My Life in Yoga Pants, Part 1 (because I'm pretty sure there will be a Part 2)

Last year I turned 42 and discovered things change.  You ladies of a certain age know what I'm talking about.  Life changes.  Those changes.  After months of health problems and vague diagnoses a provider suggested I try some progesterone therapy.  Seemed like a wonder drug when I asked after the benefits: decreasing ever increasing mood swings (want-to-rip-someone's-head-off-mood-swings), cycle regulation, and other things I won't even mention here- all can be helped.  Interesting...  So I thought, "why not?"  We are fortunate to have a compounding pharmacy in our town and several friends and acquaintances had already suggested I check it out.  So I did.

Two months later I was on progesterone cream and it has helped all of the above and more.  But one thing not mentioned during the consultation was the possibility of weight gain.  Holy buckets (yes, I watch The Voice; sue me).  I have steadily gained 2-3 pounds each month while on the hormones.  Which means I now weigh more than I ever have in my life.  Disconcerting for someone who pays more than a bit of attention to the number on the scale.  And wreaking a bit of havoc on the wardrobe especially since just a year ago I weighed the least I have in quite some time.

Enter yoga pants. 

Ahhh, the wonders of yoga pants.  Comfortable.  Able to stretch to accommodate all sizes.  And still look somewhat stylish.

Many of you know I'm a coach and consultant so I am one of the fortunate millions who make my own schedule.  I balance work with the care and demands of a 7-year-old and volunteer/house/life stuff.  Lately (good timing with the holidays) I've had lots of custom writing jobs which means work but less face-to-face time with clients.  

Enter yoga pants.  

It's a little scary how often I've worn yoga pants in the last two weeks.  Even a  little distressing to me.  I suppose I should just be thankful for the flexibility that my recent schedule has allowed but I can't help wonder (worry?) if I'm backsliding a bit.  Relaxing my standards.  What's next?  Pajamas?

The End of Civility

Beware- this is another rant, which- now that I think about it- might be in direct contradiction to the whole message of this post.  But so be it.

Yesterday, my mother and I took my daughter to see her first pseudo-production of the Nutcracker.  Basically, it was the second act minus the pretty swan boats and dreamy prince.  It was produced by her dance company and we were all excited.  The night before, in reviewing the tickets, I realized that it was not being held at the high school performance space where previous recitals had been staged but, instead, at the local rec center.  Really?  Ballet at the rec center?  I was dubious about those two phrases even belonging in the same context but we went.  Enthusiastically.

When we got there, we soon realized that the performance would be held in a community room of a space and all the seats were flat on the floor.  Meaning, that if you're shorter than 5 foot you can't see anything but backs and heads seated past the first five rows.  Big bummer.  Especially to someone whose age is in single digits and whose height equals approximately 46 inches. 

After struggling with the where-to-sit-to-see conundrum, we decided on the back row where my daughter could scoot her chair somewhat out into the aisle.  Her dance teacher from last year was there with her two daughters and thought that this was a fabulous idea and proceeded to do the same.  We had created a midget seating section with unobstructed views, not bothering anyone.  Or so we thought.

No sooner had we gotten the girls settled, a woman- A FULL ON ADULT WOMAN- scooted her chair into the aisle as well and then started complaining that the girls were blocking her view.  Really?  You are going to complain about being obstructed by a 5, 7, and 8 year old in the back row?  I gave her a bit of stink eye and simply stated, "really? they're so short."  She looked ticked but complained no more.  However, the exchange left a really bad taste in my mouth.  What is wrong with our culture when, instead of thinking first of letting a group of girls enjoy a performance and perhaps experiencing just a bit of inconvenience, her thought was "what about me?" 

And don't even get me started on all the Black Friday shopping stories.  At least no one was killed this year, at least that I heard of.  I blame my recent pessimistic view of the world on a viewing of Contagion which outlined in horrendous detail what would happen if there was a shortage of resources (those who saw it know what I'm talking about).  But, really, whatever happened to common civility?  I'm worried.

Checking Out

This is from a few weeks ago but I wanted to post it because it was such a valuable thing for me to pay attention to...

Every once in a while it's good to check out.  Ignore the texts and emails.  Ignore the work due and deadlines approaching.  Ignore the dust bunnies scrambling around the house and just check out.  I was recently reminded of this.


Last week, due to a combination of a light schedule and a touch of stomach bug, my daughter and I had a day at home.  It. was. awesome.  We have a pretty full schedule around here regularly: school, dance classes, play dates, camp, swim lessons, art classes... oh, and let's not forget running my own business and other work.  Oy.  I'm getting a headache just reading that list.  Like it or rue it, it's our life for now.


But getting back to that awesome day last week.  I woke up, wasn't feeling great and had a bit of a slow start to the morning.  Mid-morning, my daughter suggested we do a little scrap booking, something I had been wanting to do recently but never got around to squeezing it in.  One hour led to another.  We had an incredible time- being creative together, listening to music, talking.  So great!


After, we had a little lunch, watched some junk T.V., and did some other not-too-urgent things.  It was totally rejuvenating.  All I could think was, "why don't I do this more often?"  Really, why?

Today... July 10th

They say that you don't fully grow up until you lose a parent.  Fortunately, I've not had that experience yet.  But I've had another kind of experience and today I mark that anniversary- the death of a dear, dear friend; my soul sister.  Megan Burness Yin died four years ago today at the age of 37 (www.lifestorynet.com/memories/38214).  She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2004 when eight months pregnant.  She dodged and wove her way through four years of treatment, mastectomy, spread, more treatment... all while giving birth and raising, the best she could, her beautiful daughter.  She wanted to make it to her daughter's fifth birthday and died four months short of that goal.  She was an awesome, crazy, fighter.  And she spent a lot of time lifting up others when she was in the chemo room, even though feeling like crap herself. 

She was indescribable.  So I won't try to do so here.  I did a lot of growing up in those years, sorry that that particular experience took me on that journey.  I miss her every single day and it's not gotten any easier, as "they" say.  I'm including below the words I shared at her funeral.  Doesn't do her quite the justice that I wanted it to; how can it ever?  But, today is all about Megan.

I would venture to say that every single person who has met Megan has a unique story about her, how she touched his or her life.  I’d like to share some of my Megan gifts with you.

I met Megan in graduate school at Case Western Reserve University.  Specifically, my first clear memory of her is meeting in the coatroom of the Cleveland Museum of Art, which isn’t quite as bizarre as it sounds since the Master’s program in Art History was housed at the Museum and they graciously provided two rows of the coatroom where we had the privilege of stashing all our stuff between classes.  

We bonded over a mini-crisis but soon discovered we had much more in common.  We shared a love of all things art, music, popular culture-  did you know you can have an intellectual conversation about who is the hottest guy on Homicide? 

We shared a passion for museum education, fashion, shopping... we almost shared a birthday … too many things to mention today.  Megan was fortunate to have an outstanding sister in Amanda.  I did not and Megan was my sister.

Our experiences- from the mundane to the life-changing- are, again, too many to mention.  We shared countless trips- complete with mix tapes- both as single gals on the road and as mothers.  We enjoyed concerts together… especially that Hall and Oates/Carly Simon gig at Blossom.  And other time together… movies at the Cedar Lee, trips to Tommy’s, a birthday party at the Lakewood apartment shared with Deb, porch nights in Oberlin, just hanging out … Watching her meet and become enamored with Jordan… and be joyfully awed by the miracle of Evan.

She taught me things.  How to be a better writer as I read her graduate papers for typos.  How to make the perfect Greek salad- she almost had me eating red onions.  How to make moves to new cities and new lives.  How to perfectly shop for and give the “combo gift”, a collection of little significant tidbits that, combined, made just about the most thoughtful and meaningful gift in the world for the recipient.  That skill should be copy written to her.  She taught me how to be a more courageous person as I saw her take career and life opportunities that seemed so brave to me.  And she kicked butt in every single one.

The last time I saw Megan we had a really interesting conversation about afterlife- the possibility of… and the possibility of visits by those who had gone on, maybe in the form of an animal companion or some other.  I hope I have the good fortune to be visited by Megan.  I know she will always be in my mind.  But, if she does visit, maybe it will be as the sun.  She pulled everyone closer with her radiance, warmth, and brilliance.  She might be a little mystified, or at least unaware of that effect and pull.  Perhaps thinking she was a little unworthy for such accolades.  Which we all know she wasn’t. 

I will think of her as the sun because she will always be present and close, shining brightly, warmly into my life and casting her light around.

 

A Gift

So the gratitude thing isn't going so well. I wish I could say I've been faithfully recording my three items every night... but I haven't. But what I have been noticing more frequently are the other gifts in my life. That's sort of related to gratitude, right?

Here's what I've been noticing: Nature. It helps that I live on a ravine and the views out of the kitchen windows are trees and a creek. You think it would be easy to notice the nature. Not necessarily so. But I've been working with my friend Nancy Nicholas lately in creating a better space and practice of meditation. And she has made it easy. A master at helping to create that practice with ease because, trust me, it has never come easy. Next to "monkey mind" in the dictionary, is my picture. It's working! Not only in my meditation time but all other times too. Those animal totems are popping up everywhere. Lizards... herons... deer... Lots of messages. They bring me both peace and direction. And the mild winter we had didn't do any harm to my nature spirits, raising them immensely.

Helping others. This has been the greatest gift of all to me given my chosen line of work. I spend a lot of time working and concentrating on providing good service and being of help to others. But what I rarely do is notice how it affects me. Well, I've been noticing lately. And what I'm noticing is how much fulfillment it gives me to help others. Especially through my work. There are a ton of ways I can help someone in a job search and, let's face it, most (all?) of my clients come to me because they are seeking help. Pretty easy. More and more recently, I have been overcome by a feeling of goodwill when I am able to provide this support. It's quite a shot of oxygen.

A word about helping... we have an extremely interesting dissonance in our culture around the issue of helping. For the most part, we all like to help others, right? Yet asking for help is one of the most difficult things for us to do. So there are a bunch of people sitting around ready, willing- wanting-, and able to help... and a bunch of people who need help but are too afraid to ask. I try to impress upon clients, when they are feeling shy about asking for a reference or a networking favor, that people like to do things for other people. Enjoy that. Use that. Lately, my attempt at remedying this situation has been trying to anticipate when others might need help. (Are any of you picturing the overzealous Boy Scout trying to help the old lady across the street; the one she doesn't want to cross?) And offering help before being asked.

I want to get back to the gratitude but, for now, gifts might need to take the place of gratitude.

Aging Gracefully?

You knew this post was coming sooner or later. And here it is! 42 has been my year of aging, and not so gracefully. I guess I knew it was coming as well- the aging part, I mean- but up until the last couple of years, I really felt like I was stuck physically at about age 28. Which was a decent place to be stuck. Not so, this past year. I have begun moving through the aging process with lightening speed.

Childbirth diminishes the body.  I don't care what anybody says about your body bouncing back, getting better with age. It's not true.  Sure those little buggers will give you a ton of joy.  But they will also wreck your body and wear you down.

Then there are all the weird aches and pains that start once you hit 40.  It's like they just appear overnight.  And don't get me started on the other weird sensations and things that even doctors don't even know how to classify.  Oh, how much I have learned this year about seeking out all the answers.  Sometimes it's just better not to know.  Ignorance is bliss.  Remember that, all you 30-year-olds out there.

But aches and pains, weird sensations aside, it is better.  I do feel wiser.  Life is very good after coming out on the other side of weird health things.  And my husband said just about the nicest thing to me the other day- "I really like your gray hair.  It looks cool."  How lucky am I? 

Holy Interrobang

Speaking of dictionary.com, I ran across this little word the other day when I was writing my gratitude post: interrobang. There's a little pop-up feature on the website that asks if you know what a word means. Anyone know what that little bad boy means? I didn't either so I hit the link. And this is what it says:

noun

a printed punctuation mark (‽), available only in some typefaces, designed to combine the question mark (?) and the exclamation point (!), indicating a mixture of query and interjection, as after a rhetorical question.

Although I can't see myself using it much with my resume work, it seems very useful otherwise. I can think of a couple places I could use an interrobang. See? It's already becoming part of my vernacular. Anyway, yet another little useless ditty I can add to my repertoire. I'm often ridiculed for have an over abundance of obscure information. So be it. You gotta be good at something...