I keep a journal. I have kept one since 2011. I keep it electronically. I use Penzu. I know some people may not like journaling electronically and would prefer handwriting in a bound journal of some sort. I like journaling this way for two main reasons: 1. I prefer typing over handwriting. I always have. Its so much quicker. 2. I like that I get e-mails reminding me of what I wrote on a certain day years ago.
This morning I got one of those updates. It started with here is what you wrote one year ago. It was dated February 20, 2017 and the headline of the entry was "No Discipline!" I go on to talk about how I went way over my Weight Watchers points that week thanks to being on a short weekend vacation as well as Valentine's Day and going out to dinner a lot. I also mentioned that I didn't do well on getting any exercise that week. The results were that I had gained one pound and was at 240.
I basically wrote that exact same post on Monday of this week without having an idea that I had written that a year ago. I went well over my allotted points for the week with Weight Watchers and I didn't do so great with my exercise last week. Again, I talked about going out to eat more than usual with both Valentine's Day and going out to dinner over the weekend. According to the scale this week, I didn't gain. That was a relief. I didn't lose either though. The scale read the same thing it did a week ago. 239. So, I weigh exactly what I did at this point last year.
Last year's entry I also mention that it was an unusual 60 degree day and that I should get out and get moving. Even Mother Nature is in a pattern! Today, February 20, 2018 we are having an unusually warm spring-like day.
Recognizing patterns is an important part of this journey. I don't want to continue down the same path as I did last year because I know that ended up with me gaining another 21 pounds throughout the year and ending up at 261, my heaviest weight ever.
I've been doing good so far this year. Obviously there will be set backs. That is also part of the process. I just can't let those set backs steer me too far off track. I have to keep moving forward.
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Spirituality, Death, and Dying
"By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, Till you return to the ground, Because from it you were taken; For you are dust, And to dust you shall return." - Genesis 3:19 King James Bible
I have a little obsession with death. I always have. My dining room has several decorations celebrating Dia de Muertos "The Day of the Dead". I have always found them to be beautiful.
My first real experience with death was when I was probably around nine or ten years old and it was terrifying to me at the time. I had been visiting my Great Grandmother's house once a week to transcribe our family history. We would sit and she would tell me about her parents and grandparents and how they originally came to this country. She would speak of cousins, uncles, aunts, and siblings and I would write it all down. At the time, my Great Grandma was ninety-one years old. One day she had a fall and was going downhill. I stopped going over for a while. My Great Grandma was a very religious person. She never missed going to church, and Sunday was her favorite day of the week. That is why it seemed like a prayer had been answered when one Sunday she started to get much better and was like her old self. I had decided that I would return that week and we would start our family history project again. That Wednesday I showed up to the house, but things were very different. She had taken a turn for the worse.
They had moved my Great Grandma to the guest room on the first floor so that she didn't have to walk up stairs. It was a room right off the dining room with an arched entry way. There wasn't a door to the room, but rather sheer see through curtains that I remember running through as a kid. This day, on the other side of those sheer curtains was death looming in the air. I walked into see her, but she wasn't making any sense. She kept calling out for her mother as if she were a little girl and she was lost. I was spooked. I didn't stay long. The next day, Thursday, my Great Grandma passed away. When I went to the visitation, it was the first time I had ever seen a dead body. It didn't look like my Great Grandma at all. Her face was caked with make-up and her mouth was really wide which tended to smooth out the wrinkles that had become so familiar to me. It looked like a scary version of my Great Grandma and I didn't want to be there any more. I had nightmares about that for a long time afterwards. When my Grandma on my Dad's side died a few years later, I didn't want to have to go into the room where the coffin was. I was scared of what lie inside.
As a young man, I had fears of dying way before my time. I was a bit of a hypochondriac. Any time I saw a mark on me, I thought it could be fatal. As a kid and teenager, I knew I was gay. At the time, AIDS was infesting our country. There was so little information about it and I thought that just because I was unfortunate enough to be gay, that I automatically had it. I kept waiting or lesions to pop up on my body. The mark of death.
I still think I have some fears around death, but not in the same way I used to. I have never had kids of my own, so I've never been able to witness the miracle of a new life coming into this world first hand. I have though been present when three souls that I loved very much left this world.
The first was my Grandpa on my Mom's side of the family. My Grandpa lived to ninety-four years old and he always said to us, "When I go, don't cry for me. I've had a great life." My Grandpa was always so full of life. He had a ton of buddies who he loved to play golf with or get together to play music with. He was a clarinetist and was very good. He was the person who made me want to play clarinet as a kid. Living into your nineties I think has to be a bit of a mixed blessing. You end up outliving many of the people who you were closest with in life. Soon, all of your friends have died, yet you remain. I'm sure there is a very lonely feeling that comes with that.
I received a phone call on a very early January Sunday night in 2012 that my Grandpa had a stroke while doing the dishes and my Grandma had found him lying on the floor in the kitchen unresponsive. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but they wanted to transfer him via helicopter to a hospital that specialized more with strokes. I got in my car and raced to the hospital. I was the first one to get there after he had arrived via air lift. When I went into his room to see him, he was able to open his eyes and look at me. He held my hand. He knew it was me, but he couldn't talk. The doctor kept asking me if he had a living will. I didn't have that on me, but I did know that he was adamant that he not be put on any sort of life support. He had told us that many times before. Eventually, he was transferred to a room and I volunteered to spend the night with my Grandma in his room so that she wasn't all alone.
The next morning when we woke up, his breathing had become much more erratic. Both my Grandma and I inherently knew that this was most likely the end. She asked if I would wheel her over to him (she was in a wheelchair after losing a leg a couple of years before) so that she could hold his hand. I did. I helped her to stand as best as she could so that she could lean over and kiss him. She told him it was okay if he needed to go. I did everything I could to fight back tears and remain strong for her.
I called my family and told them that I thought they should all come soon and say their good-byes. They had all planned on being at the hospital anyway at 10:00 a.m. because we were supposed to meet with doctors to discuss next steps. He hung on until everyone was in the room. At 10:00 a.m. the doctor who we were supposed to meet with came in and started to talk about the possibilities of putting a feeding tube in him. I was very vocal saying that I thought that would be a bad decision. I knew that he wouldn't want that. The doctor didn't make it easy for everyone though. She kept putting doubts in our minds that possibly with a feeding tube he may have the time he needed to get back to normal. He may end up being able to speak again. It was too early to tell. While I knew that it was her job as a doctor to do everything she could to make him better, I was angry. I was angry that she started putting these doubts in our heads. I knew this was the wrong decision, but now I had my Mom and siblings, even my Grandma who I think knew he was leaving us, re-thinking whether or not this was the right choice. Just as we were all pre-occupied talking about this, a nurse entered and called the doctor out into the hallway. The doctor stepped out and then almost immediately came back in and told us his heart had stopped. He was gone.
In the end, he gave us such a huge blessing in that he took that terrible decision out of our hands. He made it for us. We wouldn't have to second guess on whether or not we did the right thing.
The second time I experienced death first hand was in 2015 when my Mother-in-Law passed away. She had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor in November of 2014. She began the procedures of going through chemo, but she knew that she was basically biding time. The chemo started having bad side effects and really affected her standard of living. She made the decision to go off of chemo around February of 2015. When it started to get close to the end, hospice was called in and a bed was set up in the living room of her home. My husband would go over every day and spend time with her and joke with her to keep her smiling. On the last night of her life, she was surrounded by all of her kids. I was also there holding onto my husband while he held his Mom's hand and let her know that it was okay to go. She died surrounded in a circle of love that night.
The third time I was there was in March of 2016 when my Grandma on my Mom's side passed away. She had become ill with pneumonia right around her birthday. My Grandma was another very spiritual and religious person. Every morning when she would wake up, she'd look out the little window in her bathroom up to the sky and repeat the phrase, "This is the day the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." She was another person who never missed church unless she absolutely had to. Every year on her birthday it was so important for her to celebrate at the church. So, after services, we would get a large cake and everyone would come into the parlor to wish her a happy birthday. On March 4, 2016, my Grandma turned ninety-eight years old. That Sunday, March 6th, she wasn't feeling that particularly well, but she managed to make it to church for her celebration. The next day on Monday March 7th, she went into the hospital to be treated for pneumonia.
My Grandma was one of the strongest people I have ever known. She took everything in stride. Any time she faced a health issue, she would just repeat, "I take it one day at a time" and when it might be a particularly bad day, she would say, "Sometimes I have to take it one moment at a time." Going into the hospital this time for her was no different. When they asked her if she wanted to be put on a breathing machine so that her body didn't have to work so hard and possibly that would help speed her recovery, she didn't hesitate to say yes.
I know she was so uncomfortable having that tube stuck down her throat, but she never would complain about it. At the time, I was directing a show out in the suburbs. Often after rehearsals (or before) I would head to the hospital to visit. She would try her best to communicate with us. She couldn't talk because the breathing tube was down her throat. So, we tried things like letter boards to see if she could point to the letter and we could try to spell it out.
One day when I visited her I could tell she was trying to tell me something. She was quite animated. I thought she was uncomfortable, so I kept trying to guess what it was that needed fixing. Maybe she needed the pillow raised or to sit up more in bed. Maybe she needed her back messaged. Her back often ached. I kept guessing, but wasn't getting very far. I tried the spelling board. Eventually, I figured out that she was trying to ask me how my rehearsals were going. I told her all was going well, and she clapped.
After a few weeks on a breathing tube, the doctors told her that the lungs didn't look that much better. Despite all of the antibiotics, things really weren't improving much and the longer she stayed on the breathing machine, the less likely she would be able to return to the same quality of life that she had been experiencing. It was at that time, that my ninety-eight year old grandma, of sound mind and body, made her own decision to be removed from the life support. She pointed to the ceiling, and I said, 'You want to go see God and Grandpa?" and she nodded yes. The doctors removed the tubes and upped the morphine to help her breathing so that she wouldn't be gasping and struggling for breath. Again, the family circled around her bed. We held her hands. We sang her songs. The sun was setting and her hospital windows faced West. My brother pointed out that the sun when you looked at it, had a glow about it that almost took the shape of a cross. Soon after, my Grandma took one last breath, and then was gone.
I had seen fear in both of my Grandparents in the past when they had dealt with health issues. When my Mother-in-law was first diagnosed with the brain tumor, I know there was a lot of grief and fear. At the end though of all three, that fear seemed to disappear. There was a peace that was in the room and in each case, they were surrounded by love. I always thought how sad it must be for people to have a sudden heart attach when they are alone at home and no one is around. I hope they too feel some comfort even though I'm sure fear is what comes first as they realize they are having a heart attach.
I grew up in a pretty liberal Presbyterian church. Going to church when I was a kid was not an option. I enjoyed going to church though. I had very good friends who I attended Sunday school with and we would go on outings together. When I got into high school, the senior high's would take mission trips to help fix up housing or work on other projects in areas of need. We traveled to Yonkers New York, to an Indian reservation in South Dakota, and poverty ridden areas of Virginia. I believed in the work we did and the lessons I took away from that church of helping the needy and doing good in the world have stuck with me to this day.
I can't say, I'm particularly religious any longer. I even had my doubts as a kid. I remember having to go through confirmation at fifteen and having some real doubts about God's existence. I think one thing that bothered me was I always felt that some of the themes throughout the Bible were powerful, but I never took them literally, nor do I think they were meant to be taken literally. Stories like Noah and the ark and Jonah and the whale were never taught to us as kids as literal stories, but more like lessons. I'm not sure any of us walked away believing a guy actually surveyed in the belly of a whale. However, when it came to the story of Jesus, I felt everything was taken literally. Jesus was born to a virgin and could walk on water and rose from the dead. All of that came off as ridiculous magic in my mind. I then also had to question if our religion was right, then other religions must have it wrong.
So many conflicts throughout history have been started in the names of religion. Wars have started. People have died, all for a belief system that no one has any evidence of. As I have become more cynical about religion, I have really longed for some sort of spirituality. When it comes down to it, I think many people are religious because we all have a need to feel like there is some purpose for us being here on earth and we hope that when we die, all is not for naught.
The other night, I watched the film Coco. It's takes place during the Day of the Dead celebration and the general themes of the film are to remember those that have passed. In the film, there is a thing called "the final death" which is what happens to someone who has already died and left the physical world, but they truly disappear once the last person who remembered them on earth no longer is there. Then, they have died the true death as there is no one to carry on their memory.
When my Grandma died, I took a bunch of pictures of the family lineage that she had hanging on her walls in the hallway. I believe the photos go all the way back to my great great great grandfather. I sadly, couldn't tell you the first thing about that man. I don't know what his life was like or what kind of person he was. All I have is a very old black and white photo of him, but it is something.
On the flip side of that coin, I was listening to music the other day as I was working around the house, when the song "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" by Pete Fountain the great clarinetist started to play over the speakers. Instantly, my Grandpa was in the room with me. It was a song he used to play on the clarinet brilliantly all the time. He was right there with me in that moment. I know it.
I have been told many times, that my personality is a lot like my Grandpas. I try to carry his spirit with me every day. I carry on both of my grandparents memories by continuing to tell their stories just as my Great Grandma told me stories of her parents and grandparents when I was nine year's old. That is how we keep those who have left us alive.
I don't know what exists after this life, if anything. What I do know is that all we really want is to be remembered. We want to know we had some impact; that we made some difference in the short time that we were here. We want to be seen. We want to matter.
When I do eventually leave this earth, I will have no children to carry on my legacy. I'm not really all that concerned about that, but I do want to leave behind something. I'm not sure what that is yet. Perhaps it's enough that I was a kind person who valued and loved those that were around me. Still the questions remain: How do I make the most out of my time that I'm here? How do I live my life to the fullest? If I was put here on earth for a reason, how do I make sure that I am living that purpose out every day? How do I reach my full potential? How do I want to be remembered once I'm gone?
I have a little obsession with death. I always have. My dining room has several decorations celebrating Dia de Muertos "The Day of the Dead". I have always found them to be beautiful.
My first real experience with death was when I was probably around nine or ten years old and it was terrifying to me at the time. I had been visiting my Great Grandmother's house once a week to transcribe our family history. We would sit and she would tell me about her parents and grandparents and how they originally came to this country. She would speak of cousins, uncles, aunts, and siblings and I would write it all down. At the time, my Great Grandma was ninety-one years old. One day she had a fall and was going downhill. I stopped going over for a while. My Great Grandma was a very religious person. She never missed going to church, and Sunday was her favorite day of the week. That is why it seemed like a prayer had been answered when one Sunday she started to get much better and was like her old self. I had decided that I would return that week and we would start our family history project again. That Wednesday I showed up to the house, but things were very different. She had taken a turn for the worse.
They had moved my Great Grandma to the guest room on the first floor so that she didn't have to walk up stairs. It was a room right off the dining room with an arched entry way. There wasn't a door to the room, but rather sheer see through curtains that I remember running through as a kid. This day, on the other side of those sheer curtains was death looming in the air. I walked into see her, but she wasn't making any sense. She kept calling out for her mother as if she were a little girl and she was lost. I was spooked. I didn't stay long. The next day, Thursday, my Great Grandma passed away. When I went to the visitation, it was the first time I had ever seen a dead body. It didn't look like my Great Grandma at all. Her face was caked with make-up and her mouth was really wide which tended to smooth out the wrinkles that had become so familiar to me. It looked like a scary version of my Great Grandma and I didn't want to be there any more. I had nightmares about that for a long time afterwards. When my Grandma on my Dad's side died a few years later, I didn't want to have to go into the room where the coffin was. I was scared of what lie inside.
As a young man, I had fears of dying way before my time. I was a bit of a hypochondriac. Any time I saw a mark on me, I thought it could be fatal. As a kid and teenager, I knew I was gay. At the time, AIDS was infesting our country. There was so little information about it and I thought that just because I was unfortunate enough to be gay, that I automatically had it. I kept waiting or lesions to pop up on my body. The mark of death.
I still think I have some fears around death, but not in the same way I used to. I have never had kids of my own, so I've never been able to witness the miracle of a new life coming into this world first hand. I have though been present when three souls that I loved very much left this world.
The first was my Grandpa on my Mom's side of the family. My Grandpa lived to ninety-four years old and he always said to us, "When I go, don't cry for me. I've had a great life." My Grandpa was always so full of life. He had a ton of buddies who he loved to play golf with or get together to play music with. He was a clarinetist and was very good. He was the person who made me want to play clarinet as a kid. Living into your nineties I think has to be a bit of a mixed blessing. You end up outliving many of the people who you were closest with in life. Soon, all of your friends have died, yet you remain. I'm sure there is a very lonely feeling that comes with that.
I received a phone call on a very early January Sunday night in 2012 that my Grandpa had a stroke while doing the dishes and my Grandma had found him lying on the floor in the kitchen unresponsive. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but they wanted to transfer him via helicopter to a hospital that specialized more with strokes. I got in my car and raced to the hospital. I was the first one to get there after he had arrived via air lift. When I went into his room to see him, he was able to open his eyes and look at me. He held my hand. He knew it was me, but he couldn't talk. The doctor kept asking me if he had a living will. I didn't have that on me, but I did know that he was adamant that he not be put on any sort of life support. He had told us that many times before. Eventually, he was transferred to a room and I volunteered to spend the night with my Grandma in his room so that she wasn't all alone.
The next morning when we woke up, his breathing had become much more erratic. Both my Grandma and I inherently knew that this was most likely the end. She asked if I would wheel her over to him (she was in a wheelchair after losing a leg a couple of years before) so that she could hold his hand. I did. I helped her to stand as best as she could so that she could lean over and kiss him. She told him it was okay if he needed to go. I did everything I could to fight back tears and remain strong for her.
I called my family and told them that I thought they should all come soon and say their good-byes. They had all planned on being at the hospital anyway at 10:00 a.m. because we were supposed to meet with doctors to discuss next steps. He hung on until everyone was in the room. At 10:00 a.m. the doctor who we were supposed to meet with came in and started to talk about the possibilities of putting a feeding tube in him. I was very vocal saying that I thought that would be a bad decision. I knew that he wouldn't want that. The doctor didn't make it easy for everyone though. She kept putting doubts in our minds that possibly with a feeding tube he may have the time he needed to get back to normal. He may end up being able to speak again. It was too early to tell. While I knew that it was her job as a doctor to do everything she could to make him better, I was angry. I was angry that she started putting these doubts in our heads. I knew this was the wrong decision, but now I had my Mom and siblings, even my Grandma who I think knew he was leaving us, re-thinking whether or not this was the right choice. Just as we were all pre-occupied talking about this, a nurse entered and called the doctor out into the hallway. The doctor stepped out and then almost immediately came back in and told us his heart had stopped. He was gone.
In the end, he gave us such a huge blessing in that he took that terrible decision out of our hands. He made it for us. We wouldn't have to second guess on whether or not we did the right thing.
The second time I experienced death first hand was in 2015 when my Mother-in-Law passed away. She had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor in November of 2014. She began the procedures of going through chemo, but she knew that she was basically biding time. The chemo started having bad side effects and really affected her standard of living. She made the decision to go off of chemo around February of 2015. When it started to get close to the end, hospice was called in and a bed was set up in the living room of her home. My husband would go over every day and spend time with her and joke with her to keep her smiling. On the last night of her life, she was surrounded by all of her kids. I was also there holding onto my husband while he held his Mom's hand and let her know that it was okay to go. She died surrounded in a circle of love that night.
The third time I was there was in March of 2016 when my Grandma on my Mom's side passed away. She had become ill with pneumonia right around her birthday. My Grandma was another very spiritual and religious person. Every morning when she would wake up, she'd look out the little window in her bathroom up to the sky and repeat the phrase, "This is the day the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." She was another person who never missed church unless she absolutely had to. Every year on her birthday it was so important for her to celebrate at the church. So, after services, we would get a large cake and everyone would come into the parlor to wish her a happy birthday. On March 4, 2016, my Grandma turned ninety-eight years old. That Sunday, March 6th, she wasn't feeling that particularly well, but she managed to make it to church for her celebration. The next day on Monday March 7th, she went into the hospital to be treated for pneumonia.
My Grandma was one of the strongest people I have ever known. She took everything in stride. Any time she faced a health issue, she would just repeat, "I take it one day at a time" and when it might be a particularly bad day, she would say, "Sometimes I have to take it one moment at a time." Going into the hospital this time for her was no different. When they asked her if she wanted to be put on a breathing machine so that her body didn't have to work so hard and possibly that would help speed her recovery, she didn't hesitate to say yes.
I know she was so uncomfortable having that tube stuck down her throat, but she never would complain about it. At the time, I was directing a show out in the suburbs. Often after rehearsals (or before) I would head to the hospital to visit. She would try her best to communicate with us. She couldn't talk because the breathing tube was down her throat. So, we tried things like letter boards to see if she could point to the letter and we could try to spell it out.
One day when I visited her I could tell she was trying to tell me something. She was quite animated. I thought she was uncomfortable, so I kept trying to guess what it was that needed fixing. Maybe she needed the pillow raised or to sit up more in bed. Maybe she needed her back messaged. Her back often ached. I kept guessing, but wasn't getting very far. I tried the spelling board. Eventually, I figured out that she was trying to ask me how my rehearsals were going. I told her all was going well, and she clapped.
After a few weeks on a breathing tube, the doctors told her that the lungs didn't look that much better. Despite all of the antibiotics, things really weren't improving much and the longer she stayed on the breathing machine, the less likely she would be able to return to the same quality of life that she had been experiencing. It was at that time, that my ninety-eight year old grandma, of sound mind and body, made her own decision to be removed from the life support. She pointed to the ceiling, and I said, 'You want to go see God and Grandpa?" and she nodded yes. The doctors removed the tubes and upped the morphine to help her breathing so that she wouldn't be gasping and struggling for breath. Again, the family circled around her bed. We held her hands. We sang her songs. The sun was setting and her hospital windows faced West. My brother pointed out that the sun when you looked at it, had a glow about it that almost took the shape of a cross. Soon after, my Grandma took one last breath, and then was gone.
I had seen fear in both of my Grandparents in the past when they had dealt with health issues. When my Mother-in-law was first diagnosed with the brain tumor, I know there was a lot of grief and fear. At the end though of all three, that fear seemed to disappear. There was a peace that was in the room and in each case, they were surrounded by love. I always thought how sad it must be for people to have a sudden heart attach when they are alone at home and no one is around. I hope they too feel some comfort even though I'm sure fear is what comes first as they realize they are having a heart attach.
I grew up in a pretty liberal Presbyterian church. Going to church when I was a kid was not an option. I enjoyed going to church though. I had very good friends who I attended Sunday school with and we would go on outings together. When I got into high school, the senior high's would take mission trips to help fix up housing or work on other projects in areas of need. We traveled to Yonkers New York, to an Indian reservation in South Dakota, and poverty ridden areas of Virginia. I believed in the work we did and the lessons I took away from that church of helping the needy and doing good in the world have stuck with me to this day.
I can't say, I'm particularly religious any longer. I even had my doubts as a kid. I remember having to go through confirmation at fifteen and having some real doubts about God's existence. I think one thing that bothered me was I always felt that some of the themes throughout the Bible were powerful, but I never took them literally, nor do I think they were meant to be taken literally. Stories like Noah and the ark and Jonah and the whale were never taught to us as kids as literal stories, but more like lessons. I'm not sure any of us walked away believing a guy actually surveyed in the belly of a whale. However, when it came to the story of Jesus, I felt everything was taken literally. Jesus was born to a virgin and could walk on water and rose from the dead. All of that came off as ridiculous magic in my mind. I then also had to question if our religion was right, then other religions must have it wrong.
So many conflicts throughout history have been started in the names of religion. Wars have started. People have died, all for a belief system that no one has any evidence of. As I have become more cynical about religion, I have really longed for some sort of spirituality. When it comes down to it, I think many people are religious because we all have a need to feel like there is some purpose for us being here on earth and we hope that when we die, all is not for naught.
The other night, I watched the film Coco. It's takes place during the Day of the Dead celebration and the general themes of the film are to remember those that have passed. In the film, there is a thing called "the final death" which is what happens to someone who has already died and left the physical world, but they truly disappear once the last person who remembered them on earth no longer is there. Then, they have died the true death as there is no one to carry on their memory.
When my Grandma died, I took a bunch of pictures of the family lineage that she had hanging on her walls in the hallway. I believe the photos go all the way back to my great great great grandfather. I sadly, couldn't tell you the first thing about that man. I don't know what his life was like or what kind of person he was. All I have is a very old black and white photo of him, but it is something.
On the flip side of that coin, I was listening to music the other day as I was working around the house, when the song "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" by Pete Fountain the great clarinetist started to play over the speakers. Instantly, my Grandpa was in the room with me. It was a song he used to play on the clarinet brilliantly all the time. He was right there with me in that moment. I know it.
I have been told many times, that my personality is a lot like my Grandpas. I try to carry his spirit with me every day. I carry on both of my grandparents memories by continuing to tell their stories just as my Great Grandma told me stories of her parents and grandparents when I was nine year's old. That is how we keep those who have left us alive.
I don't know what exists after this life, if anything. What I do know is that all we really want is to be remembered. We want to know we had some impact; that we made some difference in the short time that we were here. We want to be seen. We want to matter.
When I do eventually leave this earth, I will have no children to carry on my legacy. I'm not really all that concerned about that, but I do want to leave behind something. I'm not sure what that is yet. Perhaps it's enough that I was a kind person who valued and loved those that were around me. Still the questions remain: How do I make the most out of my time that I'm here? How do I live my life to the fullest? If I was put here on earth for a reason, how do I make sure that I am living that purpose out every day? How do I reach my full potential? How do I want to be remembered once I'm gone?
Work and Passion
They say that money can't buy happiness. I am sure that is true, but to be fair, I've never really had money to test that theory. What I can say, is that not having money causes a lot of anxiety and stress.
Recently, I attended a seminar at the bank my husband works for. He encouraged me to attend as the seminar was going to focus on savings; something that I have not been able to do. So, I went accompanied by a personal banker. There was a panel of speakers who talked about saving money, but the focus of the seminar turned into, more or less, tips for leading a happy life. I remember one of the speakers saying something to the effect that people need to be happy in their line of work in order to feel fulfilled. He encouraged people to find work that combined their passions with making money. My first thought was 'show me where that exists'. We hear about that all the time. Its the American dream! Someone goes from nothing to working on their passion and makes it big! That's what we all want. The problem with that is we live in a country where greed is valued over passion. Just take a look at the types of jobs that tend to make a lot of money versus ones that do not.
I am married to a banker. He is not exactly very high up on the totem pole when it comes to the hierarchy that is a mega corporation. He's a branch manager. Still, he makes decent money for us. In just base salary, I think he makes about $30,000 more than I do a year. Then, he gets annual bonuses which tend to be anywhere from $10,000 to $18,000 and it is a foregone conclusion that these bonuses will happen every year. This is not to mention that his company sets him up with decent health insurance, dental, and a retirement account which the company matches whatever the employee is putting into it. I can confirm that he really likes what he does. Was banking always his passion? I can't say I know that for sure. However, he enjoys going to work every day. He likes the people he works with, and even though I'm sure it can be trying at times, I think he actually likes customer service.
Now, compare that to me. I am the Executive Director of a non-profit theater company. I am at the top of the totem pole for my little organization. There is nowhere higher that I can go. Yet, I'm also at probably the highest salary I will ever make at this job because its a struggle year in and year out to find money to keep the company afloat. We have an extremely small staff who wear many hats. We don't have any sort of retirement plan or health insurance. The only benefit we get as employees is paid time off. Money is always an issue, and as a result I teach acting classes besides working my full time job. Currently I teach five different classes three days a week. I got into this line of work because theater has always been my passion. Its what I knew I wanted to do from a very young age. I was born to be in the theater. I was putting on little shows since I was about two years old. Its in my soul.
I was never naive to the fact that theater would be a tough road, but what I don't think I realized was how many people would be willing to do it for free. There are so many companies that simply do not pay their artists and the artists seem to be fine with that because they know that there is always someone in the wings that would be willing to take that part if it were to be turned down. Just a few months ago, I was asked to direct a show at a theater company that I know has an annual budget of around 2.5 million. The rehearsal process would be for six weeks with rehearsals taking place three to four hours a day, six days a week. That is not counting the extra time that would be required for auditions, production meetings, and the inevitable long hours that are put in during tech weeks. They were going to offer me a stipend of $1,600 to direct this show. When I broke that down with just the hours I was going to be putting in for rehearsal, it came to something like $9.00-$10.00 an hour. I love directing. I love working with actors. It is my passion. I knew that if I turned this down, there would be tons of other directors more than happy to take this stipend and direct the show.
I turned it down.
At some point, I figure that I am 43 years old. I went into this with the idea that theater would be my career. I can't continue working for minimum wage.
It is a little horrifying to me that I have never in my life held a job that offered me any kind of insurance or retirement plan. Yet, I have never been able to picture myself in a job that would be working for a mega corporation. That is just not who I am. I need to know that whatever job I'm doing is serving a greater cause. I can't stand thinking of doing a job just to try and improve the bottom line of some corporation so that they can pay their CEO and shareholders more money.
In my professional life, I'm surrounded by people who work for non-profit organizations as well as educators. None of them make a lot of money that I am aware of. Every one of them got into their line of work because they had a passion for the work that they do. I have been told countless times by friends of mine, who are actors by night and work day jobs to make ends meet, that they think I'm very lucky to have a job where I focus on theater all day. In some ways, I agree with them. I am lucky that way. That said, I am not feeling very fulfilled at this point in my career. I'm sure this is in part due to the fact that I am no longer involved in the artistic side of the company. I gave that up a little over a year ago when I felt that what the company really needed was for me to focus on the administrative duties so that we could hopefully find ways to increase funding while handing over artistic duties to a very capable individual.
In terms of feeling fulfilled on an artistic level, I just get that with my teaching gigs now. Even that can be trying though, because most of my classes currently are with younger children. I do enjoy working with younger children, but it doesn't exactly push me artistically very much. As a result, I feel a big void. I feel a void artistically while at the same time, I'm still struggling financially. It's hard for me to envision myself doing this for the rest of my life. Yet, I can't picture what else I could be doing. I'm also very aware of the fact that I'm getting older and if I am going to make a career change, it should be soon. I see all of these stories where youth is valued over experience, and that is very scary.
It terrifies me that I haven't saved any money and I'm already half way through my work life. What is going to happen when I turn sixty-five or seventy? Will I have to continue to work into my old age and then what happens when I physically can't work anymore? These are thoughts that keep me up at night.
This is the question that continues to plague me. How do you combine your passion with work that is fulfilling while at the same time offers a good salary and benefits? I hope to find answers to that question along this journey.
Recently, I attended a seminar at the bank my husband works for. He encouraged me to attend as the seminar was going to focus on savings; something that I have not been able to do. So, I went accompanied by a personal banker. There was a panel of speakers who talked about saving money, but the focus of the seminar turned into, more or less, tips for leading a happy life. I remember one of the speakers saying something to the effect that people need to be happy in their line of work in order to feel fulfilled. He encouraged people to find work that combined their passions with making money. My first thought was 'show me where that exists'. We hear about that all the time. Its the American dream! Someone goes from nothing to working on their passion and makes it big! That's what we all want. The problem with that is we live in a country where greed is valued over passion. Just take a look at the types of jobs that tend to make a lot of money versus ones that do not.
I am married to a banker. He is not exactly very high up on the totem pole when it comes to the hierarchy that is a mega corporation. He's a branch manager. Still, he makes decent money for us. In just base salary, I think he makes about $30,000 more than I do a year. Then, he gets annual bonuses which tend to be anywhere from $10,000 to $18,000 and it is a foregone conclusion that these bonuses will happen every year. This is not to mention that his company sets him up with decent health insurance, dental, and a retirement account which the company matches whatever the employee is putting into it. I can confirm that he really likes what he does. Was banking always his passion? I can't say I know that for sure. However, he enjoys going to work every day. He likes the people he works with, and even though I'm sure it can be trying at times, I think he actually likes customer service.
Now, compare that to me. I am the Executive Director of a non-profit theater company. I am at the top of the totem pole for my little organization. There is nowhere higher that I can go. Yet, I'm also at probably the highest salary I will ever make at this job because its a struggle year in and year out to find money to keep the company afloat. We have an extremely small staff who wear many hats. We don't have any sort of retirement plan or health insurance. The only benefit we get as employees is paid time off. Money is always an issue, and as a result I teach acting classes besides working my full time job. Currently I teach five different classes three days a week. I got into this line of work because theater has always been my passion. Its what I knew I wanted to do from a very young age. I was born to be in the theater. I was putting on little shows since I was about two years old. Its in my soul.
I was never naive to the fact that theater would be a tough road, but what I don't think I realized was how many people would be willing to do it for free. There are so many companies that simply do not pay their artists and the artists seem to be fine with that because they know that there is always someone in the wings that would be willing to take that part if it were to be turned down. Just a few months ago, I was asked to direct a show at a theater company that I know has an annual budget of around 2.5 million. The rehearsal process would be for six weeks with rehearsals taking place three to four hours a day, six days a week. That is not counting the extra time that would be required for auditions, production meetings, and the inevitable long hours that are put in during tech weeks. They were going to offer me a stipend of $1,600 to direct this show. When I broke that down with just the hours I was going to be putting in for rehearsal, it came to something like $9.00-$10.00 an hour. I love directing. I love working with actors. It is my passion. I knew that if I turned this down, there would be tons of other directors more than happy to take this stipend and direct the show.
I turned it down.
At some point, I figure that I am 43 years old. I went into this with the idea that theater would be my career. I can't continue working for minimum wage.
It is a little horrifying to me that I have never in my life held a job that offered me any kind of insurance or retirement plan. Yet, I have never been able to picture myself in a job that would be working for a mega corporation. That is just not who I am. I need to know that whatever job I'm doing is serving a greater cause. I can't stand thinking of doing a job just to try and improve the bottom line of some corporation so that they can pay their CEO and shareholders more money.
In my professional life, I'm surrounded by people who work for non-profit organizations as well as educators. None of them make a lot of money that I am aware of. Every one of them got into their line of work because they had a passion for the work that they do. I have been told countless times by friends of mine, who are actors by night and work day jobs to make ends meet, that they think I'm very lucky to have a job where I focus on theater all day. In some ways, I agree with them. I am lucky that way. That said, I am not feeling very fulfilled at this point in my career. I'm sure this is in part due to the fact that I am no longer involved in the artistic side of the company. I gave that up a little over a year ago when I felt that what the company really needed was for me to focus on the administrative duties so that we could hopefully find ways to increase funding while handing over artistic duties to a very capable individual.
In terms of feeling fulfilled on an artistic level, I just get that with my teaching gigs now. Even that can be trying though, because most of my classes currently are with younger children. I do enjoy working with younger children, but it doesn't exactly push me artistically very much. As a result, I feel a big void. I feel a void artistically while at the same time, I'm still struggling financially. It's hard for me to envision myself doing this for the rest of my life. Yet, I can't picture what else I could be doing. I'm also very aware of the fact that I'm getting older and if I am going to make a career change, it should be soon. I see all of these stories where youth is valued over experience, and that is very scary.
It terrifies me that I haven't saved any money and I'm already half way through my work life. What is going to happen when I turn sixty-five or seventy? Will I have to continue to work into my old age and then what happens when I physically can't work anymore? These are thoughts that keep me up at night.
This is the question that continues to plague me. How do you combine your passion with work that is fulfilling while at the same time offers a good salary and benefits? I hope to find answers to that question along this journey.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Re-wiring the brain and the power of addiction
This is a difficult post for me. I have gone back and forth with it trying to decide how much to reveal and how much to keep private. I'm going to talk about others besides myself and I'm still not sure if I'm doing the right thing by publishing something about people who are close to me without their permission. However, it's very pertinent to my story and this journey which is why I feel like its necessary. So, here it goes:
I have an addictive personality. I come by that genetically. My dad had a lot of addictions throughout his life. In fact, it's difficult to think of my dad without thinking of one of his addictions. My entire childhood, his main addictions were drinking and smoking. Thankfully, I never started to smoke. Even in college when everyone around me was smoking, I abstained. I'm very happy I made that decision. I can't say the same about drinking.
I would say that my dad and I had very different drinking habits. My dad was a beer drinker. Old Milwaukee was in the refrigerator every night. I never remember my dad drinking anything but beer. He never drank wine or spirits of any kind. I, on the other hand, enjoy a variety of wine, spirits, and beer. When I started drinking in college, I think I started like a lot of people do. I drank fruity drinks. Things that I wouldn't touch today; Ameretto Stone Sours, Wine Coolers, Schnapps. Then, I moved onto beer. After college I started working in the restaurant industry and that is when I started venturing into wine and spirits.
My dad was a nightly drinker and he typically drank alone at home. It was not unusual for my dad to go through a case in a night. I am a social drinker. I never drink at home, alone. I drink when I'm out with friends, but I can put down with the best of them. I tend to hang out with friends who can drink a lot as well, so it's not atypical that we may have 7 or 8 drinks when we go out.
I have debated on whether or not I should classify myself as an alcoholic. I don't have the intense cravings that I know some people have had. I could stop drinking and it wouldn't upset me. That is how I do my 'No Juice January's' so often and it's not really a struggle to get through the month. I never missed work or an important event due to drinking. I was never that person who went by the 'hair of the dog' philosophy. If I had too much to drink and was hungover the next day, the last thing I wanted was alcohol. In fact, I usually can't drink for days after I have a hangover. As I've gotten older, hangovers have gotten worse. They last longer. I have had times where it takes me a full 48 hours to start feeling better again. I don't get sick. I'm way past those days. Instead, I just feel crappy. I want to sleep, but I can't sleep, so I'm just exhausted. In a nutshell, I think I would say that I have had alcohol problems, but I don't feel like those problems have been sever enough to say I needed AA or rehab or something like that.
I always wondered if my dad would have considered himself an alcoholic. We've never really talked about it, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say he didn't. I can say that we felt like he was. I think in my dad's reasoning, the fact that he only drank beer meant that he didn't have a problem. That said, I was impressed when one day he decided he was quitting and he managed to quit cold turkey. He hasn't had a beer in probably over fifteen years. He did the same with smoking which is something that I never thought he would be able to do. One day, though, he just did it. He quit. After years and years of smoking pack after pack of cigarettes every day, he just stopped. On a dime. Just stopped. And, he never went back. I don't know many people who have been able to do that.
I do know what it feels like to have cravings and not being able to control them, though it hasn't been with booze. Its been with sugar. I crave chocolate, sweets, and carbs. I eat way too much processed food which is typically loaded with sugar. I have very little control over this. I have tried. Counting points through Weight Watchers has helped because it forces me to at least account for my bad food intake, but I have even felt myself trying to cheat at that. Either I just won't log it or I'll lie about it. I lie on my own Weight Watchers points. That's ridiculous. Who am I lying to? Just me.
Two years ago, a report was released by JAMA Internal Medicine which said that in the 1950s scientist were beginning to see the links between sugar and heart disease. So, in the 1960s the sugar lobby paid for studies that would instead focus on fat and cholesterol as causes of heart disease and it started pushing consumers to purchase low fat foods. Low fat foods are typically loaded with sugar to make them taste good. So, a win/win for the sugar industry. They no longer are linked to heart disease and there is a higher demand for sugar since consumers are buying up low fat foods which have high sugar contents.
In my opinion, sugar should be considered a drug. It acts like a drug. The brain craves sugar as it does drugs or alcohol or tobacco. Yet, sugar is in almost everything we eat. I remember when my Grandfather found out he had diabetes, he immediately cut out sugar from his diet. As soon as he did that he lost a ton of weight. From that day forward, he would always remind us how bad sugar was and encouraged us to eliminate it from our diets.
The other night, I got mad at my husband for bringing home two boxes of Girl Scout cookies for me. Now, I know there wasn't any malicious intention behind it. He was walking the dog and some Girl Scouts were outside the Starbucks selling them so he bought a couple of boxes to bring home. I said, 'Why are you bringing those into the house? You know I'm going to eat them!" He replied, "Well, you don't have to eat the entire box. Just eat two or three and be done." That is something perhaps a non-addicted person can do. That night, I ate an entire row of thin mints.
That brings me to the point of this post. How do I re-wire my brain? I have read self-help books that deal with this. "The Power of Habit" is a popular one. In that book, they discuss having to learn your patterns and what your rewards have been and then resetting them. For example, I get cravings a lot during two times of the day; late afternoons and evenings. Typically, I eat pretty sensibly up until then. Something happens though around 4:00 p.m. where I'm still about two hours away from dinner and I have to have something. So, I go to snack. What this book would suggest would be to figure out what it is about 4:00 p.m. that gives me that craving. Perhaps, it's the time of day I'm taking a break from my computer and I decide that since I'm on a break, I need to eat. They would say, find a different reward. Instead of every time I get up from my desk I go to get a snack, maybe I go for a ten minute walk. Something like that.
Perhaps that is a key to re-wiring the brain. I can say that its much harder than just switching the reward. I have noticed a difference lately when it comes to exercise. Since I've upped my exercise routine, my body is beginning to crave it more. If I go more than a day without doing some sort of exercise, I can feel an urge. So, perhaps I am already re-wiring my brain.
Here's the positive thing, I like most foods and I enjoy cooking. When I plan meals I do much better. I have also watched my mom struggle with her weight and what I would consider to be a sugar addiction. She hates to cook and is a lot more particular about the foods she will and won't eat. That makes it a lot more difficult. I would also say my dad now has a sugar addiction. When he stopped drinking he started an ice cream addiction. He had ice cream all the time. Now, according to my mom, he eats a lot of cereal and Ritz crackers.
My mom and I have been on and off Weight Watchers for years. The times we have been successful are the times we are checking in with one another. It helps to have company throughout this process. That's the thing about addiction; it makes you feel ashamed. I feel ashamed that I can't control myself and have one or two cookies. I feel ashamed that I went out and drank too much.
Yet, I do know this.... I am not alone. I see addiction all around me. It takes different forms with different people. Sometimes it's through food. For others its smoking or drinking or doing drugs. For others it may be gambling or pornography or not being able to put their phones down for five minutes. We don't like to talk about it. I don't like to talk about it. It makes us feel weak. By not talking about it, we remain isolated, trying to change things on our own. I believe that if we are open about our struggles and bring others along with us on our journey, and walk along side them with theirs, that we will find answers to our problems. That is where real change begins.
I have an addictive personality. I come by that genetically. My dad had a lot of addictions throughout his life. In fact, it's difficult to think of my dad without thinking of one of his addictions. My entire childhood, his main addictions were drinking and smoking. Thankfully, I never started to smoke. Even in college when everyone around me was smoking, I abstained. I'm very happy I made that decision. I can't say the same about drinking.
I would say that my dad and I had very different drinking habits. My dad was a beer drinker. Old Milwaukee was in the refrigerator every night. I never remember my dad drinking anything but beer. He never drank wine or spirits of any kind. I, on the other hand, enjoy a variety of wine, spirits, and beer. When I started drinking in college, I think I started like a lot of people do. I drank fruity drinks. Things that I wouldn't touch today; Ameretto Stone Sours, Wine Coolers, Schnapps. Then, I moved onto beer. After college I started working in the restaurant industry and that is when I started venturing into wine and spirits.
My dad was a nightly drinker and he typically drank alone at home. It was not unusual for my dad to go through a case in a night. I am a social drinker. I never drink at home, alone. I drink when I'm out with friends, but I can put down with the best of them. I tend to hang out with friends who can drink a lot as well, so it's not atypical that we may have 7 or 8 drinks when we go out.
I have debated on whether or not I should classify myself as an alcoholic. I don't have the intense cravings that I know some people have had. I could stop drinking and it wouldn't upset me. That is how I do my 'No Juice January's' so often and it's not really a struggle to get through the month. I never missed work or an important event due to drinking. I was never that person who went by the 'hair of the dog' philosophy. If I had too much to drink and was hungover the next day, the last thing I wanted was alcohol. In fact, I usually can't drink for days after I have a hangover. As I've gotten older, hangovers have gotten worse. They last longer. I have had times where it takes me a full 48 hours to start feeling better again. I don't get sick. I'm way past those days. Instead, I just feel crappy. I want to sleep, but I can't sleep, so I'm just exhausted. In a nutshell, I think I would say that I have had alcohol problems, but I don't feel like those problems have been sever enough to say I needed AA or rehab or something like that.
I always wondered if my dad would have considered himself an alcoholic. We've never really talked about it, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say he didn't. I can say that we felt like he was. I think in my dad's reasoning, the fact that he only drank beer meant that he didn't have a problem. That said, I was impressed when one day he decided he was quitting and he managed to quit cold turkey. He hasn't had a beer in probably over fifteen years. He did the same with smoking which is something that I never thought he would be able to do. One day, though, he just did it. He quit. After years and years of smoking pack after pack of cigarettes every day, he just stopped. On a dime. Just stopped. And, he never went back. I don't know many people who have been able to do that.
I do know what it feels like to have cravings and not being able to control them, though it hasn't been with booze. Its been with sugar. I crave chocolate, sweets, and carbs. I eat way too much processed food which is typically loaded with sugar. I have very little control over this. I have tried. Counting points through Weight Watchers has helped because it forces me to at least account for my bad food intake, but I have even felt myself trying to cheat at that. Either I just won't log it or I'll lie about it. I lie on my own Weight Watchers points. That's ridiculous. Who am I lying to? Just me.
Two years ago, a report was released by JAMA Internal Medicine which said that in the 1950s scientist were beginning to see the links between sugar and heart disease. So, in the 1960s the sugar lobby paid for studies that would instead focus on fat and cholesterol as causes of heart disease and it started pushing consumers to purchase low fat foods. Low fat foods are typically loaded with sugar to make them taste good. So, a win/win for the sugar industry. They no longer are linked to heart disease and there is a higher demand for sugar since consumers are buying up low fat foods which have high sugar contents.
In my opinion, sugar should be considered a drug. It acts like a drug. The brain craves sugar as it does drugs or alcohol or tobacco. Yet, sugar is in almost everything we eat. I remember when my Grandfather found out he had diabetes, he immediately cut out sugar from his diet. As soon as he did that he lost a ton of weight. From that day forward, he would always remind us how bad sugar was and encouraged us to eliminate it from our diets.
The other night, I got mad at my husband for bringing home two boxes of Girl Scout cookies for me. Now, I know there wasn't any malicious intention behind it. He was walking the dog and some Girl Scouts were outside the Starbucks selling them so he bought a couple of boxes to bring home. I said, 'Why are you bringing those into the house? You know I'm going to eat them!" He replied, "Well, you don't have to eat the entire box. Just eat two or three and be done." That is something perhaps a non-addicted person can do. That night, I ate an entire row of thin mints.
That brings me to the point of this post. How do I re-wire my brain? I have read self-help books that deal with this. "The Power of Habit" is a popular one. In that book, they discuss having to learn your patterns and what your rewards have been and then resetting them. For example, I get cravings a lot during two times of the day; late afternoons and evenings. Typically, I eat pretty sensibly up until then. Something happens though around 4:00 p.m. where I'm still about two hours away from dinner and I have to have something. So, I go to snack. What this book would suggest would be to figure out what it is about 4:00 p.m. that gives me that craving. Perhaps, it's the time of day I'm taking a break from my computer and I decide that since I'm on a break, I need to eat. They would say, find a different reward. Instead of every time I get up from my desk I go to get a snack, maybe I go for a ten minute walk. Something like that.
Perhaps that is a key to re-wiring the brain. I can say that its much harder than just switching the reward. I have noticed a difference lately when it comes to exercise. Since I've upped my exercise routine, my body is beginning to crave it more. If I go more than a day without doing some sort of exercise, I can feel an urge. So, perhaps I am already re-wiring my brain.
Here's the positive thing, I like most foods and I enjoy cooking. When I plan meals I do much better. I have also watched my mom struggle with her weight and what I would consider to be a sugar addiction. She hates to cook and is a lot more particular about the foods she will and won't eat. That makes it a lot more difficult. I would also say my dad now has a sugar addiction. When he stopped drinking he started an ice cream addiction. He had ice cream all the time. Now, according to my mom, he eats a lot of cereal and Ritz crackers.
My mom and I have been on and off Weight Watchers for years. The times we have been successful are the times we are checking in with one another. It helps to have company throughout this process. That's the thing about addiction; it makes you feel ashamed. I feel ashamed that I can't control myself and have one or two cookies. I feel ashamed that I went out and drank too much.
Yet, I do know this.... I am not alone. I see addiction all around me. It takes different forms with different people. Sometimes it's through food. For others its smoking or drinking or doing drugs. For others it may be gambling or pornography or not being able to put their phones down for five minutes. We don't like to talk about it. I don't like to talk about it. It makes us feel weak. By not talking about it, we remain isolated, trying to change things on our own. I believe that if we are open about our struggles and bring others along with us on our journey, and walk along side them with theirs, that we will find answers to our problems. That is where real change begins.
Friday, February 9, 2018
Embracing fear
Fear.
That is a word that I have been focusing on lately. I think I have a lot of fear. Fear of not having enough money. Fear of failure. Fear of being rejected. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of the unknown. Fear for my health. Fear of death.
Comfort.
The opposite of fear. Some things that give me comfort: Snuggling up watching a movie, candles lit, sipping a glass of wine. Having dinner and drinks with good friends. A really soft sweatshirt. Staying under the covers on a snowy Sunday morning. Getting away to one of my favorite vacation spots for relaxation. Eating peanut butter by the spoonful. Security. Safety.
Putting it this way, fear sounds awful. Who wouldn't choose comfort?
Fear can also be exhilarating. I have loved a good scary movie or book. It can be thrilling venturing into unknown territory; Challenging myself, pushing my limits, not knowing what I am capable of. Journeying on a brand new adventure.
At the same time, comfort can turn into stagnation. Complacency. Boredom. Staying with the familiar. Being the big fish in a small pond. Repeating the same routines. No surprises.
I have always been a creative person. Ever since I was very young, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to be in the theater and I wanted to be on stage. There was no doubt in my mind. I remember when I was a junior or senior in high school, we took some sort of test that was supposed to tell us what kinds of jobs we may be interested in for our futures. I can't remember what mine said, but I'm pretty sure 'actor' wasn't a choice on this survey. It didn't matter though, because I didn't need the stupid survey anyway. I knew what I was going to do. My parents always supported my decision although they did think I should have some sort of back-up plan. My mom suggested I may want to get my degree in education. Teaching was always a good back-up. I would have nothing of that. Getting a teaching degree meant I was already giving up on my dream. So I went to college and studied acting. It was some of the best years of my life. I was surrounded by theater people, doing what I loved. The world was full of possibilities and I couldn't wait to get out there and conquer it!
I'm not sure I can pinpoint exactly when self-doubt started to creep in, but it was sometime in my late twenties. That is when fear started to hold me back rather than propel me forward. That is when I started to seek out comfort. Do the things I know I can succeed in. Try to find the challenge within my current position, because venturing outside that position could mean failure. While career wise, I would become complacent, I would seek out joy from social events and vacations.
Then, I hit my forties. The thoughts of 'what am I doing with my life?' creep in. The thoughts become more and more persistent, yet nothing changes. I continue to do the same things day in and day out. I begin to worry that I have no savings; nothing that would allow me to retire. I don't see a lot of opportunity to increase my income based on the fact that I run a small non-profit that struggles year after year just to stay afloat. Not only do I have to worry about my personal finances, but I have to worry about the companies finances as well as the employees who rely on the company for their income. All of this creates a lot of stress.
I try to relieve that stress by going out with friends which typically includes a lot of drinking. Drinking leads to bad eating habits and I don't exercise which makes me gain a lot of weight. The doctor keeps lecturing me every time I go in for an appointment. I take medications for high blood pressure, thyroid, cholesterol, and triglycerides. I have to lose weight. I tell her each time, I know and I'm trying, but it's hard.
At the end of 2017, I weigh more than I ever have in my life. I'm at 260 pounds. I can feel it. I don't like the way I look. My clothes don't really fit me well any more. I don't feel attractive. I'm about to celebrate 20 years at my current job. That is a really long time. It's hard to believe it's been 20 years. The years have gone by so incredibly fast. One year blends into the next. People have come and gone. I remain. I am the constant.
Every year, I try to make a resolution. If you looked back at my journal over the past several years, you would see pretty much the same thing over and over again. This year I'm going to get healthier. I'm going to lose weight, cut down on drinking, eat heather and exercise. I'm going to get control of my finances. I need to create and follow a budget and start to save some money. I want to travel more. I want to read more. The list goes on and on. Some years, I do fairly well throughout the winter months. Other years, I fall apart right away with only a few weeks into January. One thing is consistent though. I always end up going back to my old habits at some point and by the end of the year, I'm making the exact same resolutions. It's one huge dysfunctional cycle.
Its time for that dysfunctional cycle to end. 2018 is the year that I take back control of my life and push myself to be a better, healthier person. The only person who can change me is me. Since the start of the new year, I have been pushing myself to exercise more and eat healthier. I did not drink at all during the month of January and since February has begun, I've only had one or two drinks when I have been out on social occasions. I'm reading more. I'm on my fourth book already and it's only February 9th. I decided I needed to journal every day to reflect on how the day went. This was an important step because it allowed me to take things day by day. If one day wasn't so hot, then maybe tomorrow would be better.
So far, the results of this work has been the loss of 18 pounds. I'm now at 242 pounds. I have a ways to go, but I'm on the right track. While journaling is important, I decided that I also should keep a blog. The reason being, is that this is public. It helps to keep me accountable even if no one reads this.
It's also scary for me to put this all out there. I will try to be as open as possible as I journey through this process and not hold anything back. I will highlight my successes as well as my failures. This won't just be a blog about me losing weight though. I'm hoping to use this platform to talk about what's on my mind as I wade through this year. I do believe that if I start to open myself up to opportunities, then opportunities will start to present themselves.
This is the year I step out of my comfort zone. This is the year I embrace fear and the unknown. Where will that take me? I have no idea, but that's what makes it so thrilling.
That is a word that I have been focusing on lately. I think I have a lot of fear. Fear of not having enough money. Fear of failure. Fear of being rejected. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of the unknown. Fear for my health. Fear of death.
Comfort.
The opposite of fear. Some things that give me comfort: Snuggling up watching a movie, candles lit, sipping a glass of wine. Having dinner and drinks with good friends. A really soft sweatshirt. Staying under the covers on a snowy Sunday morning. Getting away to one of my favorite vacation spots for relaxation. Eating peanut butter by the spoonful. Security. Safety.
Putting it this way, fear sounds awful. Who wouldn't choose comfort?
Fear can also be exhilarating. I have loved a good scary movie or book. It can be thrilling venturing into unknown territory; Challenging myself, pushing my limits, not knowing what I am capable of. Journeying on a brand new adventure.
At the same time, comfort can turn into stagnation. Complacency. Boredom. Staying with the familiar. Being the big fish in a small pond. Repeating the same routines. No surprises.
I have always been a creative person. Ever since I was very young, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to be in the theater and I wanted to be on stage. There was no doubt in my mind. I remember when I was a junior or senior in high school, we took some sort of test that was supposed to tell us what kinds of jobs we may be interested in for our futures. I can't remember what mine said, but I'm pretty sure 'actor' wasn't a choice on this survey. It didn't matter though, because I didn't need the stupid survey anyway. I knew what I was going to do. My parents always supported my decision although they did think I should have some sort of back-up plan. My mom suggested I may want to get my degree in education. Teaching was always a good back-up. I would have nothing of that. Getting a teaching degree meant I was already giving up on my dream. So I went to college and studied acting. It was some of the best years of my life. I was surrounded by theater people, doing what I loved. The world was full of possibilities and I couldn't wait to get out there and conquer it!
I'm not sure I can pinpoint exactly when self-doubt started to creep in, but it was sometime in my late twenties. That is when fear started to hold me back rather than propel me forward. That is when I started to seek out comfort. Do the things I know I can succeed in. Try to find the challenge within my current position, because venturing outside that position could mean failure. While career wise, I would become complacent, I would seek out joy from social events and vacations.
Then, I hit my forties. The thoughts of 'what am I doing with my life?' creep in. The thoughts become more and more persistent, yet nothing changes. I continue to do the same things day in and day out. I begin to worry that I have no savings; nothing that would allow me to retire. I don't see a lot of opportunity to increase my income based on the fact that I run a small non-profit that struggles year after year just to stay afloat. Not only do I have to worry about my personal finances, but I have to worry about the companies finances as well as the employees who rely on the company for their income. All of this creates a lot of stress.
I try to relieve that stress by going out with friends which typically includes a lot of drinking. Drinking leads to bad eating habits and I don't exercise which makes me gain a lot of weight. The doctor keeps lecturing me every time I go in for an appointment. I take medications for high blood pressure, thyroid, cholesterol, and triglycerides. I have to lose weight. I tell her each time, I know and I'm trying, but it's hard.
At the end of 2017, I weigh more than I ever have in my life. I'm at 260 pounds. I can feel it. I don't like the way I look. My clothes don't really fit me well any more. I don't feel attractive. I'm about to celebrate 20 years at my current job. That is a really long time. It's hard to believe it's been 20 years. The years have gone by so incredibly fast. One year blends into the next. People have come and gone. I remain. I am the constant.
Every year, I try to make a resolution. If you looked back at my journal over the past several years, you would see pretty much the same thing over and over again. This year I'm going to get healthier. I'm going to lose weight, cut down on drinking, eat heather and exercise. I'm going to get control of my finances. I need to create and follow a budget and start to save some money. I want to travel more. I want to read more. The list goes on and on. Some years, I do fairly well throughout the winter months. Other years, I fall apart right away with only a few weeks into January. One thing is consistent though. I always end up going back to my old habits at some point and by the end of the year, I'm making the exact same resolutions. It's one huge dysfunctional cycle.
Its time for that dysfunctional cycle to end. 2018 is the year that I take back control of my life and push myself to be a better, healthier person. The only person who can change me is me. Since the start of the new year, I have been pushing myself to exercise more and eat healthier. I did not drink at all during the month of January and since February has begun, I've only had one or two drinks when I have been out on social occasions. I'm reading more. I'm on my fourth book already and it's only February 9th. I decided I needed to journal every day to reflect on how the day went. This was an important step because it allowed me to take things day by day. If one day wasn't so hot, then maybe tomorrow would be better.
So far, the results of this work has been the loss of 18 pounds. I'm now at 242 pounds. I have a ways to go, but I'm on the right track. While journaling is important, I decided that I also should keep a blog. The reason being, is that this is public. It helps to keep me accountable even if no one reads this.
It's also scary for me to put this all out there. I will try to be as open as possible as I journey through this process and not hold anything back. I will highlight my successes as well as my failures. This won't just be a blog about me losing weight though. I'm hoping to use this platform to talk about what's on my mind as I wade through this year. I do believe that if I start to open myself up to opportunities, then opportunities will start to present themselves.
This is the year I step out of my comfort zone. This is the year I embrace fear and the unknown. Where will that take me? I have no idea, but that's what makes it so thrilling.
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