he did not think of it, he was past the need of words, but in the moment when he felt the response of her body to his, he felt also the unadmitted knowledge that that which he had called her depravity was her highest virtue--this capacity of hers to feel the joy of being, as he felt it.
At an earlier part in the book, when Hank and Dagny, the characters above, first slept together, Hank viewed Dagny's desire as base and depraved. It is this moment when Ayn Rand really simplifed the feelings of these two characters, Hank and Dagny. They were brought together through their love of existence, as Hank at once realized. The sex between them stands in contrast to other characters who are either going through the motions or holding themselves to higher moral values because they deny themselves pleasure on no moral grounds other than denying themselves pleasure. To me these paragraphs hold so much clarity on the real essence of life; to enjoy our existence, to use our great capacity to love life. It is not that they are happy because they are sleeping together; it is that they are fully present as human beings that they desire each other in the first place. The pleasure is created before sex is even in the picture, which I think is the opposite of how too many people view it. To reduce sex to an isolated event, with no connection to our immense potential for happiness, and our present level of it, is I believe one reason why some people struggle with it and go through the motions, expecting sex to fully create happiness rather than realizing it is meant to be borne of it; they wonder why it does not live up to their expectations. Additionally perhaps this is why it is so common to denounce it as something evil and depraved. If the capacity of enjoying existence is closed, it is closed in all realms.
When thinking of an example of someone who savors the moments of her existence, I think of a woman named Molly who was a former co-worker of mine. She worked at the Weber County Library and regardless of what she was doing, she gave it her full awareness, as if she never forgot she was alive. When she helped patrons at the desk, she was rewarded both by their presence and her ability to help. When I asked her what she would be doing over the weekend and she talked about cleaning and getting ready for the following week, she said it with zeal, not exhaustion. She looked forward to cleaning; it was her preparation for days ahead which she would enjoy because she had the capacity to live an organized and autonomous life. Autonomous not only in the sense of taking care of herself financially, but emotionally. Even when she had to talk to a patron who struggled to take care of himself and had a hygiene problem addressed by other patrons, she even seemed to enjoy talking to him about it, if for the knowledge that she could handle difficult issues with her competence and social grace.
She moved away from Utah a few years ago, but I know wherever she is now, she still possesses the smooth self-confidence of a person at ease with her own happiness. There was a simple joy of just being alive that seemed to state itself in every action she took. She remains an example to me of a person who already knows the meaning of life is inherent in the simple pleasures of being alive.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Next Two Weeks
My work often gives me tremendous energy, sometimes leading me to stay up too late lost in a project, but tonight I will remind myself to wind down because I have a very early morning tomorrow. In the morning I will wake up early and hike Ben Lomond. I've never been at the top of a mountain yet, but tomorrow I won't be able to write that sentence again. Since this is a significant and accessible challenge, mounting the top will be my new experience for this week. I haven't done anything new yet! I can't let any week go, for if I do, I didn't accomplish my goal, and who wants to read a book about the girl who almost did something new every week of the year?
It ties into another new experience, which was painting an image of a snow-covered Ben Lomond onto a life-size horse for downtown Ogden. I like to be as connected as I can with the artwork I create, but even more important, this is my life, I have a mountain in my backyard, why not climb it? I remember a friend Kenny telling me he climbed that back when we were in high school, and I was amazed. I didn't realize that I hold the same ability to reach the top. Early tomorrow I will drive to North Ogden pass and hike the Skyline Trail. I found the trail late last week and was going to hike it on Sunday, but excuses arise and I didn't do it. Tomorrow is really my only chance before the week's end. Normally I would not wake up at 6 am on my day off to climb a mountain, but that is the beauty of the year's challenge. It creates a motivation to live which I have never quite experienced before in my lifetime.
I am almost done with the month of July. That means only five months left. I have already done something new every week for more than half the year; I don't know exactly what I'll be doing over the next five months, but I didn't know what I was going to do over the previous seven either. The intention had a way of fulfilling itself.
Once in a college class, the class was listing oxymorons, and a student suggested "How about rap music?" I had to laugh at that. And now I have to laugh at myself. My new thing for next week is I will go to a rap concert. I have never liked rap very much, but in this situation that only makes a stronger argument to attend. It is out of my comfort zone and just like at my cousin Kanani's party, my white self might stand out like Gandolf transformed into a white wizard in the Lord of the Rings (oh no, that statement alone just made me even whiter--yet notice how it is in my power to delete it, but I don't because a glowing wizard at a rap concert is too funny). Rap itself though has become more and more mainstream and we all notice the many white folks listening to it and trying to use it as a definition of personal style. I know very little about rap, but I sometimes get the feeling that many people consider it the antithesis of a white existence. I can only weigh in so much on the issue when I know so little. When I was twelve and my dad bought a computer that had a cd-rom (I remember what a huge deal it was at the time), I used to spend hours exploring Encarta Encyclopedia and would listen to an excerpt of Grand Master Flash's "The Message." I loved the keyboards in the background. The excerpt was probably less than a minute; very short, especially considering this song is over seven minutes long, so I only had a taste. My younger brothers have both been interested in rap music. And the glimpses I've had of it are more from music videos than the music itself. It seems like the image of rap, at least seen through white culture, and the music itself, are almost two separate entities. Sometimes I also feel like if the image of nonwhite culture seems harder and tougher than my own, anyone who isn't white will seem scarier behind the desk in an office and therefore be far less likely to be hired. Meanwhile the rest of us can feel cool by turning on the radio and paying $50 for a concert ticket to watch a rap artist who has branched into the mainstream so well, there are sure to be many other white people just like us watching the show.
In having all these new experiences in my life, there is a question of whether these challenges truly help me grow. I believe they have, but sometimes it is too easy to think we're doing something different, when we really just end up staying where we are comfortable after all. For example, showing interest in another culture, but only after that culture has sufficiently overlapped with our own that we no longer know the difference. Not that I even got to that point. I haven't given this genre much consideration, even though I love music, and maybe it's because I bought into the idea that I didn't belong with it. I had forgotten all about "The Message" until now.
I think going to any rap concert would hold merit for a new experience for me. I don't even listen to it, so attending a concert is quite a jump. But I don't want to be disillusioned either and believe this is a step towards carrying the so-called ghetto-pass, which is stupid anyway, because no one stands up in third grade and says "When I grow up, I want to live in the ghetto." What I would like is to accept a situation I'm not accustomed to--just very plain and simple.
This is a local concert held in downtown Ogden. I really don't know what to expect. Fliers were brought into my work, which is how I discovered it. I noticed recently that all the fliers were gone, and I hope that doesn't mean the people hosting the concert canceled and came back to pick up all the fliers. That sounds unrealistic though; more likely someone just threw away all the fliers. They must have been thrown away because there were probably close to twenty or thirty fliers, and then they were gone. Oh well. I just really want to go. It's funny how here I am, not even a fan of rap and really hoping I can still go to this rap concert! However I will not attend dressed up like a wizard or any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter character. That can always be another week.
It ties into another new experience, which was painting an image of a snow-covered Ben Lomond onto a life-size horse for downtown Ogden. I like to be as connected as I can with the artwork I create, but even more important, this is my life, I have a mountain in my backyard, why not climb it? I remember a friend Kenny telling me he climbed that back when we were in high school, and I was amazed. I didn't realize that I hold the same ability to reach the top. Early tomorrow I will drive to North Ogden pass and hike the Skyline Trail. I found the trail late last week and was going to hike it on Sunday, but excuses arise and I didn't do it. Tomorrow is really my only chance before the week's end. Normally I would not wake up at 6 am on my day off to climb a mountain, but that is the beauty of the year's challenge. It creates a motivation to live which I have never quite experienced before in my lifetime.
I am almost done with the month of July. That means only five months left. I have already done something new every week for more than half the year; I don't know exactly what I'll be doing over the next five months, but I didn't know what I was going to do over the previous seven either. The intention had a way of fulfilling itself.
Once in a college class, the class was listing oxymorons, and a student suggested "How about rap music?" I had to laugh at that. And now I have to laugh at myself. My new thing for next week is I will go to a rap concert. I have never liked rap very much, but in this situation that only makes a stronger argument to attend. It is out of my comfort zone and just like at my cousin Kanani's party, my white self might stand out like Gandolf transformed into a white wizard in the Lord of the Rings (oh no, that statement alone just made me even whiter--yet notice how it is in my power to delete it, but I don't because a glowing wizard at a rap concert is too funny). Rap itself though has become more and more mainstream and we all notice the many white folks listening to it and trying to use it as a definition of personal style. I know very little about rap, but I sometimes get the feeling that many people consider it the antithesis of a white existence. I can only weigh in so much on the issue when I know so little. When I was twelve and my dad bought a computer that had a cd-rom (I remember what a huge deal it was at the time), I used to spend hours exploring Encarta Encyclopedia and would listen to an excerpt of Grand Master Flash's "The Message." I loved the keyboards in the background. The excerpt was probably less than a minute; very short, especially considering this song is over seven minutes long, so I only had a taste. My younger brothers have both been interested in rap music. And the glimpses I've had of it are more from music videos than the music itself. It seems like the image of rap, at least seen through white culture, and the music itself, are almost two separate entities. Sometimes I also feel like if the image of nonwhite culture seems harder and tougher than my own, anyone who isn't white will seem scarier behind the desk in an office and therefore be far less likely to be hired. Meanwhile the rest of us can feel cool by turning on the radio and paying $50 for a concert ticket to watch a rap artist who has branched into the mainstream so well, there are sure to be many other white people just like us watching the show.
In having all these new experiences in my life, there is a question of whether these challenges truly help me grow. I believe they have, but sometimes it is too easy to think we're doing something different, when we really just end up staying where we are comfortable after all. For example, showing interest in another culture, but only after that culture has sufficiently overlapped with our own that we no longer know the difference. Not that I even got to that point. I haven't given this genre much consideration, even though I love music, and maybe it's because I bought into the idea that I didn't belong with it. I had forgotten all about "The Message" until now.
I think going to any rap concert would hold merit for a new experience for me. I don't even listen to it, so attending a concert is quite a jump. But I don't want to be disillusioned either and believe this is a step towards carrying the so-called ghetto-pass, which is stupid anyway, because no one stands up in third grade and says "When I grow up, I want to live in the ghetto." What I would like is to accept a situation I'm not accustomed to--just very plain and simple.
This is a local concert held in downtown Ogden. I really don't know what to expect. Fliers were brought into my work, which is how I discovered it. I noticed recently that all the fliers were gone, and I hope that doesn't mean the people hosting the concert canceled and came back to pick up all the fliers. That sounds unrealistic though; more likely someone just threw away all the fliers. They must have been thrown away because there were probably close to twenty or thirty fliers, and then they were gone. Oh well. I just really want to go. It's funny how here I am, not even a fan of rap and really hoping I can still go to this rap concert! However I will not attend dressed up like a wizard or any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter character. That can always be another week.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Shake What You've Got (Or What You Wish You Had)
If there was a reality show called "So You Think You Can Draw," I don't want to sound presumptuous but I think I might have a chance. Like visual art, dancing is its own art form and I enjoy improvising movement to music like the majority of the lay dance community, but I certainly have no formal training in any dance style. But there's no reason life has to remain that way, right?
As a young girl, I often wanted to become a ballerina, but I lacked the resources to fulfill my young wish. This didn't stop me from pretending on occasion. But a big difference between being a child and an adult is the space between imagination and reality shrink as our opportunities to live our dreams in the real world increase. In other words, it is up to me now whether I take a dance class or not. I don't have to ask anyone's permission and be halted if the answer is no. The only person who can stop me is myself. Adulthood equals no excuses.
I still love watching ballet, but dancing opportunity presented itself as something more sexy, more primal--movement to invoke Aphrodite and hold this feminine archetype, which is not always easy when you're raised in a culture that rarely honors the whole woman. While our culture may be at once sexually permissive and stunted, let's just say taking a belly dancing class may be a remedy for this bind. Shaking your hips this much does not obey narrow tenets.
My former yoga instructor, Aubrey, has a studio in Clearfield called The Movement Academy and belly dancing classes are held Tuesday and Thursday nights from 9-10 pm. My sister Tiffani and I went Tuesday and there were fourteen of us altogether, including the instructor Heather Ann, a beautiful dancer. It helped me so much to watch her reflection in the mirrors spanning the east wall of the studio. Most of the women there have been practicing our dance for the past month and a half and here my sister and I are, knowing absolutely nothing about belly dancing but willing to look stupid in order to have fun. Truthfully no one looks stupid though; it is such a raw and sensuous movement of the body that even out of sync with the choreography, moving on your right foot when you should be on your left foot and trying to figure out how to move your hips while keeping your torso still, it is still seductive in more than one way. The most difficult aspect of belly dancing is the isolation of body parts. While the hips twist, the upper body remains under control. The shoulders shake while the lower body is silent. Of course, to shimmy all over isn't that easy either. The thighs are almost always kept together while dancing, except when we lean back and throw our heads from left to right at a count of eight. It demands attention while simultaneously feeling completely natural, almost a return to a deeply celebratory part of being a woman. Just think about it: How many women celebrate being a woman? Or how about how many women curse being a woman? That can't be healthy. I definitely recommend belly dancing to any woman, and you would be surprised to see some of the other women in there dancing. There were several different ages and body types. As Heather Ann said, "Embrace the jiggle." And to all the men, you already know how much you enjoy belly dancing. That's healthy too! I loved this experience. It will make you sweat in a way you enjoy, and Aphrodite will be proud.
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