Small Steps

Posted on June 24, 2012 by kyra333

Today is July 5th 2009 and at 2:30pm it is the one year anniversary of me pulling into San Diego from New York. There have been lots of changes in this past year, good, bad and everything else on life’s spectrum. Last August I started a list I keep on my refrigerator. At the time I was looking for work, struggling with my weight, trying to get my certification transferred from NY and plugging along in writing. I was not doing well on any fronts and weeks were going by and I was getting nowhere with anything. I had been walking every morning then added a little running to get my pulse up when my boyfriend an athlete encouraged me to enter a race he was doing in Balboa, a 5k. He said that “I could walk or walk and run do whatever I could to get over the line at the end.” I had never participated in any kind of race so I signed up and thought “why not.” The Sunday of the race I walked, ran and hobbled my way as fast as I could and was exhilarated at the end. The Monday after the race I was feeling loserish again I was frustrated and feeling stuck. It dawned on me over my 12th cup of coffee that I was making progress in some ways and needed to expand my definition of success, I needed something to feel good about so The List was born. The reality of it was I was doing new things, things that scared and challenged me, things that made me uncomfortable so even though I couldn’t get an interview for a job, lose weight faster or write a decent sentence I did finish my first race. So, I put a sheet of legal paper on my refrigerator and drew a star at the top like they did in grade school and wrote underneath it “finished my first race 8/09” on the first line.

I planned to add every new thing I accomplished on the page and shoot for a minimum of one a month. It gave me a focus to continue looking for new experiences to keep working at my big goals, and celebrate the small steps I could along the journey. It has been fun and frustrating documenting my life this way. As the year went on some things got better, I finished my book in October, ran my first mile, got an interview and a job and dropped a few sizes due to weight loss. On the downside shortly after moving here my long term relationship slid into a tail spin that was not recoverable. Turns out I was the only one who wanted to be in a relationship, ouch.  I was alone and heartsick in a new town without a job and had very few acquaintances. The List forced me out into the world to try things, go places, and push myself. In the beginning it was pure physical accomplishments, the race and the first mile. Then, I decided I wanted balance and worked on switching it up. So came the finishing of my book, reading my poetry in public, and even flying internationally alone for the first time which was spooky. Things didn’t have to be big just had to be something new, a way I stepped out. I started practicing yoga and signed up for classes. Another month had added to my page that I conquered the side plank.  First time to theGrand Canyonand first solo road trip where a nice twofer. When I had screwed up my courage to sign on to a dating site to put myself out there again I documented it. When I had my first date in almost 5 years I put it up there too. Each small step to being whole, centered, somewhat sane got a line.

I am a contradiction if nothing else and not very consistent or disciplined so this seemed to work for me. I needed a way to feel like I was moving forward and focus on what I did achieve rather than what I had not done yet. A small distinction true, but the result exceeded all expectations. I had accomplished feats I had been working on for years and years. Who knew? Some things I celebrated was important, other times capricious but I didn’t care I had done it and I wanted credit. One month my addition to The List was I dropped my cholesterol 35 points to text book numbers; the next month I added I tried chocolate covered bacon at the Del Mar Fair. I was making sure I covered the full spectrum from the life milestones to the bizarre one offs. It’s almost time to change the sheet of paper on the refrigerator and take on a new year. It seems that taking small steps, making progress through, in and around the good, the bad and the fattening is the sum total of a life well lived. Cheers!

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Unraveling Down the Road

Posted on June 24, 2012 by kyra333

There are times when I find myself in a spot I had not anticipated. Where the wisdom of someone older and wiser would have helped immensely avoid some of the pitfalls I was spending a lot of time crawling out of. Sometimes I actually do know better but think I am being overly cautious so I forge ahead to the spot in the road where things start to unravel. Then I think, “ah this was what I was afraid of, this could be embarrassing, a career limiting move, cause injury, or some permanent psychological damage.”

It has been pointed out to me recently that my toes all look like they are trying to flea my feet. It was not said exactly like that but the gist of the comment was along the lines of my unnatural angled toes looked better in closed toe shoes rather than the cute open toed sandals I was sporting. My toes are very long and my years of rushing about and miscalculating the placement of solid objects has not been kind to them. They are splayed out like the hair of a new wave singer in the 80’s. That doesn’t mean every three to four weeks I don’t like to go for a pedicure tarting them up with bright lacquers and try to manage the overall build up of hoof on my foot.

I live in a great neighborhood inSan Diegowhere I can walk to almost anything that I need. One of which is a wonderful nail shop with talented brave young women who manage the overall build up of said hoof. I know enough when I traipse down there to wear sandals but I don’t have a pair of flip flops or sandals that leave all the toes untouched so’s not to mess up the wet polish when it’s over. I usually sit and wait for my toes to dry reading a magazine, watch passers by and sip my tea and chill out till it’s time to put my sandals on and wander home. This isCalifornia; laid back I am adjusting to this lifestyle as I am fromNew York–my people are not known for being laid back. We are kind of a whirl wind of activity which nets us a lot of crankiness in the end.

Last weekend I made my monthly pilgrimage to Lulu’s and choose a lovely tomato red polish. I received my usual excellent pedicure and went to sit and wait for my toes to dry. As I sat I became antsy thinking about all I wanted to do when I walked that 5 blocks home. I was wearing those thin disposable spa-flips flops you get after a pedicure. I remembered as I sat there that I had seen some people wear them out; I had seen them trundle off back to their day. Looking at my wisp of a sandal I thought, “well hell it’s only 4-5 blocks home, I will just walk slowly and I’ll be fine.” I started out the door and realized these sandals had only one speed it was not only slow but shuffle slow. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk I could feel the heat of the concrete radiate up through the thin sole into the bottom on my now baby smooth feet.  I thought “ok these things are flimsy at best I need to be really careful.”  As I began to walk I became aware of my feet starting to sweat from the heat which was making my sandals slippery. I shuffled slower, lower and more carefully looking at every step, any uneven surface made my feet slide in the sandal. I had not yet come to the point where I thought this was not a good idea, I was still problem solving the terrain and trying my best to work with the sub par equipment some of which was my brain.

Then I looked up and I noticed that people on the sidewalk were not making eye contact with me and were all but looking away as I got close. This did not register at first as I was continuously looking down for rogue leaves, dog poo and uneven patches that were now the bane of my existence. I finally knew with certainty that this journey was a mistake one block into it. This long coming realization hit when the toilet paper substance wrapped around each toe to keep them separate for painting started to unravel. I looked down helplessly as it unraveled from the smallest straightest toe of the lot and started to drag a few inches behind me. With each step I took it unraveled a little more. It would not be retucked no matter how hard I tried. People continued to not meet my gaze and they had started to give me a very wide berth on the sidewalk.

I had now fully acquired the look of an escaping mental patient. The flight of the loon was mine to claim. There was no fix for this. I had to just keep staring at the ground and shuffle as fast as my sweat soaked, toilet paper trailing, spa-flip flop clad feet would go.  A small detail dawned on me toward the end of my journey home. Something so small yet so significant I had missed it, all of the people I had seen leave the shop with this inadequate footwear had keys in their hands. Ah yes that small detail was a killer, as escaping mental patients who drive rarely have toilet paper trailing the car which never garners a second glance. Drat.

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Bubble of Fear

Posted on June 24, 2012 by kyra333

There are times in my life when I look back to where my fear of what might happen was so strong it dominated reason, biology, and eclipsed reality. That bubble of nerves sat getting bigger and pressed up inside me to a point where I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was all about what might happen if…

I was raised catholic so every Sunday morning I was drug out of bed put in an itchy crinoline skirt; my mom slapped a doily on my head keeping it in place with a bobby pin. Then we were off to church, my sisters and I clutching cold pieces of toast. For Easter we went bigger. Easter meant puffy matching dresses and a parade of bad hats with plastic flowers in an array of pastel colors. I didn’t like much about church but what I did like was the garb of the guys up front, the swinging ball of incense, and the chanting. I loved the ritual and ceremony, the early morning calisthenics like Simon Says, sit, kneel stand, sit, stand, sing eat the body of Christ, kneel. As young as I was I didn’t buy into what was behind it, it seemed more like showbiz.

Sitting on hard high polished wooden pews with bare legs or stockings led to perpetually rutching around to get comfortable which never happened. It also led to one of my larger childhood fears, farting in church. Just the idea I would do it made for a cheek clenching fight of holding back the imaginary bubble that would cause my death by embarrassment. Now I knew I wouldn’t really die of embarrassment in church but I certainly would by the back of my mothers hand in the parking lot toot sweet after the service. Week after week I would clench in moments of silent prayer both internal and external and relax just a little during the hymns. I managed to make it through those years without the incident occurring.

That said my imaginary bubble waiting to escape has appeared in many arenas as I grew up. Yes I understand it is nerves but that does not negate the fact that it’s there and I would still die from embarrassment had it appeared in those job interviews, airplane and elevator rides and first time sexcapades with someone new. It seems now at 47 I have added another venue to the list. This venue is a place like church where the hard polished wood acoustics, chanting, incense brings the acute flash of crinoline, doilies and dread. Only this venue requires lyrca and mats, it is a yoga studio.

I am not a nimble person. Not particularly athletic, coordinated or balanced. I am tall, six foot one; I am also top heavy in a stripperesque style via a generous mother nature. I would have killed in vaudeville. Now I just buy expensive bras due to the specialized engineering to keep the girls up. God bless those diligent engineers.  I walk and run most days to keep fit. I wanted to add a strength component to my workout; I especially wanted to strengthen my core which is that of the Michelin Man currently.  I have always wanted to learn yoga. I have bought DVD’s and tried them at home. I have also taken a variety of short community center classes in varies states I have lived. Many of these classes were years ago when yoga that was taught was primarily a gentle, stretchy, meditative yoga with grey haired sweat suit wearing nana’s. These days we have all varieties of yoga, many still have the old elements of meditation and stretch but now they have morphed to strength sweat inducing full body workouts. This was what I was looking for!

When I moved toSan Diego’sSouthParkneighborhood I saw a great little yoga studio called Ginseng that was only 7 blocks from my house. I poked my head in the store and it was warm, small and welcoming. At the time I was about 30lbs heavier and not ready for any kind of body hugging clothing class. I also did not see to many patrons and the ones I did see were svelte and willowy. Yikes, I went to Target and got some more DVD’s to practice to get ready for the day when I could try a class. It was not an unusual occurrence that I would fall ass of tea kettle in trying to twist my body in a simple pose. I have carpet so there was just a nice dull thud, then a groan from me. I really did not want to do this on a hardwood floor with witnesses.

So over the months every once in awhile I would pull out the DVD’s for 20, 30 even 40 minutes at a clip and do what I could with at least one bounce per session. I got a little familiar with poses and the language so I felt good about that. As I whittled my weight down I still had yoga in the back of my head. When Spring Break came I took off on a road trip to theGrand Canyon. I needed a change in scenery and felt the need to wander. It was perfect.  When I was on the road a friend of mine who does his own form of yoga at home checked into a great deal at Ginseng the studio near my house. He found that if you are a first timer to the studio you could buy an unlimited yoga class pass for 10 consecutive days. Each day as I traveled I got reports on which class he took, what the teacher was like and rave reviews for the place. By the end of my road tip I knew I had screwed my courage up to try the introductory offer. I was anxiety ridden the night before but if he could do it, and said they were nice folks, then so could I. As a side note this guy is an athlete, competitive, tone, strong and very fit. You just want to hate him, and occasionally I do.

The morning I went I met Gale the woman at the desk I let her know I was very nervous as I bought the pass. She was great, very kind, funny and helpful. My first class was a very stretchy, gentle class. I was nervous I would fall, I was nervous I would take out a row of people when I fell and cause injury, but I was most nervous of was a well placed fart. I was in church again. That first class I took with my cheeks so clenched I am sure half the sweat of the workout came from the glutes being engaged for 75 minutes solid. Unlike church there are not hymns in yoga and the chanting is only for a minute or two in the beginning. I broke out in a full body sweat towards the end of class when we did shoulder stands; inversion is the invitation for bubble trouble. The bubble and been pressing all class. I could only half hear what the instructor said due to the debate in my head on which tact would work; blaming it on the guy next to me or ignore it and look around bewildered.  I got up into the shoulder stand and out of it without incident. I made it through the first class successfully but had 9 more days and lots of opportunity stretched out in front of me.

I worried and obsessed for that 9 days taking a class almost daily. When they were up I bought a 20 class pass and worried for a few more classes. Then it was gone, the bubble, the nerves, the fear. This is huge since I eat my share of bean burritos. I said earlier that there were times in my life when I look back where my fear of what might happen was so strong it dominated reason, biology, and eclipsed reality. When I was younger I would avoid situations because of this. As I got older I knew that sometimes the “what if’s” were fiction. When they weren’t fiction I didn’t die of embarrassment I had a funny story to tell when it was over. It gave me laugh lines, confidence and a sterling sense of humor about life. Now really that a whole lot of goodness to get out of a fart isn’t it?

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Poor Choices

Posted on June 24, 2012 by kyra333

It’s not all my fault, that’s my story and I am sticking to it. The spring board to my maiming and woeful miscalculation was Oprah and her damn O magazine. I was innocently sitting reading a copy that a friend had given me sipping some bitter but good for me green tea when I paused on an article about picking out glasses for the shape of your face. No matter how they described the steps on how to determine if you have an oval, square, heart shaped face, I can’t see where I fit on their charts.  First off I got a cheek on me and they are ever so slightly heading south.  At some point in my future I will be able to hide small children in the folds. I know this to be true by looking at my mother. She looks like a Sharpee. My only saving grace is I don’t like the sun so I am holding out that I will stave off the jowls from Turner and Hoochdom till my 70’s. Of course then I will still be wearing my hair flaming red so people will be catching that eye pop “glamour don’t” first. After reading the article I ponder the options of shapes they talk about: square, oval, heart, round, club, what have you. I go into my bathroom and stand there pushing my bangs off my face and study my mug, finally I gave up on the shape and took a good hard look at my face.

Just the act of trying to see what I have going on is a problem because I am blind as a bat, I wear contacts plus readers. Honestly, I am steps from a dog and a stick kind of blind. To add to that attractive quality, I have a hearing deficiency. Not that I need sonar to gauge my reflection, but then again, maybe it would help. I mostly hear folks mumble and take a wild guess at what they are saying. Not good in social situations. My beau keeps waiting on the mute part to kick in along with the existing blind and deafness so he can claim me as a true trifecta of girlfriends. I recently bought a magnifying mirror; they really should put some kind of warning on that for women who are over 40 who have never used one. I pulled it out of its velvet bag and decided to use that to take a look at the aging process. Whoa, I had no idea the face I had been shepherding around looked a lot like a Thomas’s English muffin filled with all those nooks and crannies. No wonder women talk about putting on makeup with putty knives. The mirror would help however when I need to find my eyelid to put some eyeliner on, not using it for this makes me do bad things with tiny inky brushes that have a very Japanese art effect.  So the mirror can only help me appear saner to the world and less kabuki.

Staring in the mirror I think, “Hum I should pluck a few stray brows now that I have that magnifier mirror.” On a side note here I rarely tweeze my brows. They are a decent shape and size and when I have had them waxed they only change them a little. A clean up you might say. As I am thinking of doing my own clean up on the brows the phone rings and the beau, oh yea he has a part in this too, says dinner will be closer to 6:45 instead of 6:00 at his house tonight. Ok more time to putz it seems. I hang up and wander back to the bathroom. Granted I am not thinking too much about the 2.2lbs I went up at Weight Watchers, the note from the unemployment folks inNew YorkStatesaying “You quit a perfectly good job and moved toSan Diegowhich is more expensive so you are on your own babe.” Nor am I thinking about the 40 odd resumes and applications for jobs I have filled out over the last 3 and ½ weeks with not one interview. And definitely not about the hours and hours I spent on the phone in the purgatory of holding for the California Credential Board andCountyOfficeof Education only to be told, “We don’t know when you will be certified inCalifornia. Send your documentation in and we’ll get back to you in 50 days.” I wasn’t really thinking of any of this when I picked up the tweezers; and thought “Maybe I can do a little clean up. Maybe if I tidy up the stray hairs on my brow I would feel better, more confident. Less like a fuck up loser who can’t land an interview, lose weight or collect slacker unemployment.”

The answer is no. I can not. I, it seems do not see well enough to be handling tweezers even with a magnifying mirror that is as strong as the Hubble Telescope. The basic problem was I had trouble seeing where exactly the root of the brow was, and the effect of pulling said eyebrow hair till after it was gone. It took me a few tries to realize this however. I started around what I thought were the edges and circled in, that might be a good plan in ground war but in eyebrow maintenance it was not. Oops. Oh fuckity fuck me what I found out is there is no way to even out your brows to make them look normal when you have butchered one eye. I knew I had to try to have them match just a little so’s not to look like that half man half woman at the freak show. I tried to do damage control but I spun out and hit the wall bursting into flames and put the tweezers down. This was bad, this was women paid professionals.  Finally with a sigh of resignation I resorted to another tactic.  I took out an old eye brow pencil in the attempt to make the wisps seem more, uh, well just more really. This mostly ended with me looking a lot like Edith Piaf. At the time of writing this I have gone for the Moe. I was still working the pencil and was getting a little close to Joan Crawford and a very surprised look when I came upon the idea of the Moe. Yes Moe, as in the Three Stooges fame. For those unfamiliar with bad hair and those who sport it, I have combed what short spiky bangs I had over the now very thin wisps of what used to be my eyebrows. I didn’t know how long it takes eyebrows to grow back; I do know I will not be picking up a tweezers or the magnifying mirror to be doing anything that can’t be washed off with soap and water for a long time. I can’t be trusted to tidy anything just yet so I have sworn off neatness in favor of a more musical approach. Let it be, which strangely enough also made use of the Moe.

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Hello

Posted on June 24, 2012 by kyra333

Yep that’s it, hello…. oh yea, and welcome!

I hope you find some laughter, lightness and who knows dare I say insight to what you were looking for when you happened this way. Then again it ain’t a bad way to take a load off and look busy.

Cheers,

Kyra Freeburg

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