It's a dangerous thing; often furtive, secretive, emotionally and/or physically charged. Wanting someone else is fodder for divorce court and actually indulging it, well, let's just say, people have killed for less. Or more, depending on how you look at it. I guess my question for today is, when does lust in the mind become lust in the body or, worse, in the heart? And, am I really just talking about sex here because if I am, then that idea seems small in comparision with the idea of falling in love with someone who isn't my husband.
A friend of mine asked me, "What, are you really thinking about your husband when you masturbate?" I know, too much information, but necessary, given the topic here and, of course, my response was, "No" and, unapologetically, I laughed, "You're right you know, it's a fantasy. It's the same for him I'm sure." Whether it is or not is a discussion for another day because my thoughts are not focused on marriage at the moment nor should they be. I have friends who have indulged, I have friends who have not, I have friends who are considering it... very Diane Lane in Unfaithful, right before she bites down on his shoulder. Damn, Oliver Martinez, give me a second... okay, I'm calm. Needless to say, having an affair might be something that we've all considered, but that's my point, is the considering the same as doing? I mean, if I've played over every detail in my mind and my body has followed, then haven't I already been unfaithful? Or is it simply that all of those fantasies combine to form a kind of ideal, you know, the one that doesn't talk about bills and children and clean bathrooms; instead is the one who rips off my clothes and takes me right against the hood of a car. But then we are back to sex again. I want a more distinct definition between fucking someone who you aren't supposed to and just plain liking them. I mean, can't I like someone? Be attracted to someone who isn't my husband, as long as I don't fuck him? And, besides that, where is the line between what I do with my body and the vows that I took all those years ago. I could say the same for him every time he gets a lap dance in Vegas. Yeah she didn't blow him, but, well, I don't really want that visual image right now. Or ever.
As a woman, I am inclined to think of lust as simply another one of the vast array of emotions that plague the gender of our species; one that clouds the mind and makes me short of breath on occasion. And, of course, firemen don't count. But then again, how fair is it to go running on the beach and see a whole group of them, sweating and running without shirts? I mean, really, they are just begging for me to think about them when I'm alone in the dark. Ridiculous. Funny thing though, I don't or I didn't consider getting to know any of them, just using them for oh an hour or so. Yes, I did say an hour.
I think it's far more dangerous to like someone than to want to fuck them for pure sport. Liking leads to loving leads to god knows what. So when does lust become like? And how do you know? Well, if you are nodding your head to anything that I've written here, then you probably already know the difference and, if you don't, then I suppose, you'll just have to keep your eyes open and your mind and possibly, your heart. Is it lust if our bodies respond? Is it lust if our hearts respond? Maybe the question isn't as simple as I thought; then again, maybe it's a question that I don't really want answered...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Just do it...
In the interest of self preservation, along with a strong desire to help other people... what the fuck am I talking about here? Genetically, psychologically, emotionally, I've always been a little hormonal; that's putting it mildly, but I guess I would be the Rocky Balboa of mood swings, you know, kind of slow, sometimes better, eventually kicking ass in the situation and then, Rocky II comes out and we're back to the drawing board. A champ, then second place, then a champ again... I thought that it was simply the way that I was raised, somewhat of a cynic, somewhat of a pessimist, but either way, an emotional frump or slug if you will. Nonetheless, I've begun to understand what makes me tick and as I watch other people who struggle with the same ups and downs that I have and I still do, I'm wondering what it is that we are all searching for.
I read this article yesterday concerning internet social forums like Facebook and how the more cyber friends one has, the less "real" friendships or relationships one has. I find that very telling and, at the same time, how these forums are ruining interpersonal relationships because people are doing less face to face communicating and instead are cyber-communicating. I was thinking that as I was on Facebook last night, wondering What if? What if, instead of Iming people or leaving them messages, we all just said, fuck it and met at a bar somewhere or a play or the beach or, anything that didn't require a screen and an abbreviated language for communicating. I like people, I like to see their faces and talk to them, watching their expressions and hearing their laughter. I use Facebook as a means of communication, but I'm also realizing that, aside from the people who I rarely see, I'd much rather call the others and set up real time to see them than spend another minute typing in smiley faces and acronyms, half of which I don't even know anyway. SO, my point, I am afraid that we are all spending way too much time isolating ourselves in addition to spending too much time trying to work and earn and move in that direction that we know as success. I'm not naive, I know that everyone has to make a living and everyone wants to be able to support themselves and their families, especially during this time when jobs are scarce and things are downright frightening. But, as the days and years go by, I'm also inclined to say that there have to be those moments that make you want to smile and to move forward and to hope and that ultimately, you cannot wait for them to happen. You have to make them happen as hard as that might be to believe or to find time for or to even hope for. You have to take the time to make them happen.
It's never simple and as time goes by, things get more complicated; more obligations, less time, more pressure; the list is endless: mortages, rent, bills, children, laundry, don't even get me started on the laundry... But, I suppose, there have to be those times when it doesn't seem possible to find those moments so that when they do happen, they are real and special and they make you feel like you can do anything. I don't think love makes the world go round, I think self respect and hope and an intense desire to be better and to make the world better for others is what makes it all work. And right now maybe that's not realistic, but who wants to be realistic all the time? Hell, people watch television shows that supposedly emulate reality? There's nothing even remotely real about those people or those situations. Reality is finding a place for yourself in which you can create harmony for others; a place where your ideals and your dreams become inspiration for others to do the same. Whatever that is, whenever it is. Don't let go of the possibility of being better because I really believe that when people do that, they lose faith in all of it and then, often, they can't even get back to a place of self preservation or sadly, even of survival.
I just reread Thoreau's Walden and I was once again inspired by the notion that people can and should live "deliberately" and with purpose. Maybe we don't think that purpose comes in small packages: making cupcakes, smiling at a stranger, weeping at the loss of a stranger. But it does, every single moment is created deliberately, by you, for you, with or without your volition. And in those seconds or days or weeks or whatever it is, if you don't acknowledge that it's happening, then, again, it passes you by and maybe, eventually, if too many pass you by, you stop recognizing them altogether.
I've regained something that I lost for awhile and in doing so, it was like a revelation because now, I no longer think of things in terms of what isn't possible instead I try to imagine what is possible for me and how that can help influence others, my own children especially. There are things that I cannot do and I recognize that and I understand that is true for everyone. But I still like to think that I can or imagine that I can; if nothing else, it's fun to think that it could happen. Hey, you never know, the NBA might need me someday...
Life can really suck; I hate that expression, but it's true and sometimes, there seems to be no real reason to go on. But when that happens and if that happens to you, I would hope that you would take a second and think about one moment in your life that made you marvel at all of it. Maybe it was in your childhood or it was yesterday and maybe it was so minute that, at the time, you didn't really consider it one of those moments, but, they do happen, all the time, every day. A sunset, a great meal, a puppy, a movie that makes you laugh and cry, a kid telling you that she missed you even though she saw you yesterday, a great story, whatever it is. I guess, just don't lose the notion that it is possible. It's all possible. That's what makes being young so valuable; that perspective, now, go and get it back and do something to create one of those moments today, right now and tomorrow, when you write about it, I'll be the first one to read it and, I will also be the first one to say, I told you so...
I read this article yesterday concerning internet social forums like Facebook and how the more cyber friends one has, the less "real" friendships or relationships one has. I find that very telling and, at the same time, how these forums are ruining interpersonal relationships because people are doing less face to face communicating and instead are cyber-communicating. I was thinking that as I was on Facebook last night, wondering What if? What if, instead of Iming people or leaving them messages, we all just said, fuck it and met at a bar somewhere or a play or the beach or, anything that didn't require a screen and an abbreviated language for communicating. I like people, I like to see their faces and talk to them, watching their expressions and hearing their laughter. I use Facebook as a means of communication, but I'm also realizing that, aside from the people who I rarely see, I'd much rather call the others and set up real time to see them than spend another minute typing in smiley faces and acronyms, half of which I don't even know anyway. SO, my point, I am afraid that we are all spending way too much time isolating ourselves in addition to spending too much time trying to work and earn and move in that direction that we know as success. I'm not naive, I know that everyone has to make a living and everyone wants to be able to support themselves and their families, especially during this time when jobs are scarce and things are downright frightening. But, as the days and years go by, I'm also inclined to say that there have to be those moments that make you want to smile and to move forward and to hope and that ultimately, you cannot wait for them to happen. You have to make them happen as hard as that might be to believe or to find time for or to even hope for. You have to take the time to make them happen.
It's never simple and as time goes by, things get more complicated; more obligations, less time, more pressure; the list is endless: mortages, rent, bills, children, laundry, don't even get me started on the laundry... But, I suppose, there have to be those times when it doesn't seem possible to find those moments so that when they do happen, they are real and special and they make you feel like you can do anything. I don't think love makes the world go round, I think self respect and hope and an intense desire to be better and to make the world better for others is what makes it all work. And right now maybe that's not realistic, but who wants to be realistic all the time? Hell, people watch television shows that supposedly emulate reality? There's nothing even remotely real about those people or those situations. Reality is finding a place for yourself in which you can create harmony for others; a place where your ideals and your dreams become inspiration for others to do the same. Whatever that is, whenever it is. Don't let go of the possibility of being better because I really believe that when people do that, they lose faith in all of it and then, often, they can't even get back to a place of self preservation or sadly, even of survival.
I just reread Thoreau's Walden and I was once again inspired by the notion that people can and should live "deliberately" and with purpose. Maybe we don't think that purpose comes in small packages: making cupcakes, smiling at a stranger, weeping at the loss of a stranger. But it does, every single moment is created deliberately, by you, for you, with or without your volition. And in those seconds or days or weeks or whatever it is, if you don't acknowledge that it's happening, then, again, it passes you by and maybe, eventually, if too many pass you by, you stop recognizing them altogether.
I've regained something that I lost for awhile and in doing so, it was like a revelation because now, I no longer think of things in terms of what isn't possible instead I try to imagine what is possible for me and how that can help influence others, my own children especially. There are things that I cannot do and I recognize that and I understand that is true for everyone. But I still like to think that I can or imagine that I can; if nothing else, it's fun to think that it could happen. Hey, you never know, the NBA might need me someday...
Life can really suck; I hate that expression, but it's true and sometimes, there seems to be no real reason to go on. But when that happens and if that happens to you, I would hope that you would take a second and think about one moment in your life that made you marvel at all of it. Maybe it was in your childhood or it was yesterday and maybe it was so minute that, at the time, you didn't really consider it one of those moments, but, they do happen, all the time, every day. A sunset, a great meal, a puppy, a movie that makes you laugh and cry, a kid telling you that she missed you even though she saw you yesterday, a great story, whatever it is. I guess, just don't lose the notion that it is possible. It's all possible. That's what makes being young so valuable; that perspective, now, go and get it back and do something to create one of those moments today, right now and tomorrow, when you write about it, I'll be the first one to read it and, I will also be the first one to say, I told you so...
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Just another rant...
I'm sick and tired of being caught up in a daily collage of issues that I often have nothing to do with. I'm tired of people with bullshit agendas and assholes that try to "explain" why their point of view is the right one. I'm tired of people thinking that I'm nicer than I actually am because deep down, I think I have the heart of a UFC wrestler. I know, you thought I was going to say serial killer or sniper, but, I'm not that demented, not yet anyway.
I used to love the holidays, especially when I was little; visiting family, grandparents, eating, laughing, playing with my cousins. Idyllic and treasured memories of a time that sits isolated in my mind now as I do not see many of these people anymore. Inevitable, the baggage that comes along with family; no, you don't choose them, they just are, but that doesn't make them right. There is a certain amount of responsibility and even guilt involved with being a member of a family; the family that you grew up with, that is. Now, I have my "own" family and it makes that other family seem more important in many ways and much less important in others.
I don't want to hold grudges; I don't want to hate people. I can hate what they've done or how they think or even, how they live, but I don't want to hate them. There was a time when I did, when I was filled with that black blood called bitterness. It still seeps into my system at times, but when it does, I try to remind myself that if I want something positive, I have to put those same feelings and ideas out there so that they can come back to me. Maybe through God, maybe through Karma, maybe because it's my turn to be happy for the moment. Whatever it is, I'm learning to accept people and situations more freely than ever before. I think that's another one of the lovely graces of growing older, acceptance. Sure, people irritate the hell out of me and I'm still cynical and I have no tolerance for the slew of intolerances: genocide, homophobia, racism, sexism, there are too many to list, but now, I try to temper my irritation and my cynicism by reminding myself, in the simplest terms, that I could die tomorrow or someone I love could... and then it pulls my head back out of my ass and I once again have some perspective.
If you happen to be one of those people who walks around, acting like you are better than everyone else, spouting your incoherent opinions on loyalty, truth or any other philosophical notion about which you have no fucking clue, be prepared to have your teeth bashed in... got you again. Well, a bloody nose anyway. Listen, stop telling me why I should think, do, believe, act and instead, approach me with, This is why I am here and this is why I think that... you'll get much better reception that way, at least on this end.
And another thing, if you happen to pull in front of a driveway opening of a parking lot or a business and you are waiting for the light to change, DO NOT, under any circumstance, intentionally pull up so that the person in the lot cannot come into line. Seriously, did you miss that fucking lesson in Kindergarten? Or were you the jerk kid that shoved everyone else around so that you could be at the front of the line? Is one car, while you are waiting ANYWAY really going to make a damn difference? If you answered yes, then fuck you and don't go out in public anymore. If in the requiem of "abilities" on the road too, note that it is dangerous to drive UNDER the speed limit and this is why many people are often mocked for their lack of driving skills. If I get stuck behind someone driving 15 mph in a 30 zone, regardless of whether or not it's an elder, I'm going to flip them off or, at the very least, I'm going to honk like a crazy person until they speed up. Yeah, yeah, I might be more zenlike these days, but I still get pissed off... clearly.
Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I suppose I should take a moment to list the things that I am thankful for, but, you'll be surprised because I'm going to leave out the obvious this year (of course my children and my family, health, the usual suspects), but instead, I'd like to list the things that I, as a woman, an individual, a teacher, a human being am thankful for. If you'd like to add a few, just make sure that they don't include people who drive under the speed limit...
Thank you for: marshmallows, concerts, books, hand sanitizer, oreos, pedicures, fluffy, down pillows, renewed friendships, sons, UNICEF, APLA, my English 84 class, cold, windy days, flannel sheets, bananas, vodka martinis, commercials that make me laugh, The New York Times, cappucinos, my brother Steve, soccer, laughter, my body, wit, flowers, corpse pose, roller coasters, cheeseburgers, dragons, laptops, reading ability, colleagues, long walks, subways, new friends, airplanes, boots, scrapbooks, running, singing, dancing, songs from the 80's and the 70's, black stockings, smiley faced icons, coming home, the military, supporters, bridges, landscapes, architecture, brilliance, subtlety, microwave popcorn, cheetos, turkey cookies, pain after working out really hard, daffodills, firemen, dolphins, swim lessons, eyeliner, lip gloss, Victoria's secret, stilettos, oversized sweatshirts, sandboxes, farmer's markets, recognition, margaritas with four shots of tequila, best friends who remind you why you used to love to dance, the ability to forget, easily and sleep... Happy Thanksgiving.
I used to love the holidays, especially when I was little; visiting family, grandparents, eating, laughing, playing with my cousins. Idyllic and treasured memories of a time that sits isolated in my mind now as I do not see many of these people anymore. Inevitable, the baggage that comes along with family; no, you don't choose them, they just are, but that doesn't make them right. There is a certain amount of responsibility and even guilt involved with being a member of a family; the family that you grew up with, that is. Now, I have my "own" family and it makes that other family seem more important in many ways and much less important in others.
I don't want to hold grudges; I don't want to hate people. I can hate what they've done or how they think or even, how they live, but I don't want to hate them. There was a time when I did, when I was filled with that black blood called bitterness. It still seeps into my system at times, but when it does, I try to remind myself that if I want something positive, I have to put those same feelings and ideas out there so that they can come back to me. Maybe through God, maybe through Karma, maybe because it's my turn to be happy for the moment. Whatever it is, I'm learning to accept people and situations more freely than ever before. I think that's another one of the lovely graces of growing older, acceptance. Sure, people irritate the hell out of me and I'm still cynical and I have no tolerance for the slew of intolerances: genocide, homophobia, racism, sexism, there are too many to list, but now, I try to temper my irritation and my cynicism by reminding myself, in the simplest terms, that I could die tomorrow or someone I love could... and then it pulls my head back out of my ass and I once again have some perspective.
If you happen to be one of those people who walks around, acting like you are better than everyone else, spouting your incoherent opinions on loyalty, truth or any other philosophical notion about which you have no fucking clue, be prepared to have your teeth bashed in... got you again. Well, a bloody nose anyway. Listen, stop telling me why I should think, do, believe, act and instead, approach me with, This is why I am here and this is why I think that... you'll get much better reception that way, at least on this end.
And another thing, if you happen to pull in front of a driveway opening of a parking lot or a business and you are waiting for the light to change, DO NOT, under any circumstance, intentionally pull up so that the person in the lot cannot come into line. Seriously, did you miss that fucking lesson in Kindergarten? Or were you the jerk kid that shoved everyone else around so that you could be at the front of the line? Is one car, while you are waiting ANYWAY really going to make a damn difference? If you answered yes, then fuck you and don't go out in public anymore. If in the requiem of "abilities" on the road too, note that it is dangerous to drive UNDER the speed limit and this is why many people are often mocked for their lack of driving skills. If I get stuck behind someone driving 15 mph in a 30 zone, regardless of whether or not it's an elder, I'm going to flip them off or, at the very least, I'm going to honk like a crazy person until they speed up. Yeah, yeah, I might be more zenlike these days, but I still get pissed off... clearly.
Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I suppose I should take a moment to list the things that I am thankful for, but, you'll be surprised because I'm going to leave out the obvious this year (of course my children and my family, health, the usual suspects), but instead, I'd like to list the things that I, as a woman, an individual, a teacher, a human being am thankful for. If you'd like to add a few, just make sure that they don't include people who drive under the speed limit...
Thank you for: marshmallows, concerts, books, hand sanitizer, oreos, pedicures, fluffy, down pillows, renewed friendships, sons, UNICEF, APLA, my English 84 class, cold, windy days, flannel sheets, bananas, vodka martinis, commercials that make me laugh, The New York Times, cappucinos, my brother Steve, soccer, laughter, my body, wit, flowers, corpse pose, roller coasters, cheeseburgers, dragons, laptops, reading ability, colleagues, long walks, subways, new friends, airplanes, boots, scrapbooks, running, singing, dancing, songs from the 80's and the 70's, black stockings, smiley faced icons, coming home, the military, supporters, bridges, landscapes, architecture, brilliance, subtlety, microwave popcorn, cheetos, turkey cookies, pain after working out really hard, daffodills, firemen, dolphins, swim lessons, eyeliner, lip gloss, Victoria's secret, stilettos, oversized sweatshirts, sandboxes, farmer's markets, recognition, margaritas with four shots of tequila, best friends who remind you why you used to love to dance, the ability to forget, easily and sleep... Happy Thanksgiving.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Yvette's Bucket List...
1. Publish a book
2. Complete a triathlon and then an Ironman
3. Run a marathon in under 5 hours
4. Visit Africa, the North Pole and Costa Rica by myself
5. One year, give more money to a charitable cause than the amount that I earned
6. Pose nude for a photograph or a drawing
7. Own a 1965 Mustang GT in mint condition
8. Skydive
9. Scuba dive
10. Get another tattoo
11. Get a Ph.d
12. Spend a month in Spain, during the summer
13. Be an inspiration to someone
14. Climb a mountain
15. Drive across the country, stopping everywhere that moves me
16. Fly first class to Europe
17. Learn to play the piano
18. Read a book a week for a year
19. Fall in love again
20. Live long enough to see my children grown
What's on your list? To be continued...
2. Complete a triathlon and then an Ironman
3. Run a marathon in under 5 hours
4. Visit Africa, the North Pole and Costa Rica by myself
5. One year, give more money to a charitable cause than the amount that I earned
6. Pose nude for a photograph or a drawing
7. Own a 1965 Mustang GT in mint condition
8. Skydive
9. Scuba dive
10. Get another tattoo
11. Get a Ph.d
12. Spend a month in Spain, during the summer
13. Be an inspiration to someone
14. Climb a mountain
15. Drive across the country, stopping everywhere that moves me
16. Fly first class to Europe
17. Learn to play the piano
18. Read a book a week for a year
19. Fall in love again
20. Live long enough to see my children grown
What's on your list? To be continued...
Frozen
I feel like one of those birds, endlessly flapping its wings; in flight, but not moving forward or back, just... there, caught between earth and sky, Heaven and Hell, life and death, until it tires and then, plummets down, catching itself or, if it wasn't paying attention, lands painfully. I admire anyone who can pause like that; anyone who can be still and reflect and not continue to force themselves to seek yet another destination, another something. It tires me out just thinking about it and yet, I cannot sit still. I am only at peace when I am moving forward, with a goal in mind, settled on the next obstacle that I have to hurdle...
Really, what is the point? I've lived for four decades and I still don't know what the point is. Ironically, maybe that is the point, maybe I'm never supposed to find out, because if I do, when I do, then what's left to discover? I look around at people and I watch the news and I read and I converse with other people, yet, I often feel isolated from everyone. Like everybody is secretly looking at their watches, biding the time until they can move on to the next thing: the gym, out to dinner, sleep. Secretly, I like to imagine that people don't have anywhere to go or anything to do; that they just happen to walk by me or smile at me or sit next to me in a movie theatre, just because. Providence maybe or maybe just dumb luck. I love the idea that everything happens for a reason and equally, I love the notion that nothing happens for a reason. A child dies because he was ill, not because the parents were bad people or because God wanted it that way. But then, I flip the coin and I say, well, maybe that child died because in the master plan, his or her death, enabled something else to happen for someone else or maybe it was as simple as God wanting his or her soul. I like the idea that I have no control over anything that I do because my life has been predestined and although this idea often scares the shit out of me, I find it a provocative notion; I'm a puppet, just playing a role. Then, truly, what is the point? But, flip, and I am arguing the other point, free will. The choices that I make directly influence not only my existence, but everyone else's who comes into contact with me. That's a semi-frightening thought. Makes me want to behave a little bit more appropriately. Then again...
I sat on the beach today, digging in the sand with the maniac as the wind whipped at the water; whitecaps everywhere, people bundled up and I thought about moving forward. I thought about how, if I'm lucky to have lived that long, that in a mere few decades, I won't be here any longer; at least not how I am now. I thought about my children and how they will struggle and hurt and sometimes want to give up. And I thought about how much joy they've brought to my life these past years. I thought about how simple it is when we are children and how running in the waves or playing duck, duck, goose can make one squeal in delight. So, I take off my shoes and dig my toes into the freezing cold sand and I try to remember...
I'm calm and pensive and then I get back home and Ty is screaming, "Nick hit me in the butt and I don't like that" and Nick is screaming "Shut up Jake" and Jake is just screaming because he's loud and obnoxious and then I am back into fight or flight mode. Life just doesn't seem to want to give me more than a couple of minutes now and then. So, I take a deep breath or I drink more than one glass of wine or I sit in the tub in water so hot I can barely stand it and I try to clear my mind, patiently waiting for the next time that I get a moment to myself or the time to consider what the hell I'm doing here and why I'm doing it in the first place. Sometimes I do wish that I could go back for a few minutes, but not to early adulthood; I wish I could go back to those years when it was Rich and Steve and I and we were running through the sprinklers, or playing soccer or opening Christmas presents. I miss being a part of the child triumverate instead of the one who now doles out the rules and the discipline. It's exhausting.
The birds settled down eventually and waited for sandcrabs or for bystanders to throw crumbs for them to fight over and some of them took flight over the water. I watched for a little longer and then I picked up my son and put him on my shoulders while he beat his hands on top of my head like a drum. We walked up the ramp at Avenue H and he laughed when I said, "Ow" or he waved at people as they went by, yelling, "Hi." I looked down so that I wouldn't trip over my own feet and after a few steps, Ty said, "Hey mom, look at that" and I did and so I pass that along to you today; Don't forget to look up, it's the only way that you're ever going to see what's ahead of you...
Really, what is the point? I've lived for four decades and I still don't know what the point is. Ironically, maybe that is the point, maybe I'm never supposed to find out, because if I do, when I do, then what's left to discover? I look around at people and I watch the news and I read and I converse with other people, yet, I often feel isolated from everyone. Like everybody is secretly looking at their watches, biding the time until they can move on to the next thing: the gym, out to dinner, sleep. Secretly, I like to imagine that people don't have anywhere to go or anything to do; that they just happen to walk by me or smile at me or sit next to me in a movie theatre, just because. Providence maybe or maybe just dumb luck. I love the idea that everything happens for a reason and equally, I love the notion that nothing happens for a reason. A child dies because he was ill, not because the parents were bad people or because God wanted it that way. But then, I flip the coin and I say, well, maybe that child died because in the master plan, his or her death, enabled something else to happen for someone else or maybe it was as simple as God wanting his or her soul. I like the idea that I have no control over anything that I do because my life has been predestined and although this idea often scares the shit out of me, I find it a provocative notion; I'm a puppet, just playing a role. Then, truly, what is the point? But, flip, and I am arguing the other point, free will. The choices that I make directly influence not only my existence, but everyone else's who comes into contact with me. That's a semi-frightening thought. Makes me want to behave a little bit more appropriately. Then again...
I sat on the beach today, digging in the sand with the maniac as the wind whipped at the water; whitecaps everywhere, people bundled up and I thought about moving forward. I thought about how, if I'm lucky to have lived that long, that in a mere few decades, I won't be here any longer; at least not how I am now. I thought about my children and how they will struggle and hurt and sometimes want to give up. And I thought about how much joy they've brought to my life these past years. I thought about how simple it is when we are children and how running in the waves or playing duck, duck, goose can make one squeal in delight. So, I take off my shoes and dig my toes into the freezing cold sand and I try to remember...
I'm calm and pensive and then I get back home and Ty is screaming, "Nick hit me in the butt and I don't like that" and Nick is screaming "Shut up Jake" and Jake is just screaming because he's loud and obnoxious and then I am back into fight or flight mode. Life just doesn't seem to want to give me more than a couple of minutes now and then. So, I take a deep breath or I drink more than one glass of wine or I sit in the tub in water so hot I can barely stand it and I try to clear my mind, patiently waiting for the next time that I get a moment to myself or the time to consider what the hell I'm doing here and why I'm doing it in the first place. Sometimes I do wish that I could go back for a few minutes, but not to early adulthood; I wish I could go back to those years when it was Rich and Steve and I and we were running through the sprinklers, or playing soccer or opening Christmas presents. I miss being a part of the child triumverate instead of the one who now doles out the rules and the discipline. It's exhausting.
The birds settled down eventually and waited for sandcrabs or for bystanders to throw crumbs for them to fight over and some of them took flight over the water. I watched for a little longer and then I picked up my son and put him on my shoulders while he beat his hands on top of my head like a drum. We walked up the ramp at Avenue H and he laughed when I said, "Ow" or he waved at people as they went by, yelling, "Hi." I looked down so that I wouldn't trip over my own feet and after a few steps, Ty said, "Hey mom, look at that" and I did and so I pass that along to you today; Don't forget to look up, it's the only way that you're ever going to see what's ahead of you...
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Loneliness
I don't want to write about this and I certainly don't want anyone to read it, but I need to say it and I suppose if I am to remain non-hypocritical then I have to put it out there. I thought for awhile that I was depressed; truly, pathologically, needing medication type of depressed. I would sit in the dark hallway and cry or I would curl up in the fetal position after the kids were at school, holding my pillow and I would just... stare off into space. Sometimes I'd have to set the alarm clock to remember to pick the kids up from wherever they were. Most of the time though, I didn't think about much, I just felt it. Like waves of sadness and isolation and even in the midst of the absolute chaos that is our home life, then and now, sometimes I would feel like no one was listening to what I was trying to tell them. It was, in a word, frightening. I got to a point where I called my doctor and I figured that he would prescribe something although at that point, I wondered how that would even help.
To this day, I still don't know that I was depressed; to this day, I better understand what I felt and why I felt it, but I still don't have a name for it. I likened it to loneliness, but that might be too big of a generalization. I felt more empty than anything, like there was no one or nothing that could fill that void. And, what I discovered, through many regular visits with the most amazing therapist is that that WAS the answer; only I could fill that void. I was the answer that I was looking for...
I'm a simple person with a complex way of looking at things; sometimes, to my own detriment, I analyze things too much, but for the most part, I enjoy the consideration of issues and ideas and people and anything that makes me feel as if I am a part of something bigger than just my own existence. I like to laugh and to make fun of myself and I love to laugh with other people, even if it is at my expense. I love to spend time with my friends and to be a part of that "group" of girls. I especially love to spend time with my children away from homework and chores and "obligations." So when I couldn't figure out the simplest way to approach a subject that I know better than anyone; myself and what makes me tick, I was more than frustrated, I was downright lost. My therapist began to help me to understand the why's and not so much the how's and ultimately, she gave me something that I've never had before; the ability to tell myself that it is okay to feel badly. And now, when I do feel that way and I do, I let myself feel it and then I try to let it go. Not always a success mind you, but much better than sitting alone in the dark, crying myself to sleep. Now, I can accept that there are times when I am lonely and my needs aren't being met and I have too many damn demands on me and in those moments, I can choose to accept what is happening or I can shift my perception just slightly, just enough to play with the idea that it isn't an all or nothing thing; it's gray area and gray area can be molded into a new shape or form...
I am making very little sense here, well, possibly I am, but I know that part of this fundamental change has been my letting go of the cynicism and pessimism that has pervaded most of my adult life. I've always been a doubter, the one who you went to only when you wanted your deepest fears validated... gotcha! But really, I am cynical and I still consider things and people carefully before I get involved with them; I am wary of new people who I let into my life. But the biggest difference now is that I am open to more people and experiences and I am willing to put myself out there in the hopes of getting something back. I know now, having seen it firsthand that I receive more joy and kindness and hope from people who pass through my life, however briefly than I ever give them in return. And I look forward to those experiences, I anticipate them, relish them and they help me to have reasons to move forward and to look forward and to hope... and maybe that's enough, maybe that is reason enough to want to move forward...
To this day, I still don't know that I was depressed; to this day, I better understand what I felt and why I felt it, but I still don't have a name for it. I likened it to loneliness, but that might be too big of a generalization. I felt more empty than anything, like there was no one or nothing that could fill that void. And, what I discovered, through many regular visits with the most amazing therapist is that that WAS the answer; only I could fill that void. I was the answer that I was looking for...
I'm a simple person with a complex way of looking at things; sometimes, to my own detriment, I analyze things too much, but for the most part, I enjoy the consideration of issues and ideas and people and anything that makes me feel as if I am a part of something bigger than just my own existence. I like to laugh and to make fun of myself and I love to laugh with other people, even if it is at my expense. I love to spend time with my friends and to be a part of that "group" of girls. I especially love to spend time with my children away from homework and chores and "obligations." So when I couldn't figure out the simplest way to approach a subject that I know better than anyone; myself and what makes me tick, I was more than frustrated, I was downright lost. My therapist began to help me to understand the why's and not so much the how's and ultimately, she gave me something that I've never had before; the ability to tell myself that it is okay to feel badly. And now, when I do feel that way and I do, I let myself feel it and then I try to let it go. Not always a success mind you, but much better than sitting alone in the dark, crying myself to sleep. Now, I can accept that there are times when I am lonely and my needs aren't being met and I have too many damn demands on me and in those moments, I can choose to accept what is happening or I can shift my perception just slightly, just enough to play with the idea that it isn't an all or nothing thing; it's gray area and gray area can be molded into a new shape or form...
I am making very little sense here, well, possibly I am, but I know that part of this fundamental change has been my letting go of the cynicism and pessimism that has pervaded most of my adult life. I've always been a doubter, the one who you went to only when you wanted your deepest fears validated... gotcha! But really, I am cynical and I still consider things and people carefully before I get involved with them; I am wary of new people who I let into my life. But the biggest difference now is that I am open to more people and experiences and I am willing to put myself out there in the hopes of getting something back. I know now, having seen it firsthand that I receive more joy and kindness and hope from people who pass through my life, however briefly than I ever give them in return. And I look forward to those experiences, I anticipate them, relish them and they help me to have reasons to move forward and to look forward and to hope... and maybe that's enough, maybe that is reason enough to want to move forward...
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Educational nonsense
Here I am, sitting in the computer lab in between my classes; one having finished, the other yet to start and I'm re-thinking some of the "things" that I told my students today. See I never rehearse what I'm going to say ahead of time, but I do give some thought as to how the general conversation or, in my case, monologue should go and today, like many days, it just seemed an absolute exercise in futility. Most of what I said had no concrete purpose or even consistency and, in the end, although the idea seemed solid in my mind, I realize that, it just didn't work. I admit that and because I see that, I have to continue to try and not spout perpetual bullshit that has no relevance or importance to students who really could care less about what the fuck I'm talking about in the first place or, the class in general. I don't blame them, ever because I KNOW how boring the material can be and I teach it for crying out loud so as much as I'd like to put a tutu and tap shoes on it and twirl it around in front of the students to smile at and to clap at, excited to be learning something "fun," I also accept that sometimes they are just going to be bored, just like I was in college at times. Maybe the boredom serves a purpose as well, in fact, I know it does. It gives them an opportunity to challenge themselves into focusing and it gives me the opportunity to fix what isn't working in the first place. Or, if I just don't care all that much, to just keep talking in circles...
It frustrates the living hell out of me that students don't read. I completely understand the reasons why they don't and why they end up in these prerequisite classes, but I cannot fathom the notion that a student would voluntarily sit through sixteen weeks of a class only to have the outcome be failure? Of course students don't pass, that's the bell curve defined, but I'm talking about students who fail because they don't DO what they are supposed to do. I told them, at the beginning of the term; show up, do the work, pass the tests and that's it. Most of them listen, many of them don't and I consider 3 or 4 many. In a Pass/No Pass class, there is no variation on grades; no amount of A's or D's or anything in between rather, there just is and there isn't. My friends tell me not to get so emotionally invested in the lives of my students; that after one term, they go and most likely, they don't ever think about me again. But that is where I beg to differ and most importantly, why I do get involved...
It isn't me that I want them to remember; it's what I'm telling them, showing them, helping them to understand as they sit and listen, read, evaluate, synthesize, formulate the very opinions that are shaping who they will become or, who they've already become. There is nothing more valuable than a forum in which a person begins to understand how and why they think a certain way about something. It's a revelation really. Watching a student construct an argument from nothing more than his or her notion that "it's not fair" or "I don't see it that way" is like watching the tiniest tip of a sea creature breach the surface of the water because you KNOW that after one piece surfaces, a whole lot more is waiting to follow it. And after Political Science and Biology and History and Art and Psychology and Music, those ideas and those opinions and those arguments become more than just "thoughts," they become an indelible part of that human being's rational thought; of their very existence and I, regardless of how small a part, had something to do with that. I always tell myself before each term, that if I could just get 1 or 2 students to want to read more then I will have done my job; if I could just get them to want to come to class at all, then they would have a substantially better chance of success. I mean, what are the odds, that they end up in my class, in a given term, at a given school? I wasn't even scheduled to teach my 84 class this term; it was a last minute change. What if? I hate those questions, but this time, and every time, I have to consider that it is more than coincidence; there is a reason why I'm here and why those students are here with me and I think about that every single day. And, in the end, after they go, I do miss them. I said that each one leaves a mark on me whether they realize it or not, but they do, good and bad, sad and funny; they've changed me and I hope that I can give them some of that back.
I thought about going into another field altogether. I was tired of the politics involved in Education and frankly, I still am. There are days when I don't want to teach, but I can honestly say that there has never been a day when I haven't wanted to be a teacher. Sometimes it feels like you were just born to do something. I guess that's why I stay, why I keep hoping for the best, why it matters so much to me how they perform and when they don't and what I can do to help them be better. I always wanted my life to mean something. I don't need to be remembered and I don't need material "things" to show what I've done, but I would like to think that every student who passes through my classroom door, whether they "like" me or not, has an opportunity to change their perspective, no matter how small. And when a student tells me, "This is the first time I've read an entire novel" well, let's just say that my heart flutters, more than a little.
This started as a rant about how class didn't seem to go so well today and it ends with me reconsidering what I just said and by reminding myself that perfection is not on the menu, today or ever really, but instead, just a course of better than mediocre. Mediocrity is for the weak and I may be many things, but weak is not one of them. Well, there's always Thursday...
It frustrates the living hell out of me that students don't read. I completely understand the reasons why they don't and why they end up in these prerequisite classes, but I cannot fathom the notion that a student would voluntarily sit through sixteen weeks of a class only to have the outcome be failure? Of course students don't pass, that's the bell curve defined, but I'm talking about students who fail because they don't DO what they are supposed to do. I told them, at the beginning of the term; show up, do the work, pass the tests and that's it. Most of them listen, many of them don't and I consider 3 or 4 many. In a Pass/No Pass class, there is no variation on grades; no amount of A's or D's or anything in between rather, there just is and there isn't. My friends tell me not to get so emotionally invested in the lives of my students; that after one term, they go and most likely, they don't ever think about me again. But that is where I beg to differ and most importantly, why I do get involved...
It isn't me that I want them to remember; it's what I'm telling them, showing them, helping them to understand as they sit and listen, read, evaluate, synthesize, formulate the very opinions that are shaping who they will become or, who they've already become. There is nothing more valuable than a forum in which a person begins to understand how and why they think a certain way about something. It's a revelation really. Watching a student construct an argument from nothing more than his or her notion that "it's not fair" or "I don't see it that way" is like watching the tiniest tip of a sea creature breach the surface of the water because you KNOW that after one piece surfaces, a whole lot more is waiting to follow it. And after Political Science and Biology and History and Art and Psychology and Music, those ideas and those opinions and those arguments become more than just "thoughts," they become an indelible part of that human being's rational thought; of their very existence and I, regardless of how small a part, had something to do with that. I always tell myself before each term, that if I could just get 1 or 2 students to want to read more then I will have done my job; if I could just get them to want to come to class at all, then they would have a substantially better chance of success. I mean, what are the odds, that they end up in my class, in a given term, at a given school? I wasn't even scheduled to teach my 84 class this term; it was a last minute change. What if? I hate those questions, but this time, and every time, I have to consider that it is more than coincidence; there is a reason why I'm here and why those students are here with me and I think about that every single day. And, in the end, after they go, I do miss them. I said that each one leaves a mark on me whether they realize it or not, but they do, good and bad, sad and funny; they've changed me and I hope that I can give them some of that back.
I thought about going into another field altogether. I was tired of the politics involved in Education and frankly, I still am. There are days when I don't want to teach, but I can honestly say that there has never been a day when I haven't wanted to be a teacher. Sometimes it feels like you were just born to do something. I guess that's why I stay, why I keep hoping for the best, why it matters so much to me how they perform and when they don't and what I can do to help them be better. I always wanted my life to mean something. I don't need to be remembered and I don't need material "things" to show what I've done, but I would like to think that every student who passes through my classroom door, whether they "like" me or not, has an opportunity to change their perspective, no matter how small. And when a student tells me, "This is the first time I've read an entire novel" well, let's just say that my heart flutters, more than a little.
This started as a rant about how class didn't seem to go so well today and it ends with me reconsidering what I just said and by reminding myself that perfection is not on the menu, today or ever really, but instead, just a course of better than mediocre. Mediocrity is for the weak and I may be many things, but weak is not one of them. Well, there's always Thursday...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Running the New York Marathon
So here I sit, not sure why exactly, but since I began documenting my journey this way, I suppose that this is the way that it should end. I must admit that at this point, I've been drinking way more than I should, but as I am not drunk yet, I can finish this without worrying too much about my grammar or about my uncensored thoughts.
SO, this morning, at 4 am, after 3 hours of sleep, yes, three hours of sleep; I got up, got ready and ventured out into the 40 degree weather to wait for a bus to take me to Staten Island. After falling asleep on the bus and then waiting in the UNICEF tent until our start time, I was in the pleasant position of meeting some new people and discussing marathon issues with the organizers of the event. With a 10:40 start time, and after having to wait almost 6 hours to start, I was having mixed feelings about the whole New York marathon. But when I saw the second wave of runners crossing the Verrazano bridge, my heart kind of leapt in my chest a bit. Watching the two levels of runners take off into the now 30 degree weather with a wind chill factor which plummented the weather into the below zero category...
After meeting Elsy from Venezuela, who now lives in New York, we dropped off our things and headed to the start line. We only ran together for about a mile because she was much faster than I am, but it was nice to meet someone new and to have someone to chat with before we set off on our journey.
The race began and the first 5 or 6 miles were about warming up. I usually struggle during the first few miles at least until I start sweating. Normally, the first 3 miles are the most painful, but this time, after the bridge, coming into Brooklyn... I didn't even have the chance to think about starting out because the crowds that lined the street were unlike anything that I've ever seen or experienced. At every mile throughout the race, on both sides of the streets were New Yorkers who carried most of us through the day. The energy and the enthusiasm of these people was like a wave of comfort for us as the miles progressed. Cheers and shouts of encouragement and the high fives, snacks, music and the constant repitition of things like "Go Yvette" or "Looking good" not only encouraged me, but made me want to continue. Over 2 million people came out today to see the marathon and to cheer on the participants, to sing, to wave signs to laugh, to thank us for being there...
And so I ran, strong for the first 13 miles, over 3 bridges, through three burroughs and to the chants and cheers of hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers. I called my friend, who flew in just for the race and I told her that I needed help and so, coming across yet another bridge, at mile 13.5, there she was; her smiling face and she was waiting to crash the course and help me finish the race. And so, she fell in step with me and we plundered along the miles. At one point, I had to hold onto her arm because I felt dizzy and she was there. She understands the intensity that is involved in a process like a marathon. I told her that I didn't want to talk and she completely understood; she was just there and there she stayed until mile 26 when they kicked her off the course for not having a bib number.
Miles 17-20 and 21-25 were the worst today; continued inclines and cold weather and hurt feet combined to make a difficult experience. Painful and tiring and exhausting; of course, there were moments when I wanted to quit, but I tried to think about the race in terms of just one more mile. I never looked at the race like 26.2; instead I just kept telling myself, "One more mile" and when 2 became 3 and 16 became 17, it seemed a bit easier, not much mind you, but it helped me to keep it in perspective. At one point I saw a sign that read, "Your feet hurt because you're kicking ASS!" Indeed...
At mile 16, my brother Steve, my sister Christine and her boyfriend John were waiting and it was empowering to see them, waving, high fiving them and then, we were off again. I know at some point around mile 18 I told Rosh that I was done with marathons; that I was going to stick with halves from then on. Mile 18 is a bitch of a mile because you know that you still have 8 more to go; not 3, not 5, but almost 10 and, if you're not a bred runner (hello), this is where every part of your body starts to say, "If you don't stop now, we're going to crush you with pain." Lovely the thoughts that you entertain as you plunder ahead, forging a path of both misery and joy.
Miles 19-22 had moments of laughter and dancing, raising my hands up and smiling at the kids who were jumping up and down as Beyonce played in the background. I loved that people were shouting things like "You can't quit, you're running the New York marathon for Christ's sake" or, "Think about what got you here" or, my personal favorite, "You're almost there!" Never say that to a runner, never...
At mile 25, I was hurting so badly; everything, legs, knees, feet, back and I just wanted to cross the finish line so I took off, running as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast at this point. I crossed the mile 26 sign and I saw the Finish line and I held it together long enough to cross and when I did, it was a huge sigh of relief and exhaustion and happiness and joy and when I stood up and one of the volunteers put the medal around my neck, it just happened. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and I wasn't sure if they were from relief or happiness or pain, but I was thrilled to have finished the New York marathon and I was even more thrilled to have finished strong. I hobbled over to have my picture taken and to collect my things and then I headed to the subway to meet my friends...
Now we sit, after a great dinner, drinking too much and laughing and having a conversation with too much sexual innuendo, enjoying our time together before we fly home on Tuesday. I am reminded of what I liked the most about going out with friends and having a good time and being irresponsible and enjoying victories. Life is good...
Mile 18: I said I was done with marathons, that the distance is just too long, but now, after having stepped back and after feeling proud of myself for today, I just might... well, let's just see how hungover I am tomorrow. What happens in New York stays in New York... 5:47:26 I'll never forget this experience...
SO, this morning, at 4 am, after 3 hours of sleep, yes, three hours of sleep; I got up, got ready and ventured out into the 40 degree weather to wait for a bus to take me to Staten Island. After falling asleep on the bus and then waiting in the UNICEF tent until our start time, I was in the pleasant position of meeting some new people and discussing marathon issues with the organizers of the event. With a 10:40 start time, and after having to wait almost 6 hours to start, I was having mixed feelings about the whole New York marathon. But when I saw the second wave of runners crossing the Verrazano bridge, my heart kind of leapt in my chest a bit. Watching the two levels of runners take off into the now 30 degree weather with a wind chill factor which plummented the weather into the below zero category...
After meeting Elsy from Venezuela, who now lives in New York, we dropped off our things and headed to the start line. We only ran together for about a mile because she was much faster than I am, but it was nice to meet someone new and to have someone to chat with before we set off on our journey.
The race began and the first 5 or 6 miles were about warming up. I usually struggle during the first few miles at least until I start sweating. Normally, the first 3 miles are the most painful, but this time, after the bridge, coming into Brooklyn... I didn't even have the chance to think about starting out because the crowds that lined the street were unlike anything that I've ever seen or experienced. At every mile throughout the race, on both sides of the streets were New Yorkers who carried most of us through the day. The energy and the enthusiasm of these people was like a wave of comfort for us as the miles progressed. Cheers and shouts of encouragement and the high fives, snacks, music and the constant repitition of things like "Go Yvette" or "Looking good" not only encouraged me, but made me want to continue. Over 2 million people came out today to see the marathon and to cheer on the participants, to sing, to wave signs to laugh, to thank us for being there...
And so I ran, strong for the first 13 miles, over 3 bridges, through three burroughs and to the chants and cheers of hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers. I called my friend, who flew in just for the race and I told her that I needed help and so, coming across yet another bridge, at mile 13.5, there she was; her smiling face and she was waiting to crash the course and help me finish the race. And so, she fell in step with me and we plundered along the miles. At one point, I had to hold onto her arm because I felt dizzy and she was there. She understands the intensity that is involved in a process like a marathon. I told her that I didn't want to talk and she completely understood; she was just there and there she stayed until mile 26 when they kicked her off the course for not having a bib number.
Miles 17-20 and 21-25 were the worst today; continued inclines and cold weather and hurt feet combined to make a difficult experience. Painful and tiring and exhausting; of course, there were moments when I wanted to quit, but I tried to think about the race in terms of just one more mile. I never looked at the race like 26.2; instead I just kept telling myself, "One more mile" and when 2 became 3 and 16 became 17, it seemed a bit easier, not much mind you, but it helped me to keep it in perspective. At one point I saw a sign that read, "Your feet hurt because you're kicking ASS!" Indeed...
At mile 16, my brother Steve, my sister Christine and her boyfriend John were waiting and it was empowering to see them, waving, high fiving them and then, we were off again. I know at some point around mile 18 I told Rosh that I was done with marathons; that I was going to stick with halves from then on. Mile 18 is a bitch of a mile because you know that you still have 8 more to go; not 3, not 5, but almost 10 and, if you're not a bred runner (hello), this is where every part of your body starts to say, "If you don't stop now, we're going to crush you with pain." Lovely the thoughts that you entertain as you plunder ahead, forging a path of both misery and joy.
Miles 19-22 had moments of laughter and dancing, raising my hands up and smiling at the kids who were jumping up and down as Beyonce played in the background. I loved that people were shouting things like "You can't quit, you're running the New York marathon for Christ's sake" or, "Think about what got you here" or, my personal favorite, "You're almost there!" Never say that to a runner, never...
At mile 25, I was hurting so badly; everything, legs, knees, feet, back and I just wanted to cross the finish line so I took off, running as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast at this point. I crossed the mile 26 sign and I saw the Finish line and I held it together long enough to cross and when I did, it was a huge sigh of relief and exhaustion and happiness and joy and when I stood up and one of the volunteers put the medal around my neck, it just happened. Tears began to roll down my cheeks and I wasn't sure if they were from relief or happiness or pain, but I was thrilled to have finished the New York marathon and I was even more thrilled to have finished strong. I hobbled over to have my picture taken and to collect my things and then I headed to the subway to meet my friends...
Now we sit, after a great dinner, drinking too much and laughing and having a conversation with too much sexual innuendo, enjoying our time together before we fly home on Tuesday. I am reminded of what I liked the most about going out with friends and having a good time and being irresponsible and enjoying victories. Life is good...
Mile 18: I said I was done with marathons, that the distance is just too long, but now, after having stepped back and after feeling proud of myself for today, I just might... well, let's just see how hungover I am tomorrow. What happens in New York stays in New York... 5:47:26 I'll never forget this experience...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, the night before
So here I sit, once again in the basement; I'll explain that one day and I'm scared and nervous and I feel like I might vomit. Tomorrow is the marathon and a huge part of me just wishes that it were over so I could be sitting down, crying, drinking with my friends and a huge part of me wishes that I could prolong this feeling of absolute excitement at the prospect of embarking on a journey that I might never again do in my lifetime. Who knows when they will ever get a second chance at something, especially something like this. Sure I'm running for charity, but I run for myself too and right now, my self is scared shitless.
When I signed up to do this 7 months ago, I knew that I would be going it alone for the most part. Rosh has been a saving grace these past months, running with me, encouraging me, helping me to plan, but on the mornings or in the evenings when I get up to run alone and it's just me and my thoughts, those are the times when doubt starts to creep in and that monkey on my back that often motivates me, fear. See, I don't like to be afraid of anything and usually I'm not, but I am afraid to fail. Fear doesn't keep me from trying things or attempting things, but I do not handle failure well, at all.
So, here it is. In 6 hours (and I can't sleep right now, no way), I will get up, get dressed, get on a shuttle to Staten Island in the 40 degree weather and then I will wait... until 10:40 EST and THEN I will run. Then I will run 26.2 miles because this is what I signed up for and along the way, I will remind myself that I am doing it for a greater reason than because I can; I am doing it to help others, children in particular. One foot in front of the other... one more mile.
I close my eyes and tell myself to relish every second, to enjoy every painstaking minute, to savor the sights and sounds of the people and of the city and to love what I can do, for others and for myself. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified.
Here I go...
When I signed up to do this 7 months ago, I knew that I would be going it alone for the most part. Rosh has been a saving grace these past months, running with me, encouraging me, helping me to plan, but on the mornings or in the evenings when I get up to run alone and it's just me and my thoughts, those are the times when doubt starts to creep in and that monkey on my back that often motivates me, fear. See, I don't like to be afraid of anything and usually I'm not, but I am afraid to fail. Fear doesn't keep me from trying things or attempting things, but I do not handle failure well, at all.
So, here it is. In 6 hours (and I can't sleep right now, no way), I will get up, get dressed, get on a shuttle to Staten Island in the 40 degree weather and then I will wait... until 10:40 EST and THEN I will run. Then I will run 26.2 miles because this is what I signed up for and along the way, I will remind myself that I am doing it for a greater reason than because I can; I am doing it to help others, children in particular. One foot in front of the other... one more mile.
I close my eyes and tell myself to relish every second, to enjoy every painstaking minute, to savor the sights and sounds of the people and of the city and to love what I can do, for others and for myself. I am excited. I am nervous. I am terrified.
Here I go...
Friday, November 5, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, Day 2
Okay, I'm thinking that I should be sleeping right now, or at the very least, in bed, watching t.v., resting, preparing for the marathon on Sunday... but instead, I sit in the basement of the hostel with Rosh and Steve, drinking wine and laughing about nonsensical things that make no sense. I am laughing so hard that my stomach hurts. Everything is on the table; cream cheese, sex, butterflies, Ben & Jerry's, wine with no wine opener, Kevin and not so many hours of sleep. A recipe for fun and maybe disaster, I guess we'll see in the morning.
Today was another great day, but my legs are paying for it right now. Steve and I walked all day again, 5 hours of waltzing around the city, looking up, taking pictures, visiting museums, eating tidbits, buying souvenirs, getting lost and ending up in the projects. Interesting, the sights that you can see when you aren't worried about or paying attention to where you are going. To round out the day, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset and took many pictures of the city of Manhattan; beautiful doesn't even begin to describe how Manhattan looks at sunset. Magical is a better and more appropriate word (continued after the fact)...
I should have known better; I do know better, but when we got back to the hostel, we were going to go to bed, sleep in and get a good start today, but... hell, we're in New York city so off we went at Kevin's suggestion to a bar called Ding Dong and there we were, drinking, shooting pool and having fun. That bar was so dark and hot that I can't accurately describe it other than to say it was kind of like playing that game 3 minutes in Heaven; you remember the one where you got in the closet with a kid (the opposite sex) and you basically stood there for a minute until your dumbass friends let you out. If you were really adventurous, you let him kiss you or you kissed him and if you were slutty at 8 years old then you let him... but I digress. A completely hot guy with an Italian accent just walked into the basement and smiled at me and asked me if I got internet service down here. What is the matter with me I'm asking? Accents, whew! But that's a subject for another day... so to finish up the chronicle of this reenactment, we came back to the hostel and I slept with a woman... Wait! You're asking yourself if you read that right? You did. My friend Rosheen, my very good running buddy, flew all the way to New York to be my support team for the last 13 miles and, although my charming brother Steve tried very hard to get her to share his bed instead ( :) ), she chose me instead. Needless to say... well, there's nothing to say, I love her, but I'm still batting for my side. I'm laughing so hard at my own words right now that I have to stop for a second...
So, tomorrow marks the last day prior to the race and we are going to pick up the race stuff, visit the Expo, walk around (yes, more fucking walking) and then we are having dinner with my sister Christine and her boyfriend John. Should be a great day!
Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let those bedbugs bite... hey did you hear there's a pandemic of bed bugs in New York? Maybe I'm not sleeping tonight.
Today was another great day, but my legs are paying for it right now. Steve and I walked all day again, 5 hours of waltzing around the city, looking up, taking pictures, visiting museums, eating tidbits, buying souvenirs, getting lost and ending up in the projects. Interesting, the sights that you can see when you aren't worried about or paying attention to where you are going. To round out the day, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset and took many pictures of the city of Manhattan; beautiful doesn't even begin to describe how Manhattan looks at sunset. Magical is a better and more appropriate word (continued after the fact)...
I should have known better; I do know better, but when we got back to the hostel, we were going to go to bed, sleep in and get a good start today, but... hell, we're in New York city so off we went at Kevin's suggestion to a bar called Ding Dong and there we were, drinking, shooting pool and having fun. That bar was so dark and hot that I can't accurately describe it other than to say it was kind of like playing that game 3 minutes in Heaven; you remember the one where you got in the closet with a kid (the opposite sex) and you basically stood there for a minute until your dumbass friends let you out. If you were really adventurous, you let him kiss you or you kissed him and if you were slutty at 8 years old then you let him... but I digress. A completely hot guy with an Italian accent just walked into the basement and smiled at me and asked me if I got internet service down here. What is the matter with me I'm asking? Accents, whew! But that's a subject for another day... so to finish up the chronicle of this reenactment, we came back to the hostel and I slept with a woman... Wait! You're asking yourself if you read that right? You did. My friend Rosheen, my very good running buddy, flew all the way to New York to be my support team for the last 13 miles and, although my charming brother Steve tried very hard to get her to share his bed instead ( :) ), she chose me instead. Needless to say... well, there's nothing to say, I love her, but I'm still batting for my side. I'm laughing so hard at my own words right now that I have to stop for a second...
So, tomorrow marks the last day prior to the race and we are going to pick up the race stuff, visit the Expo, walk around (yes, more fucking walking) and then we are having dinner with my sister Christine and her boyfriend John. Should be a great day!
Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let those bedbugs bite... hey did you hear there's a pandemic of bed bugs in New York? Maybe I'm not sleeping tonight.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, Day 3
Today, I didn't have much time to think about running. I had planned to get up early and to go for a run through Central Park, but the warm bed was much more appealing than the rain outside so I slept until 8:30 when Steve woke me up and told me to get my ass into gear and then, off we went...
We decided to walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art which was number one on my list of things to do while we are here. I've been there only once before, many years ago and this time, I wanted to enjoy the museum and, I got to. Four hours in the Met was like heaven today. Sculpture, tapestries, bronzes and the paintings. I took the audio tour and as I listened about my favorites: Van Gogh, Monet, Hopper, Dali, Picasso, I also learned that there were some artists who I recognized but who I hadn't really "discovered" before today: Dega and Manet and Renoir are the three that come to mind. I never really got the chance to look at Dega's work and I was astounded by the amount of paintings that he had done concerning the dance, ballet in particular it seemed. There was a young student in one of the galleries and she was sketching a Dega and it was fascinating just to watch her reproduce the original. She sat cross legged on the floor and as a crowd gathered, she continued on as if no one else were there. I also saw some modern art; surrealist art by Tengay, I think that was his name, but all I could think was, fascinating. There was a narrator on the audio tour who mentioned that Picasso had said something to the effect that everything "surreal" or in art, starts with something in reality and as the painting grows, one can take out pieces of the picture, leaving only the line between what is real and what is not. I'm not quoting it exactly right, but it really struck a chord with me and it helped me to understand the intensity of the images as individual pieces, but not necessarily of a bigger puzzle. Just pieces, of something that the artist wanted to convey in a very powerful and profound way. Cubism is also something that draws my eyes and my attention; the beauty in the structure and in the form. I'm definitely on my way to studying Art History...
I think that the Met is a beautiful building in and of itself and one can appreciate the architecture maybe as much or almost as much as the art itself. Nonetheless, it is an enjoyable experience just being there. As tourists, we also visited the 9/11 site and the store where we saw the preview of what the final tribute will look like upon its completion. It was hard not to shed tears there today, listening to the stories, seeing the photos and then gazing up at the new tower that is being constructed. Steve said that it must still be so difficult for people to walk by there every day and I couldn't agree more. I still cannot fathom the fear and despair that the people in New York felt on that fateful day. It's almost too much to imagine. Lastly, we walked over 90 blocks today and surprisingly, I feel great. Tired, yes, but overwhelmed with anticipation and joy at having spent a day wandering, through the streets, through Central Park and through the city that I will get to see from an entirely different perspective on Sunday.
I'd like to do well on Sunday and for me, that means finishing strong with no whining, no regrets and no pathetic excuses for why I didn't do it the way I wanted to do it. Sure I get to visit New York, but I came to run and I'm going to conquer my fear and trepidation and I'm going to just do it. At least that is how I feel two days away. We'll see tomorrow... Goodnight from Manhattan!
We decided to walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art which was number one on my list of things to do while we are here. I've been there only once before, many years ago and this time, I wanted to enjoy the museum and, I got to. Four hours in the Met was like heaven today. Sculpture, tapestries, bronzes and the paintings. I took the audio tour and as I listened about my favorites: Van Gogh, Monet, Hopper, Dali, Picasso, I also learned that there were some artists who I recognized but who I hadn't really "discovered" before today: Dega and Manet and Renoir are the three that come to mind. I never really got the chance to look at Dega's work and I was astounded by the amount of paintings that he had done concerning the dance, ballet in particular it seemed. There was a young student in one of the galleries and she was sketching a Dega and it was fascinating just to watch her reproduce the original. She sat cross legged on the floor and as a crowd gathered, she continued on as if no one else were there. I also saw some modern art; surrealist art by Tengay, I think that was his name, but all I could think was, fascinating. There was a narrator on the audio tour who mentioned that Picasso had said something to the effect that everything "surreal" or in art, starts with something in reality and as the painting grows, one can take out pieces of the picture, leaving only the line between what is real and what is not. I'm not quoting it exactly right, but it really struck a chord with me and it helped me to understand the intensity of the images as individual pieces, but not necessarily of a bigger puzzle. Just pieces, of something that the artist wanted to convey in a very powerful and profound way. Cubism is also something that draws my eyes and my attention; the beauty in the structure and in the form. I'm definitely on my way to studying Art History...
I think that the Met is a beautiful building in and of itself and one can appreciate the architecture maybe as much or almost as much as the art itself. Nonetheless, it is an enjoyable experience just being there. As tourists, we also visited the 9/11 site and the store where we saw the preview of what the final tribute will look like upon its completion. It was hard not to shed tears there today, listening to the stories, seeing the photos and then gazing up at the new tower that is being constructed. Steve said that it must still be so difficult for people to walk by there every day and I couldn't agree more. I still cannot fathom the fear and despair that the people in New York felt on that fateful day. It's almost too much to imagine. Lastly, we walked over 90 blocks today and surprisingly, I feel great. Tired, yes, but overwhelmed with anticipation and joy at having spent a day wandering, through the streets, through Central Park and through the city that I will get to see from an entirely different perspective on Sunday.
I'd like to do well on Sunday and for me, that means finishing strong with no whining, no regrets and no pathetic excuses for why I didn't do it the way I wanted to do it. Sure I get to visit New York, but I came to run and I'm going to conquer my fear and trepidation and I'm going to just do it. At least that is how I feel two days away. We'll see tomorrow... Goodnight from Manhattan!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Running the New York Marathon, Day 4
It's backward I know... but here I sit, in New York city at 12:15 in the morning in the basement of a hostel near Central Park. There is no one else around and while it is a little creepy being down here by myself; I relish the quiet after spending the afternoon and evening walking through Times Square and a large part of the city.
We got here around 4 pm after a long morning and a first class flight, courtesy of sky miles and my brother Steve and then we embarked on a journey that brought us here. As we walked and stopped for dinner and rode the subway, my thoughts were entrenched in the idea that in 4 days I will be running on these very streets, so many of them and that, this time, I do have a personal goal. I want to run the entire marathon without stopping. I haven't trained this way and I'm much better in the medium distances, but I think I can do it. I have to tell myself that I can do it.
I promised myself that whatever happened after I turned 40 that it would be about moving forward, in every way. And, this marathon marks the first time that I will embark on a race by myself, well, at least the first half. My cohort, my coach, my friend will meet me somewhere around the midway point and she will finish with me. Thank God for that because she is my pacing stone right now and I know when those moments come when I want to quit, she will be right there to help me finish.
So many people who have wished me well these past months... sometimes I think that they don't understand that this is not easy, at least not for me. And that, even with the training, despite the training, after a run that long, I'm hurting and tired and I want to kill someone. It's not euphoria at the end, it's pure relief and exhaustion. I don't run marathons for time, hell, I've only done two and both times weren't something that you'd necessarily want to remember. But this one is different; this one is about pushing it and seeing what I'm made of and, it isn't about the time, it's about being mentally prepared. So although I'm getting tired now, I document what's running (no pun intended) through my mind.
We stood at the top of the Rockefeller building tonight and looked out at every bit of New York, stretched out for miles and all I could imagine was the street below, feet pounding, people cheering and the ungodly task at hand. 5 borroughs, 26.2 miles and a whole lot of will... I am excited and scared and although I know that I will finish, it is my goal this time to finish strong. To prove to myself that my body and my mind are not the same as they were two years ago and that, with every step forward that I take on Sunday, I am a little bit closer to embracing what I love most about the journey; the effort that it takes to get me there.
Start spreading the news...
We got here around 4 pm after a long morning and a first class flight, courtesy of sky miles and my brother Steve and then we embarked on a journey that brought us here. As we walked and stopped for dinner and rode the subway, my thoughts were entrenched in the idea that in 4 days I will be running on these very streets, so many of them and that, this time, I do have a personal goal. I want to run the entire marathon without stopping. I haven't trained this way and I'm much better in the medium distances, but I think I can do it. I have to tell myself that I can do it.
I promised myself that whatever happened after I turned 40 that it would be about moving forward, in every way. And, this marathon marks the first time that I will embark on a race by myself, well, at least the first half. My cohort, my coach, my friend will meet me somewhere around the midway point and she will finish with me. Thank God for that because she is my pacing stone right now and I know when those moments come when I want to quit, she will be right there to help me finish.
So many people who have wished me well these past months... sometimes I think that they don't understand that this is not easy, at least not for me. And that, even with the training, despite the training, after a run that long, I'm hurting and tired and I want to kill someone. It's not euphoria at the end, it's pure relief and exhaustion. I don't run marathons for time, hell, I've only done two and both times weren't something that you'd necessarily want to remember. But this one is different; this one is about pushing it and seeing what I'm made of and, it isn't about the time, it's about being mentally prepared. So although I'm getting tired now, I document what's running (no pun intended) through my mind.
We stood at the top of the Rockefeller building tonight and looked out at every bit of New York, stretched out for miles and all I could imagine was the street below, feet pounding, people cheering and the ungodly task at hand. 5 borroughs, 26.2 miles and a whole lot of will... I am excited and scared and although I know that I will finish, it is my goal this time to finish strong. To prove to myself that my body and my mind are not the same as they were two years ago and that, with every step forward that I take on Sunday, I am a little bit closer to embracing what I love most about the journey; the effort that it takes to get me there.
Start spreading the news...
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Identity
Maybe I'm mistaken, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that you really aren't born with an identity; you create one as you go along. Somebody gives you a name and a childhood, but whatever that thing is, that indescribable thing is that makes you different from the other 6 billion people on the planet, isn't taught; it's made, nurtured, fostered. I like to think that a person's identity is so inherent that even if they wanted to, they couldn't change it. So many people try; they fight against who they want to be or even against who they are, but, they end up being unhappy because of it and they end up in a place where there is no self acceptance. And, let's face it, if you can't accept and love yourself, then who else is going to?
Why do we define people by so many categorical assumptions? Why do we put her into this column or him into that group? Where is the definitive line between accepting someone for who they are and just not caring at all? Because that seems to often be the case; people who cannot understand where a person is coming from, just don't want to see that person at all. They want to label them and categorize them and, in the end, judge them. And for what? So that they can feel superior or right... Let me tell you something, the next time I hear someone make a remark about the way that someone else lives, short of being a pedophile, I'm going to punch them in the jaw as hard as I can. I'm tired of hearing how wrong or immoral or evil someone or something is when the person who is usually making the ridiculous comments is so far removed from reality that he wouldn't know the truth if it walked up and introduced itself. Truth, not really a concept for racist, sexist, homophobics anyway.
Fear is a strong motivation that usually leads to some kind of violence or behavior that shows ignorance and intolerance. What we fear motivates us to cower and not always away from the fear causing agent but, instead, away from anything and everything that makes people feel uncomfortable. It isn't the thing that you are afraid of; it's how fear motivates you to act and how it makes you want to judge other people. When someone is scared, they do the strangest things and in that regard, they confine themselves into this tiny space with no real way of thinking. A life without acceptance is rather hopeless because you never see beyond what frightens you; you never think outside the box. And this is what scares me; people like that frighten me. People with that limited way of thinking make me want to cower sometimes because I am ashamed to call myself a member of the same race.
I suppose that if you live with something long enough, regardless of what it is that it will shape you with or without your consent and the things that are out of your control will do the same. Abuse, neglect, lonliness, greed; a seemingly endless list of things that will take much more than they will ever give back. It really is a miracle that children especially can find their way out of situations that are so horrifying that it's difficult to even read about them in the paper or in a book let alone live them. It's unthinkable that people can survive the most horrific conditions and yet, there are others who cannot live with the day to day knowledge that they are somehow different than everyone else. What is it that makes us feel that way?
It's ironic too because even after we finish school and after we've grown and become successful and we are living our lives, there is still often that part of us that longs for acceptance and for a moment when we could go back and maybe change that one thing that made us stand out, maybe not for the better that time. Really, your past never leaves you, we know that. But instead of trying to iron out the wrinkles, why don't we instead, just shake out the shirt and try to wear it in a new way, with a sweater or in a knot or tied around our waist. Why don't we embrace what it is about us that is here and now and let the past be something that got us to this point, but that no longer guides us anywhere. It's the old Mapquest. The new GPS will take us further and faster and in directions that we never thought possible. Moving forward instead of harboring resentments and the pain of the past. I'm not saying forget it entirely, who could do that? No, I'm saying, there has to come a point in your life when you say, you know what? I'm going to live the way I'm going to live and fuck everyone who cannot accept that; I don't want to know them anyway. Easier said than done I guess, but still, maybe everyone would be different if no one cared; of course they would.
I'm actually a gay man trapped inside of a middle aged woman's body with the mind of a 13 year old with ADD who moves like a 30 year old who considers herself lucky every single day of her pathetic and often misguided life. A veritable Jackson Pollack of characters on my canvas. Let's dispense with the labels shall we? And let's remind ourselves that our identities not only shape our own lives, but the other lives that they touch as well. Maybe a little more kindness, a little more acceptance; maybe a little more... let's just start there... Goodnight J.
Why do we define people by so many categorical assumptions? Why do we put her into this column or him into that group? Where is the definitive line between accepting someone for who they are and just not caring at all? Because that seems to often be the case; people who cannot understand where a person is coming from, just don't want to see that person at all. They want to label them and categorize them and, in the end, judge them. And for what? So that they can feel superior or right... Let me tell you something, the next time I hear someone make a remark about the way that someone else lives, short of being a pedophile, I'm going to punch them in the jaw as hard as I can. I'm tired of hearing how wrong or immoral or evil someone or something is when the person who is usually making the ridiculous comments is so far removed from reality that he wouldn't know the truth if it walked up and introduced itself. Truth, not really a concept for racist, sexist, homophobics anyway.
Fear is a strong motivation that usually leads to some kind of violence or behavior that shows ignorance and intolerance. What we fear motivates us to cower and not always away from the fear causing agent but, instead, away from anything and everything that makes people feel uncomfortable. It isn't the thing that you are afraid of; it's how fear motivates you to act and how it makes you want to judge other people. When someone is scared, they do the strangest things and in that regard, they confine themselves into this tiny space with no real way of thinking. A life without acceptance is rather hopeless because you never see beyond what frightens you; you never think outside the box. And this is what scares me; people like that frighten me. People with that limited way of thinking make me want to cower sometimes because I am ashamed to call myself a member of the same race.
I suppose that if you live with something long enough, regardless of what it is that it will shape you with or without your consent and the things that are out of your control will do the same. Abuse, neglect, lonliness, greed; a seemingly endless list of things that will take much more than they will ever give back. It really is a miracle that children especially can find their way out of situations that are so horrifying that it's difficult to even read about them in the paper or in a book let alone live them. It's unthinkable that people can survive the most horrific conditions and yet, there are others who cannot live with the day to day knowledge that they are somehow different than everyone else. What is it that makes us feel that way?
It's ironic too because even after we finish school and after we've grown and become successful and we are living our lives, there is still often that part of us that longs for acceptance and for a moment when we could go back and maybe change that one thing that made us stand out, maybe not for the better that time. Really, your past never leaves you, we know that. But instead of trying to iron out the wrinkles, why don't we instead, just shake out the shirt and try to wear it in a new way, with a sweater or in a knot or tied around our waist. Why don't we embrace what it is about us that is here and now and let the past be something that got us to this point, but that no longer guides us anywhere. It's the old Mapquest. The new GPS will take us further and faster and in directions that we never thought possible. Moving forward instead of harboring resentments and the pain of the past. I'm not saying forget it entirely, who could do that? No, I'm saying, there has to come a point in your life when you say, you know what? I'm going to live the way I'm going to live and fuck everyone who cannot accept that; I don't want to know them anyway. Easier said than done I guess, but still, maybe everyone would be different if no one cared; of course they would.
I'm actually a gay man trapped inside of a middle aged woman's body with the mind of a 13 year old with ADD who moves like a 30 year old who considers herself lucky every single day of her pathetic and often misguided life. A veritable Jackson Pollack of characters on my canvas. Let's dispense with the labels shall we? And let's remind ourselves that our identities not only shape our own lives, but the other lives that they touch as well. Maybe a little more kindness, a little more acceptance; maybe a little more... let's just start there... Goodnight J.
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