My Year in Review

Much to my surprise, 2013, which started without any truly visible promise (aside from bringing the horrible 2012 to a close), improved as it went along, and turned out to be one of the most auspicious years of my life. 
 ___________________________________________________________________________

The highlights:
 
1. I stuck to my resolutions
I made two year-long resolutions starting in January: to leap out of my comfort zone wherever and whenever possible (admittedly vague, but it worked) and, specifically, to mix up my workouts, which I did in some unexpected ways. 

For the latter, I purchased four Pilates DVDs, and learned that a good toning/stretching workout is possible without spilling too much sweat (or dough, for that matter) and that these workouts make great add-ons to longer, more grueling cardio and strength-training workouts. I also bought a beginner's yoga DVD and attended a yoga workshop during the summer, though I equate yoga more with relaxing meditation than with a solid workout (mainly because I lack flexibility, good balance, and the courage to try Jillian Michaels's brand of killer yoga).

During the summer, I enjoyed a short hike nearly every day in my local park, which stands as my all-time favorite workout, hands down. The biggest fitness lesson I learned this year is there's workout life beyond Jillian Michaels. Although I remain devoted to her and her workouts as my #1 go-to fitness solutions, there are other effective, less-torturous forms of exercise available. I think I needed that reminder.

2. I started this blog

After much anxious soul-searching and self-doubt (discussed here), I launched this blog shortly after the start of the year, which serves as my truest chronicle of 2013 and one of my biggest accomplishments this year.

3. Men, dating, and relationships

I swore off men forever the time being, and devoted this year to falling in love with myself (which is much less twee in practice than it sounds, I swear) and making myself my first priority. It's been too easy for me to lose myself in relationships, forgetting and/or compromising who I am and what I want and need for the perceived good of a relationship. I'm determined to never do that again. And if that means being alone for 2014 and the rest of my life, all is not lost. I've realized that I like myself and enjoy my company a lot more than I ever have before. I might not be happier than I've ever been, but I doubt I've ever been healthier.

4. Big leaps and bounds

I did so many things that scared my pants off (figuratively, not literally, I promise) this year, things that I never imagined I would do, under the influence or otherwise. I went skydiving (still can't believe it) (discussed here); I attended yoga, nutrition, workplace bullying, and poetry-writing workshops; I took my first (and last) horseback riding lesson (discussed here); I survived five months of swimming lessons, and can now successfully dive and swim laps (discussed here); and I took up ice skating (something I have always dreamed of doing) as a new hobby this fall and have, so far, managed to avoid a hospital visit (though I did fall and bruise my tailbone three weeks ago). 

All of these things, individually and as a whole, built layers of much-needed self-confidence. I've given myself precedents to reference for the rest of my life when I set a new goal or come face to face with fear. Now I know I'm in the front seat of my own life and my only opposition is me. As a result, I feel a thousand times happier and healthier than I did last year, which was my ultimate goal for 2013.
_________________________________________________________________________

So that brings 2013, one of the most important and successful years of my life, without question, to a close. Not one of the easiest, but one of the greatest. I'm maturing, which is never without growing pains. This lost girl without a voice ("I've been here/Silent all these years") is growing into a woman who is not afraid to speak.

Christmas Memories

Only one week remains until Christmas. 

All my gifts are bought and wrapped, so there's nothing left to do but enjoy the countdown...and, while I'm counting down, reminisce about Christmases of yore.

It's funny how I used to hate the anticipation of Christmas in the preceding weeks and days of waiting to open my gifts when I was a wee lass. It was torturous! The wait was so painful, especially after the start of Christmas break, that my brother and sister and I usually couldn't hold out until the big day, instead unashamedly begging for an early gift...or two. (My mom, to her credit, usually relented. I'm pretty sure she enjoyed our excitement as much as we did.) And let's not forget the snooping for hidden treasures in closets and untold shameless attempts to sneak a peek at my mom's master list of bought and wrapped Christmas presents. ("She's making a list and checking it twice!") 

I was such a materialistic scoundrel (even more so than I am now), though I suppose nearly all children are. That coveted Sears Wish Book catalog was nearly in tatters by the time Christmas rolled around, as the three of us shared it, fought over it, dogeared its pages, and highlighted and circled the toys of our dreams. The best part was we almost always received exactly what we wanted every year without fail, including some of my all-time favorite gifts: the "Beverly Hills, 90210" Brenda doll (my sister got Dylan, of course), countless Barbie dolls, outfits, houses, and cars, the iconic Mall Madness game (I wouldn't mind playing this again if it's still buried somewhere in my mom's house), rollerblades, Sweet Valley Twins and Sweet Valley High books, a toy keyboard, and an acoustic guitar (in my teens). I never had a bad Christmas, giftwise. Those were the days!

No Christmas season was ever complete without this bad boy.

Today it's different. For me, now, the anticipation of Christmas is the best part. At the top of my wishlist every year is that my family will be together, healthily, happily, and harmoniously. The Sears Wish Book is a thing of the past (though paging through one today would undoubtedly put me in touch with my inner child). What I ask for now, and am happiest to receive, are practical things that I need. This year: cookware and bakeware (not to mention a heatwave and NO snow...), and I won't be at all disappointed if I get socks. I enjoy giving to others more than I enjoy receiving gifts. I'm mindful of what's important in life, the real reason for celebrating Christmas, in a way that I never was as a child.

(I can't deny, though, that my inner child is still alive and well. And it wouldn't mind receiving an electric Razor scooter...though I'd probably break my tailbone.)

Mean Girls Part 2

Dear Fit-Pride Fat-Shamers & Fat-Pride Fit-Shamers,

You're doing it wrong.

Really.

But maybe I shouldn't say that, because I don't want to be accused of cyberbullying or, God forbid, shaming anyone. Anywhere. Ever. There's been more than enough of that lately. (Here's one recent Time article, for starters.)

Seriously, though, I've read and heard far too much from both of the aforementioned camps on Facebook, blogs, and news sites during the past few weeks, so I'd like to weigh in (sorry, I just had to) with yet more unnecessary, unasked for statements on topics that have gotten too much media attention, and ask for a hopeful resolution to this issue. 

Are these selfies motivating...or something else?

Approximately two and a half years ago, I started changing my life by changing my health. As I've previously written, I slowly, painfully, steadily morphed myself from a sedentary junk-food addict into a healthier, happier, fitter version of myself by making small, incremental changes. 

Why? I wanted to change. I wasn't motivated by someone telling me I needed to lose weight or work out seven days a week, nor would I have been. I wanted to look and feel better. That was my motivation. 

Along that journey, I found inspiration from others who had taken a similar path, most notably, one of my personal heroes, Jillian Michaels, whose workout DVDs transformed my body and inspired me to transform my health, while on Facebook, I "like"d several fitness-focused sites (including one of the worst offenders, the above article's author, the controversial, attention-seeking Maria Kang, who seems to be angling for a reality-TV show, in my opinion, or trying to become the next Tracy Anderson) that post daily motivational images and writings to inspire people like me to conquer yet another killer workout and not fall off the healthy-eating wagon

But, as I said, the choice was mine. The problem I have with some of these fitness gurus' approaches is that they're attacking people who haven't made the choice (for whatever reason) to live the way they've chosen to live.That's where the shaming comes in. Also, it can't (or shouldn't) be ignored that some of these fitness gurus are, arguably, as unhealthy (with obsessive exercise and disordered eating) or unhealthier than the targets of their posts (who may do moderate exercise and have healthy eating habits, for all they know).

Yes, maybe some of those people are unhealthy. Maybe some of them are unhappy with their lives. I don't know. What I do know is I have neither the right nor the obligation to change them. In fact, I have multiple family members who are suffering from weight-related health issues. Does it tear me apart knowing they could reduce or possibly reverse their issues with healthy eating and regular exercise? Yes, every single day. But what can I do? If they ask me, I'll tell them, but trying to force my lifestyle on them will do more harm than good, I believe. 

It's the same for religion, politics, and addiction. If people want to change, they'll listen to your message and use it as motivation. If they don't, they'll tune you out (at best) or rebel against the messenger (at worst). And then you've done more harm than good. 

That's my concern with these one-size-fits-all (literally, in this case) and my-way-is-the-only-way fitness zealots. Their message of 'If I can do this, you can (and should), too' would be the equivalent of Michael Phelps saying that any swimmer could match his incredible Olympic feats or a Harvard student with a 4.0 GPA saying that any student can achieve those scholastic accomplishments. These people are extreme. They're dedicated and they're disciplined. They're willing to make necessary sacrifices to have those accomplishments. Not everyone is, and that lack of drive and dedication doesn't make someone lazy or not as good as someone who's more driven. It makes them human.

So, how about we all just get along? Is that too simplistic? How about learning to love ourselves as we are, whether we're at our desired health level/weight (I don't believe these are the same thing, FWIW) or not, and extending some of that love into compassion for others as they are, whether they're at their desired health level/weight or not. Stop making assumptions about other people's health based on their physical appearance. 

If you want to focus on someone's health, focus on your own, and let the other person worry about theirs. If they want to be healthier, the decision is theirs to make. It can't be forced or shamed upon them. Or it shouldn't, anyway. 

And no, fitness "experts," you can't tell if someone is healthy or unhealthy just by looking at them. Some thin women are healthy and fit and some are unhealthy. It's the same for women who aren't thin (or considered thin by this increasingly judgmental world of haters in which we live). Let's stop deciding people are "too fat" or "too thin" based on our own skewed perceptions of their physical appearance.

I'm becoming increasingly intolerant of intolerance. That, to me, is the root of bullying. It's the belief that my way is the right way and your way, if it's different from mine, is wrong.

Yes, obesity is a problem. Yes, I believe fitness is one of the answers to that problem, but my point (if I have one) is that there's a right way and a wrong way to tackle that problem. And shaming and bullying in the form of gratuitous "look at how fit and dedicated I am" selfies and "there's no excuse for being fat" posts are not the right way.

Personal Victory

Amazingly, it took only four months of weekly lessons to meet my ultimate swimming goal last weekend: I dove in the water (literally) from a standing position and swam a full lap without stopping...you know, like a real swimmer!

(I'll admit it took me a loooong time to make the aforementioned dive, I mean, I almost needed to be pushed in the water, but I (eventually) did it!)

The previous two weeks I could swim only halfway before running out of steam and flopping onto my back to float the rest of the way, so finally being able to swim from end to end after months of struggling to conquer aquaphobia in all of its various guises and perform even the most basic swimming techniques made the accomplishment even sweeter. 

Last Saturday, despite the exhaustion of performing multiple standing dives that became full laps, I told myself there was no way in hell I was stopping...not for exhaustion, not for half a gallon of water in my nose and mouth, not for a leg cramp, or anything else...before I reached the end of the pool. (I might have even imagined Jaws was nipping at my heels, but whatever works, right?)

It's fair and truthful to say that when I began swimming lessons in July, I seriously questioned whether I'd ever be able to do that. When I couldn't put my face in the water and blow a proper bubble, I considered giving up. I was determined not to, but I didn't want to waste my time and money on a hopeless cause. (And my futile attempts at swimming seemed like a hopeless cause for several weeks.) 

Thankfully, I've been blessed with an amazing instructor (and I'm not just saying that because she inexplicably handed me a box of heavenly Hawaiian chocolates in the locker room afterwards, though she did!) who pushed me beyond what I felt capable of doing every stinking week, which made all the difference in the world. Sure, I didn't like her very much (to say the least) when she forced me (just short of kicking and screaming) into the deep end when I barely felt comfortable in the shallow end. I think I knew in the back of mind, though, that someday I'd appreciate her tough love. Well, that day was last Saturday, and every day since then. And because of that, I feel a surge of confidence. 

In addition to the standing dives and lap swimming, Nancy, purely for fun and giggles, I'm sure, decided to have me dive for plastic rings and, eventually, a five-pound brick. Again, it took a long time for me to muster enough courage to go under to retrieve these items (and I might have pretended I was competing in a "Survivor" immunity challenge, for extra motivation, while doing so), and Nancy nearly did push me underwater, but the victory is always in doing something scary, even if it's slow and less than perfect.

Because of mastering these milestones, I truly feel I can do just about anything (short of singing well or winning the Olympics). After all, four months ago, I couldn't put my head underwater due to an overwhelming fear of drowning. Now I can dive underwater for several seconds at a time. Four months ago, I couldn't float or swim a single stroke. Now I can swim laps. For me, it's an amazing personal victory over fear. 

 

I'll continue swimming lessons through the end of this year to sharpen my technique, but anything else I accomplish is just a bonus. I've already exceeded my expectations a hundred times over.

A Stunner

The new flooring has (finally) been installed, my apartment has been transformed, and I couldn't possibly be happier with the finished product.

The floors are absolutely gorgeous! But more than that, they look and feel like real hardwood flooring, though much lower maintenance and far less expensive. They're sturdy, a far cry from the flimsy wallpaper-like flooring that was previously in my kitchen and bathroom. (It was the cheapest flooring on the market, I'd be willing to wager.) 

My apartment looks and feels like a different apartment. It's so elegant, classy, and homey (instead of homely). It's exactly the result I wanted. I now have a home that I feel proud to call my own. I no longer have to feel ashamed of stained, dirty, cheap, worn-out flooring that was there when I moved in (and God only knows how many years before then). 

Before

After

Now that the renovations are done, I can say they were well worth the time, stress, and expense they required, including the flooring installation, which confined me (literally) to my bedroom for four hours. The inconvenience, not to mention the financial expense itself, which initially held me back, was nothing compared to the happiness and pride I feel every time I look at my new floors (and I can't help looking at them continuously to make sure they really are there and it really is my apartment they are installed in).

My shabby, mousy little apartment has become a stunner. I've always seen and appreciated its charm and inner beauty, of course, but I'm ecstatic that its outer appearance now matches that beauty. The transformation is complete.

Reflections (On a Year of Blogging)

I seem to be suffering from blogger's block lately. 

It's not that nothing is (or has been) happening in my life; my apartment renovations are still ongoing, and I've been baking and cooking like a madwoman, mostly pumpkin-flavored food items (see my "Hints of Fall" post for more on that subject). And I've continued my daily journal writing/morning page a la Julia Cameron, building up writing discipline and allowing myself a creative outlet, so I am writing...something.

But on social media sites, as well as in life, I staunchly believe that not everything that happens needs to be posted. (And, truthfully, I wish some of my fellow social-media users held that same standard!) In other words, I don't need to speak unless I have something to say, that I want to share. (Although, unfortunately, polite society often requires me to make meaningless (to me) small talk far more often than my introverted self wishes to do so.) 

It's okay to take a break from blogging, the same way I take a break from Facebook. I think it's safe to presume that no one is waiting in agonized suspense for my latest ramblings. (That said, I do believe in writing online with the assumption that someone will read what you write, while bearing in mind that anyone could read what you write.)

Anyway, like swimming, I'd say that getting this far - nearly a year - with my blog has been a monumental personal accomplishment. I can't possibly forget how terrified I was a year ago when I first began considering a blog, followed by my subsequent panic when I went live shortly after the first of the year. 

As I've learned throughout this year, sometimes just taking that first step, confronting crippling fear head on, is the true victory. Anything beyond that is a bonus, like scoring 120% on an exam or finding glittery star stickers next to the 'A' on a homework assignment (remember those from elementary school?)

2013 has been filled with glittery-star-sticker moments for me, and I'm thankful for this blog, which has served its purpose several times over by yearbooking all of those weird and wonderful moments.

Hints of Fall

Fall 2013 at my local park

  This is how I know it's fall...

1. It's getting cold! 
I've added layers of clothing and blankets, and I'm fighting the urge (daily) to crank up my thermostat and pull out my winter coat (two unmistakable signs of winter in Western New York). I know that once those two things happen, they'll continue to happen for the next six (if not seven) months, so I'm holding off for now. I guess my space heater would be the appropriate compromise.

2. It's getting dark!
Evenings are getting darker earlier, which makes me want to hibernate in my pajamas after work as long and early as possible. (See #1 for an additional reason to hibernate.)

3. I'm craving pumpkin-flavored items.
I've never liked pumpkin-flavored anything (not even pie), yet I find myself searching online for pumpkin recipes and baking pumpkin bread, pumpkin-chocolate brownies, and pumpkin-chocolate pie (the chocolate nicely disguises the pumpkin flavor, but still...) If this behavior continues unchecked, I fear I'll be driving through Tim Horton's for the pumpkin-flavored treats I hear advertised on Pandora radio at least once every morning...(Come to think of it, I suspect these Tim Horton's ads may be responsible for my pumpkin cravings.)

4. I got my flu shot yesterday.
I was quite pleased with myself for crossing this essential item off my list until just a few hours afterward when my arm started aching like it had been walloped by a Louisville slugger. Then I just had to laugh at my wimpiness and utter lack of pain tolerance while attempting to wash dishes and wash, dry, and fold a heavy load of laundry with one arm.

5. Figure skating!
My beloved figure skating is back on television, and it's an Olympic season, so there will be more of it. And not only is it on my TV, it's in my proverbial backyard as well. 

I was feeling adventurous this past Columbus Day, so I decided to risk limb (did I mention I'm a neurotic wimp?) by checking out a public skating session at my local ice rink. To my delight, I stayed upright and enjoyed every second, despite massive skate-induced blisters on my right ankle. (I also stayed by the boards in an effort to prevent the inevitable fall(s), but I'm getting a feel for the ice and slowly picking up speed in basic forward gliding.) 

As a result of my bravery, I think I may have found a new, much-needed reason to look forward to fall and winter!

Home Improvement

At long last (or, more aptly, never thought this would ever happen), my home-improvement project has begun, and I couldn't be happier or more relieved. 

If a few coats of paint and half a can of spray paint (really!) make me this happy, just imagine how I'll feel after my new flooring is installed. And, for goodness' sake, why did I wait so long to start? (It might have something to do with anxiety related to having strange people in my apartment, but I won't delve into that tangent-waiting-to-happen.)

Backing up slightly, I should explain that when I moved in to my cute, cozy apartment over four years ago, the kitchen and bathroom floors were far from cute (and much closer to stained and disgusting). But, for one thing, I was a meek little mouse who patiently, trustingly waited for my intrepid landlord to take care of the aforementioned hideous floors, among other issues. And, for another thing, I was so happy to have my own apartment, after far-too-many years of living with my parents, that I accepted its flaws without complaint. Four years later, any patience I once had is long gone and I'm full of complaints (about my apartment, mostly).

So this fall I made it my mission to tackle my long-overdue home renovations with a vengeance, starting with locating a handyman on Facebook (no, really), exchanging a series of emails complete with graphic photos (of my apartment, of course), and sending him a check for the cost of labor and materials prior to our appointment this week. Yes, I was really taking my chances on all counts here. But surprisingly, perhaps, he showed up when he was supposed to and got to work, repainting my apartment's ceilings and working miracles (this is where the spray paint came in) on a bathroom sink nearly destroyed by drain cleaner. (Seriously, I thought it would have to be dynamited and rebuilt after the number I did on it, but, thankfully, there was an alternate solution.) 

Before (Kids, don't play with drain cleaner...)

After (I will never use drain cleaner again...)

Since that went relatively well, I think I might be ready for the short-term inconvenience and long-term benefit of selecting new flooring for my bathroom and kitchen and having it installed, but that's probably my limit. I don't expect to keep renovating, and if I move in the future I'll make sure it's into a home that doesn't need immediate improvements. 

But this process has not been without its lessons. I'm discovering that the home I live in can become, with a little time, effort, and financial investment, the home of my dreams.

Perspective

Pollyanna I'm not, but...

A potential issue with my car (it's headed to the shop this afternoon) and a washing machine in need of repair haven't made for a great start to this week. Unfortunately, the two issues cropped up simultaneously, making two individual molehills look more like one giant mountain to climb. (How I wish life would only mete out one crisis at a time!)

But I'd be inconsiderate (at best) if I didn't keep things in an accurate perspective. Those are merely inconveniences, not life-or-death problems. A local family that lived down the street from me lost its home (and likely everything in it) in an early-morning fire yesterday. Now that's a life-threatening, life-altering challenge! I'm sure they would much rather have my problematic, aging car and malfunctioning washing machine than their torched shell of a house and all its accompanying burdens. (As would I, of course.)

It's difficult for me to feel sorry for myself or stress out (and believe me, I'm quite skilled at both) over my paltry problems when I think about others who struggle more in one day than I will in a year. For example, I know people who suffer every day from chronic debilitating health issues and pain, which thankfully I don't have. I know people who are unemployed, struggling to provide for themselves and their families, while I'm employed (with a job I enjoy) with money in the bank.Some people live in violent homes or violent neighborhoods (sometimes both), while I live in a safe home in a safe village. I could go on and on, but you get the point.

It's all about perspective. I'm no Pollyanna. I have my struggles, but even in the midst of them I can't ignore my good fortune.

Cloud 9

So I've been hanging out up on proverbial cloud 9 since Saturday morning. Why? My swimming lesson, probably my best ever, went so well that I left the YMCA locker room feeling more pumped up than drained (my usual post-swimming status), a sensation so powerful that not even all-day rain, all-day laundry, and a massive clothing clean-out could dampen my spirit.

Despite promising the dreaded breastroke the previous Saturday, Nancy threw me a kinder curveball, inflicting the far-preferable backstroke upon me. Two months ago I was convinced I'd drown if I tried to float on my back, before countless failed (and flailed) attempts to relax long enough and deeply enough to float backwards finally paid off this past Saturday when I at long last assumed the correct position and floated from the shallow end to the deep end without assistance. Once backwards floating becomes doable, the backstroke is the next natural progression, I discovered. If you can float on your back, you can backstroke. 

Not me, but hopefully my backstroke will someday look like this. (Courtesy of www.videojug.com)

I still have a long way to go before my backstroke is as smooth, graceful, and effortless as Nancy's (her imitation of my arm movements was both spastic and hilarious!), but I can't ignore how far I've come since I started two months ago. Despite my perfectionism, I've learned that sometimes the victory is in doing, whether it's done well or not. Just taking that first shaky step is the accomplishment, while the mastery is merely icing on the cake. 

I'm usually so hard on myself, so impatient and critical, that I overlook the small steps that start the process. But with swimming, every baby step is something for me to celebrate. After all, eight weeks ago I was terrified to put my face in the water, let alone my entire head, and blow a single, miniscule bubble, convinced that I'd drown if I did. After my third lesson, I left the pool feeling dejected, and seriously wondered if I was wasting my time and money by continuing. I could have quit, but I came back stronger and more determined to swim, and immediately started improving.

Maybe my late start in swimming will inspire someone my age (or older) to take swimming lessons or try something else that they've always wanted to do but feared. I hope so. But regardless, I know I've inspired myself.

Just Keep Swimming...

So there's good news and bad news on the swimming front...

My basic swimming skills are improving (the good news), so my wonderful but insane personal trainer/instructor is pushing me harder, faster, and further than I feel comfortable going (the not-so-good news). 

(But, then again, if I was primarily concerned with my comfort level, I, the quintessential aquaphobe, wouldn't be in a YMCA pool, or any pool, every Saturday morning at 8 AM.) 

To my utter terror, that means venturing into the deep end, beyond the orange cone that represents to me some measure of water safety. (Though I suppose progressing from the shallow end to the deep end of the pool is a small victory in its own right, I'm not sure I'm "ready" for it.) She might hold on to me at first, allowing me to catch (and hold) my breath, but then she'll (sometimes literally) give me a push and I'm on my own, frantically windmilling my arms and kicking as if my life depends on it (which, in the deep end, I feel it more or less does).

I would feel so much safer staying in the shallow end...forever...but I suppose that's a good metaphor for life, which, unfortunately, doesn't allow us to stay in the shallower, safer end for long.

And the challenges within this massive swimming quest keep coming. Last Saturday, instead of a buoy, my instructor fitted me with a pair of swim fins (an upgrade, I suppose?)...very heavy, very awkward swim fins. Though they did help me maintain a stronger kick and stay upright during my many floating attempts, I blame them for the nasty leg cramp, which started in my right foot and quickly crept up to my calf, that nearly disabled me as I made my valiant "one more and then we can go home" sprint to the end of the pool.

Besides being a catchphrase from the film "Finding Nemo" (pictured above), I think "just keep swimming" may be the answer to all of my aquatic issues. 

Next Saturday, I've already been warned, I will face a new fearsome foe: the breastroke (which, I fear, might give me a stroke)! I'm afraid...very afraid, but determined to keep swimming.

Footloose and Childfree

This past weekend, while waiting for the final portion of my annual eye exam, my dilated eyes quickly absorbed TIME magazine's August 12 cover-story article by Lauren Sandler, "The Childfree Life." (Here's a preview.) The well-written piece spoke to me, echoing many of my thoughts on the subject, stating them more clearly, factually, and eloquently than I probably could.

It's one of my hot-button issues. I ask myself at least once a week (probably more often) if there's something wrong with me, if I'm horribly self-absorbed or emotionally damaged in some way, for not wanting to ever give birth to a child. 

The truth is I like my life the way it is. Like some of the women profiled in the article, I love my freedom...the freedom to get in my car and go wherever I want to go, to come home to a quiet sanctuary, to live on my own schedule, and to focus on my needs instead of someone else's.

The irony, as the article points out, is that women like me are questioned because of our attitude and/or decision, unlike women who choose to have children (or don't but want them). No one asks a parent why they want to have a child, though everyone wonders what's wrong with someone who doesn't. Personally, I think some women feel it's expected of them, part of their role as a female, even now in the 21st century, to be a wife and mother, serving others while sacrificing themselves. Do they question themselves the way I question myself? 

For some reason, it's far more socially acceptable for women (who are moms) to complain about how difficult and demanding childrearing is than for women (who aren't) to politely decline motherhood (for whatever reason). Why is that? And could it be that some of us are learning from their cautionary tales? Why have a child and spend the next 20+ years lamenting your stretchmarks, loose skin, lack of personal time, lost opportunities, and sacrifices instead of more likely having the body you want to have, enjoying free time, and fulfilling your creative potential?

Even when women (celebrities and nobodies) have (what I see as) valid reasons for being childfree, they're flamed. Look at Jillian Michaels (my hero, if I haven't previously mentioned it...which I know I have...at least twice) whose offhand comments to a Women's Health interviewer made her the target of too many mom blogs back in 2010, before she became a mom to two kids, neither of whom she gave birth to. (Here's a link that references the controversy with her revised comments included.) And then there's comedienne Sarah Silverman, who has said (link here) she will not have a biological child because she refuses to pass along the mental-health issues (namely depression) that have plagued her. 

And that's selfish?! 

I don't get it. In my eyes, it's far more selfish to have a child you cannot (or will not) adequately raise than to recognize your limitations and honor them.

It's a no-brainer for me, but then I'm one of those self-absorbed childfree types, so take my opinion for what it's worth.

Shift (Among Other Things) Happens!

Months ago, during my winterlong addiction to all things PBS, I had the joy of watching Dr. Robert Holden's televised presentation of "Shift Happens!" (also the title and content of one of his books), which eloquently echoed several other programs and books that I read at that time.

Dr. Holden is part of the newish crop of positive-psychology gurus that are popping up in bookstores and on television screens everywhere, and his message is refreshing: "The more you accept yourself, the more every area of your life improves."

Dr. Robert Holden, courtesy of PBS.org

 He's all about self-acceptance, and his path to that goal consists of asking yourself the following questions:

1. "Are you willing to accept that there is more to you than your self-image?" (self-image being the "you" that you present to the world versus real self, which is the 24/7 "you")
2. "Can you accept that there is nothing wrong with you?" (I'm working on this one every day...)
3. "Can you accept that you are what you seek?" (I'm learning this.)
4. "Can you accept that if you stopped trying to improve yourself and practiced self-acceptance, your life would improve?" (Ah, this one is tricky!)
5. "Can you accept the possibility that if you think something is missing in your life, it is you?" (Yes.)

The key to happiness and increased self-esteem is self-acceptance, according to Dr. Holden. You hold that power within you, he's saying, and only you can make it happen. 

Here's a link to Dr. Robert Holden's presentation of "Shift Happens!"

I'm still working on processing and implementing these concepts, and I'll probably continue working on them for the rest of my life, but I know I'm closer than I was a few years ago, or even a few months ago. I've learned there's a domino effect either way: If you think negatively of yourself, you'll make unhealthy decisions and feel badly about yourself. If you practice positive thinking, you'll have increased self-esteem, make healthy decisions, and treat yourself lovingly and kindly. 

And once you start the pattern of positive living begins, it continues....

*You start to take care of yourself in big and little ways.

*You treat yourself to luxuries instead of only necessities.

*You recognize that you are worth your time and effort.

*You know that you deserve to be treated kindly, respectfully, and lovingly.

Growing in this knowledge is one of my primary goals. I want to work on accepting myself as I am. I want to understand that my worth is not based on my self-image but on my true self (the self that I don't always show to the world). I want to accept that there is nothing wrong with me. 

I want to realize that I don't need to change myself, as Dr. Holden asserts, I need to change my mind about myself.

Crazy Adventures

"So what crazy adventures have you had lately?" a friend asked me last week.

Though my answer was admittedly "none," I really love the idea that people who know me are starting to expect crazy, adventurous things from me. I've always wanted to be dependable and responsible, but never boring and predictable. For most of my life, I suspect I've been both the former and the latter. But, hopefully, no more! 

I'm steadily compiling a list of new bucket-list items now that I've crossed off blogging, skydiving, horseback riding, and swimming this year. To assist me in that mission, I've been watching a lot of Travel Channel programming lately (and, no, not just "Man v Food," though you can't beat it for quality (and quantity) food porn), especially my new favorite shows, "Extreme Terror Rides," "Xtreme Waterparks," and "Ride-iculous." 

 

Watching TV typically isn't hazardous to my health, but in this case it might be because I'm getting all sorts of ideas firmly planted in my head, crazy thrills like base jumping (basically a combination of bungee jumping and skydiving), ziplining, Zorbing, dune buggying through the desert, jetboating, water slides, roller coasters, slingshot rides, go karting, and many more wacky and wonderful things that I've yet to experience. 

http://www.travelchannel.com/video/jetboat-through-a-canyon

I think I've spent enough of my life sitting on the sidelines watching other people have all the fun. Now it's time for me to get in the game and be an active participant in my own life. It's time to explore my adventurous side, which lay dormant for so long that I forgot it ever existed (if it ever did). It's been struggling to come out for a long time, but I've kept it mostly suppressed. 

But I'm ready to run amok. I'm ready to surprise myself and everyone else. I'm ready to really live and really feel alive every day, not just go through the motions of life, crossing items off my ever-present to-do list, watching the days of my life tick away without ever really growing or living.

The Real Story?

Hannah Anderson: victim or villain? (www.gospelherald.com)

We've become cynical. Very, very cynical.

That fact has been driven home to me, if it hadn't been previously, since I started reading online feedback to the sensational kidnapping and subsequent rescue and return of 16-year-old Hannah Anderson. If you haven't followed this extraordinary story, Hannah was kidnapped by a 40-something-year-old male family friend with a reported (by Hannah herself on a social media site after her return) romantic interest in her after  killing her mother, younger brother, and dog, and setting fire to his home to destroy evidence. But some of those items were pulled from the ashes, including letters from Hannah to her captor, according to news articles. 

That information, along with reports of a dozen phone calls exchanged between victim and captor on the day of the incident, and Hannah's insistence on resuming an active social media presence (even answering questions about her experience from strangers online), has people shaking their heads and suspecting foul play...on Hannah's part. She's been a bit too resilient, the skeptics have commented. She's been a bit too willing to make public appearances (online and otherwise).

 http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/14/us/hannah-anderson-social-media

As terrible as that sounds, I understand the skepticism. We've seen and heard too many news stories of teenage girls running away with adult male boyfriends, lying about their actions,...and worse. (I recall seeing "48 Hours" telecast a story of a teenage girl who killed her mother for threatening to disrupt the girl's relationship with her bad-influence boyfriend.) These things, unfortunately, are not unprecedented. 

Women, unfortunately, fake their own kidnappings. Teenage girls, unfortunately, run away from home (with or without boyfriends). The truth, we've learned, isn't always what it appeared to be.

Is Hannah's post-return behavior strange? Who's to say? She's a teenager. She's a teenager who has experienced a series of horrific life-changing events in a week's time. In all the media storm surrounding this, I think we've lost sight of that important fact.

Many teenagers are addicted to social media sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr, sharing way too much personal information with virtual strangers. Perhaps that social connection is sustaining her through the loss of her family and aiding her recovering. Perhaps she's still in shock and hasn't processed anything at all. Maybe she's just acting without thinking. (She wouldn't be the first teenager-or adult-to be guilty of that!)

I don't know. What I do know is I can't imagine myself publicly answering questions or posting information about such an ordeal on Facebook. I can't imagine not lying low for a very long time afterward, so the news articles about her Facebook posts and ask.fm question-and-answer session gave me a squicky feeling, though there's nothing necessarily sinister in that.

I don't understand why she has chosen to address this so publicly, but maybe she doesn't either. Personally, I don't want to believe that she (or anyone else) was involved in the deaths of her family in any way. Of course I don't. So I'm choosing to believe in her innocence unless the evidence (if it exists) proves her guilty of wrongdoing. 

But like any other cynical American news watcher, I'm also fervently hoping that "we don't get fooled again" (to quote the Who).

Moving Forward

As I promised myself in last week's post, I did "go" beyond my limitations during last Saturday's swimming session, more than I have in any of the previous lessons, earning myself a highly coveted high-five from Nancy, my wonderfully-fierce personal trainer/instructor, and an unexpected round of applause from the young male lifeguard (who has seen far too much of my utterly embarrassing pool flailing, though necessarily so, I suppose).

And thank God for that because, as much as I'm not a quitter, I seriously wanted to throw in the (swimming) towel after my third disastrous attempt at swimming. But it seems my quirky kitchen-sink practice has made a huge difference in making me more comfortable with putting (and keeping) my head underwater. Now I need to work on keeping it there as I glide a short distance from one side to the other with my arms stretched out in front of me (next to my ears), with my chin to my chest, my eyes on the bottom of the pool, and my legs kicking behind me. Nancy makes it look so easy that it's frustrating for this type-A perfectionist not to be able to duplicate it after my first 100 (or so) attempts at graceful gliding.

My backwards floating has also improved, though I instinctively panic and fall out of position when I feel Nancy let go of me. Naturally, I guess, I'm more trusting of her ability (which is infinite) than mine (which is miniscule). 

It's all about comfort (and discomfort, in a sense). Overcoming aquaphobia requires putting yourself in the uncomfortable element often enough that you become comfortable with it, which I am, very, very slowly. 

I don't know if I'll ever love swimming (if I ever become a real swimmer, that is, though I'm thinking optimistically) enough  to swim laps in the YMCA pool at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, as some of my far-advanced fellow pool inhabitants admirably do, but my ultimate goal is to be unafraid. To be fearless, in and out of the pool.

The Third Time (Wasn't the Charm)

"Today we're gonna go!" Nancy, my swimming instructor, cheerfully informed me when I checked in at the YMCA's front desk last Saturday. 

Unfortunately, despite our best intentions, we didn't "go" very far...

Coming into my third lesson, I felt good, cautiously optimistic, though, granted, a huge chunk of that good feeling was immense relief at fleeing the pool for a one-week reprieve before the next round of torture fun. 

I left after my third lesson, last week, feeling totally discouraged. The reason why: my psychological fear of holding my face underwater is holding me back. 

If I can't do that, I realized, I can't do anything else. I'm wasting my time, energy, and money (and, believe me, I do not like to waste any of these things) on swimming lessons unless I force myself to overcome this fear. But it's huge. Even the thought of holding my face (or, God forbid, my head) underwater makes me panic. It equals drowning to me. So I have a decision to make: Which is stronger, my fear of water or my desire to swim? My answer will determine everything else that happens (or doesn't happen). 

First the sink, then the pool.

To help me improve, I've given myself homework. Every evening I practice immersing my face in a kitchen sink full of water. I know this sounds (and probably looks) very strange, especially since I don my swimming cap and goggles when doing so (though I stop short of changing into my swimsuit), but whatever works, right? 

I'm getting accustomed to this uncomfortable feeling, gradually holding it under longer and deeper, while showing myself that I can do it without drowning (or inhaling a gallon of water up my nose, which is almost as horrible). 

 If all goes well, this weekend I'll be ready to go!

Trying to Stay Afloat

True to my promise in the "Diving In" post three weeks ago, I've started private swimming lessons at my local YMCA. So far, I've survived two lessons without drowning or hyperventilating (success!), and I'm slowly becoming more skilled and less fearful. 

The first hurdle was getting up super-early for my 8 AM Saturday lessons. I mean, I'm used to getting up early (5:30 AM) for work during the week, but Saturday during the past year had become my lazy day to eat breakfast in bed while watching a morning movie. Now I'm up and in the pool before I know it (I suppose there's some benefit to that when you're as neurotic as I am), before my mind has fully engaged to warn me about the potential danger of being a non-swimmer in a huge pool.

For the first lesson two weeks ago, I met my instructor Nancy for the first time when she blew into the locker room like a tornado (a sweet, friendly tornado, though) and introduced herself as I fumbled with my swim cap and goggles. It was approximately 7:50, but she was ready to go, ushering me into the colder-than-expected water before my scheduled lesson. I wasn't sure what to expect after being told in advance she was 72 years old, but I knew I was in trouble when I saw her impressive physical conditioning and learned that she's a personal trainer who also teaches karate and tai chi.

We started off with some water aerobics (which she also teaches), as she grabbed my hands and helped me walk through the water to become more comfortable with moving in it. Then she asked me to put my face, and later my entire head, in the water to blow bubbles. Next, we moved on to practicing proper kicking technique (with body lifted, core engaged, and legs unbent) while holding on to the edge of the pool. Then it was on to arm positions and eventually putting all three together. 

Finally, after 45 minutes of what was supposed to be a 30-minute session, I limped out of the pool, completely exhausted, while telling myself that I MUST return the following week for more torture. I'd come too far to give up.

Trying to make this fierce foe a friend...

I did indeed return for a second session last week after psyching myself up to be fearless enough to willingly do anything she asked of me, no matter how scary. There are times when you need to turn off your brain and just let your body do what it needs to do. (I learned that when skydiving two months ago!)

So I willingly stepped back into the pool for more water torture fun and improved slightly in floating, kicking, and moving through the water while holding on to a kickboard. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, however, as Nancy had a surprise for me when I (somehow) ventured down to the deeper end and was instructed to do 10 chin-ups on a pair of handlebars hanging above the pool. Having placed myself (literally) completely in her hands, I did as I was told, continuing with three more sets of 10 reps each time I made it down there. (I didn't think too much about the chin-ups afterwards, figuring that it was just an added bonus of having a swimming instructor who doubled as a personal trainer, until I awoke the next day feeling as if my upper body had been run over by a tractor-trailer. My arms and abs were seriously, agonizingly sore for the next three days!)

When I finished the second session, I asked Nancy if I was hopeless; thankfully, she assured me that she's very hopeful I'll progress, though I politely declined to meet her twice weekly for lessons. I don't think my body could handle it! 

(And yes, I will return my fearful fearless self to the pool this Saturday. I promise!)