Freedom

"I say love me, hold me.
Love me, hold me.
'Cause I'm free to do what I want, any old time.
And I'm free to be who I choose, any old time"

--The Soup Dragons, "I'm Free."

Once I saw Maya Angelou on Oprah. She was 72 years old and she said something--I can't quote it exactly--about how she wanted to learn and change and grow and refine herself every single day, and that when she stopped doing those things, it would be the day she died.

I think of this often.

I think about my personal journey of self-awareness and self-refinement, and how I have often aimed to just "get it right." How I would love to wake up one day and think, "Phew! Got it!" And the world would open itself to me in a completely different way. It's a laughable aim when you think about it, but it's one that I can't deny. It's akin to wanting to wake up one day as someone else.

A decade and a half of emotional abuse taught me this. Taught me to wish that I was someone else. Taught me to believe that I wasn't "getting it right" by just being me. That I had to fix or change or sculpt myself in some different way to be acceptable to others. To be acceptable to myself.

Rationally, I comprehend that "getting it right" means loving myself and accepting myself as I am. I can expound on self-love and self-acceptance and their importance. I can tell other people they must love themselves first. I can help them do it. But If I'm being honest, I've personally only had glimpses of it.

I've denied to myself and to others what I have known for a long time: that my natural, primal, basal response to certain situations is to identify rejection from others and then unworthiness in myself. I've longed for that not to be my reality. I've prayed to wake up one day and have my baseline be "I'm awesome," like a flip was switched and the self-hate was just over. I have wondered what its like to just feel the love... for me.

Lately, though, a light has been shining on a path for self-acceptance, and I'm taking some cautious steps in that direction. It's scary, but kind of exciting. The light is this: accepting the fact that I have a baseline of "I suck and everyone hates me" is my liberation from it.

For too long I've tried to crop out the ugly stuff. I've tried to deny this part of myself. I've blamed others for keeping me in a box of perfection; maybe I constructed that box all by myself? Sure, I learned how to make that box because I was taught by others how to hate myself, but if I made the box, then I can destroy it.

For me, "getting it right" isn't pretending to "get it right." For me, freedom comes from accepting that I went through some pretty shitty experiences and that I have a regular tendency to panic that I am being rejected. Rather than denying it when it is happening or having a shame spiral that this is in fact my baseline, allowing myself space to acknowledge those feelings, to honor them as real even if they are usually unfounded, to analyze them and indulge in them *briefly*... I begin to accept myself as I am. I break out of the box of (false) perfection.

And then I get to choose how to be.

I've come a long way to get here. When I'm not (exhausted, cranky, sick, scared, what have you), I'm usually rational enough to stay present and evaluate the reality in front of me. But life loves to throw fun challenges at us, and I'm undoubtedly going to often be exhausted, cranky, sick, scared, or what have you.

Perhaps it's possible to accept my whole self: Fun, loving, caring, giving, energetic, adventurous, ambitious... and occasionally self-loathing and anxious.

Yep, that's me.

Working It Out

"Sing and dance,
I'll play for you tonight;
The thrill of it all.
Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes,
But I'll work it out."

--Dave Matthews Band, "Dancing Nancies."

I will not be the first person to draw an analogy between an athletic event and life.

For my 10th multi-sport event, I raced the Columbia Triathlon on Sunday, May 23, 2010. It was rainy. The hills were not even close to a joke. The course was by far the most challenging I've ever completed. The bike course from Luray last year comes close, but the run at Columbia was brutal. It is proudly announced on the race web site that the run course "has been acknowledged as one of the most challenging in triathlon." It definitely was the most difficult 10k I've ever done, inside or outside of triathlon.

In addition to the course difficulties, though, I suffered a panic attack and hyperventilation at the beginning of the race. While anxiety in open water is not uncommon, it certainly is not helpful in a triathlon. Despite having been through this type of thing before (like, my first 6 triathlons until Dextro on 6/21/2009), despite having done an open water swim with my boyfriend the day prior, and despite the thousands upon thousands of meters I logged in various pools over the past 6 months, it still happened. And I was pissed off.

The thing about being in open water is that your choices are extremely limited: find a way through it or drown. So, I rolled over to get my face out of the water and began a humiliating backstroke. Staring up at a sky that was white with low, water-logged clouds, I cursed aloud.

"@#&*(@#$&*@*!! I thought I was past this! I thought I conquered this! I thought I could do this! @@#%$^%#%%$$%##@@~!"

I tried to block out all the pink caps swimming quickly away from me. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a bright yellow buoy. I was cruising past it. On my back.

Surely, my respiration rate came down, and about 300 or 400 meters into the race, I was able to roll over, put my face in the water, and pound through the rest of the 1500-meter swim course in a total time of 35:34. Not my fastest, but not that far behind it, either.



Soon thereafter, I was suffering the ups and downs of the rest of the course. I am pretty chatty out there, befriending folks I may ride with for a while, cheering on those who zip past me, encouraging those who are struggling. Jeff, age 50 (according to the number on his calf) and I biked together for a while before he zoomed out of my range. Steve (age 43) and I stirred up some "Mile Marker Parties" on the run course at Miles 2 and 4.

As I was running solo down the chute, I heard the announcer call my name, and I tried to hold back the tears of joy that always seem to sneak out of my eyes and ruin my finish-line photos. But I couldn't.


So. Did I "PR?"

Heck no.

But if I ever wanted to teach myself a lesson about:

Repeatedly conquering certain struggles...
Making progress even in the midst of pain...
Forgiving myself for a weakness and moving on...
Doing something I love even though I'm not the best at it...
Giving myself propers for doing something super difficult...
... and ...
Making friends along the journey...

...finishing this race reminded me of all of that.

If you've ever wondered why I love triathlon so much, maybe this will help you understand.

GIGANTIC SHOUTOUT TO SUPER SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND FOR a place to rest my head, photography, cheering me on at both transitions and the finish, and chauffering. You're awesome, love.

Going the Distance

"No trophy, no flowers, no flash bulbs, no wine.
He's haunted by something he cannot define.
Bowel shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse,
Assail him, impale him with monster truck force."

--Cake, "The Distance."

Wish me luck. First triathlon of the season on Sunday!!!

Beautiful

"No matter what we do
No matter what we say
We're the song inside the tune
Full of beautiful mistakes."

--Christina Aguilera, "Beautiful."

My mother is someone I admire very much for reasons inumerable, including her unfailing love and support for me. But, she did something that really impressed the heck out of me, and I mention it often: she went to graduate school at age 56, earned a Master's degree in Educational Leadership, and ended a decades-long career as a teacher to become an elementary school principal. And she rocks at it. She kills herself at it, but she's amazing, and her students and teachers love her.

My mom did her research and wrote her Master's thesis on bullying and relational aggression (the kind of bullying that doesn't involve hitting). As a principal, she has implemented bullying awareness programs, bullying policies, and has intervened very adeptly in active bullying cases. She recently told me a story about how she got a young boy to open up being bullied by his big brother and how that made him think it was okay or motivated him to bully another kid. He agreed to stop, and he also agreed to talk with her about the situation with his brother. Amazing.

My mother has done all of this because of me.

I don't really know how it started, but when we moved across the country from Wisconsin to Utah when I was 9, my life changed, and I became the target of a variety of tortures. It took on many forms over the years, but it never ceased from 4th through 12th grades.

There are a lot of stories I could tell about that. But, not right now. Right now I'm interested in, well, right now.

Right now, I've been bit in the ass by Insecurity. Insecurity brings lots of fun friends when it visits: Anxiety, Self-Doubt, Fear, Anger, Loneliness, Sadness, Frustration, Exhaustion. It doesn't just drain its main target (me), but it drains the people around me, too. It weighs on life like a ton of bricks. And then I get the wonderful spiral affect of "It sucks that I feel this way... AGAIN. Why am I not just OVER this already? Agh! I'm (however many) years old and I'm still thinking about (whatever happened that one time however many years ago)?"

Thankfully (thankfully? really?), I've been through this before. And, what lifts my spirit is knowing that the wave of peace is on its way. I have a good bit of experience beating the crap out of Insecurity and all of his pals, and I know what it feels like to have my feet firmly planted on the ground. The wonderful thing about Self-Respect is that once you find her, she never leaves you (or rather, you recognize that she's been there all along). Insecurity might try to hold her down every now and then, but Self-Respect is one tough cookie.

And as for Forgiveness: I won't lie. There's not a lot of benefit from trying to convince myself or others that I "forgive" those people who treated me badly. The truth is, I kind of don't. But, I work at forgiving myself for being human and for getting caught up every now and then in the remnants of a past that I can't change.

Addendum: I recently shared my experience with bullying with some friends who didn't know me then. One responded "You're amazing!" and the other "That happened to me, too." Sharing this experience and not hiding from it has helped me see that I don't have to be ashamed, and that I should give myself a little credit for not just surviving but triumphing over abuse.

Well, snaps for me, I guess!

Original Thoughts

"Alone and bored on a thirtieth century night.
Will I see you on the Price is Right?
Will I cry, will I smile,
As you run, down the aisle?"

--Barenaked Ladies, "It's All Been Done."

I've tried blogging before, and I flopped. I took down my my first blog because I was in the middle of a divorce, and I didn't feel comfortable publishing personal thoughts at the time. I then attempted a more political, public blog, where I ranted briefly about the government and elections, but I lost steam after 3 posts.

Frankly, I don't consider myself a writer. If I could write anything, I would write songs. Oh, how I would write songs! I would write amazing, catchy tunes, and everyone would learn all the lyrics and sing along with me at my sold-out stadium shows. I certainly have tried my hand at writing songs, and I probably have one that's semi-decent and another half-finished song that could be something if I knew how to play the guitar better to finish off the chord progressions. But, no dice (yet).

Any time I've tried to write something more than just a diary entry and more than just a rant on Republicans, I've had this nagging thought that anything worth reading has already been written. I've surmised that, anything that I think I want to say about love, or life, or happiness, with enough research, one could find it already written and with better prose than I could construct. Hell, every good song has already been written. Every good story has already been told.

Or has it?

Without delving too deeply into my life story in my first substantive post, and all the tragicomedy therein, I will confess a recurring struggle with self-worth. (And there's a story that has been told a million times over by women across the globe). We can dissect it and psychoanalyze it for hours, but I paid a wonderful woman a lot of money to do that for me for several years, and it's not necessary to do it again.

Indeed, that wonderful woman would likely applaud my realization that, hey:

I have a voice here.

I have something to say, and it hasn't been said before.

So, no apologies, no explanations. I'm blogging now. And I'm going to publish it.

Right..... now.

I'm Every Woman

Way back in the day, I watched Ally McBeal fairly religiously. I can't remember why Ally was always searching for her personal theme song, but along the way this 3D dancing baby that boogied to the Blue Swede version of "Hooked On a Feeling" became a television phenomenon. Ooga-Chaka indeed.

I don't recall how it came to me, but this is my theme song. It pops into my head at funny moments, like cleaning the cat litter box, dressing up in a really nice suit for work, or crossing the finish line of a triathlon. Thank you, Ashford and Simpson.

I personally prefer the Chaka Khan version, but Whitney also sang it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm every woman, it's all in me
Anything you want done, baby
I'll do it naturally
I'm every woman, it's all in me
I can read your thoughts right now
Every one from A to Z

I can cast a spell
With secrets you can't tell
Mix a special brew
Put fire inside of you
But anytime you feel
Danger or fear
Instantly I will appear, 'cause

I'm every woman, it's all in me
Anything you want done, baby
I'll do it naturally
I'm every woman, it's all in me
I can read your thoughts right now
Every one from A to Z

I can sense your needs
Like rain on to the seeds
I can make a rhyme
Of confusion in your mind
And when it comes down
To some good old fashioned love
That's what I've got plenty of, 'cause

I'm every woman, it's all in me
Anything you want done, baby
I'll do it naturally
I'm every woman, it's all in me
I can read your thoughts right now
Every one from A to Z

I ain't braggin'
'Cause I'm the one
You just ask me
And it shall be done
Don't bother to compare
'Cause I've got it
I've got it
I've got it, yeah
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~