Bold and Authentic

Bold and Authentic

I don’t believe I tend to be either of these things. I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing (or a good one for that matter) but it’s been on my mind since last Wednesday.

Why Wednesday?

Because a couple of months ago, a friend asked me and N to join her and her husband at a TEDx conference. I had no idea what the hell a TEDanything conference was, but when we looked up the website and saw that the goal of these kinds of meetings is to inspire and be inspired, I thought, let’s give it a go. Ok, I’m lying. See there goes the in-authentic thing right off the bat. My very first thought was, why would I want to go and sit in a dark auditorium listening to a bunch of jackass potential motivational speakers for a full (work) day?

The answer became, I’ll go with an open mind. N and I both really respect B and K and I find them to be not only really good people, but also extremely thoughtful and bright as well. We signed up and I pretty well forgot about it.

And then it was here. I had so much going on that week that it would have been easy to bow out at any point. I’m not great with follow-through. I remember hearing Susie C’s mom tell me that as an Aries, I’d have a hard time following through with things—seeing things to true completion. I swear, I was only like maybe 10 or 11 at the time but that prophecy has stuck with me and I’ve made myself follow-through on things that I had no reason, right or business following through with. Talk about inauthentic and meak. Learning my own authenticity, or truth, as the buzz word these days goes, has and remains, quite difficult.

Part of my authentic self is rooted in the need for quietude and at times, isolation. Not because I’m depressed or avoidant, but because my body and mind requires down time. I guess I’m like a really old computer where the monitor is the size of a refrigerator, compared to some who are the newest iPad. I’m not as fast and I need to be rebooted pretty frequently.

I used to be bold. I think I did anyway. As a competitive gymnast, I loved to be in front of the judges and parents and I competed fiercely. But for me, that fierce competitive spirit is draped in an understated passion.

These days, I know that I can be bold on the tennis court. When I play against N, I strike the ball like I’m willing it to explode. On good days, I can send the ball like a laser beam down the line with my backhand. So why don’t I play in a league or in a more competitive fashion? Because I have a bad track record of folding under pressure with tennis. My serve turns to shit and forget about my forehand. I’m not sure where the boldness goes to in these kinds of moments. The same happens when I’m in a group meeting and sense that although I should be contributing, I hesitate to speak. Where is my authentic and bold voice?

My authentic self is shy. And I hate it. Sometimes I pretend that there’s no social anxiety inside of me and say screw it to my own awkwardness! That takes a lot of energy though (see above) and many times it takes a lot for me to get amped up enough to feel I can adequately socialize.

My authentic self is lazy. Or to be more clear, my fantasy self is lazy. In real life, I move around like I’m battery powered—one thing to the next after work and before I know it, it’s bed time. My greatest fantasy is to have enough money to not have to work so that I can exercise, read and experiment in the kitchen. All.Day.Long. Talk about bold, eh?

My authentic self is boldy understated. And I’m learning to be ok with that. I’m slowly updating my self version. Granted it’s a slow process (see above) but I’m probably at maybe my 4^th or 5^th iteration. Maybe my truth will change with Foodbin V.6.

But the take-away from TEDx was this: we all have the power and ability to make good and even surprising choices for ourselves. You can’t get your time back.

What is your truth?

Somebody That I Used To Know

It’s a little strange to be living in Michigan. On the one hand, I remember in such a deep and visceral way the first smells of Spring. It is still such a sweet delight for me. On the other, it seems I’d chosen to forget about how swollen my eyes get with allergy during the Spring. I’d also chosen to forget about how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning when the sun isn’t blaring in my face as it did in L.A.

I’m not upset that we moved. I sort of expected that at some point but it hasn’t come. This (almost) year of change has been a grief process in a way. Or at least lots of denial. I guess minus the anger. You know, I had the denial that winter wouldn’t be so cold. Even though it wasn’t as cold as is typical, for me, it was damn cold. I had denial that I wouldn’t miss the hustle and bustle of L.A. But sometimes, and I stress sometimes, I do. There’s an electric charge there that in small doses suits me I think. The problem though, was that it became really unbalanced. Airplanes taking off and landing all.night.long. Neighbors only 6 feet away. Traffic. More traffic. It’s interesting how we can adapt in certain situations. Until we can’t (or won’t) adapt anymore.

One of my favorite memories of being in L.A. is driving home from a long day of work at the hospital in my little blue convertible Z3. As I came off the 105 and drove west on Imperial Highway, eventually I could see the sun lingering over the Pacific. It was intense and beautiful and for me, very California.

Another favorite was our Sunday morning ritual of getting up, lingering over the paper while N made some corn cakes and bacon then heading over to my sister’s apartment building (even after she moved), pretending that we lived there—Hey! We had a key to the gate!—so we could use the poorly kept tennis courts.

Then there are the real stereotypical L.A. memories: Lakers games, fancy restaurants, celebrity sightings, raw vegan diets and big sunglasses. It was fun in the moment for sure.

I thought there was no way in hell I’d ever move back to Michigan. However, every once in a while I’d get really nostalgic and just yearn for a thunder storm. Or my Mom. Or a lake instead of an ocean. Or for a place less acutely electric and more comfortable. L.A. has got to be one of the least comfortable places around.

I’ve been away from than frenetic world now for close to a year and it seems like more than that to me. Like a weird dream, really. I know that I’m still me, no matter where I go. But I can’t escape the fact that I am a little different here. I’m less vigilant about superficial things like clothes and shoes (although I still adore a good outfit!). I don’t miss driving on freeways and can easily avoid driving on more than a 2 lane road unless I want to go down-state. My mind is more calm in general and easier to quiet when it’s getting chaotic. And I have budding friendships here with people that are good, solid people. Looking back, I probably knew this all along, but my friendships in L.A. were a little flimsy. People just seem more invested in getting to know one another here as compared to my experience in L.A.

That L.A. woman that was me seems like Somebody That I Used To Know. And I’m ok with that. At least I am today.

Have you heard this song by Gotye? Between Pandora and Satellite radio, we are digging up some excellent music lately.

Has a geographical shift happened to you? Who did you used to be?

 

Nibbling on the Big Apple

I know you’ll be shocked to find out that we just got back from a quick trip. Travelling? Who, us? I know, we can’t seem to sit still. Anyway, it was a business trip for N that turned into a business trip for me, too. I got to have a face-to-face session with a patient from L.A. That’s not shocking although it was pretty cool.

No, the shocking part was the locale. I’ve got nothing against NYC. I get it. Sort of. But I am also really susceptible to feeling the chaotic energy of a city and it wears on me. So the Big Apple is a potential energy sucking trip for me.

I kinda grumbled on the way to the airport something like, “I should have stayed at home.” I grumbled about having to connect in Chicago while gimping through O’Haare, “I can’t stand this damn airport.” I grumbled while waiting outside of Laguardia that the air smelled like “tobacco,” in response to N saying the air felt nice (it was sunny and sort of warm). Hell, I grumbled in the car on the way to the hotel about how I “didn’t expect to have a good time.”

Jeez. Poor N.

The shocker here is that I actually enjoyed myself. Seriously, stop the presses! Despite still dealing with the knee issue, I managed to walk (slowly, but still!) quite a bit: to and from N’s business dinner on Thursday night at Del Frisco’s where I stuffed my face with a baked potato the size of my head. To dinner with friends on Friday night at Terroir, where I chowed down on faro salad with edamame and asparagus frittata. I guess I forgot how much I love walking around, people watching and having whatever I could want be accessible, day and night. It’s not like I tend to take advantage of something like that accessibility but after 12 years in L.A. it is somehow comforting to me that I could go out to a market late at night to pick up some ginger ale.

In small doses, maybe NYC is good for me. I think I even shocked N when I casually mentioned that I might be up for going with him again sometime soon. You know, should the opportunity present itself.

And adding to the fun had during our quick 2 day trip, we spotted Nate Appleman waiting to board our plane to NYC in Chicago.

 

He has tattoos on his palms. This man is not messing around--in the kitchen or in life apparently.

I met Mrs. Gingrich in the bathroom at Thursday’s steak house. You know, “Newt’s wife”?

This is exactly how she looks in person. Very Barbie doll-like. I declined the handshake offered in the bathroom. It just seemed weird.

 

And we saw a hunched and shuffling Gilbert Gottfried check in for his United flight at the self-service check-in machine next to the one we had just used on Saturday morning.

I didn’t mind taking a nibble of the Big Apple. Not this time anyway.

Did I ever tell you how much I adore apples? This blog could be called the Applebin I eat so many of 'em.

Have you ever travelled somewhere you didn’t expect to like?

 

Wild and Crazy

Wild and crazy? Moi? Not usually and not really. But it’s all about perspective, right?

Wild and crazy for me is finally attempting baking brownies from scratch…wait for it: using black beans. The whole black bean thing has been around for what seems like forever and has been on my to-try list, sort of, for a while now. So when my friend in Ann Arbor, who is still having a hard time post-back surgery with pain and difficulty getting around, requested that I bring him “gooey fudgy brownies” I put on my big girl britches and thinking cap (I don’t usually make brownies. Ever.). After all this has actually been pretty devastating for him and I get it. If this will give him a moment of some kind of happiness, I’ll do it. Thankfully I’ve not had nor needed a major surgery like this, though I am suffering the loss of ease of movement and general leg discomfort. Ok, pain.

In my usual spirit of semi-laziness, I didn’t bake from a box. Baking from a box would mean that I’d have to stop at the store. And given my own current state of gimpiness, I opted to get wild and crazy. I took a look in my pantry and heard the voice of Tim Gunn saying, “make it work people.”

I’m proud to say that I pretty well made it work. I haven’t told him yet that the brownies contain said ingredient, but I had N taste test and he gave the brownie two gooey, fudgy thumbs up. I’ll tell my friend. Eventually. Probably. Well, we’ll see.

Here’s the real crazy part: I failed to mention that I baked these brownie is a flurry Friday night around 10:30pm (my usual bedtime! Even on Friday nights…I know….but I covet my sleep) after getting home from a bbq with some friends. I had one eye on the recipe and one eye on the TV as the Wings won game 2 against Nashville. And to round out the wild aspect, here’s the full disclosure: I was also a little buzzed from the bbq (no worries—N was my DD).

Hands down, best baking experience ever.

I delivered said brownies to my friend this weekend so now we wait. He’s pretty opinionated so I’m sure I’ll hear about it if he thinks they taste like ass.

When you’re wild and crazy, how do you roll?

 

An April Fool’s Day To Remember

Last weekend I finally got my shit together and was starting to really feel like myself. And in a quick flash it was lost. Well, at least part of it was lost. My big plan had me extremely excited. I was going to resume running after quite a long hiatus. But more than that, I was going to start walking after work–something I absolutely adore. It’s the best way I know besides yoga to decompress and let my anxiety roll off of me. It used to be that I’d go for a quick walk after work and then do a few minutes of yoga before beginning to get dinner ready. Ah, my old life. Feels like some lost love affair right now.

Last Saturday, I finally got around to attending a circuit class at Rock Bottom Gym. I bid on a 10 session package at a silent auction back in December and won. When we were in the process of moving, I noticed that the package expired–and soon: May, 22 to be exact. So I got on the blower (Kinky Friedman anybody?) and got the info from the owner over at the gym. He thought N and I would fit in with the 8:30am Saturday class (better than the 6am Thursday class). Great. At 8am last Saturday, it didn’t feel so great but we went anyway. It was a good workout. I was mindful of my sketchy right knee the whole time and did my best not to do what I usually do and just work through the pain. I was damn proud of myself, too. I thought, hey, I’m 36, I’m getting to be more mature about these kinds of things. I don’t have to compete with every damn person in this class (a class they’d been taking for 9 weeks by the way). What a relief!

I didn’t think too much about it except to complain a little that my hammies were really sore right after the workout. That meant I did something good, right? Pump those legs up! I even committed to not doing anything else but stretching for the rest of the day–another gold star for me!

Sunday we took a long hike (well, sort of long–about an hour) around our property and it was gorgeous. Around 6pm I was bustling around the house and mentally going through the list of things to do before dinner as I was walking across the living room floor.

And then it happened.

I wish I could tell you what exactly happened. The best way I can describe it is to say that in an instant, I knew there was something significantly wrong with my right knee. It felt both tight and wobbly at the same time. Even so, I thought, ok, let’s ice and elevate and I’ll be cool in the morning.

It was less than cool. The worst part is that it seems to be getting progressively worse and I finally broke down yesterday and got a knee brace. They let me hobble out of the store wearing it. Here’s how much a baby I am. We stopped by Home Depot to get more soil for N’s Earthboxes and I refused to wait in the car. I mean, I kind of had a tantrum. I told him there is no way I’m sitting in this damn car. Either I’m going to walk around the parking lot or stump around the Depot with him. He chose the Depot option. The brace made me feel like a bionic woman of sorts. Nicely supported but still feeling freakish.

Apparently, my constitution is such that if I do not have the ability to freely be in motion, I am a raging bitch. Poor N. He has put up with whining, bitching and general pouting all week long.

I made a decision yesterday. Because I know that this will heal at some point, I need to focus on anything and everything good. For the love of god, I have my health and for right now, that has to be good enough. Looking back on the last year, I realize that I’ve been in constant motion–physically and mentally–and I’m exhausted. Maybe this is the universe’s way of making me slow down. Or it could be an old friend, Frank, who gave me that advice more than a decade ago, karmically intervening. Whatever or whoever it is, I’ve got no choice but to listen. I’m a captive audience of one. And I’m slowing the ef down (as Frank would say).

How do you slow down when you realize you are caught up in the chaos?

Springing Forth

I’ve not written a blog entry in a very long time. At certain points I’d ask myself why I just couldn’t sit down and do it. I felt guilty and lacked any inspiration. Honestly, when it gets to be something that feels more like a time suck than the original intention of keeping some kind of (fun and fond) reminders of my life as I march through it, it’s just not worth it. But more than anything else, I think I was just too damn depressed to add one more thing to my daily (or more typically, weekly) routine. My job had me in a strangle hold and I was losing it fast. In November, N finally looked at me and said “enough.” His wife was just a “shell,” he said. I’d leave for work literally hunched over and come home even more bent out of shape.

N came with me to the first meeting with the VPs and they encouraged me to go through a process to see if my job could be made more manageable. But apparently, as I found out later, the changes I was asking for are never accommodated unless “you have cancer and are old.” (What a precedent to set!) At least, that’s what they told me several months down the process road.

Wow. In the end, even a hospital is a business. I guess my thought was, “surely they’d want the doctor to be healthy so they can adequately treat their patients.” This was a dumb and naïve thought unfortunately.

I gave my notice the first of December—90 days per the contract. And then, for the next 90 days, it was nothing but drama and meetings. Those are two things that I probably detest the most. I think they thought I was just being a whiny little girl and that eventually I’d be quiet, put my head down and get back to work. That’s not me, though. Some of my friends at that office now describe what they did to me as “using” me like a “work horse.” I do work hard. But I refuse to do it at the cost of my health.

On February 29 (of course this year had to have an extra damn day in February!), N came to my office and we moved out my furniture, diplomas and wall art and I was free. I could feel a physical change and could breathe deeply again.

Sometimes the Universe knows what you need and a few months prior to my office move, I was meeting with a friend who owns a natural health office in town and she mentioned she had an office she was going to rent out. I asked if she’d consider having me in her office and that was that. The new office is a joy to be in. My patients even notice the change in atmosphere. And it also smells delicious (we use aromatherapies) in addition to feeling calm and being quiet.

In typical crazy me fashion, the day after we moved my office, we moved out of the rental home and into our new home. Talk about a drastic change. It was like walking out of a complete nightmare and waking up in something close to paradise. The rental was too big, too dark and too temporary. The new home is light, airy, just the right size and we are finally really settlin in.

Although we moved last June, it has taken almost a year to really start to feel grounded. That’s been a challenge for me. I function best with stability and a schedule that I can make and manipulate.

Since the big double move, we’ve been back to SoCal to visit with my sister and see the Indian Wells tennis tournament. I thought for sure that I’d be overcome with feelings of regret for moving away, but honestly, I was happy to be there just to visit and happier even to go home to what now feels like my new life.

I’ve had a birthday, too. I’m sliding down the slope to 40 according to N but I don’t care. My closest friend in TC gave me a card (along with an orchid that I will inevitably kill) that asks, “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” Now that I’ve got my life back, I’m feeling much younger than the 85 I was feeling back in November. Maybe even early 20’s– after I get up and move around a bit in the morning, that is. Life is good.

This post was a long time coming, but I’m feeling ready to get back to documenting my life.

I wonder, how old would you be if you didn’t know your age?

FB in Wonderland

I gotta say that experiencing winter is an interesting thing. I know, I know. We haven’t had much of a real winter (yet) this year. But for someone who spent the last 12 years playing tennis outside in the sunshine on a typical January Sunday, living with low 20 degrees on most days and very little sun is not easy.  It’s hard to find motivation to get outside. For the majority of the week, my main motivation is the fact that I have to be at work. Other than that, I tend to need some dragging and coaxing to get out of our house.

Is it me or is having to figure out how much layering to wear quite the brain suck? By the time I have all of my gear on, I’m pretty well exhausted. It doesn’t help that I’m frequently cold when most people are not. Add to that fact that I hate feeling cold and you’ve got one neurotic dresser. The anxiety climbs up a little more when N says things like, “once we get going you will warm up.” It makes the whole layering situation far too complex with too many variables—at least for me. Figuring out this clothing balance seems like an art form I have yet to master.

While watching the Nadal-Djokovic match today, all I wanted to do was transport myself to SoCal, put on my tennis duds, some sunscreen and go slap a tennis ball around. Outside. What a fantasy. Just like playing tennis outside isn’t gonna happen, being cooped up inside is not an option for me, either.

Enter snow-shoeing. So I put on my long running leggings, two pair of socks, a sports bra, running tank (extra support needed), long sleeve compression shirt, fleece vest, fleece jacket, ski pants, ski jacket, fleece neck warmer thing, hat and gloves. I can barely bend over to lace up my boots without feeling like I’m going to fall over. I’m sure I must look like Randy in A Christmas Story.  After a good 20 minutes of layering and lacing, we are finally outside strapping on our Tubbs. I grab my ski poles and we are off to tromp around the woods behind our rental.

When the crisp fresh air hits my face, it’s a little rude at first. But, as much as I hate to say it, N is right. We take off and I’m not boiling but I’m not uncomfortable either. And I actually kind of enjoy myself. We try to run occasionally which I’m sure is a frightening sight to see. The shift in my mood is palpable. Like ice melting off of me, I go from a crabby old lady to a free-spirited kid who wants to explore and run around. The tree limbs are lined with snow and a little ice and the ground is like a cold pillow molding around my Tubbs.

It’s in that instant that I realize that the 20 minutes of layering hell will always be worth it.