stupid

Today I feel wonderfully, gloriously sore. What started with a simple walk around the park turned into a weekend of walking, yoga, and—gasp—aerobics. Can you imagine me, previously the most under-active person ever, actually enjoying a weekend of moving? It felt so good to move. I always thought of where to find time to exercise, and instead just did it. Turned off the television and went outside. And you know, I feel better. I feel skinnier, tighter, straighter and taller already. All in my head I know, but that’s okay.

Oh, and guess what else I did this weekend. I bought a delicate, flowered cotton skirt, pink and brown and cream. With. Ruffles. Something made me try it on, and I fell in love. It was so feminine and lovely. But so unlike anything I would ever wear. So, I put it back and continued trying on sensible skirts and shirts. But there was nothing that I liked so much as that skirt. And I promised myself a while back that I wouldn’t buy anything that i didn’t completely adore, and I figured it should go both ways. That if I totally fell in love with something, wasn’t I obligated to bring it home? So I did.

And normally that skirt would hang in my closet and I would silently love it and try it on and always take it off before leaving the house and eventually give it away. But this time, I put that skirt on and twirled in front of the mirror and felt pretty. I didn’t worry about not having anything to match it, I just put on a tank top and sandals and left the house. I stopped myself from asking, do I look stupid? Because the truth is, no one cares what I’m wearing, and what’s the worse they can do anyway? Think that I look stupid? And what does that matter if I think I look pretty and if I feel pretty? So, all day I floated around in that skirt. The thin cotton was perfect for the hot summer day; the ruffles swirled around me as I walked. And when I entered a restaurant for lunch, a girl whispered to her friend, oh, look how cute her skirt is!

And I think of all the simple pleasure I missed from trying so hard to make sure no one notices me or what I’m wearing. And I will never again hesitate to wear something I love and feel good in for fear of what others might think.

starfish

I thought about whether or not to write her, and I decided for it. I wanted to remember what I had felt and also just to share it with someone.

This is what I wrote: Dear Kate, I visited the shelter this weekend for orientation. It was heartbreaking to think about all of the cats and dogs living in cages and not knowing what their life will become. I thought it would be too much for me to take and I came knowing that this might be the first and only time, but that I had to at least try. But the funny thing is I left feeling sad and angry of course, but also feeling empowered. Feeling needed. And feeling like I could make a difference, maybe not a huge one to the state’s animal welfare, but a huge one for a few dogs and cats who might otherwise not make it out of their cages that week. So, thanks. Shanna

And she sent me back this story: Once upon a time there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up. As he got closer, he saw that it was a young man and the young man wasn’t dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean. As he got closer he called out, “Good morning! What are you doing?” The young man paused, looked up and replied, “Throwing starfish in the ocean.” “I guess I should have asked, why are you throwing starfish in the ocean?” “The sun is up, and the tide is going out. And if I don't throw them in they'll die.” “But, young man, don't you realize that there are miles and miles of beach, and starfish all along it. You can't possibly make a difference!” The young man listened politely. Then bent down, picked another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves and said, “It made a difference for that one.”

And that is exactly the feeling that I wanted to remember.

vacation

I knew it would be a good weekend and I was right. Rain was expected, but it waited for us. We went on a real date. Walking around the French Quarter, I remember why I used to like it so much. We rode the streetcar, drank margaritas, ate shrimp burritos. You wouldn’t have guessed we lived here. Me with my camera and fancy ruffled skirt, oohing and ahhing over the fern-covered balconies, their wrought iron details, and the funny things people put out on them—an armored knight for instance, and a stuffed snowman. Setting the self-timer in front of Andrew Jackson, making sure St. Louis Cathedral is in the background. We walked through the local artists’ galleries. We looked at oil paintings that cost a quarter of what my house costs, and actually listened to sales pitches on them. I fell in love with a fairy-tale painting by a Russian woman. When I’m rich I will find it again. We bought sugarcane from the farmer’s market and pralines from the gift shop and organic donuts for the dog that looked nicer than the human treats. I thought I needed a vacation, but pretending was just as good.

confessions

Today, I did something that I’ve been saying I would do for at least two years, and never doing, and always feeling like shit about not doing.

Nevermind that I’m tired, cranky, school started, and I would have preferred taking a nice long bath instead. I went for a long walk. I didn’t worry about the getting dark and maybe getting raped, robbed, killed. I didn’t worry about the heat being 90 plus (feels like it anyway).

And I felt free. And I enjoyed the feel of my muscles working. And breathing hard and fast. And being outside for a change. And feeling that I was doing something good for myself. And not having to feel like shit anymore about saying and never doing.

Confession. I wrote the beginning of this entry this morning before work.

And on the way home I kept reminding myself to stick to it. But, I was starving so I made a lttle bit to eat first. Then I sat a while with the cats and dog. Then I got into my running shorts but couldn’t find my tennis shoes. Anywhere. I looked and looked. So, I couldn’t go. And I was upset, so I got under the covers feeling like shit. i turned on the television and laid there for twenty minutes.

Then I thought, dammit, I will walk today. So, I put on an old pair of fake tennis, the kind that’s for looks only and I walked in those. Now, I know it’s just a walk and nothing special, but it was really more than that to me.

And while I was walking I noticed a few things. The way the moon looked tonight as though through a fogged up window and the crisp black sillouhette of the cypress trees in contrast. The chirping sounds ducks can make when there huddle together. Lower than quacks, sounding like nighttime crickets. The way the air in New Orleans summer feels more like water. Only damp not quite wet, your arms and legs cutting through thickness as you move. The air like you are breathing something tangible, something tasting like wet grass, newly cut.

And I’m learning that I can do the things that I want to do. That I have will power and determination. I’m learning that visualizing something clearly and writing it down helps you make it real, makes it true. Would I have gotten out of bed this evening if I hadn’t written anything this morning. Perhaps, but I don’t think so.

And now, I’m going to have that nice long bath before I go back to bed for good.

(Unrelated note: I tried to send an email today and I got a lecture from my computer. It called itself a mood warning. It asked me if I really wanted to send something that should get keyboard washed out with soap. This is too much for me.)

strangers

I smile at strangers. Sometimes they pretend not to notice, but mostly they smile back. If find that the better I look, the less people pretend not to see me. And I’m just talking about the difference between lipstick and how my hair is fixed. It’s sad how judgmental people are without even trying to be.

So, I was walking down the hallway today trying to find lunch and I heard this roaring jazz voice making its way down the hall. Hi, sugar. Hey, dawling. Hey, sugar. Hi, dawling. And sometimes, man, the heat for a change. Fast steps and a big smile for everyone in his path.

And as he got closer I felt myself starting to avert my eyes, the way I’ve learned to do around here. Because if you show any acknowledgement, they come closer. Even the smallest and slightest encouragement can change a hello into what’s your name and how bout a kiss/two dollars/a ride/your number. And I’ve learned that a sorry, no can change a friendly stranger into a mean beligerent threat.

But I caught myself and looked back into his face just as he passed with my greeting. I smiled and nodded. And I watched as everyone else smiled too. And from a distance, you would think he was friends with everyone in the world. And I thought of the good feeling you get from smiling at strangers and how most people never expect that it’s coming and wonder why you did it and feel sort of special. And I thought how happy he must be to treat the whole world like an old friend.

rush

I’m starting to see beauty in the simple things all around me—the sky, fallen leaves, and old building—rather than letting the ugly overwhelm me. And already my life is better for it. I’m enjoying the ride home instead of dreading it and drowning in rock music. I pull over to write a thought down or take an interesting picture. Because really, what am I rushing for? What’s better than now?

beginning drawing

I decided to drop beginning drawing. I said because I want to spend the time instead on personal growth and development.

I said it like a joke, but I meant it. Signing up for drawing was going to be a baby step, but when I thought about it, it would just be pressure, two nights a week sitting in class, and I know I'm no good at anything with everyone watching. So, I will have some time to myself. To learn and do some things I want to do. And he said, but will you really do anything? And I will.

I will paint, try to learn how to anyway. Something I've always
wanted to do. I’ll try watercolors. I’ve had the paints
for years and never used them even though I’ve always wanted
to. Why? I don’t know. But I’m going to get a book and
learn. And I will go ahead and buy some other
books I want and read them to. I will write, I’ve been
spending time doing it lately and I will spend more. I will plan
my January vacation (and less importantly try to sell an article
or two about Honduras before I go). I will get an internship so
that I can finally get out of school. I will collect my work and
make some sort of a portfolio of it. I will volunteer at the animal
shelter like I’ve always wanted to do. At least once, and if
I hate it I’ll stop. Because most of all, I will not do anything
that I really don’t want to do.



Why am I writing this? To make it real. This
guy describes it perfectly, I read this the other day and it
was exactly what I meant:



Sometimes, when we only talk to ourselves, we do not hold ourselves
accountable for the changes that need to take place in our lives
to make us happier people... Its not as though you are becoming
the town crier announcing every event and all the small details,
its more like putting your inner emotions out on the page, but a
page where others can see. in that way, you and I, are more inclined
to do something about it. (excerpt from his blog, hope that’s
ok.)