It's been a weird, long, draining few weeks. Sink or swim.
So until I find a life-raft (or until Kate Winslet lets go), there's some big time reclaiming to do. I don't even care about the outcome right now as much as I do in ensuring that whatever the next phase of my life is, it will be under my own control. And if the current phase of life remains my current phase of life then... well, best wishes I guess.
In any case. Here's the reclaiming my life (at least day-to-day) script.
- Yoga - Integral. I woke up and did 20 minutes of Yoga today after a lonnnnng time. Despite having to work at pushing the externalizes out of my head during down-dog, that I get time to at least not feel guilty pushing the to-dos and whose-who and all the accompany anger to the side is astronomical.
How funny it is to rediscover breathing every time I restart yoga, to remember that there's something bigger than pant-caught-in-the-chest anxiety; that my back isn't one of an 85 year old; that sweating is fulfilling (though wiping it off the mat at the end is more gross).
The reclamation: 30 minutes of yoga, no less, 3-4 times a week.
Working Out - Sadly, as wonderful as yoga is, it can't be (though I wish otherwise) the end-all, be-all to the physical health I've kind of neglected for the past 18 months. I used to wake up and bike to the gym where I'd run then bike home. I used to wake up and do weights and lunges till my t-shirt was soaked and the resistance band slippery in my hands.
I used to run the hills of San Francisco, and when adding Lombard to the mix, the work out was, maybe not a pleasure, but at the least served to remind me how lucky I was that I could use this tourist attraction (this beautiful, crooked, would-never-drive-down-it road) as my personal training space. I have 25 pounds just sitting on me waiting (weighting!) to be taken care of. In conjunction with THAT however, it will no longer be ANYBODY'S business.
Asking me if I've "worked out lately?" will not fly, and will be met with a prompt STFU.
The reclamation: Work out, actually, thrice a week.
Knitting . Yes, seriously, knitting. I owe lots of people lots of scarves, and despite the amazing amount of yarn I've bought, only 1.5 of these scarves have been completed in the last 6 years.
I picked up knitting initially as a way to keep my hands moving while sitting. It was a distraction, a focus-needing task that took my focus off my anxiety. And in theory, the best part is that you get a new piece of clothing at the end of all this.
The reclamation: I WILL FINISH A FUCKING SCARF.
- Keep learning. Apply to grad school. Because I can, and because I want to learn MORE. Because the point is to continue your parents' journeys and take it further.
Reading (& while in that vein, writing) - When is the last time I finished a book for pleasure? I've certainly read pleasurable books, but always for some end goal. I'm a literature major, and I think I miss it. Sometimes I think I could be quite happy as a recluse if only I had access to any book (or trashy magazine from time-to-time) that I wanted.
And writing? Well, there's not much to write about that. Since I haven't been writing. In fact looking at the dates of these posts, and the amount of time between them, is kind of depressing. I took a picture in front of HarperCollins on my last "carpe diem" in New York, a few months shy of 2 years ago. I was going to publish, and write, and blog, and edit, and post, and contribute, and discuss. And then I didn't.
Did so little happen that I can't formulate a three sentence post once every 4 months?
The reclamation: READ more. WRITE more. And for fun, not coz I have to.
From Kate Chopin's The Awakening:
Edna had found her old bathing suit still hanging, faded, upon its accustomed peg. She put it on, leaving her clothing in the bath-house. But when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.
How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! how delicious! She felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world that it had never known.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
She went on and on. She remembered the night she swam far out, and recalled the terror that seized her at the fear of being unable to regain the shore. She did not look back now, but went on and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end.
She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again.
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