Excited AND Scared

Two weeks from today, I will arrive in Amherst, Massachusetts for my College Reunion.  My TWENTY-FIFTH Reunion.  Two-five.  Two and a half decades. 

Boy, I’m old.

But seriously, I’m excited about this.  The advent of Facebook (and having gone to my 2oth Reunion) means I’m more in touch with many of my classmates than I expected, and ideally, I know a little bit about them.

And at the same time, I’m a little scared.  Frankly, I think I’m probably a lot more fun (and cuter) on Facebook (or here) than I am in person.  After all, you can edit yourself – or not - when you’re sitting in front of a screen.

Then there’s my job, which is hard to describe, and while I think it’s consequential, I’m not at all sure the College agrees with me.  It’s also kind of insular and hard to explain.

And last, but not least, I’m no longer at my goal weight.  Admittedly, I weigh about 25 pounds less than I did at the 20th, but there was a short time period in there (which luckily coincided with my 25th high school reunion) when I was actually at my goal weight.  I liked it there.  I’m still trying to get back there.  But I won’t be there in two weeks, unless I immediately stop eating, drinking water, and do nothing every day but work out.  And even then, I have my doubts.

Still, I do have great hair.

It’s not like I’ve even considered not going though, and it’s certainly not like I think I’m not going to have a great time.  I’m going; it will be a blast; and I will be glad I went.

But I am excited and scared.  Just putting it out there.

P.S.  Bonus points for anyone who can tell me where my title for this post originated.

On Gorillas

So, over the last several months, I’ve been running from pillar to post dealing with health issues that started in December.  The good news is that the 800-pound gorilla of a diagnosis was ruled out.  The bad news (which is really not so bad) is that I still feel like hell.  However, I’ve decided to give myself a doctor break for a bit, and see if rest, yoga, quality cat time, and good companionship help me feel better.  You’ll understand more in a bit.

Yesterday, (the same day the gorilla left the room), there was a young man in my Bikram Yoga class who has no use of his legs.  He gets around in a wheelchair, and apparently has been practicing Bikram frequently for about seven years.   I was awestruck.  (By the way, if you’re wondering, because I would, he does not practice in the chair, but on the floor.)

And damn, did he put my situation in perspective.  Instead of looking at my challenges in a way that magnifies them to the size of (yes, again) 800-pound gorillas, I realized they really are microscopic in the big picture.   I’m a lucky girl.  And I’m going to try harder to remember that every. damn. day.

P.S.  Mystery of the day is why this Sambo image came up on a search for “800-pound gorilla”…oh, Google!

Kick Me

I was bullied in school.  Right up until about tenth grade (second year of high school), though there were a few episodes after that.  While it was nowhere near what you hear described today, it was bad enough.  I was ridiculed, name-called, and given a nickname that still haunts my nightmares. 

See, from fifth grade until college, I was on scholarship at what I guess might be called an “exclusive” private school (you had to be tested in various ways to get in), and while I (obviously) got in, I just could not compete in many ways that the other kids considered important.  While we wore a uniform, we were allowed to choose our own tops (as long as they had a collar) and shoes, and the competition was fierce.  We moved from Lacoste through a brief LL Bean phase (remember The Preppy Handbook?) on to Polo.  And I just could not afford to keep up.  Oh, and the weekend clothes!  And the cars!   End result…I was “inferior” and they let me know it.  Interestingly, some of those people are now my friends.  Not just Facebook friends, but friends.  I guess that’s growing up.

You may wonder why am I talking about it now.  Well, for some reason, this floated into my head today during my Bikram class.  (I know, I know, I should not be thinking about other things during my practice, but hey, it is a practice, not a perfect.  Sue me.)  Clearly, I realized (in my post-yoga glow), it still affects me, which led to thinking about why and how and by the way, get the fuck over it already.

At least I learned to shop like nobody else …on much less cash than you would believe, I can keep up with any trend except couture, which really would not work for my office in any case.  I mean, can you imagine?  But more seriously, I still have a hard time with “teasing” or even sarcasm – my instant reaction is to want to curl up in a little ball and hide under the covers.  I think I hide it pretty well (or maybe I don’t).  Overreacting – it’s my cross to bear.  One of them, anyway.

 If I can have such a reaction from the relatively mildly difficult time I had, I can’t even imagine what some of today’s kids (and even adults) go through.   And no, I’m not talking about adults who know each other well and the teasing and even constructive criticism that can go on.  I’m talking about the thoughtlessly cruel comments people make to and about each other.  So, be kind.  Or if you can’t be kind, be thoughtful.

It’s worth a try.  After all, the next blogger that writes about such experiences might name names!

Don’t Judge. No, Really, Don’t.

I was not going to write about this – after all, there’s enough garbage out there.  But as you probably have heard, Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga, has been sued by a former student, Sarah Baughn, alleging sexual harassment.  The key word there is “alleging”.   Nothing has been proved – or disproved.

But then in my email, I got this post from a blog I follow.  Go ahead and read it – you’ll notice that many of the comments are mine.  I hate that to make my point, more people are going to read this wrongheaded post from someone whose writing and thoughts I normally admire.  Still, there is a point to be made.

Anyone who lives in the United States, or knows the basics of our justice system, knows that it relies upon the precept that you are innocent until proved guilty.   As said best by Maimonides:  ”It is better and more satisfactory to acquit a thousand guilty persons than to put a single innocent one to death.”  And just because the accuser is female, and I am female, does not mean that her accusations are not subject to the same rules.  If you believe that, you are no better than those who would give a man’s opinion more weight simply because he is a man.

So, folks, let’s wait and see.   Justice may be blindfolded, but she is also female, armed with a sword as well as her scales.  As flawed as the system is, I prefer to  make my decision on the issue after it’s been tried, rather than based on one lawsuit, various rumors, and press coverage.  Wouldn’t you want that to be true for you?

As far as my personal Bikram practice goes, as my friend A.R.P.  says:   “Whatever happens, you practice for the practice, not the guru.”  See you in class!

Tell Me About Yourself

So I’ve gotten hooked on this new TV series, Monday Mornings.   Like another fave, Grey’s Anatomy, it’s set in a hospital.  Last night’s episode included a story line about a young man who, out of the blue, had a stroke.  After much drama (it is television, after all), they took him off the ventilator and allowed him to pass with dignity.

What’s my point, you ask?  Well, this started me thinking about a dear friend I lost in 2006.  He and I had known each other for many years, and I don’t think anyone who knew us would say we were not close.  But when E. passed (suddenly, too young, with no warning – now do you see the connection to the TV show?), I found out all kinds of things about his life outside our friendship that he and I had never discussed.  And for a brief moment, I wondered if that meant our friendship was not as important to him as it was to me.  There were certainly those at his funeral who seemed to think so.

But no.  There are some relationships that are all about all the details outside you and me, and there are some that live in the moment, and the details of other times will only come up when they relate to the present.  Both are equally valid.  I learned that there is no formula for a friendship, and there is no need to judge my relationship by someone else’s standards.  So those people who thought my friendship was less “important” because E. and I did not share all the details of our lives outside our tight little bubble can go to hell.  We shared what was meaningful to us.

The same day we lost E., I lost another friend – also too young, and also with basically no warning.  (Yeah, that was some week.)  The point being though, that this man, P., was loved by many who barely knew him, and there were those who tried to say that that group of his friends did not have as valid a reason to grieve.  A very wise mutual friend said it all when she said (I’m sure I’m paraphrasing) that “everyone’s grief is real, and everyone has the right to mourn”.

Maybe you share everything – maybe you share very little.  But as long as you are totally and completely honest, it’s okay.  Really, it is.

Fear

There’s been a lot going on in my life lately.  Some things have been ironed out – yay! – and are back on track.  But some medical issues are just going on… and on… and on…

I’m a good patient usually.  I come in with all the needed information; I am always on time for my appointments; I follow up appropriately; and I’m really, really, really nice to the staff.  But recently, the colossal incompetence of a particular radiology department has sent me over the edge.  Back story:  after a check-up, my doctor advised me to see a neurologist.  In order to rule out some very scary things – like, oh, cancer or a brain tumor – I then had an MRI.  So far, so good.  No cancer.  No brain tumor.  But not normal.   Okay…time for further MRIs.  Sure, I’ll go.  To make this long story short, I never had the tests.  I tried.  Twice.

So now what?  Well, it took several years for me to get a correct diagnosis for my Sjogren’s, given poor diagnostic skills at the major teaching hospital where I went to grad school.  It took a full year and every test known (it seemed) for the best gastroenterologist in New York to diagnose the cause of a severe abdominal pain.  Clearly, I’m stubborn enough to do the work that it will apparently take to find out what is going on now.

But in the meantime…I’m scared.  I don’t like uncertainty.  I am not bothered so much by change, but not knowing makes me crazy.  I just want to curl up under the covers with the cats and not come out until I have answers.  But we all know life is not like that.  There’s work to be done, cats to be entertained, yoga classes to attend, and drinks to drink.  Plus I’m just far too stubborn (yes, I said it again) to allow fear to immobilize me.  And stubborn will beat incompetent every. damn. time.

Never Enough

I struggle with money.  It’s not that I don’t get paid appropriately – though if we’re honest, no-one ever makes enough money – or that I spend outrageously.  Those of you who know my shoe addiction might snicker at that, but you would be surprised at how far money can go on such things if you do it well.  And shoes (and clothes) do wear out.

But hey, life is expensive.  Especially here in Manhattan.  I own my home – or more accurately, it owns me.  While my mortgage is totally manageable, my co-op had a major financial disaster soon after I moved in, and our maintenance costs have never really recovered.  (If you are wondering, our retaining wall collapsed on the Henry Hudson Parkway.  Thank God, it was only property damage.)  Plus, we have the worst. board. ever.  And don’t say I should run for the board – I don’t need to be paying a criminal defense attorney to clear assault charges on top of everything else.

Luckily, I bought a lifetime membership to my Bikram Yoga studio a few years ago, so that is no longer an ongoing expense.  The cats are pretty healthy, and since they stay indoors and don’t meet other animals, all the expensive vaccinations do not have to be done every year.  (If you didn’t know that, now you do!)  Despite the best efforts of the MTA, my commute remains practical, so I don’t have to worry about a car, parking, and so on.  I often get to go really cool places for work, so by staying a few days on my own, I have great travel experiences.

Still, there’s always something.  Most recently, a lot of unexpected medical costs.  And while I have amazing benefits, dental is a problem, because no affordable dental plan really pays what you need when you have that emergency root canal.  I’ve named the new crown “Vacation 2013″.  I do everything possible to be ready for such emergencies, but really, it feels like a swift kick to the stomach every time in happens, and I sit down to pay bills, already carefully scheduled to match up with my weekly paycheck, and I see that one more cost.

Whenever money is tight, I actually really freak out.  I did not grow up with a lot of money, though in so many more important ways, I was very privileged.  And I was fortunate to get scholarships, loans, and jobs, as well as family support, starting in elementary school, that allowed me to go to the schools of my choice.  The one thing I did not learn, apparently, was how to control my money panic.  So I try to pretend it’s not a problem, because mostly it isn’t.

If only my teeth would stop acting up!

What Lies Beneath

This morning in my Bikram class, I got distracted.  Really distracted.  Doing a third set of Camel rather than a second set of Rabbit distracted.   All of a sudden, I started thinking about icebergs.  (No, not because of Nemo (and by the way, when we start naming winter storms?  It’s a blizzard – call it a blizzard.).)  And then I started thinking about how we only ever see (according to this article) one-ninth of an iceberg, as the rest is hidden below the surface.  And then the title of the movie with Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeffier popped into my head, even though I’ve never seen it.  And what followed was a third set of Camel.  (It would not have been too odd to do a third set of Camel, I guess, if I had not already done the first set of Rabbit, but now you are getting a short glimpse into how I think.  Scary, isn’t it?)

Yes, there were images of real icebergs. So?

But back to my distraction.  I started wondering about that one-ninth of the iceberg, and if it’s always the same ninth, or if icebergs can, oh, I don’t know, roll over.  I imagine there are glimpses of the other eight-ninths as the ocean ebbs and flows around the berg, but how likely is it that someone on the surface will see more than maybe an eighth instead of a ninth due to ocean movement?

Which made me think about people, and how little we really know about our friends, or even about ourselves.  See, 2013 has not been a great year for me so far.  In addition to the betrayal, there are some new medical issues, and if you were wondering, I feel fat.  And ugly.  And stupid.  (Yes, yes, I know those last three aren’t actually true.  But I feel how I feel.)

And then I started asking myself how much of this is “visible”.  One-ninth?  Eight-ninths?  More?  Less?  I imagine as life ebbs and flows around me, that it varies, like the iceberg.   But unlike the berg, we supposedly have control over the portion of ourselves that people see.  Right?  Well, sure, but then, life will ebb and flow, and we don’t control that.  (Stop giggling.  I said it, I meant it, and I’m trying to believe it.)

It’s funny.  I had a really important point when I started, but I got distracted.  A fourth set of Camel, anyone?

Labels Suck, Or Why I Don’t Call Myself A Feminist

Yes, I know,  I’m going to get all kinds of flack for this, but I just don’t care – I had to say it.  Before I get started, you need to read this article:  “The End of Feminism?”.  I’ll wait right here.  And then remind yourself of what I said about feminism in this post.  

Okay, all done?  That article, and the comments, made me stop and think.  First, I realized I have never read The Feminine Mystique, so I promptly purchased the 50th Anniversary edition for my Kindle.   Now I just have to read it.

But seriously, what do we mean anymore by “feminist”?  How can I accept a label if I am not even sure what it means?  And please don’t make any snide comments about research and dictionaries.  We all know it’s a loaded term, and I think that a term so fraught with both positive and negative implications should not be used lightly.  But in fact, it is – used lightly, I mean.  It is used as though words don’t have power, and we all know they do.  Some words become so powerful we (appropriately) no longer use them – like the infamous “n-word”.  And some become so meaningless that their use no longer supports the original intent; to me, “feminist” is one of those words.

Yes, these are ingredients. Ones I like to use in cooking.

So just call me by name.  No label needed.  

I’ll show you what I’m made of pretty quickly.

Betrayal

“So this was betrayal. It was like being left alone in the desert at dusk without water or warmth. It left your mouth dry and will broken. It sapped your tears and made you hollow.” ― Anna Godbersen

 

I don’t fully trust many people, but I always believed that there were some standards of behavior to which anyone with a scrap of human decency would adhere.  Note the past tense, because earlier this week, I was forcefully proved wrong.  And it was both public and humiliating.   I sobbed.  Not cried – sobbed.  And there were intermittent tears the next day until after my Bikram class (boy, that was one interesting savasana) and a long, long walk…

 

I guess at my age (which is none of your business), I should know better.  But I didn’t, and now I am trying to decide how to deal with the fallout.  These are people I thought of as my friends – even my close friends – and for whatever “I am pathetic and afraid to be alone with no friends” reason, I cannot yet accept that those friendships might have to be over.  That they failed, in fact.  That I failed.

 

And in the meantime, I got some not-so-thrilling, though not too horrible, medical news. 

 

All in all, it’s been quite a week.