Archive for the ‘theSlice’ Category

The Mountains We Make

Posted: August 16, 2011 in theSlice

The Mountains We Make

Sometimes I don’t realize how much of an obstacle I am to myself.  If I would just get out of my own damn way, it’d be smooth sailing (or at least a serene float down-stream.)  But I have this tolerance for pain that gives me an inability,… a blind-spot, for knowing when I should bail. Bail water out of the boat AND bail-out of the situation. Just opt out.  UNSUBSCRIBE.  Because giving up is “failing” and I was raised with that option NOT in my gene-pool.  If ya got a B, it wasn’t, “great JOB!” — it was, “You’ll get an A next time.”  And so — I was imprinted with that mentality (seeming like such a good-ish thing to help your kid strive for improvement and being the best) pressuring myself — until I completely burned out.  Burnt to a crisp.  Crrrash & burrrrn.  To the point of not even knowing if best was ever going to be good enough.

So what I had to learn, was that average is okay.  Not-first was quite alright.  …That imperfect was not failing.  I didn’t have to be an over-achiever shooting-star (reference previous crash&burn statement), who did better and MO’ than everybody else.  I didn’t need a workaholic job-ethic that would shame the pyramid builders, no really 8 hours IS fine. What I found out from “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff (and it’s all small stuff)” is that I needed to lower my tolerance for stress.  LOWER it.  Like there’s some sort of temperature gauge sticking out of my ass — ‘Warning WARNING Will Robbins DANGER, stress is approaching’ — then I’d hit the dial to dowwwn.  Yea.  That was it.  So basically, what happened is that I was virtually in a recovery-program for reducing my addiction to the GUILT.  The guilt that I wasn’t there for everybody all the time, that I didn’t remember everymutha’lovin’ detail of EVERYTHING, that I wasn’t doing it ALL, that I was fallible.

What I struggled with as I was lowering my stress (aka the mountain of shit I heap on my head that I was trying to scrap off) — was redefining what I perceived as ACCEPTABLE.  What I accomplished that day,… was it something I could live with?  And it’s been a process.  A huge pendulum-swing path, one extreme to the other one extreme to the other, until gradually the bipolarness lessened. or maybe I learned my lesson.  (Imagine that.)  As my threshold lowered, my radar for bullshit got more sensitive.  I started to discern what I didn’t have a gene for, I needed to compensate.  Like losing one of your senses and having the properties of the other ones increase.  An example:  I’m recovering eating-disordered, I’ve mucked up my hunger-pang-instinct to the point where I basically don’t HAVE one.  I don’t associate “fullness” with the amount I’ve eaten, nor do I associate my LACK of eating with the possibility of mood-shifts.  Essentially my brain chemistry is fubar so I need to be a reasonable adult and figure it the fuck OUT.  I mean, how many times can the excuse “the gas gauge is broken” justify running out of gas in the middle of nowhere?  The phrase “howz that workin’ for ya” applies.  So yea, it took me awhile to realize that the propensity to take a crap-ton lot of pain and stress is NOT a talent! Muther of GAWD.

And you wanna know the best part of being “average” at performing SOME things?  …Is that I do not have to be any less fucking EXTRAORDINARY.



Sometimes Nothing IS Something

Posted: September 5, 2010 in theSlice

Coug & Pistol

Sometimes Nothing IS Something

I haven’t blogged in a minute.  I think about it every day.  I jot down ideas and start blurbing — but the seeds didn’t blossom.  There was a time when I would get down on myself when I went through lazy-phases but I shifted my attitude by leaving myself more open to things chemicalizing inside,… like the yeast in bread making it rise.  (Funny coming from someone who doesn’t eat yeast or gluten lol.)  An important aspect of creating is stepping back and assessing what you’re making… or letting the pieces parts fall into place.  Like resting for recovery after working-out — if you miss that facet, you’re toast.  Like giving yourself regroup time after a breakup — if you charge into the next thing you’ll probably ride back into the same groove.  I changed my thinking that it was ALL,… a part of the process, that not-writing was contributing to the eventual writing.  Some ideas just need to bake.

Time in a relationship is like that.  Sometimes you’re together, sometimes you’re not — but somehow the time passing does something to glue things better for the future.  The time invested puts a confidence in myself and the other person in how faith happens between us.  Proof of truth, nobility in action, reliability in what to expect, delight at being surprised.  Ultimately, we do what we can and then can only sit back to see what unfolds.  Life happens, and when I sit down at the computer, we’ll see what comes out of my fingertips.

I planted some lavender, rosemary, mint, & basil.  A huge tree fell down in my front yard.  I saw a hummingbird at a feeder my mom gave me.  I think I will do another Adventure Race.  I shredded a bunch of crap and threw away a shitload of junk.  I got a two presents in the mail.  I have my muscleup no problem but I think I lost my double-under.  I found all my notes from a screenplay I thought I lost when my laptop crashed.  I met Daisy Luna.  And I’m seriously crushing on a guy.

When you’re going from day to day it’s so easy to float along thinking nothing is going on.  We have come to think in terms of momentous occasions and tend to overlook the mundane.  In Anthony De Mello’s book Awareness, it’s about getting caught up in the daily regular stuff to witness the joy there and appreciate it, appreciate ourselves.  I derived a lot of self-satisfaction from making my little garden.  I made the special effort to go to a particular nursery and choose what I wanted.  The pots had been sitting there, dead.  My last foray ended in predictable outcome given my black-thumb tendencies — but I really wanted to try again.  I always love to pinch off a leaf and smell that savory aroma on my hands.  It just feels so earthy and naturey, breathing in that scent just reconnects me.  Now the pots are teeming with life and invitation.  When I come to my door, it’s the first thing I see — and it pleases me.  Pure ego, I smile because I made the effort to make my home welcoming to ME.  Please God help that shit to grow because I’m really trying HARD this time lol — and that’s all I have to do,… do my best then wait to see how the weather and seasons and time affect these plants.

I want to take a picture of that hummingbird for my mom.  She gave that red-bulb-sugar-thingy to me and I swear for a year it’s been hanging in that tree and I’ve never seen a freaking hummingbird at it EVER.  But I have a voicemail message saved from the other day when she called me whispering in the phone, “Kathy, (only family calls me Kathy), the hummingbird is here again… it’s there outside the window, it’s been coming about the same time the last few days,… I think it comes to visit me…” And yes, she is whispering, like the bird could overhear her or something — and I could picture exactly where she was standing, in the kitchen looking out the window, because I know where her feeder hangs.  She just had to call and share that moment with someone and it made me smile because it was me.  She’s a pain-in-the-ass but my mom is just so friggin’ CUTE.  And she made me and she loves me and I’ve seen her grow and change and TRY.  We have gone through some major ups & downs, so much grace, so much righteous fighting.  …And then maybe the same day, I was sitting outside and there was the hummingbird!  The first thing I wanted to do was call my mom.  How silly is that?  No really,… how perfect is that?  So now, I’ve been spending a little time every day sitting and waiting.  I’m not irked that I haven’t seen it again… I’m just kind of excited that when I do, and get the picture, I’ll give it to her and it will make her so happy.

I threw away a computer monitor.  I’m talking a gargantuan behemoth from when big was NOT good.   I’d been carting it to every place I moved thinking I was going to do something with it.  I mean, the flatscreen is so streamlined and light — but you’re SUPPOSED to refurbish or sell-on-ebay or bequeath it to the needy,… SOMETHING, right?  Well I got tired of staring at that thing and just said fuckit.  My landlord had put a bunch of stuff on the street after their not-so-successful garage sale, and when I found myself perusing THEIR junk to see if I needed anything to become MY junk, I mustered up the backbone to say NO THANK YOU, and then garnered up the resolve to add some of my crap to the pile.  I know people drive around in trucks just collecting this stuff, so I put a sign on the screen that said “yes this works, ENJOY” and left the rest to fate.  Within an hour it was gone and I was filled with HALLELUJAH(!) gladness.  I felt so much lighter just knowing that when I pack up and move to Beverly, that I would NOT have to lug that sucker around.  The relief to my lightness-in-being was worth more than the $12 I probably would’ve gotten for it.  Plus what I’ve gotten by releasing an anchor is I created a void for the universe to fill it with some new.

One of the best things on the planet is watching a baby grow.  You don’t make it do anything, you CAN’T.  You just be quiet and look at her and hold her and marvel at how tiny and wonderful her fingernails and ears are,… and you observe her taking in the world.  You watch her watching.   You wonder what she sees what she thinks, how things must look from her perspective.  It makes you think about your own life and that you used to be in a place like that, and now we walk through our day not noticing things.  Stopping for a moment to spend time with that new baby makes one realize the time we waste.  Because there is nothing more precious than doing nothing, with her.

So about this crush… Aren’t crushes just GREAT?!  They fill you with this shy zingyness inside, that you can’t really do anything about.  But you suddenly got the motivation to take care of business.  Contemplate how your body is, consider how your life looks from the outside in, daydream, fantasize.  I remember once a girl said about a boy paying attention to her, “He’s so sweet but I don’t really want to encourage him, I think he has a crush on me and I don’t have one on him, and I don’t want to hurt him.”  I said “Who are you to deny him his crush?”  I went on to say how I love that I’m secretly in-love with Keanu Reeves (not that he really counts, since he’s actually one of my soulmates that I think I will eventually end up with hehe) or Vin Diesel (whose birthday is in my outlook calendar 😉 — that I get a certain zestiness and spike in my creativity when I make-up scenarios in my mind for when we will meet and I’ll be the one for them and we’ll marry and live happily ever after.  And how limp would my fantasy-life be if they found out I had a crush on them and they said “don’t have a crush on me, it’s not allowed, I don’t have a crush on you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”  I mean puh-leese.  Movie-stars are put on this earth FOR us to have crushes on.  And I said to this girl, what harm would it do you or sweet-guy if he’s allowed to have his crush?  You should LOVE the idea of someone having a crush on you, you should relish it, CHERISH it.  How lucky are you to have someone moon over you?  It’s not leading him on.  You should enjoy it, not squelch it.  The energy of putting up a wall to repel his “like” seems cold & aloof really… to be not-receptive to his adoration just feels somewhat destructive.  I like it when someone LIKES me.  You should let him like you.   And like it.  So as crushes go, I think I have my act together.  I am reveling in this phase when I’m a little bit giddy and have butterflies.  He might not like-like me, but I’m okay with that for now, I don’t have to make it into something more — because this is about ME.  The dancey feeling inside that makes me want to do it on the outside.  The wishing he would call.  Smirking when I send a suggestive innuendo text and he reacts GOOD.  Feeling awe-shucks when he gives me compliments on my legs.  That is all about ME.  About being brighter inside and having it spill as happiness onto others.  Letting myself have this is not turning it into a full-blown dating scene.  We don’t even date, I’m just sighing from afar.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not unrequited — this is just the beginning waiting will-you-be-my-brother-or-lover phase.  Gotta make it through this one to get to the next.  So I am jigging-it-up with appreciating this new-ness of the IDEA of having someone in my life.  Having a crush is basically the foreplay of a relationship.  And right now, all I have to do,… is nothing.

So that’s what I’ve been doing lately… sitting back, letting things simmer.  I wonder what kind of soup destiny is going to give me.

Intimacy is Forged Through Conflict

Posted: August 10, 2010 in theSlice

Intimacy is Forged Through Conflict

My heart is hurting because a guy kicked me in the teeth for doing something he didn’t like.  Cut me off at the knees, no warning, no 3-strikes you’re out. Foregoing the debate as to whether the transgression was wrong or not, the situation brings up my introspection on the idea that resounds through my ache — that through conflict, intimacy is forged.

Breaking it down, all the words in that phrase are relative — through,… conflict,… intimacy,… and forged.

Our individual concepts of CONFLICT are based on our history and teachings — patterns, imprinting, bad/good-habits, desire to be better.  Conflict is running 5k and feeling like shit yet doing it anyways and ending up stronger.  Conflict is having a friend tell you you’re being an ass and you realizing they’re right.  Conflict is wanting to do the wrong thing.  Conflict is feeling lost and having to learn how to ask for help. Conflict is letting-go of the self-imposed rigidity of being everything to everyone and giving yourself permission to take care of you.  Regardless of whether it’s physical, emotional, or mental, they are opportunities for self-growth, which basically I believe translates to spiritual.  The PERCEPTION of conflict is almost more important than the actual reality of whether it’s true or not.  If we feel stress/strife/struggle/indecision/paralyzed/onslaught… it’s a conflict. How we react or respond to it (being two separate actions),… how we feel about it, what we DO about it,… how we resolve it and how we grow from it (learn), is the ULTIMATE truth.  Do we avoid it at all costs, run (hide)? Do we stand and face it boldly, deal with our situation? Do we repress it and pretend like everything’s okay or not-happening? Do we deflect, joke, retaliate, reject?

FORGED is what I’d like to think, a warrior term — we are made noble and honorable when we authentically deal with adversity.  To make a sword, metals are amalgamated, melted, pounded, folded, then cooled — to become something sharp and stable, able to defend,… or maim.  It isn’t about the instrument it’s about how it is wielded. It isn’t about being metal, it’s about the fact that it had to go through a PROCESS — to become, transform, into something… potential. Meaning it’s not about my killing you that stops war, it’s about your perceived threat of deadliness that that will. And true power isn’t about pushing it on you, it’s about us having a mutual respect that it’d just be dumb for us to go at it because I might end up losing an arm (even if I end up winning the argument.)  A person secure in their own right feels no need to impose their will on you, but to live peacefully because it is the right thing to do.  They learn this from mistakes, they learn this from growing up, they learn this because it’s just nicer to have people love you, not fear you. Forged,… is what happens after complications turn into a rich blend of serene coexistence. That means, I might be Sybil, but once I grasp that all those different pieces within me are still me,…accept the unacceptable and be okay with it.

INTIMACY is a tricky one. To steal from a wise teacher of mine, it is “into me, see.” Similar to muscular ability, it is something weak or strengthened, atrophied or powerful. It is a pain in the ass to let the real me out, it is accompanied by the angst of letting you see it, judge it.  And pain is conflict.

THROUGH — is that place that none of us feel we’ll make it to the other side. The one beyond whatever wonderful gift-of-an-ordeal the universe has determined will be the best thing to make us grow.  For many, for me, even positive-appearing things cause disturbance. Too much of a good thing makes that scared(and scarred)-kid-inside wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. A lot of blessing coming in one whack, we feel overwhelmed and unworthy… untrusting. Why is this happening to me, what have I done to deserve this? Have some BAD shit conflict come your way it’s always difficult to grasp that in TIME, it might be the most righteous thing that ever happened to you.  You have to make it through it — to get it. (Experience is that thing you get right AFTER you need it.)

When we’re caught up in a world alone, we decide things from a chorus of voices inside us — ego, instinct, reprimanding-parent, petulant-child, kicked-dog — contradictory dreams affect our history and tap us in different directions in a maze. We become confused as to which voice is OURS… muddling trapped between the parts,… the angelic, the retaliating self-protecting fear, the adult, the demon.  All of those… are in me.  But the discerning guideline I’ve coaxed from the braid is… is it based in LOVE? Am I doing this, kicking you, because it’s based in love? Am I watching out for me because it’s based in love, or trying to teach you a lesson? Am I striking out because you hit too close to home and I don’t want to see the truth? Am I breaking up with you because I am afraid that I’m not a big enough person to see it through? Am I running because you’re not-good for me, or am I staying because I don’t have the guts to leave? Am I simply unequipped to handle the throes of intimacy so I have to push you away? Am I afraid of love because I’ve never had it before so I don’t know what I’m dealing with.

Ask yourself — is it based in LOVE.

I had a traumatic childhood (my perception) and I’ve learned self-defense-mechanisms to survive. Growing up meant that I had to learn the difference of when NOT to apply those tactics when it was NOT a matter of survival, but rather an echo of my own fear. (I will never ever EVER let anyone do this to me again or make me FEEL this way again because it was bad and wrong and who cares if you’re not the person who did it to me.) I have made vows to not let anyone close — let ‘em in, and they could strike a death blow.  Keep ‘em at a distance, they might not be able to do so much harm.  But keeping away the POSSIBILITY of love… now that one… that’s damaging to ME.  The possibility of love through closeness means I have to get over my damn self, my damn FEARS, risk rejection, risk pain, risk embarrassment — so that maybe I might find an ally, a friend.  So that maybe I might BE a friend.  In order for me to be a person that you might trust and rely, I have to ante up — and allow you to be that for me.  Sounds contradictory, huh?  But nowhere on this earth, have I learned that God has a “get one to give one” policy.  You show me you love me FIRST, then I’ll return the favor.  You trust me FIRST, then I’ll show you I am trustworthy.  You be a good person FIRST, then I’ll be good. NoooOOooo, he likes to fuck with our heads and do it ass-backward.  The universe has always rewarded those who follow law-of-attraction — give what you want to get, BE who/what you want to receive.

I grew up with the intense fear that anyone who found out what I was really like, would leave me. They would run away in disgust, screaming. I tried to do the self-fulfilling-prophecy thing for awhile, but yea, that didn’t work out so good. I was saved by people who for some stupid REASON, decided that I was a redeeming person worth loving, worth KNOWING… and I started to believe that I was worthy.  Worthy to contribute, worthy to participate, worthy to have a voice, worthy to make mistakes — worthy to not be so afraid of rejection and abandonment all the time,… that I.  Could stick around through the pretty and the ugly — to see where it would go.

My real friends saw my heart underneath the bad behavior.  My real friends made their mind up to give me chance, after chance, after chance — even when I wouldn’t have wanted to give me another chance.  My real friends saw me for me and accepted it even when I couldn’t.  My real friends had enough balls to tell me when they knew I was screwing up.  Every moment of those instances were CONFLICT.  I lived through them, WE lived through them.  I didn’t DIE when someone saw the real me.  Our relationship grew from what we knew of each other, our trust and faith grew, our love grew.  I am not even halfway through my life and the most important thing I have learned?  Is that I KNOW nothing.  It is love that saves me.

To the guy who kicked me I bless you and release you to your fate that you will make.  I am an amazing woman — someone worth knowing.  You will not reap the benefit of this, but my friends do.  You wanna know how I know this?  Because they tell me.  And I trust my real friends.


Posted: August 1, 2010 in theSlice

Still trying to learn how to add that ‘add to facebook’ button thingy and widgets and SEO and blah, blah, blah.  I wonder who I gotta sleep with to teach me that crap.  But here’s a poem to keep you occupied…

The things that move me reside in my heart.  …Loudly singing, vehemently protesting, quietly mournful,… still in the wake.
I ride the burn-off slinging me into the countdown of a race. The starting line is not a place I thought it was, and the finish is nowhere I dreamed it would be.  Yet here I am, catapulted to a place of the future I’ve made.  It whispers to me, the things I recall — it screams to me the things I have learned.  All the me’s I have been, conglomerated into the facade of what the world wants to see, but deep within the eye of the storm I am really want I want to be.
I remember you.  I remember the you I thought I fit.  I remember the way it was and the way it was not.  I remember the girl I laid to rest. I remember the boy who never was.  I remember the life I thought I would have — and what does it matter?  As long as I have the life I was meant?


Welcome to a Piece of My Mind

Posted: September 24, 2009 in theSlice

Welcome to CrossFitCougMuscleup