Roots

I've moved around a bit and as such, have never felt like I belonged anywhere.  Sure, I lived here for 3 years, there for 4, maybe somewhere else for 8.  But there was usually a sense that I was in on it from the beginning.  Tradition has always been very important to me and I've wistfully admired those families that have been doing X for a thousand years; always so grateful to be part of it, if even for a moment or two.  The one exception is probably college--I felt at home there from day 1 and love to go back and revisit campus, and inhale it all again.

Having just returned from a family reunion, this topic was brought to the forefront of my mind.  My extended KS family hardly even registers in the memory banks.  My immediate cousins are awesome, kickass people that I love hanging out with, but even they are blips of a week or two, every other summer, while I was 10-16 or so--and now every 3 years when we get together (this was the 4th such event, including a cruise that a bunch of us took).  So while we are all family, it doesn't feel like it.  The matching shirts help to tell who belongs to whom.  Trying to explain to my sons who some of these people are, beyond "cousins", is a failing effort.  I feel like a guest at a party of acquaintances, mostly.

I have to say that I've continued the legacy of not staying put; I'm living in my 3rd house & 5th residence since graduating from college.  We moved to our current area in 2003, and for the first time I felt at home.  I found the perfect blend of city and neighborhood for me.  Our first West Seattle house was a labor of love and located in a spot that frankly, I was not happy with.  Luckily, a few things fell into place (housing market crash, smart investing on our part), and we were able to move just a few miles north, into an 'ok' house with a beautiful sound & mountain view.  I am in love and have dug my roots. 

I married into a family with roots and a strong presence in the community in which we live. Being part of their legacy was probably one of the strongest draws for me (besides loving the guy and being able to stand him most of the time, blah, blah, blah).  It still tickles me to be called by my married name, like "CHER!" or "MADONNA!" (it always sounds like capital letters to me).  Since we've been in the area since B was 2, that is all he (& R) knows.  I've done my best to stay relatively put and dig those holes for their roots.  The short move was worth the sacrifice of space--we can walk to just about anywhere we need to go, and ride our bikes to the rest.  I hope that they feel they have a base to launch anywhere from, even if it's just a few blocks or miles away.  We really do have a fantastic village and even when we travel halfway across the country, there are people there that are THEIR people--and we are all part of it.  I hope they know how lucky they are to have a generic band of cousins that are all across the country (and even luckier to have ones that they go to school with and see at least monthly, besides), and that they get to have those snippits of reunion folly to look back on.  That's something that I'm proud to have contributed to their childhood.

Sometimes, I guess, you just have to be patient for your roots to take.  I always have been a late bloomer...

Friends: Reincarnated

I have been on God's green earth long enough to have witnessed a few patterns in life (which I'm very thankful for!).  One thing that amuses me very much is when I meet someone who is juuuuust like someone else I've already had the (sometimes dis-)pleasure to know. 

In my work, this comes in very handy, especially in dealing with the more difficult personalities.  It is very efficient to identify the pattern of person X and remember how I dealt with person Y, apply what worked, avoid what didn't, and get through the project with as few stress-driven pimples as possible.

Sometimes though, this recycling of personalities is a good thing!  Where I might not have had the opportunity to really enjoy a relationship in my youth (for many reasons, including me being a punk little kid, too insecure, off in another part of the state, etc.), it is so nice to get a second chance. 

To expand on the insecurities of a typical teenaged girl a bit... I used to know a girl, let's call her Annie Smirkband.  In my 13 year old eyes, Annie had it ALL.  Not just cool clothes, but also: the best hair & personality, a gorgeous home, a loving family, great taste in music, a sense of fun & adventure, and probably much more.  I wanted to be her in the worst way.  We were friends for a time, but I was so intimidated by her I questioned my own self-worth enough to annoy her out of wanting to hang out with me.  In truth, I questioned my self-worth so much I let myself be intimidated by her.  How I managed to keep any friends, I still don't get (thanks for sticking it out, Hol! ;-).  Anyhoodles, eventually I got to a place where I wasn't awful to be around, but invites to hang out and do things were put on hold for a few years, and extremely limited after that.

Fast forward to about 2010.  God put a recycled friend into my life.  She is so.very.much.like Annie.  I immediately got the same feelings of inadequacy.  But this time, a lot of experience helped me to squash them before I let them really bubble to the surface.  Something to be said about being a grown woman who knows her worth (and got there a not-so-easy way).  This time, I enjoy her company.  I love joining her on adventures.  Our children are friends.  I contribute to her and enrich her life too.  It's exactly how it should be--this recycled friendship.  Recently, we were at an event where maybe a bit of liquid courage was consumed and I blurted out to her, "You are my Annie Smirkband, but so much better!"  She was all, "Huh?  WHAT are you talking about?"  I just smiled and hugged her and told her I loved her.  And then told myself I loved me too.

Maybe recycled friends in our lives are do-overs from God?  A chance to play it out a better way.  So glad I get to do the Annie friendship over, even if it's with another person.  The lesson realized, learned and implemented feels even sweeter the second time.

Yogahhhhhh

I tend to have two speeds: ballsout and nap.  When I'm going, I want to G-O, get things done, break a sweat...you get the picture.  When I'm done, I want to be (usually horizontal) & left be.  I need that recharging time so I can get back to my going.  As such, I typically don't engage in too many relaxing activities for long.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a massage and reading, but only after I have everything else done.  If there is anything on my to-do list, I get itchy to get back to it (exception: laundry.  I can always let a pile sit & rest for another day).

I love to move.  Exercising is fun for me, a challenge, and often a necessary release from the stress of my day.  My favorite type of exercise is outdoors, where I'm moving a lot, and have a change in either the type of exercise I do (like high intensity intervals), or the scenery (a bike ride or a hike).  The slower stuff tends to bore me.  When I first tried yoga (via a VHS tape I got as a Christmas present), I did it a couple times and let it go the way of VHS technology.  I tried it again in a class setting thanks to an auction purchase about 5 years later.  The group setting was better, but I wasn't hooked.  I then joined a gym that gave regular Vinyasa flow classes, and started going to those on occasion a few years after that.  Vinyasa flow is faster than your traditional yoga, and adds that cardio element I love, sans impact, and still gives you the burn!  It was made just for me, I'm pretty sure.  An angel came into my life and gave me someone to sweat alongside in downward dog.  She also gave me an invitational nudge toward different classes in different studios--and I broke the barrier into hot yoga.  Whooboy--all that movement, muscle engagement AND in a 90-some degree room?  I experienced puddles of love!

I know how to make great friends, because this gal was a entry to this whole, entire community of yogis.  Many of them, I already knew as parents from my sons' school, members of our swim club, or wives of coworkers.  But when you are grunting out a pigeon or full wheel for what seems like eternity, you REALLY get to know them.  And after, there is a sense of elation.  Every single time.  I prioritize and go to the classes that I can, when adjusting for other commitments. There is one instructor I have a full girl crush on (along with all her other students!).  She is not only totally awesome at leading a class, but she adjusts real time to cater to what her class needs, and she is  REAL human to boot--eats candy for breakfast on occasion, and whatnot.  I move molehills to get to her classes.

There are retreats too!  A whole weekend of sore muscles, camaraderie, calm, and wine.

This was from a retreat a group of us gals purchased through our kids' school auction in the fall of 2012.  Nothing like posing right in front of an ocean view on a sunny fall day.  I'm in the front row on the right--you can jussst about make out my left arm. Love my Triple W (Whidbey Women's Weekend)!!

So I guess the point of this is that in my *ahem* middle age, I've discovered a new speed.  Yoga is a slow-motion button to my fast forward.  I can be in the moment, and be calm mentally, yet very active physically.  All in the space of a 6'x2' mat.  I can be that sentimental person that does not have permission to enter into the bulk of my day, which is at work.  I can be the girlfriend that leans on another, or is there to be leaned on.  I'm vulnerable and strong all at the same time.  And the clothes (not to mention the poses) make my behind look mighty fine!  It feels so fulfilling to find this middle speed.  So glad to have some classes lined up for the spring/summer!  I always look forward to the hard work and the sense of balance & achievement after.  So bring on more yoga(hhhhh)!

Entry Into Service

I've been asked many a time: why don't I blog?  Lack of time, and lack of something to say, I guess, would be my answers.  Also, a catchy name was very imperative.  Finally!  FINALLY I came up with the trifecta of time, something to say, and a name I can get behind!  So here it is, my first entry!

I was telling R about how a friend and I got caught in the middle of a 5k race during a casual walk.  His first reaction was, "I hope there wasn't a bomb."  That made me immensely sad, of course.  This is the world he lives in, where "race" equals "violence".  The Boston marathon bombings were still fairly fresh, but still, to have those two concepts entangled in his mind underscores how the tragedy extends well beyond the last blast.

Ok, not a whole lot to say, but still feels good to finally get into the blogosphere!

This post is dedicated to Holly Taylor Boyd, my blogging inspiration!