Figure Skating: An Appreciation

The U.S. Figure Skating Championships are my Super Bowl. 

Every year since my first glimpse as an 11-year-old in 1994, this annual televised event has been a tradition, a hobby, a passion, and, at times, an obsession. 

I love figure skating-and have ever since my first viewing-the way a lot of people love football. Prior to 1994, I had never seen anything so magnificent as the sparkly sequined costumes (on both the men and the women!) paired with unbelievable jumps, spins, and spirals, set to classical music and opera. 

The first skater I remember watching was 13-year-old Michelle Kwan, a tiny jumping phenom who did things that I never imagined could be done on ice skates over a glistening sheet of ice. (Over the ensuing years, I would grow up watching Kwan grow up as she won national titles, world titles, and Olympic medals, narrowly, heartbreakingly losing out on Olympic gold twice.) 

I couldn't get enough. Fortunately for me and the countless other American viewers (but unfortunately for poor Nancy Kerrigan and her whacked knee) who jumped aboard this crazy train, there was more than enough televised coverage in which to revel. 

Beginning in October and stretching through March or April, every weekend was jam packed with televised pro and amateur competitions and exhibitions. It was often the same skaters performing the same programs in the same costumes, but I didn't care. I wanted to see everything. And I did. I watched every minute and read every article and book I could find.

The great thing about this sport-then and now-is the off-ice drama is often as compelling as the on-ice spectacles. It was my own real-life soap opera. I got lost in the beauty, excitement, thrills, and spills. It brought much-needed glitz and beauty to my often difficult (and completely unglamorous) adolescence. It took me away from bullies, insecurities, unhappiness, depression, anxiety, and the agony of unrequited love. 

Although my obsession has long since evolved into an interest and appreciation now that I'm an adult with a personal life that is (occasionally) more intriguing and fulfilling than it once was, figure skating can still be found on my television screen whenever a cheesy exhibition or an increasingly-infrequent competition is aired. Americans, in general, seem to have grown up and lost interest. Judging scandals and a dearth of memorable stars have dulled its luster, it seems. 

 But for me it will always shine.

Warm Thoughts

This cold weather is driving me crazy. 

It's making me even more neurotic, which I didn't think was possible. 

My new electric blanket (probably the best Christmas present ever) and space heater have become my lifelines at warding off the chill of a frigid apartment. I've never felt more motivated to eke out a brutally sweaty workout. I have to say, though, that I never imagined I would ever complete an intense one-hour Jillian Michaels workout in front of the space heater while wearing two layers of clothing. (I usually require relief from the fan-even in winter-after finishing the first circuit.)

These freezing temperatures are really testing my mental and emotional resourcefulness (not to mention my sanity). I've had to toughen up, forcing myself from underneath the electric blanket and away from the space heater to get up in the morning, go to work (venturing out into the truly freezing cold), wash dishes, do the laundry, and take a shower (with scalding hot water, of course!). 

I've also gotten creative in devising new ways to stay warm, including installing an under-door draft guard to try to block some of the outdoor air from creeping in under my apartment's door crack. And I'm experimenting to discover how many layers of clothing I can comfortably wear with 'x' number of blankets on my bed at 'x' level of heat from my electric blanket. It's dangerously close to a math formula...and I'm not at all a math person.

All the while, I'm thinking balmy, sultry, tropical thoughts. My imaginary "happy place" is very, very warm and relaxing. A deserted island, perhaps, with my own private beach. The constantly warm temperature is its most important feature, though. 

It goes without saying that I'm counting the months until summer. Hopefully this will be a unbearably warm one. I'd welcome a daily high of 90 degrees at this point. Heck, I'd be happy to once again experience 32 degrees. Forty-five degrees would feel like a tropical heatwave. In the meantime, the cold temps, though threatening my sanity, are also building my character (right?), making me more creative and and resourceful in my mission for warmth.

Women, Food, and God

I recently read Geneen Roth's book Women, Food, and God, which I found amazing. 

It contains the best explanation that I've found as to why it's necessary for our emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual well-being to feel and accept our feelings. The alternative, according to the author, is we (women, specifically) will use food (or some other "drug") as comfort from boredom, rejection, loneliness, emptiness, heartbreak, etc. This is emotional eating at its core. If we eat when we're not really hungry, we need to ask ourselves why. How are we feeling at that moment? And, a bit more strangely, where is this feeling (chest, head, heart, belly)?

The author opines that a woman's eating style and what she eats reveals everything else about her, including her spiritual view (or lack thereof) of God. Fascinating stuff!

The true cure for weight loss that lasts (not to mention total lasting well-being), writes Roth, is to face and validate your feelings. All our feelings want is to be accepted openly. Once they are, their power is lessened and they no longer control us.

Also, we have a tendency to unbury past pain and traumatic memories when we face present pain, though this is often scary. We might say or think, for example, "I can't handle this pain." Or "I won't be able to function if I feel my own pain." (I know I think these thoughts!) 

But the key is to recognize that we are bigger and greater than our pain. (As is God.) We can feel our feelings without being destroyed by them. We need to stay in the moment and find peace, joy, and beauty in it, the author writes.

I'm so thankful that I found this book. These thoughts are exactly what I've been pondering throughout the past few months, but she explains them in a deeper, more cohesive way than I've thought them. 

 Eating should be healthy, normal, and nourishing, never an attempt to fill a void.

Random Happiness

I've come to believe that happiness is more elusive the more it's sought. At least it has been for me.

It's like the saying that you find love when you stop looking for it and you least expect to find it.

Happiness comes randomly, unexpectedly, in little moments like getting in bed at the end of the day, knowing that every item on my to-do list has been checked off and all I need to do is relax and fall asleep.

It's there when I finish a workout and feel amazing even though I thought it might kill me only a few minutes earlier. 

It comes when I receive a surprise e-mail, text message, or Facebook friend request from someone I had just thought of, proving to me that I'm not alone, unloved, and forgotten.

It pops up when I'm driving my car and wonderful song after wonderful song comes on, one right after another. 

It blooms when I have an entire afternoon or evening to absorb an enchanting book without interruption.

It's there when I feel overwhelming love for something or someone and feel loved in return.

It shows up when I'm thankful for all that I have, regardless of circumstances.

Most of all, I experience it when I see and feel God all around me, hidden in the tiniest details of my life.

It Never Ends...

I'm 30 years old, and I have a bully.

Usually when I think of bullies and bullying, I think of kids, high schoolers and middle schoolers, but the sad truth is it doesn't end when you graduate from high school. 

Did I mention that the woman who insults and ridicules me as she walks by my office at work is also in her 30s?

I don't get it. I really don't. 

The only explanation I can muster is that this woman is either:

a) horribly insecure and feels better about herself by cutting me down

or

b) a nasty, unhappy person who enjoys making other people feel awful

My vote is for both a) and b), though trying to analyze the reason doesn't make the problem go away.

I read an article on Slate.com recently about a former high-school bully who looked back shamefully on his younger self as he tried to explain to the article's author why he bullied and spread ugly, reputation-shattering rumors about some of his female classmates. According to the article, he went as far as calling these now-grown women to apologize for his actions and ask them how his bullying had affected them long term. 

The results were mixed. One of the women said the bullying had made her a stronger person, while another of his targets said she had begged her family to let her transfer to another school and had attempted suicide as an adult (although not because of the bullying).

My post-high-school experience has been a combination of those two responses. The bullying that I endured in middle school and high school has made me a stronger, more compassionate person who doesn't want to hurt others the way I've been hurt. But those hurtful, insulting words, once internalized, have wreaked untold damage. 

I've always, from a very young age, felt like an outcast. Even now, as an adult, I still feel like I never fit in, so I lose any motivation to try to make new friends or go to parties and make small talk with strangers. Even when I do fit in, my perception is that I don't.

What the author of the Slate.com article really wanted to know was why. The former bully, in an attempt to explain, said he had no idea his words and actions had caused so much pain. That wasn't his intention, he said. He merely wanted to fit in with a certain group of friends. 

And I'm sure the real answer is usually insecurity, an attempt to wield control over someone, and/or a bid for attention. But above and beyond the why is how do I (or anyone else who is bullied) deal with it? A bully is unlikely to change. And reporting this to my HR department (or teachers or principals) is not an option. (Is it ever?)

What I want most is for this person to get a life, go away, and leave me alone. Stop trying to seek my attention. Since that's not likely to happen, the next best thing is not to respond to her. Why give my attention to someone who is so desperate for it that she deliberately makes derogatory comments within my hearing range. I can choose not to give her a visible response, but the worst part is that she does get an invisible response from me. It does hurt my feelings and makes me feel bad about myself. 

Even more than that, it resurrects the trauma I felt and internalized when I was younger, a scared, shy girl who felt that she would never be accepted as she was because who she was, according to her bullies, wasn't good enough. 

The wounds heal and become less visible over time, but the scars never disappear. When I write about fear of ridicule and judgment for exposing my writing (not to mention myself), it is this trauma I think of. But I refuse to curl up within myself, to shut down emotionally and stop trying. No bully will have that power over me. Not anymore.

Liberation

I've finally taken the proverbial plunge and started my own blog. After standing on the edge of the cliff (seemingly forever), I finally jumped, trusting that my bungee cord would do its job and I'd survive. I didn't expect to feel so excited, but I feel like a kid in a candy store with money in my pocket. There are so many options for expressing myself and exploring my creativity. 

I feel more liberated than frightened. I have my own Internet place (the creative equivalent of having my own apartment). I can post what I want, when I want, and design it as I wish. I can write a lot or a little and choose who reads it. I can bring attention to it or not bring attention to it. For now, I like the feeling of having my own special secret place. 

Will I tell anyone or keep it to myself for awhile? I'm not sure. I guess promoting it is my next hurdle. It's one thing to start a blog knowing that no one will read it if no one knows it's there. But someday someone will read it, whether I draw attention to it or not. 

I can't hide in anonymity forever. I've done that for the past however many years without any discernible benefit. Sure, it's safe...safer than exposing myself, but it's imprisoning. I have a voice that I need to express. The first step was finding it. The next step is learning how to use it.

So maybe this blog won't bring me fame, fortune, fans, a book deal, a best seller, and a Pulitzer Prize. That shouldn't be my intention. The most important thing is to rediscover my love of writing and, through that, rediscover myself. 

I don't want to leave this earth not knowing who I am and wondering what I might have been able to accomplish.

 I don't want to regret not taking a risk. 

It might not pay off with the desired reward, but there's a better chance that it will if I try than if I refuse to do anything, risking neither failure or success.

Why Start a Blog?

Does the Internet really need another blog? And, to be even more pessimistic, will anyone read mine? Maybe not. But I’ve reached a point where there are more reasons for me to start blogging than there are not to blog. Seriously, my pros/cons chart looks something like this:

Reasons to blog:                                                                        Reasons not to blog:     

*Therapeutic benefits                                                                   *Fear

*Fostered creativity

*Increased self-expression

*Increased self-confidence

*Overcoming fear

*My own forum (with my rules, on my terms)

So, what am I afraid of? Why has it taken me so long? Why is this venture something that I would not have considered a year ago? I’m afraid of judgment. I’m afraid of ridicule. I’m afraid to allow others to see who I really am and know how I really feel. I could hide behind the mantle of being a private person, but the truth lies far deeper. I’m afraid to expose myself. I’m afraid to be vulnerable. If I’m exposed and vulnerable, I’m capable of being hurt. I’m afraid of success and I’m afraid of failure. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m more afraid of having my blog read or having it completely ignored.

All I know is that I need to write. It’s a huge part of my identity. I lost that part of myself seven years ago when I left my job as a reporter at a small weekly newspaper. I was broken, burned out, and totally disillusioned. I threw my writing on a proverbial shelf and left it there, mostly untouched, not realizing how desperately I needed it, how much a part of me it was (and is). The only writing I did was journaling, essays for college assignments, and work-related reports and newsletters. I had lost any confidence that I had in my potential. And, over time, I lost myself.

But now I’ve taken my first faltering steps back to writing. I bought a laptop, hammered out a short story that I tried to publish (no dice…yet), edited a non-fiction piece that I also tried to publish (same result), and enjoyed the process of putting pen to paper (literally because, despite the laptop, I love the old-fashioned intimacy of writing by hand). 

As a result, I’ve changed. I’ve heard it from others who know me, but, more importantly, I feel it. I feel like myself again, but better. I’m an improved version of myself (Jeanie 2.0). Despite the occasional turmoil in my life, I feel whole. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I feel at peace with myself and with my Creator. My creative spirit has been reborn (endless thanks to Julia Cameron and The Artist’s Way) and is ready to start flapping its still-fragile little wings and fly out into the big, scary world, not knowing what it will find but trusting that all will be well. 

All is well. 

So that’s why I write. The blogging world might not need me, but, God help me (!), I need it…