1. If I gave it something to burrow into, do you think that an arctic mouse could live in my freezer?
2. Can you expect to be disappointed?
3. Ok, this isn't a question, but... with help from my friend, I came up with a name for the stomach bug that seems to have hit everyone I know: the sqashed cannoli flu. Because bascially, when you get it, you're a squashed cannoli.
4. What do you get if you mix pear cobbler (in your hair), red velvet cake (on your body), and hot cocoa (on your face)?
[Hint: Me, after my shower this morning!]
5. If I don't feel like dating anymore, do I have to?
Showing posts with label theoretical musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theoretical musings. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Sunday, November 30, 2008
the panic alarm
I found this in the restroom at a theatre recently and had a hard time not pulling it off the wall and carrying it around with me, you know, just in case. I'm not really a panicker, but it seemed like a good idea. You never know when the tables might turn and a good old-fashioned panic might set in. In general, (as long as there's no barf) I'm cool-headed, strong, independent, confident, you name it, I am it (if "it" in this instance doesn't equal "panicky"). But, to be honest, things seem to have changed a bit recently.
Maybe it's because I still haven't decided what to do with my life, and it's been months now that I've been examining it.* Maybe it's because it's almost my 32nd birthday and I feel like a fourteen year old. Maybe it's because I've met someone who seems to care a great deal about me.** Maybe it's because I'm constantly afraid of losing my job, even though I have no indication that would even be a possibility.*** Maybe it's because I feel lost, confused, unsheltered and numb. Maybe it's because my peers all seem to be married, and not just married, but happily married. Maybe it's because my sister owns a second house and I still rent a lopsided one bedroom.**** Maybe it's because it's almost December, and December kicks me in the groin every year, even though my birthday and Christmas are two of the best holidays ever.
* "Now with 50% more ambiguity!"
** Eek! Run for the hills!
*** A communal knocking on wood now, if you will.
**** in which a marble placed on the living room floor would roll through the office, the bedroom and the kitchen before lodging itself in the bathroom
If I could, I'd like to move to the other side of that alarm. Just nestle down at the Panic Command Center, where the elite members of the Life Service Team solve my life's little problems (or at least make them go away). Where things are warm and soft, and everyone's given a protective spirit tiger to watch over them. (I've always wanted one.) Where I don't have to make any money, break any hearts, buy any houses, or deal with any physical therapists who, after a MONTH of working on the way I walk, tell me that my walk's "no good." (Yeah, I love the chiropractor but the PT can kiss my ass -- more on this later.)
One of the hardest parts about the holidays is that when I'm at home with my parents, I feel like I already am on the other side of the alarm. And it makes going home (to my uneven little home in Brooklyn) all that much harder.
I do it, though. I just sometimes wish I didn't have to.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
you now owe me six cents
1. Lemmings and Lemurs are not the same thing. If you are wondering what the differences are, Lemmings look cute and small and furry and like perennially pregnant hamsters, and they periodically, accidentally run off cliffs in droves.
Lemurs don't.
2. Imagine my surprise when I discovered, at two o'clock in the morning, that my daily vitamins have caffeine in them. Fun! FUN! FUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUN!!!!!!!!
3. I recently went to a very interesting set of sales meetings, but due to a confidentiality agreement that I signed, this is all I can tell you. I got to the ___________________. I sat down in the back and listened to _______ say, "Thanks for coming! ____________________ and _________________, but the ______________ is ______________ and I think ________________ should _______________ with the ____________. Additionally, I think ___________________ is a good __________________ while _________ probably ________________. Afterwards _________________________ will do _________________ on the _________ with a _____________ and the__________ should start __________________. Otherwise, _______________ and feel free to __________ with the _________ on the ___________."
4. If you are wearing pants the button up the side, I highly recommend not wearing a belt that fastens in the front. If you do, however, it's advisable not to wait until the very last second to pee.
5. "Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 'Pooh,' he whispered.
'Yes, Piglet.'
'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'"
6. Here's an interesting list of characteristics, taken from the book Secrets of Six Figure Women, by Barbara Stanny. She says you should try to whittle the list down to five values you couldn't live without. I managed to get it down to about 11, but had a hard time after that. Go ahead, you try it.
Achievement
Adventure
Beauty
Being free
Being generous
Brother/Sisterhood
Charity
Comfort
Community
Creativity
Dignity
Discovery
Family
God
Growth
Happiness
Health
Honesty
Honor
Humility
Independence
Individuality
Influence
Integrity
Intimacy
Justice
Kindness
Knowledge
Leadership
Learning
Leaving a legacy
Leisure
Life partner
Love
Making a difference
Parenting
Patriotism
Peace
Physical activity
Power
Retirement
Security
Seeing the world
Self-discipline
Self-esteem
Service
Simplicity
Spirituality
Strength
Success
Time alone
Truth
Using my talents
If you show me yours, I'll show you mine...
Lemurs don't.
2. Imagine my surprise when I discovered, at two o'clock in the morning, that my daily vitamins have caffeine in them. Fun! FUN! FUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUN!!!!!!!!
3. I recently went to a very interesting set of sales meetings, but due to a confidentiality agreement that I signed, this is all I can tell you. I got to the ___________________. I sat down in the back and listened to _______ say, "Thanks for coming! ____________________ and _________________, but the ______________ is ______________ and I think ________________ should _______________ with the ____________. Additionally, I think ___________________ is a good __________________ while _________ probably ________________. Afterwards _________________________ will do _________________ on the _________ with a _____________ and the__________ should start __________________. Otherwise, _______________ and feel free to __________ with the _________ on the ___________."
4. If you are wearing pants the button up the side, I highly recommend not wearing a belt that fastens in the front. If you do, however, it's advisable not to wait until the very last second to pee.
5. "Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 'Pooh,' he whispered.
'Yes, Piglet.'
'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'"
6. Here's an interesting list of characteristics, taken from the book Secrets of Six Figure Women, by Barbara Stanny. She says you should try to whittle the list down to five values you couldn't live without. I managed to get it down to about 11, but had a hard time after that. Go ahead, you try it.
Achievement
Adventure
Beauty
Being free
Being generous
Brother/Sisterhood
Charity
Comfort
Community
Creativity
Dignity
Discovery
Family
God
Growth
Happiness
Health
Honesty
Honor
Humility
Independence
Individuality
Influence
Integrity
Intimacy
Justice
Kindness
Knowledge
Leadership
Learning
Leaving a legacy
Leisure
Life partner
Love
Making a difference
Parenting
Patriotism
Peace
Physical activity
Power
Retirement
Security
Seeing the world
Self-discipline
Self-esteem
Service
Simplicity
Spirituality
Strength
Success
Time alone
Truth
Using my talents
If you show me yours, I'll show you mine...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
to produce or support, that is the question
Dear Hamlet,
Forget about to be or not to be. You know full well that, eventually, you're going to be the King of Denmark. (That is, of course, if nobody offs you before you grow up.) So you've never had the fun of going through the What the Hell Am I Supposed To Do With My Life game. Let me tell you, it's a trip.
Now, I know you're going to say "wah wah wah, poor me, you have no idea what it's like deciding whether or not to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!" Well, to that I say: would you rather deal with a few slings and arrows, or have a job you find unfulfilling and begin the quest for a new one?
I think thou wouldst not choose the Quest For Thy Future.
Now, you know I've got some daddy issues. Hell, you can probably relate. But I had an interesting conversation with mine the other night about what I wanted to be when I grow up. (By the way: it doesn't in any way, shape or form involve a nunnery, so keep your helpful suggestions to yourself.) He made a very useful distinction in the world of business between producers and supporters.
All my (professional) life, I've been a supporter. First an admin, then a legal sec'y, and now a trainer. (I'm leaving the acting out of it for the moment.) So I have no real idea what it even means to be a "producer," although I understand my father's concept -- someone who delivers a product, whether that's a sale, a presentation, a speech, or what have you. I have always enjoyed my support role, but I see the sex appeal and allure of the producer role -- producers get a lot more of the kudos and prestige. Supporters get the sense of well being that comes with helping.
My father's convinced I would make a good producer. (I fear that it's similar to how your father thought you would make a good avenger, though, so I'm not going to bring your dad into this for now.) I already know I'm a good supporter. I shy away from the producer roles while imagining the Perfect Future. Is that because I'm not capable of producing? Or simply because I have a natural affinity for supporting?I know not.
It's interesting to think about. I'll wager that there're some gender differences at play here, though I'll be the last one to say that women don't make good producers. I also think it's an issue of confidence being born from experience.
Or maybe I just want to sleep with my mother.
Hard to say.
Anyway, Hamlet, hope you're doing well.
xoxo
k8
p.s. Yorick says hi.
Forget about to be or not to be. You know full well that, eventually, you're going to be the King of Denmark. (That is, of course, if nobody offs you before you grow up.) So you've never had the fun of going through the What the Hell Am I Supposed To Do With My Life game. Let me tell you, it's a trip.
Now, I know you're going to say "wah wah wah, poor me, you have no idea what it's like deciding whether or not to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!" Well, to that I say: would you rather deal with a few slings and arrows, or have a job you find unfulfilling and begin the quest for a new one?
I think thou wouldst not choose the Quest For Thy Future.
Now, you know I've got some daddy issues. Hell, you can probably relate. But I had an interesting conversation with mine the other night about what I wanted to be when I grow up. (By the way: it doesn't in any way, shape or form involve a nunnery, so keep your helpful suggestions to yourself.) He made a very useful distinction in the world of business between producers and supporters.
All my (professional) life, I've been a supporter. First an admin, then a legal sec'y, and now a trainer. (I'm leaving the acting out of it for the moment.) So I have no real idea what it even means to be a "producer," although I understand my father's concept -- someone who delivers a product, whether that's a sale, a presentation, a speech, or what have you. I have always enjoyed my support role, but I see the sex appeal and allure of the producer role -- producers get a lot more of the kudos and prestige. Supporters get the sense of well being that comes with helping.
My father's convinced I would make a good producer. (I fear that it's similar to how your father thought you would make a good avenger, though, so I'm not going to bring your dad into this for now.) I already know I'm a good supporter. I shy away from the producer roles while imagining the Perfect Future. Is that because I'm not capable of producing? Or simply because I have a natural affinity for supporting?I know not.
It's interesting to think about. I'll wager that there're some gender differences at play here, though I'll be the last one to say that women don't make good producers. I also think it's an issue of confidence being born from experience.
Or maybe I just want to sleep with my mother.
Hard to say.
Anyway, Hamlet, hope you're doing well.
xoxo
k8
p.s. Yorick says hi.
Monday, September 8, 2008
my heart belongs to daddy
I had brunch with a friend this weekend and, as has been happening quite a bit lately, talk of my Future Life Plans came up, and I got all stressed out. I snapped at my friend's wise advice, bit my lip to fight back the tears, childishly pushed the remains of an overdressed salad around my plate and generally slumped into a pathetic little foot-stomping misery. (Oddly, this somehow convinced my friend to buy brunch for me.)
This time, though, it wasn't simply because I didn't know what to do with my life.
It was because I had somehow decided that no matter what I did, unless it was corporate, my father wouldn't approve of it.
Now, I know, I know, it shouldn't matter what my father thinks, and I was probably making it up anyway, blah blah blah. (Trust me, my better self made these same arguments for HOURS on Sunday.) This isn't a discourse on whether I should seek approval or not. It's simply my story.
I got home and called my mother, mostly to get confirmation of my fear and to crap-talk my father. (I only realized later that this was actually what I wanted. At the time, I thought talking to mom would just make me feel better. After looking at my motivation, though, I realized I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to be right about my dad and my fears. But I digress...)
Mom answered the phone, and then proceeded to put me on speakerphone with Dad. Not. What. I Wanted. We chitchatted for a while, and then, when the tears came back, I asked mom to pick up the receiver.
"If I don't end up with a corporate job, Dad won't approve of what I do."
(Insert massive crying jag, with lots of sniffles and a side of gut-wrenching.)
"I disagree with you," said Mom, "And I think we should talk about this. Ok?"
"(snurffle) Ok."
She put the phone back on speakerphone, and Dad joined in, and I sputtered out a repeat of my fear.
"Kate, that's not true. I just want you to be happy. If I seem to land on the corporate side of things, that's just because it's what I know. And if I'm not sympathetic to your struggle to figure out what you want, it's just because I've never really had to do it. I've always wanted to work corporate, and I've always worked corporate. It's never been as hard for me as it is for you.
"You're not a line on my resume. You're my daughter. I don't compare myself to other people in terms of you girls. I just want you to be happy."
(snuffle, glurp, pha-blooey)
I'm so grateful for my parents. For their support and love. And mostly (today) for my mother's maturity in encouraging me to confront my fears head on, instead of taking the low road and being the little shit she jokes about me being.
While I work on releasing the need for my father's approval, it's nice to know I have it anyway.
This time, though, it wasn't simply because I didn't know what to do with my life.
It was because I had somehow decided that no matter what I did, unless it was corporate, my father wouldn't approve of it.
Now, I know, I know, it shouldn't matter what my father thinks, and I was probably making it up anyway, blah blah blah. (Trust me, my better self made these same arguments for HOURS on Sunday.) This isn't a discourse on whether I should seek approval or not. It's simply my story.
I got home and called my mother, mostly to get confirmation of my fear and to crap-talk my father. (I only realized later that this was actually what I wanted. At the time, I thought talking to mom would just make me feel better. After looking at my motivation, though, I realized I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to be right about my dad and my fears. But I digress...)
Mom answered the phone, and then proceeded to put me on speakerphone with Dad. Not. What. I Wanted. We chitchatted for a while, and then, when the tears came back, I asked mom to pick up the receiver.
"If I don't end up with a corporate job, Dad won't approve of what I do."
(Insert massive crying jag, with lots of sniffles and a side of gut-wrenching.)
"I disagree with you," said Mom, "And I think we should talk about this. Ok?"
"(snurffle) Ok."
She put the phone back on speakerphone, and Dad joined in, and I sputtered out a repeat of my fear.
"Kate, that's not true. I just want you to be happy. If I seem to land on the corporate side of things, that's just because it's what I know. And if I'm not sympathetic to your struggle to figure out what you want, it's just because I've never really had to do it. I've always wanted to work corporate, and I've always worked corporate. It's never been as hard for me as it is for you.
"You're not a line on my resume. You're my daughter. I don't compare myself to other people in terms of you girls. I just want you to be happy."
(snuffle, glurp, pha-blooey)
I'm so grateful for my parents. For their support and love. And mostly (today) for my mother's maturity in encouraging me to confront my fears head on, instead of taking the low road and being the little shit she jokes about me being.
While I work on releasing the need for my father's approval, it's nice to know I have it anyway.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
my own inner Statler and Waldorf
You know those muppets who sit on the balcony, kvetching about the show the whole way through? They're Statler and Waldorf. And I seem to have my own version of them in my head, endlessly muttering about what I'm doing, what I'm not doing, and whether or not I'm doing (or not doing) things I'm doing (or not doing) the right way.
It's annoying.
Anyway, over the weekend, I really socked it to them, and managed to shut them up for a whole afternoon!
I went for a hike this weekend with Outdoor Bound (which I'd totally recommend for anyone stranded in the city and desperate for some hiking action) and found myself in a group where not one, but TWO of the guides were really cute. I chatted with both as the hike began, and discovered that I'd have a really flirty, good time if, when the groups split, I went in their group. However, the non-cute-guide group was smaller and was going to go on a slightly more hard-core hike, and I was drawn to that.
When we were splitting up, Statler and Waldorf started to chatter.
Statler: What's she doing? Is she going on the easy hike just because the guides are CUTE?
Waldorf: I think so.
Statler: I thought she wasn't dating for a while.
Waldorf: She ISN'T!
Statler and Waldorf: Wah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
(Am I unfairly representing their style? I always thought they laughed awfully hard at things that were barely funny.)
Anyway, before the groups got too far apart, I changed my mind, and joined the hard-core group. I'm not focusing on dating right now, I'm focusing on me, and what I want, and who I am, and the choices I make that have to do with me, and not boys. And that meant I was doing the more hard-core hike.*
And boy, did Statler and Waldorf not know what to say to that!
(In the end we all reconvened and hiked back together as a group, and there was some charming chatter exchanged, but I did that with my self-regard rather high, thankyouverymuch. Nothing beats sticking to a promise I make myself.)
*Editor's note: as it is used in this post "hard-core" means "less wussy and more hikey" but in no way implies that I'm remotely a badass.
It's annoying.
Anyway, over the weekend, I really socked it to them, and managed to shut them up for a whole afternoon!
I went for a hike this weekend with Outdoor Bound (which I'd totally recommend for anyone stranded in the city and desperate for some hiking action) and found myself in a group where not one, but TWO of the guides were really cute. I chatted with both as the hike began, and discovered that I'd have a really flirty, good time if, when the groups split, I went in their group. However, the non-cute-guide group was smaller and was going to go on a slightly more hard-core hike, and I was drawn to that.
When we were splitting up, Statler and Waldorf started to chatter.
Statler: What's she doing? Is she going on the easy hike just because the guides are CUTE?
Waldorf: I think so.
Statler: I thought she wasn't dating for a while.
Waldorf: She ISN'T!
Statler and Waldorf: Wah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
(Am I unfairly representing their style? I always thought they laughed awfully hard at things that were barely funny.)
Anyway, before the groups got too far apart, I changed my mind, and joined the hard-core group. I'm not focusing on dating right now, I'm focusing on me, and what I want, and who I am, and the choices I make that have to do with me, and not boys. And that meant I was doing the more hard-core hike.*
And boy, did Statler and Waldorf not know what to say to that!
(In the end we all reconvened and hiked back together as a group, and there was some charming chatter exchanged, but I did that with my self-regard rather high, thankyouverymuch. Nothing beats sticking to a promise I make myself.)
*Editor's note: as it is used in this post "hard-core" means "less wussy and more hikey" but in no way implies that I'm remotely a badass.
Friday, August 8, 2008
a theory on dating serially
Yesterday a friend of mine asked herself this (by asking me): do I take a break from boys for a little while and just clear my mind? Or do I start dating and do it right -- not just date one boy or put all my eggs in one basket?
I learned a lot while serially dating (by which I mean ending one relationship and then instantaneously starting another), but the key theory that I developed (after stopping) was that wherever my first relationship was at when it ended (my last serious was about a 8.5 out of 10, on a completely random and self-generated scale), my next relationship STARTED somewhere pretty close by. (The following guy and I started at about a 6.5 or 7.) That really didn't work for me, because we hadn't earned that intimacy. It wasn't until I had taken some time completely alone (I did six weeks) that my internal intimacy-meter reset to zero.
And now I operate at a fairly consistent zero. It's made it easier for me to really reassess, and to be On My Own. It's taken me out of "we" mode and back into "me" mode. Zero has allowed me space to tackle some other demons, instead of always being focused on boys boys boys and what was going wrong (or right).
It took a lot of effort, a lot of nights at Lisa's house, a lot of girls' nights out (to non-guyish events) and even some turning down of dates until my sabbatical was over.
And now I operate at a fairly consistent zero. It's made it easier for me to really reassess, and to be On My Own. It's taken me out of "we" mode and back into "me" mode. Zero has allowed me space to tackle some other demons, instead of always being focused on boys boys boys and what was going wrong (or right).
It took a lot of effort, a lot of nights at Lisa's house, a lot of girls' nights out (to non-guyish events) and even some turning down of dates until my sabbatical was over.
And it was totally worth it.
But that was my experience. Since I know my friend and I are pretty similar (at least in this regard), I recommended it to her. And if it's not what she needs/wants or it doesn't help, it's only six weeks. And if she doesn't do it, it's no skin off my nose. All I really care is that she's asking the questions.
But that was my experience. Since I know my friend and I are pretty similar (at least in this regard), I recommended it to her. And if it's not what she needs/wants or it doesn't help, it's only six weeks. And if she doesn't do it, it's no skin off my nose. All I really care is that she's asking the questions.
I try to look at being single this way -- today might be my only chance to be completely single. The next guy I meet could be Mr. Right, and then what? I might have to stop sleeping diagonally.
Gasp.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
such stuff as dreams are made on
I had lunch with an old friend recently and we hadn't seen each other in a long time -- essentially since I had gotten my new job as a trainer. I told him all about what I do, how I love teaching, I love being with my students, and I love trying out new techniques in my classes. And how I mostly hate tech, could give a flying leap about computers, and think that there is little on this earth as unsexy as Microsoft Office. (Except maybe ugly goats.)
As I kept talking about the stuff I love about my job, he got this cloudy look on his face and said, "Yeah, but Kate, those are just the processes and procedures of your job. You don't really care about the stuff of your job."
"What do you mean, the 'stuff of my job'?"
"You know, the ideas and energies behind what you do."
"Um, could you be slightly less vague, please?"
"Well, I love politics and policymaking." (He's a lawyer from DC.) "I love the athleticism of the arguments, the negotiations, the science and art of it. I just love it." (And hearing him say this, I am both surprised (since he never talked about it before) and not the least bit surprised, as it suits what I do know about him to a a tee.)
(By the way, what the hell does that saying really mean? I haven't the slightest clue.)
"So the stuff of your job is politics, and lawyering [and by that I mean negotiating deals, arguing points, writing papers, researching statutes, etc.] -- that's the process and procedures of your job?"
"Pretty much."
"Hmmh." I said as contentedly as I could, considering he had just opened a major can of Job Related Worms and there were no fish in sight.
I got to thinking... what is the stuff of my life? What things/ideas/concepts do I really care about, and how would I go about finding a job that addressed those things? My friend encouraged me to pay attention to topics I find interesting -- outside the regular fluff and idiocy that we all enjoy.
("What?" I said, "I can't get a job dating cute guys for the rest of my life??")
So far, what I've managed to come up with is personal -- not personal to me, necessarily, but people-related. Self-esteem, self-regard, confidence, nutrition, lifestyle, attitude and mental state -- these are all things I care about greatly. And I think my friend is right -- while I love teaching, it really is a process or a procedure through which I can pursue something I truly care about.
And I promise I'll do that... right after I get back from vacation!
As I kept talking about the stuff I love about my job, he got this cloudy look on his face and said, "Yeah, but Kate, those are just the processes and procedures of your job. You don't really care about the stuff of your job."
"What do you mean, the 'stuff of my job'?"
"You know, the ideas and energies behind what you do."
"Um, could you be slightly less vague, please?"
"Well, I love politics and policymaking." (He's a lawyer from DC.) "I love the athleticism of the arguments, the negotiations, the science and art of it. I just love it." (And hearing him say this, I am both surprised (since he never talked about it before) and not the least bit surprised, as it suits what I do know about him to a a tee.)
(By the way, what the hell does that saying really mean? I haven't the slightest clue.)
"So the stuff of your job is politics, and lawyering [and by that I mean negotiating deals, arguing points, writing papers, researching statutes, etc.] -- that's the process and procedures of your job?"
"Pretty much."
"Hmmh." I said as contentedly as I could, considering he had just opened a major can of Job Related Worms and there were no fish in sight.
I got to thinking... what is the stuff of my life? What things/ideas/concepts do I really care about, and how would I go about finding a job that addressed those things? My friend encouraged me to pay attention to topics I find interesting -- outside the regular fluff and idiocy that we all enjoy.
("What?" I said, "I can't get a job dating cute guys for the rest of my life??")
So far, what I've managed to come up with is personal -- not personal to me, necessarily, but people-related. Self-esteem, self-regard, confidence, nutrition, lifestyle, attitude and mental state -- these are all things I care about greatly. And I think my friend is right -- while I love teaching, it really is a process or a procedure through which I can pursue something I truly care about.
And I promise I'll do that... right after I get back from vacation!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
throngs of gifts
I am blessed.
I mean, I know we're all blessed, and there are days we choose to see it and days we choose not to, and today I chose to see my blessings, and boy, am I drowning in them.
First, there's my friend who called me last night. She was very clear with what she needed:
"Kate, I just need to cry. I don't need advice, and I might need you to ask me questions that will help me continue to cry. Can you do that?"
Yeah, I can do that.
And she cried and cried and cried, releasing tons of angst back into the universe, freeing herself from pain and showing me a lovely, whole, strong, delicate, beautful, gorgeous, passionate woman.
Dip me in chocolate, and I'm in heaven.
Then, today, one of the students in my powerpoint class sent me an email with a presentation in it, showing me everything she had learned in my class. My favorite slide?
I mean, I know we're all blessed, and there are days we choose to see it and days we choose not to, and today I chose to see my blessings, and boy, am I drowning in them.
First, there's my friend who called me last night. She was very clear with what she needed:
"Kate, I just need to cry. I don't need advice, and I might need you to ask me questions that will help me continue to cry. Can you do that?"
Yeah, I can do that.
And she cried and cried and cried, releasing tons of angst back into the universe, freeing herself from pain and showing me a lovely, whole, strong, delicate, beautful, gorgeous, passionate woman.
Dip me in chocolate, and I'm in heaven.
Then, today, one of the students in my powerpoint class sent me an email with a presentation in it, showing me everything she had learned in my class. My favorite slide?
I don't care that it looks like it was done by and 8 year old. I LOVE IT.
And lastly, I share this gift with you. It's the carrot I couldn't find last week because it was hiding under my dry cleaning: 
And, at the risk of sounding wikkid god and jesusy, but without that intent at all,
may you be blessed today, too.
Friday, June 13, 2008
a very exhausting week
Dear Kate,
We're pooped. Seriously. Three weekends out of town including a wedding and two reunions? We can't take it anymore. Here's a list of our grievances, simply for the last week:
Friday June 6th, you made us churn poor old Stomach with unnecessary worry. Don't you know she hates that? Do you have any idea the toll she took on dear old Esophagus? (No, no, don't blame the wine. That was a mere symptom.) We keep telling you you're just as fabulous as all your classmates. When will you learn?
Saturday the 7th, you very carelessly sprained Sleep. Sleep is our friend, and not someone you want to have against you. In the future, please do not fuck with Sleep.
Sunday the 8th, we're pretty sure you pulled one of us. We're very understanding (what with that being our job), but seriously? Knock it off. We could go back to the way we were in high school, and NOBODY wants that.
Monday the 9th, you didn't nourish us. Do you think emotions can function without rest?
Ignore us again like that and we'll repeat Tuesday. (That's right, missy, pony up for some kleenex before doing that again!)
Tuesday the 10th, see above.
Wednesday the 11th, you dare induce a freak out? We're tired. We've been through a lot. Do you really think that now is the time to wonder if you're good enough again? Please. We're begging you. Listen to us this time. You're smart, funny, and people like you.
Now give us a vacation, and we'll call it evens.
Love,
Your emotions
We're pooped. Seriously. Three weekends out of town including a wedding and two reunions? We can't take it anymore. Here's a list of our grievances, simply for the last week:
Friday June 6th, you made us churn poor old Stomach with unnecessary worry. Don't you know she hates that? Do you have any idea the toll she took on dear old Esophagus? (No, no, don't blame the wine. That was a mere symptom.) We keep telling you you're just as fabulous as all your classmates. When will you learn?
Saturday the 7th, you very carelessly sprained Sleep. Sleep is our friend, and not someone you want to have against you. In the future, please do not fuck with Sleep.
Sunday the 8th, we're pretty sure you pulled one of us. We're very understanding (what with that being our job), but seriously? Knock it off. We could go back to the way we were in high school, and NOBODY wants that.
Monday the 9th, you didn't nourish us. Do you think emotions can function without rest?
Ignore us again like that and we'll repeat Tuesday. (That's right, missy, pony up for some kleenex before doing that again!)
Tuesday the 10th, see above.
Wednesday the 11th, you dare induce a freak out? We're tired. We've been through a lot. Do you really think that now is the time to wonder if you're good enough again? Please. We're begging you. Listen to us this time. You're smart, funny, and people like you.
Now give us a vacation, and we'll call it evens.
Love,
Your emotions
Thursday, May 8, 2008
on compassion (take note, self!)
I'm reading a great book on how to be a writer, not because I'm actually interested in being a writer, but because it's written by one of my favorite authors in the whole world, Anne Lamott.
In a passage from the book, Bird by Bird, that really struck my fancy today, she talks about writing characters well -- how you have to give them space to do their own thing, and not judge them while they do it. She then encourages the author to apply this inner distancing to him/herself, saying:
"Obviously, it's harder by far to look at yourself with this same sense of compassionate detachment. Practice helps. As with exercise, you may be sore the first few days, but then you will get a little bit better at it every day. I am learning slowly to bring my crazy pinball-machine mind back to this place of friendly detachment toward myself, so I can look out at the world and see all those other things with respect. Try looking at your mind as a wayward puppy that you are trying to paper train. You don't drop-kick a puppy into the neighbor's yard every time it piddles on the floor. You just keep bringing it back to the newspaper. So I keep trying gently to bring my mind back to what is really there to be seen, maybe to be seen and noted with a kind of reverence. Because if I don't learn to do this, I think I'll keep getting things wrong."
In a passage from the book, Bird by Bird, that really struck my fancy today, she talks about writing characters well -- how you have to give them space to do their own thing, and not judge them while they do it. She then encourages the author to apply this inner distancing to him/herself, saying:
"Obviously, it's harder by far to look at yourself with this same sense of compassionate detachment. Practice helps. As with exercise, you may be sore the first few days, but then you will get a little bit better at it every day. I am learning slowly to bring my crazy pinball-machine mind back to this place of friendly detachment toward myself, so I can look out at the world and see all those other things with respect. Try looking at your mind as a wayward puppy that you are trying to paper train. You don't drop-kick a puppy into the neighbor's yard every time it piddles on the floor. You just keep bringing it back to the newspaper. So I keep trying gently to bring my mind back to what is really there to be seen, maybe to be seen and noted with a kind of reverence. Because if I don't learn to do this, I think I'll keep getting things wrong."
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
to pluck or not to pluck
It's the age-old question: what does a girl do with her gray hairs?
Now, I'm a plucker. I see 'em when they're about two inches long -- although, how they get that long without my noticing is beyond me -- and I like to grab them and yank them out by the root, throw them on the ground, stomp on them until they're dead, scream at them for ruining my life, and then walk away, as if nothing had ever happened.
This is all well and good (and garners me very few sidelong glances from my coworkers), as I only have about four or five gray hairs at any given time. In fact, I've convinced myself that that's all I ever have; they just keep growing back in the same spot. (Whether this is true or not... la la la, I can't hear you!)
Recently, however, I've taken a break from the plucking and chucking and grinding-into-mucking, and I've let them grow in.
The result? I'm now totally convinced that I have a thousand gray hairs, because every time I see one I've seen before, I think it's new. The stress of this is causing more gray hairs, and I'm now forced to go back to plucking, just to maintain some semblance of order in my life.
I'm telling you: it's very hard to be me.
Now, I'm a plucker. I see 'em when they're about two inches long -- although, how they get that long without my noticing is beyond me -- and I like to grab them and yank them out by the root, throw them on the ground, stomp on them until they're dead, scream at them for ruining my life, and then walk away, as if nothing had ever happened.
This is all well and good (and garners me very few sidelong glances from my coworkers), as I only have about four or five gray hairs at any given time. In fact, I've convinced myself that that's all I ever have; they just keep growing back in the same spot. (Whether this is true or not... la la la, I can't hear you!)
Recently, however, I've taken a break from the plucking and chucking and grinding-into-mucking, and I've let them grow in.
The result? I'm now totally convinced that I have a thousand gray hairs, because every time I see one I've seen before, I think it's new. The stress of this is causing more gray hairs, and I'm now forced to go back to plucking, just to maintain some semblance of order in my life.
I'm telling you: it's very hard to be me.
Friday, April 18, 2008
20 things that rock
1. my fuscia velour pants
2. the support of my friends when I'm trying something challenging and frightening
3. spicy tuna rolls that kick my ass and make my nose run
4. q-tips that come out of my ear really dirty
5. silver polishing cloths (for extra-super-shiny necklaces!)
6. licking the lid of the can of condensed milk and then dancing around the kitchen wired like a time bomb
7. cute boys with excellent smiles
8. opportunities for me to practice being loving
9. buses that run on schedule
10. brunch dates
11. really good tweezers
12. people who know the difference between jealous and envious, or less and fewer
13. vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles
14. the fact that my sister wasn't part of the NASCAR-like accident that happened right behind her on the highway
15. Sidney Bristow
16. my new theory about emotional metadata that's too dorky to share with the public, but too cool to keep entirely to myself
17. air popped popcorn
18. Mônica Salmaso and Paulo Bellinati's Afro-Samba album
19. the view from the top of Rockefeller Center
20. clean sheets snugly fit to the bedoh and
21. the word "confabulate"
2. the support of my friends when I'm trying something challenging and frightening
3. spicy tuna rolls that kick my ass and make my nose run
4. q-tips that come out of my ear really dirty
5. silver polishing cloths (for extra-super-shiny necklaces!)
6. licking the lid of the can of condensed milk and then dancing around the kitchen wired like a time bomb
7. cute boys with excellent smiles
8. opportunities for me to practice being loving
9. buses that run on schedule
10. brunch dates
11. really good tweezers
12. people who know the difference between jealous and envious, or less and fewer
13. vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles
14. the fact that my sister wasn't part of the NASCAR-like accident that happened right behind her on the highway
15. Sidney Bristow
16. my new theory about emotional metadata that's too dorky to share with the public, but too cool to keep entirely to myself
17. air popped popcorn
18. Mônica Salmaso and Paulo Bellinati's Afro-Samba album
19. the view from the top of Rockefeller Center
20. clean sheets snugly fit to the bedoh and
21. the word "confabulate"
conversational metadata (or how to sound so dorky you’ll never get a date)
First things first: what the hell is metadata, right?
Metadata is the stuff that sort of hangs out with a document, but isn't actually part of what you see on the screen or the page. It's things like the document name, the name of the author or last person who worked on it, or the date it was last revised. Metadata is also stuff in the document, like hidden text, comments or track changes -- features that require extra coding, extra effort to get rid of, and, in the worst cases, lead to corruption.
I work at a law firm (as a computer trainer, which, if it isn't apparent yet, will only become more clear as I blather on about this), and we conscientiously strip our documents of metadata -- no client needs to know that Bigwig Attorney copied this document from another one on the system and just renamed it for this client... and then billed six hours for that. I've recently been revising the instructional information on how to do this, so metadata's been, well, front of mind.
Anyway, I was out with a friend last night who is about ten years younger than I am, and a total delight. I love her like a sister. And she moved to LA, so I miss her like hell. But as we were having one of several conversations, I had all these thoughts running through my head, like, "I'm not at all fun like her other friends" and "I hope she doesn't hate me for not being able to stay out all night drinking" and "god, I'm old."These thoughts were not a part of our conversation, but they were lingering around the fringes of it, just waiting to corrupt it. I required extra energy to get rid of them, and, like identifying information, they kept trying to remind me of who I was. (Not necessarily who I am NOW, but like Bigwig Attorney's metadata, they wanted to reveal who the last author was.)
Metadata can sometimes be helpful, especially if you're trying to figure out where a document originated. But conversational metadata is only useful in reflection, to see how far you've come, and to realize that you're not old, you're just not 22.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
things i learned today
I had three and a half hours of mandatory diversity training today, which turned out to not be diversity training at all, but rather a course in body language, with fancy names for positive body language ("MicroAdvantages") and negative body language ("MicroInequities"). Lucky for me, the presenter was somewhat entertaining, and in the middle of the presentation I had one of those AHA! moments, in which things I've learned in different arenas of my life meld into one coherent thought. (I LOVE those!)
So please, in reading this, feel free to experience your own AHA! moments. (I would, however, recommend avoiding all EWWW, ACK! and MRRR moments. They are MicroNotThePoint.)
1. Life As Impulse Control
We humans have a wide range of emotions, thoughts and behaviors that make up who we are. And to get what we want out of life (be it a fulfilling romantic relationship, a positive work environment, or even just the last donut hole) we have to intentionally balance the expression of ourselves.
For example, if I am unhappy with the way someone is treating me, and I want to have a discussion about his/her behavior, I could go ahead and express my hurt feelings immediately and feel, as such, that I'm having my say, and being true to myself. Or, I could focus on what I want out of the situation (i.e., to be heard, to generate a change in behavior, etc.), and temper my response according to what I want.
To put it as clearly as I can, someone named kate periodically has to choose between "having my say" (me focused and immediate) and "actually being heard." (also me focused, but more long term and productive)
Now, in writing this, I might as well be writing an acting text, as going after what you want is one of the key principles in good acting. But this isn't acting, and more than anything, I want to emphasize that it's not lying or being phony. It's just knowing what you really want (both in the long and short term), and behaving in a way that will get you closest to what you want.
This is particularly challenging for someone named kate who often wants an immediate soothing AND the accomplishment of her long term goals.
This balance-the-expression-of-yourself lesson was reinforced for me today by a lawyer who, in the middle of training, said that not using negative body language with someone you don't like is lying -- it's not honoring your feelings. The presenter deftly responded that he didn't care about any of our feelings. All he cared about was whether or not he was fostering a positive workspace, one in which his team members could thrive and make more money for the partnership. Because in business, arguably, that's the objective. (If this were the SATs, business : money as kate : long term goals)
2. An Odd Remedy for Dry Skin
Crisco. Best applied while doing dishes.
3. Giving Advice to Friends Sometimes Makes You Hear It Yourself
I have a friend who is getting married (in the turquoise wedding) and she called me in a tizzy the other night, convinced that her fiancee didn't want to marry her anymore. She listed a number of reasons, all of which had to do with her, and not with him at all, and at one point she said, "I'm making all these sacrifices in my lifestyle to be with him, and I just don't think he appreciates it."
I stopped her right there and said, "Wait a second, you're missing the point. He may NEVER appreciate the sacrifices you're making. And that's fine. It's really not his job to validate you or your sacrifices. You can only sacrifice when it is ok with you, and never expect anyone to praise you for it. Otherwise all you're doing is storing that sacrifice in your arsenal, ready to whip it out whenever you're in a fight that's not going your way."
(Not bad for someone who hasn't been in a relationship for let's-not-even-do-the-math-on-this-one long, eh?)
4. Spaghetti Squash is a Lot Like Spaghetti
It's true. It is. You cut it in half, nook it for 9 minutes in the microwave, dump some spaghetti sauce into it, stir, add cheese, stir some more and then chow down. Totally awesome meal.
5. Spaghetti Squash Makes Your Farts Really Stinky
Nuff said, right?
So please, in reading this, feel free to experience your own AHA! moments. (I would, however, recommend avoiding all EWWW, ACK! and MRRR moments. They are MicroNotThePoint.)
1. Life As Impulse Control
We humans have a wide range of emotions, thoughts and behaviors that make up who we are. And to get what we want out of life (be it a fulfilling romantic relationship, a positive work environment, or even just the last donut hole) we have to intentionally balance the expression of ourselves.
For example, if I am unhappy with the way someone is treating me, and I want to have a discussion about his/her behavior, I could go ahead and express my hurt feelings immediately and feel, as such, that I'm having my say, and being true to myself. Or, I could focus on what I want out of the situation (i.e., to be heard, to generate a change in behavior, etc.), and temper my response according to what I want.
To put it as clearly as I can, someone named kate periodically has to choose between "having my say" (me focused and immediate) and "actually being heard." (also me focused, but more long term and productive)
Now, in writing this, I might as well be writing an acting text, as going after what you want is one of the key principles in good acting. But this isn't acting, and more than anything, I want to emphasize that it's not lying or being phony. It's just knowing what you really want (both in the long and short term), and behaving in a way that will get you closest to what you want.
This is particularly challenging for someone named kate who often wants an immediate soothing AND the accomplishment of her long term goals.
This balance-the-expression-of-yourself lesson was reinforced for me today by a lawyer who, in the middle of training, said that not using negative body language with someone you don't like is lying -- it's not honoring your feelings. The presenter deftly responded that he didn't care about any of our feelings. All he cared about was whether or not he was fostering a positive workspace, one in which his team members could thrive and make more money for the partnership. Because in business, arguably, that's the objective. (If this were the SATs, business : money as kate : long term goals)
2. An Odd Remedy for Dry Skin
Crisco. Best applied while doing dishes.
3. Giving Advice to Friends Sometimes Makes You Hear It Yourself
I have a friend who is getting married (in the turquoise wedding) and she called me in a tizzy the other night, convinced that her fiancee didn't want to marry her anymore. She listed a number of reasons, all of which had to do with her, and not with him at all, and at one point she said, "I'm making all these sacrifices in my lifestyle to be with him, and I just don't think he appreciates it."
I stopped her right there and said, "Wait a second, you're missing the point. He may NEVER appreciate the sacrifices you're making. And that's fine. It's really not his job to validate you or your sacrifices. You can only sacrifice when it is ok with you, and never expect anyone to praise you for it. Otherwise all you're doing is storing that sacrifice in your arsenal, ready to whip it out whenever you're in a fight that's not going your way."
(Not bad for someone who hasn't been in a relationship for let's-not-even-do-the-math-on-this-one long, eh?)
4. Spaghetti Squash is a Lot Like Spaghetti
It's true. It is. You cut it in half, nook it for 9 minutes in the microwave, dump some spaghetti sauce into it, stir, add cheese, stir some more and then chow down. Totally awesome meal.
5. Spaghetti Squash Makes Your Farts Really Stinky
Nuff said, right?
five ways in which i am blessed
I've been kind of down lately -- although I've been trying to keep it out of my blog because, man, nobody reads a blog to get bummed out.
["What are you doing tonight, dude?" "Well, I was feeling just a little too happy, so I thought I'd just stay in and read Kate's blog for a while. Then, I'll probably either drink or cry myself to sleep."]
And while I'm not here to please you all, I kind of am, so why not be honest about it?
ANYWAY: my point tonight is to shake off the poop and tell you five reasons why I am blessed, and ask you to share any of your own reasons, if you want to.
Reason Number One: I have a friend (Lisa) who is an emotional trailblazer for me. She's crazy like me (in both the good and the bad ways) and understands the way I think because she's thought that way herself. And it feels so good to be seen so clearly by her -- and to also be her friend and find her so admirable. I know I'm going to be ok, because she is. And I know I'm fun to hang out with (despite all my baggage), because she is. Lisa shows me an incredible mirror, and I feel all the safer and more amazing for it. I also feel more capable of growth with someone so loving to nudge me back on my path.
Reason Number Two: Funny things happen in my proximity an inordinate amount. Like yesterday, at MoMA. There was this awesome little girl, maybe six or seven years old, and she so didn't want to be there anymore. She took to holding her breath and stomping her foot to get her mother to leave. (I tried it later, when I was ready to go, but nobody really gave a shit.) Additionally, there was a guy in the modern section who, I'm pretty sure, was wearing a woman's cardigan sweater, this pretty flowery, stripey, 80s number. (Tourist!) Maybe funny things happen to everyone, but to me, they're definitely a blessing.
Reason Number Three: My body has completely changed. You know how you have a default weight or size? And over time that generally seems to go up? And depending on your routine and eating habits and whatever, you can change that? Well, I managed, over the course of the last five years, to go from a size twelve to what the woman at David's Bridal called "a perfect six." (I wanted to correct her and tell her I was a perfect ten, but I didn't want her pulling dresses for me that didn't actually fit.) I recently looked at pictures from the late nineties/early millennium and... wow. To be generous, I have a lot more arm in those pictures.
Reason Number Four: I have a job I like and I am rewarded for the job I do. I get paid well (I could always be paid more, I mean, let's be honest) and I get consistently complimented on the work I do. It's particularly nice because my job didn't exist before I had it, so I don't have to live up to anyone else's performance of the job, and I can come in to work overdressed for my position, and nobody knows I don't have to look as nice as I do.
Which leads to...
Reason Number Five: I recently snagged two serious sales and got myself four blazers, two dresses, a blouse, a sweater and a pair of pants for $160. Four of those items alone would have cost $292 if I had purchased them full price. (I only picked those four because their tags are sitting right here next to the computer, but I now feel compelled to do the math on the rest of them.) Three of the others totaled $228, and the last item had a clearance only price tag on it, so I guess it has always only been $19.99.
Grand total: $539.99. This paragraph: Priceless. (Please note, I paid a mere 29% of the original retail value. Talk about blessed!)
["What are you doing tonight, dude?" "Well, I was feeling just a little too happy, so I thought I'd just stay in and read Kate's blog for a while. Then, I'll probably either drink or cry myself to sleep."]
And while I'm not here to please you all, I kind of am, so why not be honest about it?
ANYWAY: my point tonight is to shake off the poop and tell you five reasons why I am blessed, and ask you to share any of your own reasons, if you want to.
Reason Number One: I have a friend (Lisa) who is an emotional trailblazer for me. She's crazy like me (in both the good and the bad ways) and understands the way I think because she's thought that way herself. And it feels so good to be seen so clearly by her -- and to also be her friend and find her so admirable. I know I'm going to be ok, because she is. And I know I'm fun to hang out with (despite all my baggage), because she is. Lisa shows me an incredible mirror, and I feel all the safer and more amazing for it. I also feel more capable of growth with someone so loving to nudge me back on my path.
Reason Number Two: Funny things happen in my proximity an inordinate amount. Like yesterday, at MoMA. There was this awesome little girl, maybe six or seven years old, and she so didn't want to be there anymore. She took to holding her breath and stomping her foot to get her mother to leave. (I tried it later, when I was ready to go, but nobody really gave a shit.) Additionally, there was a guy in the modern section who, I'm pretty sure, was wearing a woman's cardigan sweater, this pretty flowery, stripey, 80s number. (Tourist!) Maybe funny things happen to everyone, but to me, they're definitely a blessing.
Reason Number Three: My body has completely changed. You know how you have a default weight or size? And over time that generally seems to go up? And depending on your routine and eating habits and whatever, you can change that? Well, I managed, over the course of the last five years, to go from a size twelve to what the woman at David's Bridal called "a perfect six." (I wanted to correct her and tell her I was a perfect ten, but I didn't want her pulling dresses for me that didn't actually fit.) I recently looked at pictures from the late nineties/early millennium and... wow. To be generous, I have a lot more arm in those pictures.
Reason Number Four: I have a job I like and I am rewarded for the job I do. I get paid well (I could always be paid more, I mean, let's be honest) and I get consistently complimented on the work I do. It's particularly nice because my job didn't exist before I had it, so I don't have to live up to anyone else's performance of the job, and I can come in to work overdressed for my position, and nobody knows I don't have to look as nice as I do.
Which leads to...
Reason Number Five: I recently snagged two serious sales and got myself four blazers, two dresses, a blouse, a sweater and a pair of pants for $160. Four of those items alone would have cost $292 if I had purchased them full price. (I only picked those four because their tags are sitting right here next to the computer, but I now feel compelled to do the math on the rest of them.) Three of the others totaled $228, and the last item had a clearance only price tag on it, so I guess it has always only been $19.99.
Grand total: $539.99. This paragraph: Priceless. (Please note, I paid a mere 29% of the original retail value. Talk about blessed!)
Sunday, January 27, 2008
care for a d8, k8?
I had a terrific date this weekend... with myself.
I had been out all day (trying on turquoise bridesmaids dresses and purchasing myself consolation black clothing to alleviate the scalding of my retinas) and when I got home, I was really bummed to discover that nobody had responded to my invitation to play on Saturday night.
I actually sat down at my desk and whimpered, feeling an enormous wave of loneliness wash over me. I fought the urge to put on my pajamas and sit on the couch, not to get up again for several hours (it was only 5:30 pm, after all).
I said outloud, "I wish someone would take me out to play."
And then I said to myself, "Well, what do you want to do?"
I answered (not outloud this time, since I'm not, in fact, crazy), "I want to wear my new dress and go somewhere fancy. I want to drink a glass of wine in a nice bar and hear a concert like a grown up."
So I slid myself into my fancy (black) dress, threw on some boots and my Charred Marshmallow Sleeping Bag Coat (which I love) and headed to the subway. Destination: Carnegie Hall.
I had several thousand conversations in my head about where I was going and why, and allowed myself the right to change my mind at any point. The ticket was only $20 and I figured that was worth putting on the dress and getting out of the house, let alone catching the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra. I still wasn't sold on the idea, however, until I walked into the lobby of the building. I was magnetized. I felt myself in my dress, my boots and my earrings, and I wanted to stay. Carnegie Hall really is amazing -- even just the lobby.
I climbed the sixty three flights of stairs to the $20 ticket section and ended up sitting next to a very handsome guy and his female companion (sister? girlfriend?) in the middle of the row. We chatted at intermission and it turned out that the woman was, in fact, his mother. So after the concert, I gave him my card. Hell, I had the dress on. Might as well.
I should have stopped while I was ahead, but instead I went downtown, thinking I would catch another friend's show at the Living Room. But when I got there, he wasn't playing yet, and I didn't know anybody in the bar, and there wasn't a seat to be had. Sure, I was brave, but not THAT brave.
So I headed home, feeling somewhat defeated for not having had the guts to just sit at a bar and talk to strangers. Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes I feel like such a phony I don't even want to talk to myself. Hard to be charming when you're judging every word that comes out of your mouth.
Anyway, the night was, all in all, a success, and I realized that what I love about going to a concert or a museum is that I know enough about art and music to enjoy them, but I don't know enough about them to be let down. If I had gone to see a play, I would have judged it all the way through, critiquing and analyzing it instead of just enjoying it for what it was. With a concert, especially at Carnegie Hall, I can just be a kid again and experience the joy of watching a guy play a marimba with four mallets (and only two hands)! I can thrill to a cellist digging his bow into the string and getting this violently sexy sound of it. And I can be totally psyched to see two guys in tuxedos playing the bongos.
Talk about a terrific date!
I had been out all day (trying on turquoise bridesmaids dresses and purchasing myself consolation black clothing to alleviate the scalding of my retinas) and when I got home, I was really bummed to discover that nobody had responded to my invitation to play on Saturday night.
I actually sat down at my desk and whimpered, feeling an enormous wave of loneliness wash over me. I fought the urge to put on my pajamas and sit on the couch, not to get up again for several hours (it was only 5:30 pm, after all).
I said outloud, "I wish someone would take me out to play."
And then I said to myself, "Well, what do you want to do?"
I answered (not outloud this time, since I'm not, in fact, crazy), "I want to wear my new dress and go somewhere fancy. I want to drink a glass of wine in a nice bar and hear a concert like a grown up."
So I slid myself into my fancy (black) dress, threw on some boots and my Charred Marshmallow Sleeping Bag Coat (which I love) and headed to the subway. Destination: Carnegie Hall.
I had several thousand conversations in my head about where I was going and why, and allowed myself the right to change my mind at any point. The ticket was only $20 and I figured that was worth putting on the dress and getting out of the house, let alone catching the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra. I still wasn't sold on the idea, however, until I walked into the lobby of the building. I was magnetized. I felt myself in my dress, my boots and my earrings, and I wanted to stay. Carnegie Hall really is amazing -- even just the lobby.
I climbed the sixty three flights of stairs to the $20 ticket section and ended up sitting next to a very handsome guy and his female companion (sister? girlfriend?) in the middle of the row. We chatted at intermission and it turned out that the woman was, in fact, his mother. So after the concert, I gave him my card. Hell, I had the dress on. Might as well.
I should have stopped while I was ahead, but instead I went downtown, thinking I would catch another friend's show at the Living Room. But when I got there, he wasn't playing yet, and I didn't know anybody in the bar, and there wasn't a seat to be had. Sure, I was brave, but not THAT brave.
So I headed home, feeling somewhat defeated for not having had the guts to just sit at a bar and talk to strangers. Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes I feel like such a phony I don't even want to talk to myself. Hard to be charming when you're judging every word that comes out of your mouth.
Anyway, the night was, all in all, a success, and I realized that what I love about going to a concert or a museum is that I know enough about art and music to enjoy them, but I don't know enough about them to be let down. If I had gone to see a play, I would have judged it all the way through, critiquing and analyzing it instead of just enjoying it for what it was. With a concert, especially at Carnegie Hall, I can just be a kid again and experience the joy of watching a guy play a marimba with four mallets (and only two hands)! I can thrill to a cellist digging his bow into the string and getting this violently sexy sound of it. And I can be totally psyched to see two guys in tuxedos playing the bongos.
Talk about a terrific date!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
fearless living (a totally different three day conference)
With all the fearless living conferences I go to, you'd think I'd be fearlessly ruling the world by now. Alas, I'm not. I'm focusing on conquering a far more complex and confusing terrain -- me.
Over the long weekend, I went to a Fearless Foundation Workshop, run by Rhonda Britten (of Starting Over fame) and, while I won't go into the specifics of exactly what we covered (as that would breach my agreement with the Institute) I will give you a basic outline of what I learned, and why it's important to me -- for free!
(Aren't I just the best?)
First, Rhonda argues, when we experience negative emotions (anger, anxiety, frustration, despair, etc.) it's because we're being triggered by fear. We have one major fear, and when we can identify that fear, take a step back and stop reacting to it, we have much more freedom in our lives to make choices that actually serve us. Additionally, she argues, there is an essential nature that each of us has, but which we have denied, and only when we stop reacting from fear will we start to access that essential nature and end up with what she calls our "wholeness."
My essential nature, as I discovered this weekend, is compassionate. And that may not surprise many of you, as I believe I'm an extremely compassionate person... to other people. Inside my own head, however, it's a bar brawl, with Judgment duking it out with Mean-Spiritedness (who is tag teamming with Not-Good-Enough). There's definitely an element of this that has served me over time (pushing me to go to Yale, driving me to be better and less complacent in just about everything I do), but more than not, it has been a really good tool for me to use to drive myself crazy. (Just ask my ex-boyfriends. I think they'll back me up on this.)
However, the problem a self-judger faces when she feels she is now tasked with the job of being compassionate is that it's really easy to sit there and tell yourself you're not being compassionate enough, or compassionate in the right way, or compassionate at all. (This was how I spent my Sunday night and Monday morning. Don't do this at home. It's exhausting.)
The upside, it turns out, is that any decision I can make from a place outside of fear is already compassionate, by default! (Yippee!) The more I can do to take a step back, examine my behavior, take a deep breath, or stand up for myself (especially in the face of my greatest fear), the sweeter I will be to myself. The more I will move towards forgiving myself.
The awesomer I will become.
So, while the conference was draining, at times irritating, and I basically felt like someone had taken the Jaws of Life, cracked open my rib cage and just kept spreading and spreading and spreading until there was next to no life left in me, it was totally worth it in the Peace of Mind department.
If you're interested in learning more about any of this, please let me know, visit www.fearlessliving.org, or read Rhonda's book, Fearless Living. I wouldn't recommend it for everyone, as it's really hard emotional work that will only benefit you if you're really ready for it, but if you feel stuck in a rut (either in your thoughts, career, behaviors, relationships, life, whatever) it'll totally help. You may, in fact, never be the same again.
Over the long weekend, I went to a Fearless Foundation Workshop, run by Rhonda Britten (of Starting Over fame) and, while I won't go into the specifics of exactly what we covered (as that would breach my agreement with the Institute) I will give you a basic outline of what I learned, and why it's important to me -- for free!
(Aren't I just the best?)
First, Rhonda argues, when we experience negative emotions (anger, anxiety, frustration, despair, etc.) it's because we're being triggered by fear. We have one major fear, and when we can identify that fear, take a step back and stop reacting to it, we have much more freedom in our lives to make choices that actually serve us. Additionally, she argues, there is an essential nature that each of us has, but which we have denied, and only when we stop reacting from fear will we start to access that essential nature and end up with what she calls our "wholeness."
My essential nature, as I discovered this weekend, is compassionate. And that may not surprise many of you, as I believe I'm an extremely compassionate person... to other people. Inside my own head, however, it's a bar brawl, with Judgment duking it out with Mean-Spiritedness (who is tag teamming with Not-Good-Enough). There's definitely an element of this that has served me over time (pushing me to go to Yale, driving me to be better and less complacent in just about everything I do), but more than not, it has been a really good tool for me to use to drive myself crazy. (Just ask my ex-boyfriends. I think they'll back me up on this.)
However, the problem a self-judger faces when she feels she is now tasked with the job of being compassionate is that it's really easy to sit there and tell yourself you're not being compassionate enough, or compassionate in the right way, or compassionate at all. (This was how I spent my Sunday night and Monday morning. Don't do this at home. It's exhausting.)
The upside, it turns out, is that any decision I can make from a place outside of fear is already compassionate, by default! (Yippee!) The more I can do to take a step back, examine my behavior, take a deep breath, or stand up for myself (especially in the face of my greatest fear), the sweeter I will be to myself. The more I will move towards forgiving myself.
The awesomer I will become.
So, while the conference was draining, at times irritating, and I basically felt like someone had taken the Jaws of Life, cracked open my rib cage and just kept spreading and spreading and spreading until there was next to no life left in me, it was totally worth it in the Peace of Mind department.
If you're interested in learning more about any of this, please let me know, visit www.fearlessliving.org, or read Rhonda's book, Fearless Living. I wouldn't recommend it for everyone, as it's really hard emotional work that will only benefit you if you're really ready for it, but if you feel stuck in a rut (either in your thoughts, career, behaviors, relationships, life, whatever) it'll totally help. You may, in fact, never be the same again.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
lesson learned
A theory, free of charge:
Everything happens for a reason. And the key to making the most out of life is focusing on learning the right lesson from your mishaps. [although that word, "mishap," is one of those words that distracts me. Shouldn't it be pronounced "Mis-shap?"]
So, earlier this summer I was repeatedly getting cancelled on at the last minute, and it was starting to drive me out of my mind. "Don't you have the consideration," I would shout to my empty shower (in lieu of said cancellers), "to think ahead and make a plan you can stick to?!?!" And I would roil and stomp and do all those things we do when we think nobody else is looking.
I thought (naively) "what lesson could there POSSIBLY be in this crap?!?" and then tabled the discussion with myself, and just kept on trucking.
And then I got stood up. I didn't think much about why that happened, I just thought, "oh poo, a Friday night ruined" and "eh, he sucks" and I went home. Well, last night I got stood up AGAIN, by someone else entirely, under completely different circumstances. (He, too, was a douchebag about it, though, TEXTING me a weak apology and asking me to hang out later if my previous plans fell through. I should have made a plan with him and then stood HIM up! Drats! Next time!) And that conversation I was going to have with myself jumped right up off that table and came waltzing into my brain.
I learned two things:
1. I would much rather be cancelled on at the last minute than stood up; and
2. It is far better to have risked and flopped than not to have risked at all.
Oh, and I learned a third thing:
3. There are some really cool installations at the Brooklyn Museum right now, including the Dinner Party by Judy Chicago. You should go!
Everything happens for a reason. And the key to making the most out of life is focusing on learning the right lesson from your mishaps. [although that word, "mishap," is one of those words that distracts me. Shouldn't it be pronounced "Mis-shap?"]
So, earlier this summer I was repeatedly getting cancelled on at the last minute, and it was starting to drive me out of my mind. "Don't you have the consideration," I would shout to my empty shower (in lieu of said cancellers), "to think ahead and make a plan you can stick to?!?!" And I would roil and stomp and do all those things we do when we think nobody else is looking.
I thought (naively) "what lesson could there POSSIBLY be in this crap?!?" and then tabled the discussion with myself, and just kept on trucking.
And then I got stood up. I didn't think much about why that happened, I just thought, "oh poo, a Friday night ruined" and "eh, he sucks" and I went home. Well, last night I got stood up AGAIN, by someone else entirely, under completely different circumstances. (He, too, was a douchebag about it, though, TEXTING me a weak apology and asking me to hang out later if my previous plans fell through. I should have made a plan with him and then stood HIM up! Drats! Next time!) And that conversation I was going to have with myself jumped right up off that table and came waltzing into my brain.
I learned two things:
1. I would much rather be cancelled on at the last minute than stood up; and
2. It is far better to have risked and flopped than not to have risked at all.
Oh, and I learned a third thing:
3. There are some really cool installations at the Brooklyn Museum right now, including the Dinner Party by Judy Chicago. You should go!
Monday, September 3, 2007
whispering sweet nothings to myself
There're a number of theories out there dealing with how people talk to themselves. One of them says that if you say something outloud, it means you've thought it to yourself something like 20,000 times (or some other outrageous number. I'm kind of making that one up). So if you're saying things like "god, I suck" or "I'm so stupid" or "I hate everything" it means you're spending a LOT of your time thinking negatively. Not sure you're doing this? Simply monitor what you say outloud and you can get a barometer of what's going on inside your head.
I've been working on this for a long time, and have really cut back on the number of horrible, judgemental things I say to myself. (It used to be mostly "Ugh! You're so stupid!" or "Too fat!") Now, for the most part, me, myself and I are just chat buddies, striking up conversations whenever we feel like it. (Generally, not on a crowded subway car or in the supermarket or anything. We're discreet.) For the sake of entertainment, I spent a day making mental notes about the outstanding things I say outloud to myself. Here are but a few. (Mind you, these are all things I said outloud, to nobody.):
"Ooh, that does NOT taste right." (and then I drank again.)
"Let's go then, shall we?" (apparently I am the queen)
"She's so awesome!" (as I hung up the phone with a friend)
"Toilet, please flush. I'm getting sick of this." (arguably, I said this to the toilet.)
"Couldn't you just do yourselves?" (again, I was talking to the dishes.)
"It helps to take your keys, Kate, if you want them." (I do use my own name.)
"Ok, we're done here." (I said this as I walked away from a cake.)
"Poison meat!!!" (My landlord's dog started barking at 6am today, and it made me think of the time my dad suggested throwing poisoned meat out the back window. I still consider it a viable option.)
"Phew! You are stinky!" (I can't help it. I just went running!)
I'm sure there are more, but these are the ones I remember -- or at least the ones I caught myself saying and then actually remembered when I sat down to write.
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