Pollyanna Shuts it Down

If you know me at all, you know I can carry enough heat from internal stress to ignite explosives from 500 yards.  I dislike this about myself and, I know it makes me who I am, but it makes my friends crazy.  Yet, you want that kind of devotion and passion in your life as long as it's used FOR you and not directed AT you.   Along with that, I am tragically Pollyanna (herein referred to as "Polly Pocket").   Those two things make for a catastrophic detonation when the stress and the nice collide.  And yes, that just happened.   I splatted on someone most undeserving.  As a result,  things were broken down for me.  I will admit it hurt a little, but I deserved it and I woke up this morning grateful for the honesty and with a clarified purpose.  Apologies have all been made.  

My friend and coworker, Megan, used to tell me to 'shut down the friendly' on days that she didn't feel like being chatty with people.  At first I laughed, but it has come to mean so much to me.   I understand that things are not so black and white. I can choose to be kind to the people who deserve that kindness and shut that off to people who don't.  I'm working diligently on not being afraid of who likes me and doesn't. "Everyone" doesn't matter; only the "someones" in my life do. 

I have made a lot of other changes in the past year.  Not all were easy, but all were necessary.   I still have many more decisions to make and they will take time, along with the love and support of those closest to me.  Sometimes I don't know how to proceed.  Thanks to my Polly Pocket, I have a hard time making decisions that may hurt some else's feelings, which can portray me as being indecisive.  Sometimes I don't know if it's a decision I am allowed to make for legal or other reasons and sometimes I just don't want to decide.   I would like to cite a  recent example of almost crying at Walmart in front of the Blu Ray players.  Yeah, on second thought, let's not re-live that event.  

What's really the core of all of this alleged stress and messiness is that I don't know whose dream I am living. Mine?  My mother's?  Gigi's?  Staying in this life and house, washing the same windows, wiping the same counter tops that have been wiped by the Swedish women in my family for 64 years.  Does it make me insane, a martyr, or sentimental?   I'm surrounded by things and memories of things, which are not a replacement for love and real life, nor indicative of moving forward.  Moving on is desirable.  

I have a friend who asks me on a weekly basis "what does Ruthie want"?  If I knew, älskling, I'd surely tell you.  I want to live in a $10,000 a month apartment on Lakeshore Drive in Chicago.  I want to play with my dogs in the front yard of the home I grew up in and still occupy.  I want to look at all the beautiful things my family has left me.  I want to take 90% of what's in my house to the dumpster.  I have a dream about the most awesome man I will ever meet and going with him anywhere his heart desires.  I want quiet moments alone with a cup of coffee.  I want stability, spontaneity, surprises, love, friendship, peace, quiet, and craziness.   I want to give that, and so much more, back to someone.   

The point of all of this is that I will have what is meant for me and not one single thing more or less.   I need to be patient in the meantime, enjoy every second, and continue to make the decisions that get me to where I'm supposed to be. I need to decide whose dream I am living and, if it's not truly mine, change it.  In the end we all die with nothing more than that which we arrived.   

So, if you see me acting crazy, hug me and tell me to shut it down.  It really does work.    So does buying me ice cream.   Double Chocolate Malted Crunch from Thrifty.   Please and thank you.  

The Lost Tape Dispenser and Other Pretty Things

My parents saved everything they were ever given which means that I have absolutely everything and anything you could think of in my house.  However, I can not find anything.  Not one thing that I'm looking for.  Ever.  Today it's the tape dispenser.  My mom had a packing tape dispenser that she used to tape up boxes when she would ship goodies to my Auntie Barb.  I know I've used it in the two years since she's been gone, but I can't find it today.

I have a really bad habit of putting things back where she left them.  It's not because it makes sense to me where she stored it,  but because "when she gets back" she's going to want to know where her tape dispenser is.  I have no idea why I think this way, but this has prevented me from parting with a ton of amazing crap.  Most of it doesn't mean anything other than the item was hers or my dads (and some of it is in the same spot!).  There's a knit hat from when mom was in high school, my dad's measuring tape holders, and dollar store trinkets they received for Christmas from people I didn't even know.  The drawers in my mom's big dresser have never even been purged; time and fear of her needing to look for something later keep me from doing it.

Part of it, too, is that I saw how hard my parents had to work for the things they had and I don't ever take that for granted.  I think to when my mom was making probably $5 an hour as the manager of Owen's Western Wear and how long it took for her to earn the money for my Cabbage Patch Doll or whatever thing I would have died without that Christmas (and, yes, I still have my CPK's in the cupboard).  So many friends have very little left of their childhood, due to circumstances beyond their control, and it's really sad.  I think I have mostly everything.  Dolls, ballet costumes, Barbie stuff, a Rubik's cube, formal dresses, purses, I could go on forever.

Our "stuff of life" carries emotion and I know I hold on to things for their memories.  I only keep things with good memories.  Funny how we do that.  There are shirts I can't wear and other outdated items that I have kept just because a friend gave it to me.  I have been blessed with friends who are giving in that way and I try to pass that along to my other friends.  Some of them get it and some of them don't.  Some people have never had anyone be kind to them for no reason and without expecting anything in return.  Megan probably has more Hello Kitty stuff than she will ever possibly use and I'm sure Katie has had to secretly yard sale some of her Americana treasures that I have brought her.  Those kind of presents, to me, just mean "I'm thinking of you" and nothing more.  My friends have always been my sanctuary and my heart and I like to remind them that they are appreciated.  They do the same for me.

I am going through my parent's treasures slowly, so don't be surprised if you get something in the mail some day.  I love to read Martha Stewart's magazine and dream of a house organized to her specifications but I probably wouldn't be able to find where she put things either.  Back to the hunt for the tape dispenser.  Or to Walmart for a new one.  Then I'll have two.

The Fear of Falling and My Breakfast Eggs

I am not afraid of heights but I am deathly afraid of falling.  I do not like the sensation at all and the fear grips me in a way nothing else does.  The crazy thing is, it's not just the physical sensation of falling; it's the emotional sensation of falling in and out of love and the spiritual fear of falling from grace. That last fear is from having been raised by incredibly rule driven parents and that being a "good girl" was expected to be at the top of my list at all times.  If I was good I would avoid trouble, avoid heartache, and stay on a path that would ensure maximum success.  I still carry the emotional scars from being good and the guilt from the times I wasn't. 

The fear of not being good enough has fed my lack of ability to commit to things that are not significant in the hopes of not making a mistake.  I can commit to God, men, friends, and my career.  I cannot, however, commit to the less important things in life, which are the simple, daily things that tend to make other people crazy.  I don't know how I like my eggs. See the movie "Runaway Bride" if you don't understand the reference.  I don't care to make decisions that really don't seem to matter in the grand scheme of life like "what's for dinner?", "what movie do you want to see?", "want to go to the mall?", etc.  I don't care; honestly, simply and truly I don't.  I make life or death decisions all day long and spaghetti versus enchiladas isn't in that equation.  If I happen to have something specific in mind, I will let you know, otherwise, it's really fine.  But what has becoming my sinking reality is that since I can't take control of those little things, it takes me longer to take control of the big things, and that needed level of control is not always happening before the things become overwhelming. 

The overwhelming feeling is what breaks me down.  I'm an all or nothing, black or white, kind of girl.  I'm working on that with everything I have.  The fact that I have woke up crying nearly every afternoon for weeks is something that causes me a great amount of stress.  It's not because I'm sad; it's because I'm overwhelmed with emotions, some of which I haven't felt in a long time.  I am filled with a new found love for myself, my life, and the amazing people in it.  I feel brave.  I feel apprehensive as to whether I can take care of a huge old house and five acres by myself.  I question my ability to negotiate the price of the new tires I need to buy this week.  I wonder how I'll get my new mattress home strapped to the top of my old 99 Rodeo, in the event I can't borrow a friend and their truck.  I can only hope I can fix my swamp cooler by myself without losing a finger.  I have to learn.  There is no shame in asking for help, but I have to try for myself first. 

What is a shame is when we feel like the circumstances around us are pressuring us to not stand up for ourselves and self preserve.  The little things are telling us it's okay to be complacent and not walk away from the things that are damaging our very soul.   The fear of it all; of being lonely, or not good enough, or of being too much.  Sometimes, the apprehension is only because someone has said these things to us at some point and yet they may not even be true.   I hear those things for a moment but I pray for God to shut them up and He does.  He is always faithful.  The words that have been used on us in the past can be so powerful but we have to remember they were just words.  Words only hold meaning when they are backed up with actions, which then makes them memories.  Without actions, words are just manuscripts on the walls of our mind.  Some of the scripts are in beautiful, sweeping cursive that we will always want to remember and some are in freeway overpass graffiti that we can't seem forget. 

We allow others to have so much power over us, telling us what we should be doing and reminding us we don't fit in, or that maybe we do.  We should be able to decide for ourselves where we fit in to this life.  I should be watering my own soul and weeding my own garden, pruning out things that are hurtful and not pretty.  It's scary.  I'm not going to lie about that.  But at no time should I allow someone else to take something away from my life that I find incredible. 

We are each a beautiful disaster in our own way and I don't have to know how I like my eggs to know that my heart and soul are worth more than the uncertainty they feel of the unknown.  When I have the fear that I will fall I need to remind myself that I can also choose to fly.  It's time to do all the things on my list.  Whether I do them alone or not will be a question for later but, the bottom line is, I will do them.  Everything will be good. No, better than good.  It will be awesome. 

Who's Playing the Saxophone Solo?

I'm on a fitness and health journey that has been long and rough. I've struggled with my weight since I was about 8 years old. I remember, at about age 9, mimicking my cousin Kelly while she practiced for the aerobics class she led and thinking how I needed to lose weight, too. Let me explain that I was 9 and she was 18 but she wore a size 1 and I couldn't fit into her biggest hand-me-down clothes. I would get on the ground and frantically do leg lifts and sit ups praying I'd look like the ladies on the tape. I then can recall, a few years later, standing in my room at about age 11, running in place to a Def Leppard tape, praying that the fat was melting off. After running to two songs, I knew I had run off enough for a bowl of ice cream. By 7th grade I was 5'7, 160 pounds, and wore a size 10 shoe. That's not big, but it's big for a girl in 7th grade!

Going to the gym and eating right have not been easy for me. I wasn't raised that way. It wasn't a habit.  We grew up eating potatoes, gravy, and chicken fried steak with pie for dessert. Neither of my parents worked out, ever, but they worked hard. I wasn't on sports teams in high school. It wasn't because I couldn't do sports, but because it's not what I wanted to do. I was in the band, church choir, ballet (until age 12), on the church youth group advisory board, and in piano lessons. That was what I wanted to do and I made time for it all. Just like the other kids who played baseball and ran track; they made time for it. We can always make time for what we want to do.

Having said that, if I handed someone a saxophone right now, who had never played before, and said "learn this by next week so you can be in the jazz band with me" do you think they would? Even if I kept encouraging them to practice and saying how great they'd be, do you think they'd do it? What if I said that music is good for their soul and would make them happier from the very core of their being? What about then? If they aren't interested, they aren't going to do it. Herein lies my struggle. I don't want to go to the gym. I don't want to eat chicken and brown rice. I know it's good for me, for my heart, and for my joints, but I don't want to. I exercise it in spurts and under duress, but I don't have an ongoing desire to 'want to'. It sounds like a good idea for a while, but the motivation fades because, truthfully, it's not a part of me and what I want to do. For those who don’t understand not wanting to workout and want to judge me for being fat, go ahead. I've been judged for a whole lot less.

I admire those who feel the passion to work out, run marathons, and go mountain biking but, while I think “oh sure, that might be fun someday”, I don’t have a deep down desire to make it happen. Will I go to the gym? Yes. Will I go today? Possibly. Will I attempt to make more time for it? Probably. Will I give up something else that I love doing so the gym can take its place? Not likely.

I have lost 40lbs so far and changed many eating habits because that is how I choose to deal with weight so, clearly, I’m not making excuses or sitting idly by. I know my health is precious and I don’t take the responsibility lightly but, if given a choice to do something that I am interested in over exercising, I’m going to pick my kind of interesting. Unless you’re ready to play that saxophone now. Then we’ll see.