You Could, But Will You?

Years ago, when I lived in Portland, Oregon, one of my favorite weekend activities was to stroll through the Saturday Market -- a lively collection of artists' booths, street performers and food vendors downtown by the Willamette River. I'd get a chai tea or some greasy ethnic food from one of the booths and then wander around for a couple of hours, daydreaming, shopping, people-watching... it was one of those activities that is both inspiring and relaxing.

Like many such outdoor festivals, the Saturday Market was full of both works of art far beyond the talents of the average person, as well as some things that were technically simple, but cute and clever. Those simple innovations or creative pieces often leave me asking myself, "Why didn't I think of that?" And sometimes that thought is followed with, "I could totally do that myself."

And why not? I have (or could obtain) acrylic paints, mismatched spoons, wooden frames, shellac, old magazines, lone barstools, fake flowers, a typewriter.... whatever the ingredients of this particular creative project might be. Why can't I go home right now and do [whatever it is] myself, for far less money?

I guess this is a common reaction, because at one such booth, the artist had posted a sign to spur sales from hesitant customers: "Yes, you could do this at home. But will you?" The honest answer: no, I won't.

The words on that sign have come to my mind again recently, as I've found myself with a little more time on my hands (well, time to think, anyway, while cradling a fussy infant in the wee hours.... not so much time to do). I've been trying to decide how I want to channel my energies in the coming months and I've found, discouragingly, that the possibilities are almost endless. There are loads of things I could do, but the question is, what will I do?

For example, I recently finished reading an astonishingly mediocre historical novel; and about halfway through, I began thinking -- "This is terrible. How am I not a published author already? I could write a better novel than this with my eyes closed. Maybe I should." Okay... certainly I'm capable of doing the research for such a novel. And perhaps there's some kernel of truth to the idea that I could be better than some at writing historical fiction. I would probably even enjoy it, if that's how I decided to spend my time.

But that's the thing... writing even a mediocre novel takes time and persistence. So in order to write a better novel (eyes open or otherwise), I would have to decide to spend my time that way. I would have to commit the time and discipline to doing the research, writing, editing, marketing, etc. at the expense of all the other ways I could spend those few precious moments while the little one is napping. I would have to choose to do that instead of doing just about anything else.

Now we've hit my problem. And, I suspect, the problem of talented procrastinators and underachievers everywhere. In order to do something, you have to commit to that and forgo other things, even if only in the short term. And committing like that means taking a risk -- hitching your wagon to one identity or pursuit, and casting off the safety net of the many other ways you could demonstrate your true talents. There is a built-in excuse for any shortcomings in your work when you're not pursuing your "true" passion. In that sense, I guess you could say it's easier to be a frustrated waiter than a failed actor.

I mean, let's face it, the reason Lady Mediocre is a published author and I am not, is that she wrote a damn novel! Meanwhile, I have lots of ideas and notes and half-finished paragraphs all strewn about in a black hole of a file folder called "Writing." Once in a while I invest some time and effort into that folder; but more often, I think of it longingly while I'm doing other things. And in many ways, it's safer that way.

But the reality is, life does not judge us on our aptitude (despite all the hype around the SAT in high school). No one cares what I could do if I [wanted to], [had time], [could find the energy], [got paid in advance], etc. I can only be judged on what I have done, am doing. That's where real greatness emerges, and it's up to me to do the work to bring it out in myself.

For me, the first step is letting go of some of the things I could do. Paring down my ambitions might feel like a loss in some ways, and it's certainly risky. But by closing a couple of those distracting side doors, maybe I can channel my energy to create definite direction, and build passion toward one or two pursuits at a time until I actually have something resembling a finished product. Then someone else can play the critic!

An Ordinary, Everyday Miracle

It seems that every time I take a hiatus from blogging, I feel the need to explain why in my return entry (we can talk about the uselessness of that later). This time is no different, but those who know me personally can guess -- it's the arrival of my precious little boy, just over a month ago, keeping me away.

Of course, any parent can tell you that the sleepless nights, constant feedings and general lack of mental acuity is enough to sideline any blogger with a newborn. All these things are certainly contributing factors. But on top of that, it's hard as a new parent to look outside your own little world to find things that would be of interest to everyone else.

A good writer feels compelled not just to entertain, but to connect. When I write a blog, an article, or the sketches for a book, I am always searching for what is simultaneously universal and unique. The idea is that those taking the time to read what I've written will be rewarded with something that is both different enough to be interesting and relevant to their own lives. Sometimes I'm successful at this, and sometimes people read a few lines and click away to see what's happening on Facebook instead.

Usually this involves channeling the natural stimulation I find in the world into some sort of weird, thought-provoking synthesis. But I have to be honest, right now I mostly just want to sit around and stare at my kid. Lately I'm focused on counting and re-counting his fingers and toes, decoding the mysterious rhythm of his cries, watching in awe as he explores the world. It's all beautiful, miraculous, and.... well, somewhat mundane.

Babies are born and suckled and raised every day -- and the people who understand and relate are the ones who have their own, far more poignant experiences of late-night toe-counting. so the center of my world these days is not exactly fascinating fodder f0r a blog. Well, maybe just this one.

And now, the waiting...

So there are just under two weeks left until the official due date for our first child, which I have learned is a fairly arbitrary date determined by a German guy in the late 1800's who decided that a pregnancy should be "10 moon months." So, according to the obstetric wisdom that follows, sometime between tomorrow and three weeks from now, we can expect our little boy to make his appearance.

It's an exciting, magical, and physically uncomfortable time... these last few days of our long journey toward parenthood. From the first conversations MDH & I had about children while we were dating, to our struggles with infertility, through the joys and anxieties of the pregnancy.... we are now on the cusp of a whole new chapter of our lives.

I chose to take maternity leave a little early from my jobs, for both health and sanity reasons, and it's been a wonderful decision so far. Not only have I had enough time to rest and relax, so that I feel a little more prepared for labor and delivery; but I have also given myself the gift of time to think. It's such an indulgence, I'm realizing, to have time to focus completely on myself for a few weeks.... I have enjoyed spending time at the pool, taking long walks, working around the house at an easy pace, running errands on my own schedule, reading long-neglected books, seeing movies with MDH, etc., etc.

There are also some challenges presented with this decadent downtime. I don't work all that well without a bit of structure, so I often feel I get less done in 8 open hours than I would in 2 rushed ones. It's hard for me not to measure myself at the end of each day by what I've accomplished, and the value of relaxation can be less than tangible. And even though I planned this time in order to rest, I couldn't resist making a list of "projects" for myself, which of course I haven't completed. So I alternate between luxurious relaxation and thinly veiled guilt.

The other blessing and curse of all this free time is the ability to slow down and look at where I am career-wise. As I contemplate my next moves, post-maternity leave, I'm realizing that I really want to be a "Sunday player" (gotta love a football analogy). In other words, I want to work hard enough, and with a sufficient level of passion at something, to be truly great at it. A real pro. I'd like to channel my working energies into purpose, direction and even expertise.

This has been tough lately given what I affectionately refer to as my "Career ADD," this sort of spastic dance I've been doing for the past few years. I'm interested in so many things, and competent enough at several of them, that I often find myself following whatever is most pressing, fascinating, or available at the moment. And no sooner do I start wandering down one road, than I find myself missing aspects of the road not taken. It's a perpetual case of the grass is always greener, I guess.... one of the pitfalls of having a wide range of interests and a flexible spirit. It's hard to specialize when choosing one area means giving little or no attention to the others. Manda of All Trades, Master of None?

In the middle of all this, I'm about to embark on the hardest, most important job I'll ever have... being a parent. Some days it doesn't even seem real yet (despite the little person kicking me in the ribs). It's hard to imagine, sitting here staring at the lump in my belly, what parenthood will be like, or how I will be at it. It's one of life's biggest and most miraculous mysteries, and it seems to put all my career musings in perspective.

I'm sure my perspective will only continue to evolve once the baby arrives, and I'm swimming sleep-deprived in feedings and crying and diaper changes. Who knows what I will learn about myself and my purpose in life when this new person comes to live with us? Part of me is hoping for insight. Part of me is just hoping to survive!

So, right now my life is all about waiting. Watching for signs of true labor. Ruminating about the future. Planning (or attempting to plan) for the uncontrollable. Hoping... that the baby is healthy, that my parenting skills will be enough, and that at some point on this journey I can reconnect to an internal passion for life and work. And maybe if I can find that passion and really live it, it will someday be inspiring to this little person I'm carrying around, as he looks for his own path.

I Want Happiness Insurance

Since we are now expectant parents, MDH and I decided recently it was time to grow up and get life insurance. I have to say, there's something a little morbid and scary about the concept of life insurance, and it's not easy to talk about the life of yourself, and especially the one you love most, in terms of dollars and cents. Still, it's good to know that if anything happens to me, our offspring at least won't be saddled with my ridiculous student loan debts.

I think most people would agree that life insurance is generally sensible. Homeowner's, health insurance... I can get on board with those. But I've noticed lately that there are more and more opportunities to "insure" yourself against life's ups and downs, and some of them are pushing the boundaries of reasonable behavior.

When we took a childbirth class recently, we spent the lunch hour listening to a representative from a company that "banks" infant cord blood, on the off chance that your child comes down with a serious disease that might be helped with stem cells harvested from his or her umbilical cord. Now I don't think there's anything wrong with these advances in technology, nor do I judge anyone who decides that banking cord blood is the best thing for his/her family. And frankly, if banking cord blood were more affordable (considering the likelihood that you'll actually use it), we would definitely consider it. As it is, we are planning to donate ours for free -- to be used for research or by others in need.

What bothered me about the guy's speech wasn't the concept of banking cord blood, or even the price that the other expectant parents in the room seemed happy to pay. It was the scary approach the representative took -- claiming that "most people who declare bankruptcy do so because of health care costs" (what? where did this statistic come from?), and implying that those who did not bank their child's cord blood would regret it when someone in the family develops leukemia... etc., etc. It just seemed like the industry is trying to profit from the fears of new parents in a way that seems, well, a little disgusting.

On the other hand, I think that the cord blood industry is just taking advantage of a general trend in our culture towards wanting (and expecting) lives that are completely sanitized from dangers, dirt and risk. With all our wonderful technological advances and modern conveniences, it seems that many of us have developed the idea that we shouldn't have to deal with anything unpleasant or unexpected at all. We want someone to fix things for us when they go wrong, and we go to great lengths to attempt to control our lives -- bringing out the worst of our anxieties and, frankly, hubris.

I have a theory that we live our lives at such a hectic pace that there is no room for uncertainty, so when the unexpected happens, there is no energy left to take things in stride. I was at the car dealership a few weeks ago getting my windows tinted (which, btw, I didn't want - but the dealer talked me into it, glancing at my pregnant belly and telling me that my new baby would be uncomfortably hot in the Georgia weather without the tinting.... sigh). Looking around the waiting room, I noticed that there were a number of signs offering various types of "insurance" available for car owners.

You can buy wheel and tire insurance to avoid the "unexpected expense" of a flat tire. So I guess that means I would prefer the expected expense of the wheel and tire insurance? Just think, while you're standing on the side of the road in the rain, canceling appointments via cell phone, you could be comforted knowing that you have already paid for that new tire three or four times over via tire insurance -- and thank goodness you won't have to pull out the plastic today.

But if that's not reassuring enough for you, you can also purchase the "appearance protection" plan for your new car. With this plan, you'll also pay some monthly fee for a while, and then when you accidentally stain or burn your car's upholstery, the dealer will repair or replace it for you. It will be like new again -- just as though human beings never sang songs or spilled soda or made memories in your vehicle at all. Whew.

Now part of this is just car dealers being car dealers; but they wouldn't offer these programs if someone weren't buying them. Dealers (and insurance companies, and retailers...) know how much we hate ugly surprises and imperfections. We hate them so much, we will sacrifice the joy and money and optimism we have in the moment in order to assure ourselves that some pain might be spared us in the future. We love extended warranties, hand sanitizer, and money-back guarantees.

But how reality-proof do we need our worlds to be? What is this pressing need we have to prevent "tragedies" that are really just the normal ebbs and flows of life? I would argue that the emotion and money we spend on the front end trying to avoid everything uncomfortable is not only fruitless (life will always find a way to surprise us); but the pain and effort of avoidance outweighs whatever expense or discomfort we would naturally incur later.

We are robbing ourselves of the opportunity to enjoy what we have when we have it, because we are so focused on what could happen to take it away. And when something unpleasant does happen (like the burning smell emanating from our dishwasher last night, indicating that we will soon be shopping for a new one), we have a hard time accepting the reality because of our frustration.... "I put all this work into making sure things would go smoothly and now this??"

It just seems to me that with the economy at a shaky point and many of us struggling with both our finances and fears, one thing we can definitely afford to give up is the expensive and unending search for perfection. It's easier said than done, so I'm reminding myself as much as anyone else: Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the ride.

The Nest and Beyond

For the second time in 3 years, we have wrens nesting in the planter just outside our front door. This means that I had to scrap my early spring plans of putting ivy in the shady planter, but it's totally worth it.

Two years ago, we called our feathered visitor "Gertie the Birdie," (we're sort of into names that rhyme with what they are -- hence our unborn child's unfortunate moniker "Cletus the Fetus.") Gertie laid 5 eggs during her time in residence on our front porch, and we watched them hatch and grow with unbridled fascination. Sadly, only four of them survived to leave the nest, and MDH had the unpleasant job of removing the poor little straggler after his family had moved on.

The planter is just below eye level - it hangs on the wall outside our door - so having a bird's nest there gives us a little taste of the discovery channel every day. MDH has affectionately named this year's mamma bird "Wrenita," and ever since she took up residence I've felt a kind of kinship with her... one expectant mom to another sort of thing. Of course, I'm a touch jealous of how quick the gestation period is for birds - they went from an empty nest, to tiny brown eggs, to babies with huge closed eyes in just a matter of weeks.

We've had fun in the past week or so, stopping by the nest and making kissy noises at them to see their hungry little mouths reach out in instinct, waiting for us to barf up something delicious (I know it's a little cruel, but it's irresistible). And now when we peer into the nest, the little birds peering out are slightly smaller replicas of Wrenita herself, already looking wise and grown.

Add to this progression of life the soap opera-like element of our cat -- who watches the birds with intensity through the front window. And this morning she was particularly frantic, running from window to window, chirping (like a cat, not like a bird) insistently to let me know there was something hunt-able and tasty-looking just outside.

When I went out myself, I found Wrenita and another bird making an incredible racket -- they were both flitting from bush to tree to stairway railing, chirping loudly and nonstop. Even though Wrenita typically makes a hasty and quiet exit whenever we enter or leave the condo, this morning she made little effort to hide from me, and the constant chirping didn't stop despite several repeated trips in and out the door.

Both adult birds kept up their noisy dance for some time, and I finally decided that they were trying to coax the little ones to leave the nest and attempt flying for the first time. I don't know if that's really what was happening -- bird expert, I am not. But I thought it was pretty cool anyway. Mamma bird (and her friend? Daddy bird? Auntie bird?) didn't climb into the nest and push the babies out. They don't carry the babies out and fly for them. But they also don't abandon them to their fates... they consistently, patiently encourage them with lots of verbal reassurance and wait for the little guys to figure it out for themselves.

It's a great reminder of what good parenting should be... and perfect timing since I am entering that neurotic phase of pregnancy that has me worrying about every little thing, doubting my parental abilities, and fighting off the urge to buy the little guy everything in the store. Which store? Doesn't matter. Every store.

Somehow watching Wrenita encourage her little ones this morning gave me a little (maybe temporary) feeling of confidence and relief. Nature has away of working it out, and I know that somehow even my imperfect instincts will help this little one find his way in the world.

I have nothing to write and I am writing it....

with apologies to John Cage*

So, the light at the end of the tunnel is growing brighter for me and my crazy schedule. The stressful (and expensive) chaos I talked about in the last entry has mostly subsided, and one-by-one I'm checking things off my list. So, in between things, I'm delighted to return to the world of blogging.

I think.

If only I had something to say.

So this is a miniature version of the typical writer's curse I've experienced for years: when one is too busy to write, confined by the unpleasant constraints of practical life, the ideas and inspirations seem to come in literal waves. On the way home from work, or dashing between one meeting and the next, I am struck with a list of great ideas I could write IF I just had time! There are future article ideas, plans for maternity leave, and even a couple of little seeds that could one day become terrible novels...

Sometimes I find time and energy to scribble these ideas down as I go, and occasionally they even make sense when I look at them down the road. But for the most part, they are lost to oblivion, filed in that mental vortex called "Later" (which, it turns out, contains only a lonely, hungry goat and an empty desk where the office temp seems to be constantly "on break.")

So of course, by the time I need to retrieve these fabulous ideas, they are either completely missing or just a shell of their former selves -- with none of their original energy and spark. So I sit staring at the blank screen, looking out the window, flipping through the channels.... And it all somehow seems to evaporate.

I suspect I'm not alone in this -- I'm sure there is a wide group of frustrated writers, artists, photographers, scrapbookers, etc., complaining that their demanding lives don't allow them to do what they love, and then coming home every evening to melt unproductively in front of the boob tube.

And I also suspect that we all know the answer to the dilemma, the old Nike slogan that pervades the consciousness of anyone who lived through the 1990's. Just do it.

Just start writing, filming, blogging, snapping pictures, making friends, dancing, bowling, gardening.... whatever it is. You have to start and hope that the creative energies and success will eventually follow. The temp will return to her desk, and maybe the old goat will regurgitate something delicious from the "Later" file that can become "Now, Now, Now."

There are no guarantees that what will emerge will be genius or anything close to it (and if you've made it through the blog to this point you may be nodding vigorously in agreement). But the only absolute guarantee is this: if you don't start, the results will speak for themselves.

____________________________________________________

"I have nothing to say, and I am saying it."
-- John Cage

The Hidden Costs of Spreading Yourself Too Thin

So it's a little embarrassing to look back at my blog history and realize that I've only put up one tiny post in nearly two months...

And it's even more embarrassing to have to confess that -- even though I am constantly preaching balance and stress management to my clients and friends -- the main reason I haven't been able to write is because I completely over-committed myself in the last couple of months. For some reason I'd like to chalk up to temporary insanity, I thought it was a good idea to take 3 classes this semester, continue full-force with my 2 part-time jobs, accept a couple of random freelance opportunities, organize a silent auction and attend a 3-day training out of town... all essentially culminating in February and March, and all during my second trimester of pregnancy.

I think the "what the hell were you thinking?" goes without saying. But don't worry, several caring individuals have been kind enough to say it anyway.

Of course I recognize that this type of overloaded lifestyle has consequences, as I think most of us do when we're slowly, half-voluntarily getting in over our heads. But one interesting thing I noticed, somewhere in the fervor, is that there are also financial consequences. Maybe it's our heightened collective attention on the economy right now that tuned me in to this issue; but once I started noticing, the financial fallout of my voluntary chaos seemed to be everywhere.

For starters, there's parking: Theoretically, there is free parking available for GSU students at Turner Field, and you can take a shuttle from there to campus (or walk the 1.5 miles or so on a nice day and get in your exercise at the same time). I used to take advantage of this option at least once a week to save money and to allow myself a few minutes of zone-out time or brisk walking. But I can count on one hand the number of times I've been able to swing it in the last three months.... I get too busy before or after class to add the extra time to my commute; so I suck it up and pay for downtown campus parking, promising myself each time that I'll be more disciplined next week.

Of course, that's on the days when I'm on time, or close to it. Some days I am so rushed before class -- finishing up one commitment or another -- that even my regular parking spot downtown is unrealistic; and instead of $5 or $3, I have to pay $8 for the premium lot that is just a couple of blocks closer to the classroom building. Two blocks closer means 4 minutes less late to class!

So I'm guessing I've blown at least $70 in unnecessary parking charges this year so far. If I could work at a slower pace, give myself more time to plan ahead, I could have pocketed that $70 for the kid's college fund and probably been a little more sane each time I entered the classroom to boot.

Parking is an easy example. But wait, there's more!

There's paying absurd ATM fees to get cash from Not My Bank when I suddenly realize I need it, despite the fact that I probably passed four of my own bank's ATMs on the way to wherever I was going.

There were a couple of bounced check fees in January (in my opinion the most ridiculous and inexcusable expense a person can have) because I was too hurried to notice that I accidentally made a PayPal transaction from the wrong account.

There are the countless times we've eaten out or ordered pizza because I didn't have time to plan meals for the week or make a thorough trip to the grocery store. (This one is expensive AND unhealthy).

My housekeeping, never what I'd consider overly tidy to begin with, has definitely suffered from my busy schedule... so one day in frustration I thought I'd quickly vacuum the main parts of the carpet in the 30 minutes I had between obligations. Just a quick job, so why take the time to move everything off the floor, right? I'll just vacuum AROUND the phone charger cords.... Turns out, when one of those gets sucked up into the vacuum cleaner, the cord itself will wrap around the axle until it hits the base, which is when it will snap unceremoniously, leaving you with inexplicable black marks on the carpet and $30 less in your wallet for the replacement.

It seems that cutting corners (or being too busy to avoid cutting corners) has taken quite a bite out of my wallet in the last few weeks. And since I think money is often a symptom-bearer for other issues, I'll say that this is probably a reflection of some of the non-monetary costs I've been sacrificing to stress and hurry as well: quality time with family and friends, healthy eating, time to exercise as much as I need...

It's too bad there's no budget program that will show us this stuff on one of those handy pie charts. "If you would slow down and quit taking on so much, you would save 5% of your expenses, be in 8% better health, and have 25% better relationships."

Too bad indeed. Guess I'm going to have to slow down and pay attention instead!

How about coffee? Mayonnaise? Whipped butter?

I like mustard on my fries.

It's weird, I know, but I've done it for years (originating during my years working at McDonald's in high school -- nothing turns you off to the normal fry condiment like constantly wiping stale, wet ketchup off trashcans, tables and trays). I used to like only mustard because of that acquired ketchup aversion, but now I generally mix the two whenever I eat fried potatoes in any form.

But unlike most mustard connoisseurs, I like the plain old yellow stuff -- none of that fancy schmancy deli mustard with horseradish or whatever else. Just the standard, bright yellow French's for me, thanks. It seems a pretty simple preference to me, if slightly odd.

That is, until a conversation held between myself and a waitress at the Flying Biscuit a few nights ago....

Waitress: [setting down Fried Egg Sandwich with Moon-Dusted potatoes - yum!] Can I get you anything else?
Manda: Could I have some ketchup please , and - do you have plain yellow mustard?
Waitress: I'll go check.
Manda: Thanks.
Waitress: [returning with ketchup bottle moments later] I'm sorry, we don't have mustard. But we do have balsamic vinaigrette.

Hmm.... okay.

I thought about this odd conversation later when I was working with a couple who are having trouble communicating their needs to one another and finding ways to meet those needs together (actually, most of the couples I see are struggling with that in one way or another). It must seem strange to constantly need one thing in a relationship and always get back something entirely different -- so different, in fact, that it seems almost nonsensical.

And it must be strange to be the other partner, too -- to hear that your mate needs something but have no idea how to give it to them. They want mustard, and all I can think of to offer is balsamic vinaigrette.

The waitress was earnest, apologetic, and almost seemed a little desperate when she came back to the table. It's kind of like she knew that her suggestion was not going to meet my needs in any way, but could think of no other options under the pressure of wanting to make me happy... or at least to offer me SOMETHING, even if it was salad dressing.

I guess some days we can only offer the best we can... and somehow it has to be enough.

A Lesson in Belonging

I read today that a recent study (summary here) at the University of Kentucky strongly linked aggressive behavior with social rejection. In other words, people who are rejected socially are more likely to exhibit aggressive and violent behavior toward others. Well, duh, right?

It may seem obvious, but this is apparently one of the more substantial studies available describing links to aggressive behavior. In an era when aggression seems to translate more and more often into horrifying displays of indiscriminate violence, I think this becomes an area of communal interest for all of us.

For me, this fits pretty well with how I view the world, and how I see my clients. I happen to work from a largely Adlerian perspective, which means I think that Belonging (Social Interest) is a critical part of each person's development and mental health. But before I had ever heard of Adler or thought about becoming a psychotherapist, I had an intuitive sense for how important belonging is... and I suspect that most people who survived adolescence in America can relate.

I remember in high school a teacher of mine was reading an interview with Stephen King, and his interviewer was asking about early influences on his writing, etc. I can't find the exact quote, but King said something about how acceptance by others is the most important thing any person can have. It's what everyone wants, especially teenagers. I remember thinking how cool it was that a writer I admired immensely was so in touch with the human condition -- and specifically, MY human condition. (Later on I realized it's this, more than anything else, that makes Stephen King a great writer.)

It does seem that a need for social acceptance is part of our essence. Some of us find it by seeking to please others and imitating those we admire. Others find acceptance through their uniqueness - standing out in order to fit in. We sometimes go to extremes in order to express our individuality, as well as our affiliation with particular groups... Think about the pierced and painted adolescent bodies clustered together at the food court; or the wildest displays of fanaticism at your favorite tailgate party.

Knowing how intense we can be about being part of a group, it's easy to understand how those who can't seem to fit in could feel resentful, self-loathing, and eventually... hopeless. Those feelings can lead to a sense of frustrated entitlement, and vengeful behavior against others. And as we've seen all too often in ways large and small, the consequences can be devastating.

I don't know what the answer is... But maybe just knowing how important social acceptance is will give us the opportunity to view others in a different light: to be aware that Chatty Cathy in the next cubicle really just wants to be liked; and the Know-It-All down the hall needs to feel important and accepted.

Perhaps by remembering our own challenges to fit in (pubescent and current), we can have a little more empathy for those who are still struggling. Our kindness to them might just be the small step that changes the world.

Week 19: Your Baby Gets Superpowers

One funny thing about getting pregnant is that suddenly your life is measured in weeks. It's 40 weeks from start (well, before start, technically) to finish; and each week is brimming with developmental significance. Thanks to ever-improving technology, we know more and more about what happens with a developing fetus from week to week.

So once you're knocked up, there are countless books and websites available to tell you what's happening each week in the mysterious realm of the womb. There's what I like to call the "produce phase," where each week your baby is compared to a particular fruit. This week the baby is the size of a blueberry, next week it's a large raspberry, and the following week it's an olive. I can't tell you how confusing that was for me, trying to figure out what size olive is appropriately bigger than a large raspberry.

Then we move on to plum, peach, avocado, etc., until the baby's size is such that a comparison to a fruit no longer makes sense. So the fruit descriptors are relegated to the mother instead of the baby (uterus the size of a cantaloupe!), and discussions of the baby focus more on other developmental markers like organs, hair, and fingernails.

Now all of this is pretty fascinating, at least to the parents-to-be, but I will say that it's also a little strange to know so much about this tiny person who is with me every day and occasionally kicks me in the belly - but who I've never seen or met. It's also a bit of added pressure, knowing that certain things are developing this week makes me ever more vigilant about every move I make, not wanting to disturb the fragile process.

What's even scarier is that during some of these critical weeks, there are nerve-racking tests designed to screen for a host of chromosomal and other anomalies that could seriously impact the life of the child, or even be fatal. These screening tests are wonderful advances of technology, but their high incidence of false positive results can sometimes make them more anxiety-provoking than reassuring.

But I find myself wondering other things about this little person... Not whether the intestines have re-entered the abdomen through the umbilical cord (they do that!) or about some scary potential condition. Instead, I want to know whether my little guy or girl will have a sweet, easygoing temperament like their father or if we'll experience the dramatic ups and downs of a child more like me. Will he or she be kind to others, have special talents, make contributions to the world? Leap tall buildings in a single bound? :)

It's so amazing and interesting to know what is happening week by week, but it leaves me wanting to know so much more... anticipating the personality, the uniqueness and the fun that's in store in the years to come. In some ways, it's too bad that an ultrasound or other tests can't tell us more encouraging, meaningful and exciting things about our children.

Of course, there is one big, exciting thing new parents do get to know: in a couple of weeks, we'll have the option to find out the gender of the baby. Most parents do opt to "find out" -- and the reason I most often hear is for planning the nursery, etc. But I suspect that if other parents are experiencing what I've experienced, part of the reason is that it's just so nice to hear some good, happy news in the middle of all the waiting and nail-biting.

But on the other hand, maybe anticipating all those exciting things is part of every parent's journey, day by day. Eliminating risks from our kids' lives is not an option after they're born. We also don't get to know ahead of time whether our kids will be talented in a particular way, interested in a certain occupation or activity, gentle or boisterous, healthy or ill... we can't predict, and beyond the influence that we have in raising them as best we can, we can't control how their lives play out. But what we get to do is something altogether more thrilling... we get to watch it all unfold, and to nurture the process as it goes along.

So maybe all this wonderful science has the shadow side of pushing us to think we can somehow predict (or create) perfection in our kids; and that somehow by knowing more about them, we can plan their lives and ours more thoroughly. But as the old Yiddish proverb says, Men plan, G-d laughs. Life isn't always ours to plan - not our own lives, and especially not our children's.

So the "plan" (insert divine laughter here) is that we are not going to find out in a couple of weeks whether our little one -- who I'm happy to report is approximately the length of a standard office stapler -- is a boy or a girl. Sure, it would be fun to know more about our little one; but for now, I'm learning to savor the mystery.

Inaugural Blog

Well, it's not really my inaugural blog - it's my blog about yesterday's inauguration. I'm sure I am echoing the sentiments of many when I say this, but it's astonishing to me how the peaceful fulfillment of the democratic process fills me with an increasing sense of awe, year after year.

I'm a fairly worldly person, generally, and I've been known to have a cynical streak -- especially when it comes to our government. But listening to President Obama's speech yesterday, seeing the crowd of 1.5 million plus gathered in peace, and watching the solemn yet vibrant exchange of power from one administration to the other.... I realized again how lucky we are to live in such a country.

In many places around the world, the voice of the population is not heard in any semblance of democratic process. A change of power in those places often means violence, recriminations, loss of personal property and the summary execution of dissenters.

As I watched the dignified public ceremony yesterday, my bitterness with the old administration and my wariness of the new one faded into the background -- at least for a while. For a few minutes I was not a Libertarian, a cynic, an angry taxpayer, or anything else.

I was just an American.

The gratitude and pride I felt was tremendous. What a blessing to be in my living room -- basically free and basically safe -- sitting next to the person most important to me, watching history happen before our eyes, and wondering hopefully about the future.

Bookshelf Curriculum

I figured it out the other day -- I'm 33 years old, and I have spent almost exactly two-thirds of my life in school (at least part time). My first reaction as I write that sentence is to question the wisdom of all that higher education, and the next one is to try not to calculate how much it has all cost me.

I was thinking of this the other night as I wandered through the bookstore, wishing that I could take time out from my busy life (and, let's be honest - I probably could take time away from my TV-watching and Pathwords-playing) to just wind my way through the stacks of books, choosing the books that I want to read most, rather than the materials and assignments prescribed by my program of study.

That got me thinking - what would my chosen "curriculum" be? What are the books I've read that have been most influential on the way I think or how I look at life? What would be next - the things I've always wanted to read but not made time for, or new stuff on the horizon?

Here are some of the books/works I've read that had the biggest impact on me, in no particular order:

- 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- Til We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis
- The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkein
- Absolom, Absolom by William Faulkner
- The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell
- Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
- The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut
- To Life! by Harold Kushner
- The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
- As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
- Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
- To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
- Persuasion by Jane Austen
- Countless works of William Shakespeare
- "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot
- "Evening Hawk" by Robert Penn Warren
- The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields
- The Lonely Planet Guides to Europe and the U.K.
- The Stand by Stephen King
- The Awakening by Kate Chopin
- Bridget Jones' Diary by Helen Fielding (I admit it! I loved it!)

These are just a few. I'm sure I could (and will) think of many more as my workday brain defrosts and delves deeper into my academic and pleasure-reading past. I'm amazed, as I make this list, how many of these books I remember loving and being influenced by - but I have lost touch with so many of them that I'm not sure I could recall many of the particulars. Wouldn't it be great to be able to make the time to re-read all your old favorites with a new perspective and appreciation?

In addition to a long trip down memory lane, I find myself craving new reading material that isn't either a grad school requirement, a work-related book, or pregnancy guide. Here are some of things I'd like to add to my own "curriculum" in the future. (Suggestions are helpful!)

- A fresh, inspiring biography
- A (somewhat objective) history of politics and violence in the Middle East
- A science fiction series anywhere close to as well-written and textured as LOTR
- An intrigue escape-type novel that's not too masculine, too feminine or too hokey
- A light, fun read, a la Bridget Jones, that is actually well written and innovative
- Anything that makes me want to set aside my current life and take one more stab at being a professional writer!!

I would love to hear what is on everyone else's "Bookshelf Curriculum."

Lessons from 2008

On New Year's Eve, a few friends converged on our house for a cozy evening of pizza and silly board games. It was wonderful. Earlier that morning, a colleague shared with me a NYE tradition she has: writing down things she wants to leave behind from the old year, and burning them in a bonfire.

So in the middle of the evening, we decided to write the things we want to leave in 2008 on little slips of paper, and toss them into the roaring fire. We didn't share what we'd written, but I imagine the little slips included bad habits, negative events, and even some deep regrets from the past year. For me, it actually turned out to pretty cathartic - a nice symbol of turning the corner into 2009.

All this got me thinking, though, that there are plenty of things I learned in 2008; and while I might want to leave behind the mistakes that created those "learning opportunities," I'd like to believe that I can carry the lessons with me into the years to come.

So here are a few of the keepers from 2008:

1. When you're in a car accident that's not your fault, make sure to ask the other insurance company to compensate for the car's lower resale value before settling the claim. (Grrr!)

2. It turns out that the fudge icing I make for my favorite layer cake also works really well for pecan pralines.

3. If you feel consistently unfocused and scattered, you probably are. It's time to reign it in.

4. Don't neglect your cat's toenails - ours had one actually grow back into her paw because it got so long... Poor kitty!

5. If you order a Jameson's over ice in Dublin, it's considered a "cocktail."

6. It really is okay to change your mind about the direction of your career, the color of your bedroom or your plans for the evening. It doesn't mean you were wrong the first time (or first three times), it just means you changed your mind.

7. I know this is what everyone says, but it's true: running really is all about putting one foot in front of the other.

8. Sometimes living life in the moment means accidentally becoming part of an Irish pub band. No, you don't know the words, so just have another Guinness and fake it.

9. Sometimes when you are completely frustrated and feeling most like giving up, life gives you a miracle that restores your faith and rewards your patience and effort tenfold.

10. Just when you think you can't love someone any deeper.... you can.


So those are 10 of the 10,000 things I learned this year. I'd love to hear what lessons other folks are bringing with them from 2008!!

Humbled by a "Hunter"

Last night I had the privilege to see an incredible documentary about the extraordinary life of Simon Wiesenthal. Mr. Wiesenthal survived the Holocaust and imprisonment in several European concentration camps, and went on to become an infamous "Nazi Hunter," who helped track down and capture Nazi war criminals responsible for the deaths of millions of Jews and non-Jews alike. His lifelong search for information not only brought many perpetrators of atrocities to justice; but it also kept the reality of the Holocaust in the public eye at times when it was in danger of being swept under the rug.

If you watch the documentary, which I hope you will, you'll get a sense for how Wiesenthal did what he did, and all the struggles he experienced along the way. You'll also get some painful reminders of a shameful and horrendous part of human history, which I think we all need from time to time.

What struck me the most was the unswerving dedication to justice that was an integral part of Wiesenthal's life from the time of his "liberation" in 1945 until his death in 2005. Even though it kept him from having a normal life of his own, and subjected his family to long hours, unpopularity in their home country of Austria, and even direct attempts on his life, he persevered in seeking the justice he felt was his obligation as a survivor. His sense of justice and commitment to those who had perished around him became his life's mission. And he followed that mission exclusively until his death at 96.

Watching the movie clips from the concentration camps reminded me of standing on the soil at Auschwitz/Birknau in 1998 - and I once again felt the visceral impact that experience had on me, even 10 years later. I won't attempt to capture here what I felt in that place. But it's sort of like choking on grief and outrage and helplessness all at once.

After the film, I felt an overwhelming sense of being very, very small. The concerns that I felt before the movie -- what to pack for our holiday trip, whether to try to sell the condo, how to decorate the nursery -- seem not only trite, but they highlight how lucky and blessed we are to have what we have. G-d willing, I will never have to witness the brutal death of someone I love, I will never have to explain to my child why he or she has no living relatives, and my Jewish children will never live in fear because of who they are.

But perhaps most importantly, I hope I will never lose sight of my obligations to the rest of humanity. I have a responsibility to speak up against atrocities - like the ones currently happening in Darfur and the Congo -- by voicing my concerns to my representatives, supporting organizations that advocate for human rights, and even just mentioning these issues in my blog, so that maybe one or two of my readers might do the same.

I also think, that as privileged people (yes, we are -- even during hard times!) in a free country, one of our greatest responsibilities is to remember the horrors of the past and the plight of those in other parts of the world; to teach our kids the lessons of hatred and genocide; and to do our own small part to ensure that history does not repeat itself.

So join me, if you can, in taking a break from all the holiday madness this year -- the festivities, the fun, the fabulous gluttony -- and take up Mr. Wiesenthal's torch. We can help him keep his promise to the victims of the Holocaust (and victims of atrocities everywhere) that they will not be forgotten.

Visit the Simon Wiesenthal Center.

When Afraid to Drown, Dive in

Why would someone who has a near-paralyzing fear of drowning (and hates being in a swimsuit) voluntarily choose to get in a pool every week?

I ask myself this question often as I flip-flop my way through the locker room at Georgia State in my 5+ year-old basic black swimsuit, slowing slightly for a glance in the mirror, then quickly speeding up again... as though my speed will somehow prevent my flaws from showing. I head for the shower, which is either ice cold or scalding, and then out to the pool room, which is invariably freezing cold.

I size up the available lanes, grab a kickboard and some water weights, and plunge myself into the cold water to start my weekly round of poorly-executed laps. I've never been an excellent swimmer -- proper form and technique escape me entirely -- and when I do the backstroke, I somehow manage to weave all over the lane. Looking up, I can see the windows leading to the workout room on the next floor... there are almost always skinny college girls the size of paper clips in tiny shorts on the treadmills above me. I imagine that if they were to look down and see me bumping erratically against either side of the lane, I would look like a drunk otter trying to make it home from a long night up the river.

In addition to the basic embarrassment factor; there's also the discomfort I so often feel in the water. I have a visceral fear of drowning (it stems from a childhood incident); so whenever I happen to get water up my nose or accidentally submerge in deeper-than-expected water, my heart flutters in a little mini-panic. It isn't as bad while I'm swimming laps in the pool as, say, snorkeling or rafting (my poor friends who have dared vacation with me!!); but it can still be distressing nonetheless.

So it's cold, it's tiring, it's mildly humiliating, and at some moments it's downright scary. And I'm terrible at it. So why do I do this to myself, week after week, year after year? Why not just stick to the safety of the treadmill or the trail?

There are several reasons.

First, swimming is great exercise (as most people know), and now that my pregnancy status has ruled out the running I was doing before, any no-impact exercise I can use to add variety to my life is a huge bonus.

Second, swimming is like many other things in life... the worse you are at it, the better it is for you. I love that. In most other sports, the better you are at something, the more you get out of it - and the less likely you are to get hurt. In weight training, for example, inexperience can mean wrenching your back or tearing a bicep. In team sports, the better you are, the longer you can play (and the longer your teammates will tolerate your presence). But with swimming, any schmuck can flail in a pool for 30 minutes and get a great workout; and it is really, really hard to hurt yourself swimming (believe me, I've tried!).

Those are both great reasons to swim. And while I may not look fabulous in my bathing suit, I know my body has benefited from years of huffing and puffing from one end of a pool to the other.

But the most important reason I swim is this: I refuse to let fear run my life. I am aware of that fearful voice whenever I get in the pool, though sometimes it is louder than others. It reminds me that water can be a powerful force and that I am just a frail human being who has relatively little control over her own life.

I'm also aware of the other swimmers, the lifeguards, and the treadmill girls above me -- most of them 10 years or more younger than I am and in better shape than I've ever been. I can hear another voice in my head, pushing me to compare myself to them, urging me to notice the differences between their bodies and my own.... and to feel ashamed.

But I won't. I won't skip my swim because of cellulite or flabby arms; and I won't let my fears from 2 decades ago determine how I spend my time today. Each time I get in the pool and begin my slow, labored progress to the other side, I free myself just a little bit -- from the world around me and from the voices inside. The water surrounds me in weightless equilibrium, and I can release the day's cares to the calm, rhythmic process of moving myself through the water. I don't concern myself with how I look or who may be watching me; and I don't think of my anxieties -- about drowning or anything else.

For me, swimming means 30 minutes of unadulterated freedom a week. In that sense, it not only makes sense; in fact, it would be worth almost any price.

A Season of Gratitude

Thanksgiving was four days ago, and I finally feel like I might be ready to eat again! We had a wonderful holiday with family and food, a nice wrap-up to a busy but fulfilling few weeks (so busy and fulfilling, in fact, that I haven't blogged in a month!).

Since this is the season of gratitude, I thought I would take a few minutes to express how grateful I am for so many things that make my life rich. I'll admit that this blog is more for my benefit than the reader's, but perhaps you'll bear with me as you contemplate your own feelings of gratitude.

First and foremost, I am grateful for the love of friends, family, and of course, MDH. Without the love and support of the many people I am lucky to have in my life, I would be incredibly lost. There have been many occasions lately on which I've been surrounded by love and laughter -- and those times refresh my spirit in a way that nothing else can.

I am grateful for all the opportunities and challenges this year has presented me. Many times I have been frustrated and exhausted this year, and sometimes I have failed outright. But in every failure and frustration there has been an opportunity to learn something: patience, inner strength, generosity, humor and even a new skill here and there. I'm also grateful for the challenges that are still ahead of me; I know that next year will present me with innumerable opportunities to learn and grow.

During these difficult economic times, I'm more aware than ever how blessed I am to have a warm, safe place to sleep each night; basic good health; consistent food in my belly; and any number of options for how I choose to spend my time. I know that many others don't have these simple things - gifts that I take for granted each day.

It's nice to have a special time of year that reminds us to be grateful; and I hope I can carry some of this gratitude forward to each new day. Just thinking about all for which I am grateful makes me feel calmer, more centered and in many ways... at peace.

So, here's to a peaceful December filled with cold weather, warm friends and grateful hearts!

Happy Halloween!

I love Halloween - it's a day of fun and fantasy, when anyone can be anything, and everyone from the littlest kid to the most mature grownup can try on an alternate identity... just for fun (and candy). Somehow when we put on a costume or a mask, it gives us permission to cast aside that other, invisible mask we wear every day. We get to cut loose and let out some hidden side of ourselves - from the playful pirate to the slutty nurse.

This is the first year in a while that I haven't dressed up for Halloween (too much going on, sadly), but I'm looking forward to resuming the fun next year! In the meantime, have a safe, happy and SPOOKY one!

A Tough Homework Assignment

In my Advanced Counseling Theories class, our homework assignment for this week was to answer this question: "Has the movement of your life so far been consistent with your values as you understand them?"

Whew. It would be way easier to answer a question about Freud or Adler... something I could look up in a book, cite references, and move on with my merry little life. Even something mildly introspective that would ask me about my opinions or feelings, here and now, would be pretty easy to crank out in a couple of hours.

But this question is extra hard, not just because it implies that I need to be able to articulate my values in some way, but because it asks me about my behavior up to this point. The temptation, of course, is just to say "yes," and move on. Sure, I've been basically a good person (mostly) -- and I'm not lying awake at night, racked with guilt over my countless transgressions. So that must mean that my life basically aligns with some internal set of values, right?

Maybe. But maybe not. How often in my life have I stopped to ask myself whether my behavior, desires, and reactions fit in with my values? For that matter, how often have I stopped to consider what my values really are?

I think we often tend to qualify our values in terms of social norms, particularly within a certain group. We identify with our home culture or religion in an assumptive way, and probably only notice our values when they come into conflict with those around us. In fact, it's easiest to talk about values in the negative - as in, the things we don't agree with or wouldn't do.

You hear a lot of this during election season, when advocates of all positions are quick to point out the evils of the other side. We love to talk about what is wrong during election season - whether it's big corporations or big government, war or abortion, campaign procedures or the lifestyle of the candidates. But we so seldom talk about what is right. And even less often do we focus on how each of us, individually, can do right in the world.

It seems that it's much harder to talk about our values in the positive -- what we actually believe and do each day. I would say that one of my core values is loving-kindness toward others, and that sounds lovely, but how am I living that out? I'm generally nice to people, particularly those I like, and I'm lucky enough to work in a field that allows me to show kindness and compassion as a daily part of my profession. Okay, good.

But what else am I doing? Do I hold back and bite my tongue when I have a juicy piece of gossip about someone? Heck, no! Am I giving my time to help those in need as often as I could? Not so much. And I have some great rationalizations -- irresistible temptation, my crazy schedule, hectic life, my own challenges...

Of course, there's no way to live out any one value or conviction perfectly, but how do I know if I am even coming close? And if I never stop to list my values "as I understand them," how can I even check myself against it? Is it just a gut feeling? Do I assume that I am consistent with values unless that sinking feeling of conscience tells me otherwise? Or am I required to be more proactive with the way I live my life?

It seems as though my main answer to the homework question has only been more questions. Can't I just write about Freud instead???

A Time to Heal

In the Jewish tradition, we are currently in the middle of the Days of Awe, the ten days between Rosh Hashanah (the new year) and Yom Kippur (the day of atonement). By Wednesday night, we'll be fasting, afflicting our bodies and souls to allow space for reflection and repentance.

Yom Kippur has always been one of my favorite holidays. Not because it's fun to go hungry and thirsty for 24 hours or to sway with dizziness while standing in synagogue near the end of the holiday... but because I love the idea of taking time out of our busy lives to try to right some of the wrongs we've caused throughout the previous year. It's a time not just to acknowledge our imperfections, but to really own them, and do our best to make amends for those who've been hurt by our stumblings and missteps.

Yom Kippur is a day of taking stock within ourselves, and taking time to make amends when possible. We have to fight off our impulse to view ourselves in the best possible light, to sweep errors and flaws under the rug. Instead, we have to get in touch with our humanity at its most broken and imperfect, and through this process allow ourselves the opportunity for redemption.

So, I apologize.

For all the hurt and inconvenience that my vanity, self-centeredness, scatter-brained behavior, crazy schedule, need to control, gossip and all my other flaws have caused, I am truly sorry.

To those that I hurt either knowingly or by accident, in big ways and small - I apologize. Sometimes my intentions have been good and my errors careless, and other times I have operated from vanity, laziness, jealousy and pettiness. I am sorry.

I am responsible for my impact on those that I love and those I do not know; and while I can never perfectly control that impact, I must always try to be aware of it and improve.

I invite those I have hurt or slighted in the past year to please let me know how I can make amends now or in the future. If I owe you an apology, a hug or a change in our relationship, please speak up and help me take responsibility.

To be honest, it's scary to open myself up and look at all the unpleasantness inside. But learning from mistakes and healing old wounds are the best ways to grow.

Besides, it's only once a year, right?

Run, Fat Girl, Run!

As many of you know, I've been embarking on a journey since last December to SLOWLY improve my running ability. This has been an interesting and daunting task; and I've been blessed with many companions who've been my supporters, fellow runners and cheerleaders along the way.

As I was panting my way around the GSU track last week, getting constantly lapped by tiny college girls in even tinier running shorts, I had a thought. If I ever get "finished" writing about all my other pet topics, maybe someday I would write about what it's like for a plus-sized woman to strap on the running shoes and go pavement-to-pavement with all the skinny-minnies on the running trail.

Well, one little blog entry will have to suffice for now.

Even though I consider myself an active person, and I've had spurts of what some (mostly blood relatives of mine) would call "athleticism" off and on throughout my life.... running was never a training regimen I could wrap my head around. It was too hard, too boring, too painful to consider. Once in a while I would attempt it, getting discouraged after a few days of huffing and puffing and painful shin splints.

To excuse myself from running, I'd latch on to anything I heard 'on the street' about women and running. It's bad for your knees. It's hard on your kidneys. You can dislocate your uterus?!?!?!? [No kidding, this lady at a park told me that once as she watched me attempting to run some intervals].

So I'd opt for other stuff like yoga, swimming, brisk walking, and the occasional battle with an elliptical machine at the gym. These are all healthy and beneficial activities, of course, but I still felt jealous when I'd hear runners talk about the peacefulness and the endorphin high of their morning run.

Well, this time around I've been running more or less 2-3 times a week since January, and here's a little of what I have learned so far:

- To avoid injury, it turns out you have to stretch for much longer at 32 than you did at 23.
- You really do have to be kind to your knees: work slowly, run on a springy surface, and pay attention to your body. It's also good to build your leg muscles in other ways whenever possible.
- A really good pair of running shoes is critical to preserve your knees and feet. A super-reinforced, steel-girder type sports bra is also your friend. (Those of us with D cups or larger know just how painful it can be to have 'the girls' jumping all over the place.)
- A running buddy helps A LOT, especially in the beginning. If there's not one handy, an audiobook or upbeat music is helpful.
- Don't compare yourself to everyone around you. You are trying to become the best YOU, not the best THEM....
- But, sometimes you can't help comparing yourself to those skinny, tanned little things in tiny shorts and sports bras... In this case, I strongly recommend visualizing them tripping over a rock and falling face first into the pavement/gravel. It's surprisingly invigorating.
- It's totally okay to have an off day or even an off week... don't get down on yourself, just get back out there when you can.
- Intervals are a good way to build up running stamina. You can find a fabulous "Couch to 5K" regimen here. My personal strategy, however, is a little simpler: Run until you feel like throwing up or passing out, then walk until you feel like running again.
- Some days you just have to walk. That's okay. It's better than not doing anything!

When I originally started on this journey, I thought I would be able to run a whole 5K in just a couple of months. I also imagined that all my hard work would result in unparalleled weight loss. It hasn't turned out that way for me... I am still running about 2 miles of the 3 each time, and I've only lost about 5 pounds. But I'm okay with that, because I've stuck to it, and I improve with every race I run. And somehow it's not really about my weight anymore...

I've come to that elusive point where I actually look forward (most days) to my runs. It is a time of peace in a crazy life, a chance to regroup for an hour or so, away from all the demands on my time... for at least as long as it takes me to get around the loop trail. For that short period, there are no computers, no books, no phone calls... no insistent voice in my head telling me I need to be doing something else with my time. It's kind of a sanctuary -- just me, the river, a gravel trail, and the beautiful world around me.

Now I think I understand what all those annoying runners were saying before... that the joy of the run has nothing to do with how fast or how far, or even the results you might see (or not) in the mirror. It's about finding peace in a hectic life, and honoring myself with three or four hours a week by lacing up my shoes and saying, "I'm worth it."