I’m pretty hard on myself. Anybody who’s gotten even a little bit close to me knows this fact, and understands it about me. It isn’t always easy to deal with; sometimes I project these emotions on to others and being hard on myself translates into being hard on everyone around me. But mostly, I’m just hard on myself.
Because of this, it can be difficult for me to accurately determine the level of severity of my worst qualities. Just like everyone else, I make bad choices.
Last night I had the incredible opportunity to attend Natalie Maines’ very first solo show. Having been a fan of the Dixie Chicks for years and calling the band one of my top five all-time favorites, I was ecstatic to go and check out this new venture. And it was a sight to behold. Maines has very clearly shed the chains of country music and dipped – no, dunked – her way into a fabulous little rocker-chick genre. She belted out beautiful words of Patty Griffin and Jeff Buckley, alongside Ben Harper – a soulful singer in his very own right, to understate it – and each song sent chills up my spine. I stood there, a mere inches away from this amazing woman, thinking about how I couldn’t wait to just immerse myself into this album and obsessively listen to it over and over again.
But while this experience was one I’ll never forget, it comes with a quiet but definite dark shadow.
For much of the ride from Anaheim to West Hollywood and during the half hour we waited for the show to begin, I fought a panic attack. During the show, in between moments of awe were moments of what felt like pure insanity. How could you want to flee from this so badly? I questioned myself. Stop being a pussy and just deal with this! I screamed. My body shook with discomfort. My heart beat a million miles per hour and sweat danced an ugly, frizz-inducing dance with my hairline. At times I would calm, but noticing the calm sent me nervously back into panic mode.
At the end of the only hour-long show, I breathed a sigh of relief. As many times as I wanted to run for the door, I didn’t. (Possibly, it’s that I couldn’t; the crowd had all but blocked me in after a couple of songs, which was part of what made me so anxious.) Still, I survived. Because, really, what’s not to survive?
There’s never a convenient time for a panic attack, anxiety or even just general nervousness. Still, it always seems to come at the very most inopportune times; I often find myself peering into other peoples’ eyes, other peoples’ spaces, wondering how they could be so normal while I am feeling so … not normal. But I survive. Every time. And the more I do, the easier surviving the next time becomes. So at least there’s that.
I’ve grown tired of saying the words, “I have a headache.”
More accurately, I’ve grown tired of having headaches. I’m especially annoyed with the ones that come on lovely Saturdays; days I’d much rather spend outside with my son, having fun, or at least getting tasks done and feeling productive.
I’m sure there are many things I can blame for causing the headaches. I don’t eat right. I don’t exercise. I don’t drink enough water. I don’t stand on my head for 36 seconds while saying the alphabet backwards right before bed. Whatever the cause, I’ve gotten headaches for quite some time, but recently have woken up with pain 4-5 days per week.
Some days are better than others. There are times when I wake up, feel the pain, and determine I can function through it. Those are my 6′s. Other days, it takes me awhile to move and focus. Those are my 7′s; 8′s if I’m also nauseous.
It’s the days that I’m at a 9 or a solid 10 that I’m unable to leave my house. On those days, the blinds stay closed. Voices stay soft. Coffee is important and calories aren’t. Thankfully, these ones only come about once a month.
I don’t think it’s okay to live your life at a 6. And yet, here I am, settling for it.
Perhaps it’s time for another change.
I have a pretty serious problem with letting go.
Rather, I had this problem. Up until now.
You see, I’m the kind of gal who will give you a second second chance. More, if you ask nicely. I always have been this kind of girl. Which is why, in high school, I stayed with mean boyfriends who didn’t deserve me. All the time. (I mean, seriously, I ended up with some real jerks.)
My (previous) inability to let go speaks to my habitual tendencies too. Once I have decided to like or dislike something, it’s difficult to change my mind after that – even if all we’re talking about is a type of burger at a fast food joint.
Oh wait. I think that defines stubborn too. Whatever.
My point is, it’s tough for me to let go. But recently I’ve had to make the decision to just do it. Just let it go. Why? Because there isn’t time to waste your energy on people who aren’t willing to give anything back. There isn’t time to waste your energy on watching TV shows you don’t actually like, or reading books you don’t find interesting, or trying to figure out vague, drama-inducing Facebook posts, or forcing a connection that you know damn well isn’t there anymore.
It’s so important to make sure that the situations and the people in your life are there because you want them to be. Not because of habit. Because you want it/him/her there. Because you want to spend your precious time on things that are worthy of you. Wonderful, amazing you.
And if you’ve decided that the book isn’t worth finishing, or the friendship isn’t worth progressing, or that the love just isn’t there, then you let go.
You let go.
You let go, and you move on. You find something else that will make you happier. Find another book. Find another friend. Find people who will bring you as much joy as you want to bring to them. Find things to do that will put a smile on your face. Find answers that make sense, and questions that challenge you in ways you’ll appreciate.
I’m doing this now. I’ll do it forever, if I have to.
Change is in the air. It’s the perfect time of year.
Lin at Linny’s Vault (and her pals Em and Sarah) have this new weekly blog feature called Random Thursday that I said I’d do regularly. I did it once. I know, I kind of suck at commitment on this here lovely blog.
Anyway, I’m trying again. So, what are my current obsessions? Well I’m so glad you asked!
Current obsession #1: My nails. I am a biter. I admit it. I pick at them, I nibble them, I peel them back and break them off. My nails very rarely survive, but right now more than half of them are a very decent length and actually look pretty damn healthy. They were painted for awhile but yesterday I took off the polish and went au natural. This may seem boring as hell, but to me it’s a pretty big deal. I am pretty obsessed with doing whatever I can to keep them growing.
Current obsession #2: The woods. I can’t really explain what this is about or where it came from, but I can’t get the woods out of my head. I want to be in the woods. I want to smell them and see them and feel them. I made plans to visit the woods next week, so the obsession is currently at its peak. I’m worried as all get-up about the possibility of scary spiders in the woods, but besides that I am looking forward to the peaceful atmosphere.
Current obsession #3: New bras. I haven’t been able to talk about this anywhere because it’s so rarely appropriate to bring up underthings, but I just can’t keep it in anymore. I bought these new Self Expressions bras at Target and they are amazing. They’re comfortable and thinning, and basically I’m just happy I’m no longer wearing the old ones I had, which had an embarrassing amount of rips and loose threads.
What are you obsessed with right now?
I’ve never minded getting older. Anytime I say that to anyone though, they laugh at me and say something along the lines of, “That’s because you’re still young!”
At work and with many of my friends, I’ve placed myself in relationships where I end up being the youngest. My ex-husband is 12 years older than me. My best friends are old than me, some by 5-10 years as well. My closest cousins are older.
Once, at a concert, a woman turned to me and a friend and said, “You’re the oldest young people I’ve ever met.” I took it as a sincere compliment.
I know I’m still young. But I’m also feeling that line coming up – that line women cross when we can no longer consider ourselves young without looking silly and a little desperate. Maybe we’re not old, but we sure as hell ain’t young, honey.
It’s easy to be hard on myself about all the things I haven’t done yet. I’ve worked so hard these past however many years trying to get older that sometimes I miss the fun parts about being young – the milestones and mistakes and mysteries getting solved.
Sometimes I forget about the end result – that the faster I try to move to get older and be older and do things older people do, the faster I’ll be at the finish line. Which is what? Death? Sitting around doing nothing?
Really though, what choice do I have in the matter? There is no control to be had. Time moves as it chooses to move – we just get to decide what to do with it.
Ah, how typical of me to be contemplating the meaning of life the day after my birthday.
As of yesterday, I’m 21 plus 10. For 31 years, I’ve been me. This person.
And all I can do is keep doing that.
I participated in another swap, hosted by the lovely Lin at Linny’s Vault. Of course, I procrastinated again, but what else is new?
Anyway, my Summertime Swap package came in a gorgeously flowery package. Seriously, as much as I love the stuff inside, the package really impressed me – so cute and summery! (You can see it pictured below; I laid out the items on top of it.)
Inside was the good stuff though. A notebook (a girl can never have enough notebooks, my friends), sunblock, nail file and compact mirror, nail polish and an adorable little makeup bag. Super girly, perfectly summery, and very sweet of my summertime blog swap partner, Jennifer at Dexter Morgan’s Mama.
You can check out the goodies I sent Jennifer on her blog post about our summertime swap (and also, see a pic of her little pup, who heartbreakingly reminds me of my Rosie since they have the same coloring).
Thanks Jennifer!
In an effort to start blogging more often, I decided to pick up a new weekly feature from my pal Lin over at Linny’s Vault.
Random Thursdays, I assume, are going to be random – which I like. I’m a pretty random person anyway, my train of thought constantly making unscheduled stops in weird places.
Today’s is all about summertime, so here we go!
My favorite things about summer are (in no particular order):
Watermelon. It’s pretty much the only part of pregnancy I liked (besides the part where a kid happens). I’d sit there with a big tub of it in my lap, fork in hand. The taste and touch and smell and feel of watermelon made me a big, fat happy lady. So juicy and sweet, perfectly soft and wonderfully scented. I’ve always adored watermelon, but after my love affair with it during pregnancy, I’ve found a whole new respect for it.
Sunscreen. I like the smell of it, and I love that it makes me feel like a really good mom when I remember it and slather it on my fair-skinned child. I tend to go light on my legs because I have awesome legs and like them relatively tan, but I slather it on my tattoos, which would be ruined if exposed to too much sun, and on my face, which I hate letting get tan.
Sundresses. Since I live in Southern California, there are very few months when it’s a bad idea to wear a sundress, but they’re just so much brighter and peppier in the summer. I dare to wear oranges and yellows and I’m not ashamed to bare a little arm and chest skin when I’m out in public, because hey, it’s hot!
Sunglasses. If I’m being honest, I hate the sun. I hate when it’s too hot and I hate sweating (mostly because I sweat all the damn time so summer just makes that problem worse). But there’s nothing better than tilting your head back a little, lizard-style, so the sun warms up your face, with your sunglasses on in the summertime.
Summer-themed songs. “In the Summertime” was the very first song Sam heard in his life. We were on the way home from the hospital and it was on K-EARTH (of course), and Sam seemed to smile and wiggle a bit, even though he was only 3 days old. I also have an inexplicable affinity for “Summertime in the LBC,” despite the fact that I’ve never actually lived in Long Beach, nor am I a huge rap/hip-hop fan. There are tons more, including “Groovin’,” and of course, “Summertime.”
