I grew up with pets. My parets always had dogs, and the dogs were a major part of our family. As a young adult, I found myself living alone in a small, inner city apartment with nothing living near me save the weeds growing in the sidewalk cracks. To remedy the situation, I found Frankie, my short hair orange tabby, at the local humane society. Over the years, two others, Roscoe and Deano (who I have recently re-named Miss Dean because she is a girly girl with a boy name) have made their way into my home.
During my heyday of dating, when I'd meet someone new and mention I have three cats the eyebrow always went up accompanied by a grin that told me the gentleman didn't want to express his exact thoughts. I had one man tell me I'm only truely a "Crazy Cat Lady" if I replace the cats as they pass away to the afterlife! Does that mean I am in pre-Crazy Cat Lady status, and the state of my Crazy Cat Lady-dom hinges on how long my sweet babies survive? That relationship promtly ended when I told him that I only date men who are more entertaining than the cats, because they will entertain me for hours with their antics of rastle and chase.
Yes, I call them my "sweet babies." At least one of them is always willing to play, one always willing to purr, and one always willing to lay on his or her back and look up at me with pure cuteness. When I'm settled in to watch a movie, Miss Dean curls on my lap, and the boys sit on either side, completely surrounding me with their feline goodness. When my alarm sounds in the oh-so-early A.M., Frankie will be there next to me, purring away with a purr that says "Don't go to work, mommy, lay here with me." No matter what I'm doing, they want to be there, next to me. I love them for that.
They don't ask questions, like why am I home later than usual, what's for dinner (although they freely beg for their dinner), or when will I mow the lawn. Their only expectation is that they eventually eat, have clean litter, and get scratched under the chin now and again. I love them for that, too.
While I do not have a house swarming with cats, the three I have are so lovely, so sweet, and I wouldn't give them up for anything. Frankie alone has lived in three apartments and one house, saw me through two unsettling break ups, tolerated a roommate (and the roommate's cat, another story all together), and he does have the final say. Frankie isn't going anywhere. As for the other two, Roscoe is so overweight he is a magnificent conversation piece and Miss Dean is so damn cute yet crafty and anyone who dares pet her receives a hiss and paw swipe in return.
And I love them all.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Conquering the Cookies
Today I was presented with a common challenge: the large platter full of large cookies at the center of a conference table. There were sugar cookies. M & M cookies. Chocolate-on-chocolate. Macaroon. Seemed any type of cookie a bakery could offer was on this platter. Each and every cookie spoke to me: if it wasn't demanding I pick it up and eat it then and there, it was asking me to discreetly package it in a napkin and wisk it back to my cubicle where the two us may enjoy each other in semi-privacy.
Unfortunately, this was a lunch meeting, and seeing as I am in the meagerest point of the month my lunch consisted of a PB & J, a sandwich variety normally reserved for school children. My appetite was no where near satisfied, and the murmur of "eat me" whispers coming from the cookies soon became a resounding choir of culinary Sirens, singing me to my diet doom. I tried to distract myself with the discussion of the meeting, but the voices of others were lost mid-way across the table, creating chaotic noise in my head. From my deepest depths, I tried to shout back at the cookies:
"No! I don't need you and your refined sugar!"
But the more stand-offish I was with them, the more tempting they became to me. And finally, I gave in. A perfectly round, light tan colored cookie flecked with M & Ms found its way into my eager hands.
"I shouldn't eat you," I thought, as I raised the first bite to my mouth. So soft, so scrumptous!
"This will make my stomach hurt," continued the thought, as I continued eating, now trying to break off dainty little pieces rather than chowing the whole thing down in three, ravenous bites. But I still ate the same amount: the whole cookie. I sat staring at the grease stains it left on the napkin, wrestling down the feelings of guilt and regret over the slip-up.
I spent the next hour and a half (the rest of the meeting) pondering my lost negotiation with the cookie. I know eating this one cookie will not sabotage me forever, and it is nothing more than my human nature rearing its head. It was time to conquer the cookies, to ignore them as though they were a puppy begging for attention. I decided not to allow one little (or insanely large) cookie destroy any amount of pride I have from all the accomplishments and hard work I have put in on my fitness journey. Once the decision was made not to listen to the temptations, they silenced and one would have thought cookies couldn't talk at all.
On any pursuit of better health, there will be temptations. Sometimes the temptations are weak blips barely noticed, other times they are loud bull horns demanding our attention. Which ever is the case, we must take them one at a time, and not get hung up when we succumb to ___________ (fill in the blank). It does not mean the journey is over, or the journey thus far was pointless, but that it must continue, one foot in front of the other.
Unfortunately, this was a lunch meeting, and seeing as I am in the meagerest point of the month my lunch consisted of a PB & J, a sandwich variety normally reserved for school children. My appetite was no where near satisfied, and the murmur of "eat me" whispers coming from the cookies soon became a resounding choir of culinary Sirens, singing me to my diet doom. I tried to distract myself with the discussion of the meeting, but the voices of others were lost mid-way across the table, creating chaotic noise in my head. From my deepest depths, I tried to shout back at the cookies:
"No! I don't need you and your refined sugar!"
But the more stand-offish I was with them, the more tempting they became to me. And finally, I gave in. A perfectly round, light tan colored cookie flecked with M & Ms found its way into my eager hands.
"I shouldn't eat you," I thought, as I raised the first bite to my mouth. So soft, so scrumptous!
"This will make my stomach hurt," continued the thought, as I continued eating, now trying to break off dainty little pieces rather than chowing the whole thing down in three, ravenous bites. But I still ate the same amount: the whole cookie. I sat staring at the grease stains it left on the napkin, wrestling down the feelings of guilt and regret over the slip-up.
I spent the next hour and a half (the rest of the meeting) pondering my lost negotiation with the cookie. I know eating this one cookie will not sabotage me forever, and it is nothing more than my human nature rearing its head. It was time to conquer the cookies, to ignore them as though they were a puppy begging for attention. I decided not to allow one little (or insanely large) cookie destroy any amount of pride I have from all the accomplishments and hard work I have put in on my fitness journey. Once the decision was made not to listen to the temptations, they silenced and one would have thought cookies couldn't talk at all.
On any pursuit of better health, there will be temptations. Sometimes the temptations are weak blips barely noticed, other times they are loud bull horns demanding our attention. Which ever is the case, we must take them one at a time, and not get hung up when we succumb to ___________ (fill in the blank). It does not mean the journey is over, or the journey thus far was pointless, but that it must continue, one foot in front of the other.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Thoughts on the Finish Line
Everyone starts things. From college, to home improvement projects, to novels, to arts and crafts, many of us start long-term projects with no deadline or end in sight, and many of us leave those things undone and never finish. In my case, I have at least three unfinished counted-cross stitch projects in a drawer someplace, many poems that have never left draft form, and a garden that I continue to pull weeds from yet never get around to choosing and planting real plants. We all know someone who never finishes anything, having college debt for degrees they don't have and half finished basements. Perhaps it's because seeing something through to the bitter end means another responsibility is right around the corner, or now that the degree is awarded one must attempt to find work in their field or somehow succeed in it. That alone comes with fears of success, or lack thereof, or simply the unknown in general.
Last weekend I had a first experience of standing at the finish line of a local 10K/5K race my in which my friends were participating and I was not. I stood in the rain for well over an hour, under an umbrella, schlepping their warm-up clothing and goodie bags from the starting line to my car after the start gun. Then I went to settle in at the finish line and watched all the runners finish their race. There were so many of them that I could barely identify my com padres, but it was fun to see people finishing and cheer for total strangers putting in the final burst of energy to shave a few seconds off their time. I felt a sense of pride for each and every one of them, because I know they came from all levels of training and what it takes to finish a race, especially your first one.
Yesterday I had my own opportunity to cross the finish line, as a runner, in my first half marathon. When I first started entertaining the idea, I went to the race website several times but never signed up. I printed the registration form and let it sit in my desk for days before filling it out, filled it out and let it sit again for days before mailing it. I was terrified to commit, because I knew it meant I had to finish. The training lasted about two and half months and had its ups and downs, fears, tears, and joys. In the days leading up to the race, I was ready. Still scared, but ready.
Everything went wonderfully until the very last mile. I was pushing hard to stay on target to meet my time goal, and I was exhausted. My legs were burning and felt like they were full of buckshot. My breathing was difficult to control, and I was starting to feel light-headed. With light-headedness came a touch of fear that I might pass out. With that fear came extreme nausea and I was certain I was going to throw up at any second. I had to pull back and walk, with only a half mile left! I don't know for sure if it was fear that made me feel so sick, or if it was the sheer physical challenge of the run itself, or my failure to properly fuel myself during the run with electrolytes, but my way of contending with the nausea was to walk it off.
At the finish line, just a minute over my time goal, I was extremely disoriented yet euphoric at the fact that I finished. Since it was my first half, and the longest run I'd ever attempted, I decided not to beat myself up over the lost minute and simply be proud of all the training hours and the overall quality of the run, which far outweighed the lack of quality in the last seven minutes or so.
Now that I have finished a half-marathon, I need to look forward and figure out my next goal. A new goal means a new training schedule, and something else to accomplish. Maybe that's why some people have trouble finishing things: finishing something inevitably leads to starting something else. It means new endeavor, new unknowns and fears, and going through the whole process all over again. But running has taught me that while the workouts change and the challenges seem more daunting, each new goal builds on previous goals and leads to a new and beautiful experience. I can't explain why we feel fear for a new stage, and why we often resist going to new stages and pushing our own growth, often relying on external motivators to change instead. But I do know that using internal motivation is a lot more satisfying and leads to a greater sense of control and empowerment than simply floating willy-nilly on the river of life. Sometimes, that means crossing a finish line.
Last weekend I had a first experience of standing at the finish line of a local 10K/5K race my in which my friends were participating and I was not. I stood in the rain for well over an hour, under an umbrella, schlepping their warm-up clothing and goodie bags from the starting line to my car after the start gun. Then I went to settle in at the finish line and watched all the runners finish their race. There were so many of them that I could barely identify my com padres, but it was fun to see people finishing and cheer for total strangers putting in the final burst of energy to shave a few seconds off their time. I felt a sense of pride for each and every one of them, because I know they came from all levels of training and what it takes to finish a race, especially your first one.
Yesterday I had my own opportunity to cross the finish line, as a runner, in my first half marathon. When I first started entertaining the idea, I went to the race website several times but never signed up. I printed the registration form and let it sit in my desk for days before filling it out, filled it out and let it sit again for days before mailing it. I was terrified to commit, because I knew it meant I had to finish. The training lasted about two and half months and had its ups and downs, fears, tears, and joys. In the days leading up to the race, I was ready. Still scared, but ready.
Everything went wonderfully until the very last mile. I was pushing hard to stay on target to meet my time goal, and I was exhausted. My legs were burning and felt like they were full of buckshot. My breathing was difficult to control, and I was starting to feel light-headed. With light-headedness came a touch of fear that I might pass out. With that fear came extreme nausea and I was certain I was going to throw up at any second. I had to pull back and walk, with only a half mile left! I don't know for sure if it was fear that made me feel so sick, or if it was the sheer physical challenge of the run itself, or my failure to properly fuel myself during the run with electrolytes, but my way of contending with the nausea was to walk it off.
At the finish line, just a minute over my time goal, I was extremely disoriented yet euphoric at the fact that I finished. Since it was my first half, and the longest run I'd ever attempted, I decided not to beat myself up over the lost minute and simply be proud of all the training hours and the overall quality of the run, which far outweighed the lack of quality in the last seven minutes or so.
Now that I have finished a half-marathon, I need to look forward and figure out my next goal. A new goal means a new training schedule, and something else to accomplish. Maybe that's why some people have trouble finishing things: finishing something inevitably leads to starting something else. It means new endeavor, new unknowns and fears, and going through the whole process all over again. But running has taught me that while the workouts change and the challenges seem more daunting, each new goal builds on previous goals and leads to a new and beautiful experience. I can't explain why we feel fear for a new stage, and why we often resist going to new stages and pushing our own growth, often relying on external motivators to change instead. But I do know that using internal motivation is a lot more satisfying and leads to a greater sense of control and empowerment than simply floating willy-nilly on the river of life. Sometimes, that means crossing a finish line.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thoughts on Faith
My recent endeavors into a new industry has led me to think about faith quite a bit in the past several weeks. Not the Bible-thumping Good-News-Telling kind of faith, but the kind of faith that lies deep within our guts and tells us when something is "right" or "wrong." Not in the moral sense, mind you; rather in the sense that something is "right" for a person to do, or even that one can do something at all. One of the several definitions of faith is "a firm belief in something for which there is no proof."
Naturally, since my decision to embark in becoming a personal trainer was solidified last February, I have had my moments of doubt. What if I don't know what I'm talking about? What if no one will hire me? What if I hate it? All these questions and more have entered my mind a time or two, or three. And each time it's been a bit of an effort to push them back. Why not stay where it's comfortable? After all, the economy is bad, people don't have extra money to spend on personal trainers, and employers want employees who have experience. The odds are certainly against me.
Despite the odds, and what others have had to tell me about said picky employers and said bad economy, my gut's message to me is loud and clear: YOU MUST DO THIS. When I'm in the gym working out, and witness other trainers working with clients, I imagine how I might be better at it. When I'm running, or taking a walk, or showering, or doing any mundane thing, I see myself training clients. It's an image that has been in my head for years, but the closer my exam date gets, the more often I hold these images. I know this is the right thing for me, and not just because I want out of the cubicle life. I know it's right because it's what I love. And I'm not going to let any shadow of a doubt tell me to give up before I try.
My faith is what nurtures my ambition. Perhaps it is God in there telling me what is mine to do, I'm open to that. I have no "hard evidence" to support my future successes other than the knowledge that I will work as hard as possible to be a part of a pro-health movement. If it's not a scientific conclusion, must it be a spiritual one?
Naturally, since my decision to embark in becoming a personal trainer was solidified last February, I have had my moments of doubt. What if I don't know what I'm talking about? What if no one will hire me? What if I hate it? All these questions and more have entered my mind a time or two, or three. And each time it's been a bit of an effort to push them back. Why not stay where it's comfortable? After all, the economy is bad, people don't have extra money to spend on personal trainers, and employers want employees who have experience. The odds are certainly against me.
Despite the odds, and what others have had to tell me about said picky employers and said bad economy, my gut's message to me is loud and clear: YOU MUST DO THIS. When I'm in the gym working out, and witness other trainers working with clients, I imagine how I might be better at it. When I'm running, or taking a walk, or showering, or doing any mundane thing, I see myself training clients. It's an image that has been in my head for years, but the closer my exam date gets, the more often I hold these images. I know this is the right thing for me, and not just because I want out of the cubicle life. I know it's right because it's what I love. And I'm not going to let any shadow of a doubt tell me to give up before I try.
My faith is what nurtures my ambition. Perhaps it is God in there telling me what is mine to do, I'm open to that. I have no "hard evidence" to support my future successes other than the knowledge that I will work as hard as possible to be a part of a pro-health movement. If it's not a scientific conclusion, must it be a spiritual one?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Thoughts On An Old-Fashioned Ego Bruising
Self-image in our world is a toughie. The media displays perfect body after perfect body after perfect body, creating the expectation that if we are not perfect we are not beautiful. I have lived the majority of my life in a state of self-criticism when it comes to my physical self. I recall going to department stores to try on....well, anything, where the dressing rooms have those mirrors where you can see every inch of yourself under florescent lighting, and the cellulite dimples become unsightly sinkholes sucking down any last remnant of self-esteem. In those days, I never bought shorts or swimwear and generally avoided trying on clothes in the store all together.
Now I have learned that it is totally 100% normal to have some dimples, moles, freckles, even a spider vein or two and still retain some sense of beauty. I try to take the media's showing of perfection with a grain of salt and imagine how those clothes will look on me instead of how much better they look on her. Recently, I purchased a dress to wear to the theater and it fit me so well I was actually pleased with what I saw in the mirror. I had finally achieved what many women have not: looking at myself and thinking "yeah, all that hard work has finally paid off." I was walking high on the fence between healthy self-esteem and vanity, and I knew it. I was confident in my balance and was haughtily convinced I would not fall.
So a couple of weeks ago when I received a phone call that a local modeling agency was looking for a mid-thirties female with an athletic build to pose T'ai Chi postures for still photos as well as execute the solo form for a video, and I was the one suggested by my teacher, I was thrilled. I was even more thrilled after speaking with the woman from the agency, who gave the impression that they wanted a "normal person" as opposed to a professional model, and I would be compensated for my time. I sent her a snapshot of myself and everything seemed like it was a go. When I hung up the phone, I could not stop myself from prancing around the house with "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred playing in my mind and striking model-esque poses in front of the mirror.
When a few days passed and I had not heard back from the agency, I began to wonder what was going on. After a full week, I called the lady to find out what time they were expecting me to show and she broke the news to me that they had found a professional model to use instead of me. I politely thanked her, hung up the phone, and BOOM fell hard off the fence, past healthy self-esteem, and back down to low self-esteem. Every negative thought I could have about my looks surged through my mind in about ten seconds: I'm not that pretty. I'm short. My hair is unkempt. I have freckles. I have fair, un-tannable, white-ass skin. I have a gap between my two front teeth. And while these thoughts were stabbing their little daggers in any self-esteem I had left, I was choking back tears and trying to pretend I didn't care when I really did.
The ego was now black and blue, swollen, and didn't much feel like smiling or going anywhere or talking to anyone. She wanted to shrink behind closed blinds under bed covers in the daytime and never let a camera near her again. Lucky for me, I'd been there before and knew the ego could recover, and knew that all the things listed above that perhaps made me not a stunning super model are the things that make me the stunning ME. When I told my ego this (several times, she still needed a bit of convincing), the bruises faded and the bit of healthy self-esteem I had been working so hard on finally began to re-emerge. Had I let my ego get a little too out of control? Probably. But at least she got to fly for little while, even if it meant getting a big swat from the Universe and falling down again.
It is my hope that anyone reading this can look at her or himself in the mirror and see the things that make you a stunning YOU. I don't need to rail on about how boring the world would be if we all looked alike, that is such a cliche argument for unique beauty. Just be true to yourself, be confident in your uniqueness, and the Universe will handle the rest.
Now I have learned that it is totally 100% normal to have some dimples, moles, freckles, even a spider vein or two and still retain some sense of beauty. I try to take the media's showing of perfection with a grain of salt and imagine how those clothes will look on me instead of how much better they look on her. Recently, I purchased a dress to wear to the theater and it fit me so well I was actually pleased with what I saw in the mirror. I had finally achieved what many women have not: looking at myself and thinking "yeah, all that hard work has finally paid off." I was walking high on the fence between healthy self-esteem and vanity, and I knew it. I was confident in my balance and was haughtily convinced I would not fall.
So a couple of weeks ago when I received a phone call that a local modeling agency was looking for a mid-thirties female with an athletic build to pose T'ai Chi postures for still photos as well as execute the solo form for a video, and I was the one suggested by my teacher, I was thrilled. I was even more thrilled after speaking with the woman from the agency, who gave the impression that they wanted a "normal person" as opposed to a professional model, and I would be compensated for my time. I sent her a snapshot of myself and everything seemed like it was a go. When I hung up the phone, I could not stop myself from prancing around the house with "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred playing in my mind and striking model-esque poses in front of the mirror.
When a few days passed and I had not heard back from the agency, I began to wonder what was going on. After a full week, I called the lady to find out what time they were expecting me to show and she broke the news to me that they had found a professional model to use instead of me. I politely thanked her, hung up the phone, and BOOM fell hard off the fence, past healthy self-esteem, and back down to low self-esteem. Every negative thought I could have about my looks surged through my mind in about ten seconds: I'm not that pretty. I'm short. My hair is unkempt. I have freckles. I have fair, un-tannable, white-ass skin. I have a gap between my two front teeth. And while these thoughts were stabbing their little daggers in any self-esteem I had left, I was choking back tears and trying to pretend I didn't care when I really did.
The ego was now black and blue, swollen, and didn't much feel like smiling or going anywhere or talking to anyone. She wanted to shrink behind closed blinds under bed covers in the daytime and never let a camera near her again. Lucky for me, I'd been there before and knew the ego could recover, and knew that all the things listed above that perhaps made me not a stunning super model are the things that make me the stunning ME. When I told my ego this (several times, she still needed a bit of convincing), the bruises faded and the bit of healthy self-esteem I had been working so hard on finally began to re-emerge. Had I let my ego get a little too out of control? Probably. But at least she got to fly for little while, even if it meant getting a big swat from the Universe and falling down again.
It is my hope that anyone reading this can look at her or himself in the mirror and see the things that make you a stunning YOU. I don't need to rail on about how boring the world would be if we all looked alike, that is such a cliche argument for unique beauty. Just be true to yourself, be confident in your uniqueness, and the Universe will handle the rest.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thoughts on My Name
Most of us don't put a lot of thought into our names. Much like the color of our eyes, we have our names from birth. While our name is a fairly flexible piece of ourselves in comparison to our genetic traits, it's amazing how attached I was to mine and defined I who had become by it.
I was married at a very early age and subsequently divorced not much later. Any woman out there who has gotten married knows what a pain it is, and at the time of my divorce a paperwork swaff-oo (on my own part) kept my married last name. The only way to get my birth name back was to change it via the courts and at the time that was just too much work. Besides, my career was budding and I was already engaged to be married to the second man who won me over, so what was the point?
Well, the engagement didn't work out and I am now in the process of changing my career. I wanted to be who I really am, both inside and on paper. In most venues of my personal life, I was already representing myself with my birth name but because of that piece of paper I couldn't change my name on a bank account or a pay check. So nearly seven years after the divorce, I finally took the plunge, went to court, and it's legally done.
I was surprised at how happy and different I felt, even though all I did was get a judge to sign a piece of paper. When I get my Personal Trainer certification, my birth name will go on the certificate instead of a name that represents a time in my life full of strife and growing pains (not that I am free of those). Naturally, my mother asked me what I will do if someone else proposes; a question only a mother would ask and be concerned about. My response is to deal with that if the time comes. Considering my prior experience with "disengagement" I know anything can happen. So when anything does happen, at least I can be me, through and through, while I work with whatevcr life tosses me.
I was married at a very early age and subsequently divorced not much later. Any woman out there who has gotten married knows what a pain it is, and at the time of my divorce a paperwork swaff-oo (on my own part) kept my married last name. The only way to get my birth name back was to change it via the courts and at the time that was just too much work. Besides, my career was budding and I was already engaged to be married to the second man who won me over, so what was the point?
Well, the engagement didn't work out and I am now in the process of changing my career. I wanted to be who I really am, both inside and on paper. In most venues of my personal life, I was already representing myself with my birth name but because of that piece of paper I couldn't change my name on a bank account or a pay check. So nearly seven years after the divorce, I finally took the plunge, went to court, and it's legally done.
I was surprised at how happy and different I felt, even though all I did was get a judge to sign a piece of paper. When I get my Personal Trainer certification, my birth name will go on the certificate instead of a name that represents a time in my life full of strife and growing pains (not that I am free of those). Naturally, my mother asked me what I will do if someone else proposes; a question only a mother would ask and be concerned about. My response is to deal with that if the time comes. Considering my prior experience with "disengagement" I know anything can happen. So when anything does happen, at least I can be me, through and through, while I work with whatevcr life tosses me.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Thoughts on the Fear of Change
According to Newton's First Law of Motion, a body at rest will stay at rest and a body in motion will stay in motion. As life hurdles me through the journey, I've come to understand this Law does not just apply to mechanics. I believe it also applies to human beings on a psychological and spiritual level, which is why so often we need an outside force to get us going rather than come up with the force ourselves.
All too often, people stay in places they don't want to be. From bad marriages and unfulfilling careers to toxic friendships or habits, as humans we struggle to change ourselves. Change is difficult, even good change. Newly weds get "cold feet" just before walking down the aisle and I think we all have experienced job interview jitters, even if the interview is for our "dream job." How do we overcome these feelings? The force to change the velocity or direction of ourselves must come from within. We can't always rely on outside events to prompt life changes.
Recently, I have experienced the fear of change in a large way. I made the decision to start changing careers and actually took steps toward this change. I have to add the "taking steps" part because I have been contemplating changing careers for at least four years, and since then have done little but become addicted to the lifestyle my current career provides. In my "day job," I make a decent, middle-class wage. I have health insurance, three weeks a year of vacation and two weeks of sick time. I have a large desk, a great boss, a flexible schedule, and am surrounded by a group of fun and fascinating staff people. It's a non-profit that provides housing to low-income people, so there is a noble cause involved. Not only does my career make my life "better," it makes the lives of others better too.
Despite all this, I have a restlessness about myself I can no longer bury. It manifests in many ways: sometimes I'm bored when there is lots to do, sometimes I call in sick for no reason, and worse of all, sometimes I get snappy, angry, or spiteful towards the work itself or towards anyone in my path. Negative feelings bubble up like carbonation: pour on the workday and many of my unlikable traits fizz to the surface. These negative feelings become comments or actions which are unlikable at best. My career brings out the worst in me, and I don't like it. Yet it seems like a necessary evil to my survival.
The dislike for myself was just enough force from within to start making changes. My dream of being part of the health and fitness industry became an obsession. I once again began seeing myself training others, teaching fitness classes, and writing articles and books. When I talk about fitness with others, I get excited and am overflowing with ideas. I have been told more than once by people who do not know about my dream that I should "be a trainer." So finally a couple weeks ago, I took an important first step: I registered for the certification exam. There was barely enough force inside me to do this. As I typed my credit card number on the registration screen, my heart accelerated and my fingers trembled, presumably with fear of the uncertainty and commitment of follow-through this change will bring. However, as soon as I printed the confirmation email, the fearful heart rate turned to a joyful, excited one. My attitude soared so high one of my office mates noticed enough to say "Boy you're in a good mood today."
I still have a ton of fear to resolve. Not only do I have to pass the exam, but I have to be new to an industry and gain experience. As the transition ensues, I will have to balance that with the need to pay a mortgage and hopefully retain at least a semblance of my T'ai Chi studies and spiritual pursuits. I have to keep faith that just because I don't know what the road looks like, doesn't mean there isn't a road. And that I am in motion, I have the momentum to stay in motion.
All too often, people stay in places they don't want to be. From bad marriages and unfulfilling careers to toxic friendships or habits, as humans we struggle to change ourselves. Change is difficult, even good change. Newly weds get "cold feet" just before walking down the aisle and I think we all have experienced job interview jitters, even if the interview is for our "dream job." How do we overcome these feelings? The force to change the velocity or direction of ourselves must come from within. We can't always rely on outside events to prompt life changes.
Recently, I have experienced the fear of change in a large way. I made the decision to start changing careers and actually took steps toward this change. I have to add the "taking steps" part because I have been contemplating changing careers for at least four years, and since then have done little but become addicted to the lifestyle my current career provides. In my "day job," I make a decent, middle-class wage. I have health insurance, three weeks a year of vacation and two weeks of sick time. I have a large desk, a great boss, a flexible schedule, and am surrounded by a group of fun and fascinating staff people. It's a non-profit that provides housing to low-income people, so there is a noble cause involved. Not only does my career make my life "better," it makes the lives of others better too.
Despite all this, I have a restlessness about myself I can no longer bury. It manifests in many ways: sometimes I'm bored when there is lots to do, sometimes I call in sick for no reason, and worse of all, sometimes I get snappy, angry, or spiteful towards the work itself or towards anyone in my path. Negative feelings bubble up like carbonation: pour on the workday and many of my unlikable traits fizz to the surface. These negative feelings become comments or actions which are unlikable at best. My career brings out the worst in me, and I don't like it. Yet it seems like a necessary evil to my survival.
The dislike for myself was just enough force from within to start making changes. My dream of being part of the health and fitness industry became an obsession. I once again began seeing myself training others, teaching fitness classes, and writing articles and books. When I talk about fitness with others, I get excited and am overflowing with ideas. I have been told more than once by people who do not know about my dream that I should "be a trainer." So finally a couple weeks ago, I took an important first step: I registered for the certification exam. There was barely enough force inside me to do this. As I typed my credit card number on the registration screen, my heart accelerated and my fingers trembled, presumably with fear of the uncertainty and commitment of follow-through this change will bring. However, as soon as I printed the confirmation email, the fearful heart rate turned to a joyful, excited one. My attitude soared so high one of my office mates noticed enough to say "Boy you're in a good mood today."
I still have a ton of fear to resolve. Not only do I have to pass the exam, but I have to be new to an industry and gain experience. As the transition ensues, I will have to balance that with the need to pay a mortgage and hopefully retain at least a semblance of my T'ai Chi studies and spiritual pursuits. I have to keep faith that just because I don't know what the road looks like, doesn't mean there isn't a road. And that I am in motion, I have the momentum to stay in motion.
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