I’d Rather Feel Good (Blog #771)

The internet (my hot spot) is slow. It just took me thirty minutes to get online, download tonight’s photos, log in to the blog, and get started. And whereas I’ve been tempted to get “oh hell no” frustrated–I’m tired and ready to go to bed–I’ve been forcing myself to remain calm (everybody remain calm). Wayne Dyer used to say, “I want to feel good.” (He doesn’t say that now because he’s dead.) But that’s been my reminder tonight–that I’d rather be patient and feel good than get all worked up and feel bad. Because, let’s face it, getting worked up is a choice. It’s not something you HAVE to do. If it IS something you HAVE to do (if your circumstances dictate your mood), then I’m just going to suggest you’re not as free as you might like to think you are. Likewise, if getting worked up ISN’T something you HAVE to do, then why would you do it?

Hum. Today, like yesterday, was fabulous. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and spent the rest of the day with my nose in a book. Well, until this evening, when I went to my friend Kim’s for dinner. Her family was there, and they grilled out. We had shish-kabobs. Talk about delicious. Then we just sat around and visited. Nothing too deep, nothing life-changing, but delightful. This is something I need more of–good conversation and laughter. At one point Kim mentioned a self-help something for me to to check out, and I said, “I’m up in that stuff CONSTANTLY–don’t make me!” Of course, the truth is I LOVE that stuff. Can’t get enough of it. But I also need a break now and then from all the navel gazing.

Seriously, I’ve got a crick in my neck.

Speaking of navel gazing, this afternoon I got (in the mail) a printed copy of Year Two of Me and My Therapist (this blog). I ordered it online a couple weeks ago from a company in California, and it finally arrived–spiral bound and everything. Oh my gosh, y’all, I felt (and feel) like a proud parent. 600 (300 double sided) pages of my writing, my life. Flipping through it, it doesn’t seem possible. But as I’ve said a hundred times before, anything is possible if you just keep showing up.

I’ve said my goal for this blog is at least a thousand days in a row, and recently I realized that, in light of this, each individual blog equals 10 percent of 10 percent of 10 percent of the whole. That is, 0.1 percent. That’s what tonight’s blog contributes to the grand scheme. And whereas part of me thinks, Geez, that’s nothing, another part of me knows that’s everything. Ten days of 0.1 percent, and that’s 1 whole percent. Ten sets of ten days (100 days), and that’s 10 percent. I won’t keep doing the math (which I’m not entirely sure I have right anyway), but you get the point. Little things add up.

This is something I keep reminding myself. I’ve got in my head to read several books in the near future, and also start some other writing projects. Both tasks intimidate me. Not because I haven’t tackled such things before, but I still worry about getting everything done and done well. So I have to keep telling myself that those projects are really no different than this project. They’re just a matter of showing up and working consistently. A hour here, an hour there. Every day, every damn day, if I feel like being a hard ass about it.

I probably shouldn’t be a hard ass about it.

Because, you know, balance.

Balance is becoming more and more important to me. Not just in terms of my work/social life, but in terms of my mental/emotional life. For example, earlier I was talking about being tempted to get worked up about my slow internet. Before this happened, I was rocking along just fine. I was even-keeled. Had I chosen to get frustrated, it would have thrown off the balance I already had going, and then I would have had to find it again. So rather than go down that road, I just stayed on the one I was already on. The more peaceful road. The everything-is-fine road. The I’d-rather-feel-good road.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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On Playing the Long Game (Blog #704)

Lately I’ve been thinking about The Long Game. In terms of business, Amazon is playing a long game. That is, they’re not in a hurry; they’re not going anywhere fast. This is why their prices are so competitive; they don’t have to make a profit right this very minute (although they probably are). I’ve been thinking there are a lot of advantages to The Long Game, to not being in a rush or not being a fly-by-night operation. Take this blog project, for instance. Because I consistently do a little bit at a time, over time it adds up to a lot–a lot of words, a lot of sentences, a lot of paragraphs.

A lot of damn navel-gazing, if you want to know the truth.

The Long Game has been on my mind because I’ve recently undertaken a number of projects that can’t–no way, no how–be completed in a day, a week, or even a month. For example, rehab-ing the knee I injured three months ago–that’s a six-month project at least. Or running a half marathon, a goal I initially set a year and a half ago before I got so sick and then the knee thing happened and have just this last week recommitted to–that’ll take some time to get ready for, especially since I haven’t jogged in months and have never run more than eight miles (like Eminem).

This afternoon I went to the gym and did the elliptical. While bouncing up and down, my long hair kept getting in my face. This afternoon while my chiropractor was doing ultrasound on my neck (I apparently have a pinched nerve–yippee), he gave me a ponytail holder to pull my hair back. And whereas I appreciated the thought, my hair isn’t quite long enough for a ponytail. Or maybe I just don’t know how to bunch everything right. Anyway, while on the elliptical I kept thinking about cutting all my hair off. But then I remembered The Long Game, that in just another month or two it won’t be so awkward and I can pull it back if I want to.

I’ve been saying for a while that most everything takes time. More than trying to convince you of this fact, dear reader, I’m trying to convince myself. Thankfully, it’s sinking in. This evening I taught a dance lesson at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house. It was for a couple getting married in a few months. Tonight was their second lesson. And whereas they’re catching on quickly and doing well, learning to dance doesn’t happen in an hour. It doesn’t (really) happen in a hundred hours. It takes thousands. It’s a long game. If you truly want to do it, at some point you have to get okay with that fact.

After the dance lesson, Bonnie helped me finish my first official knitting project–a potholder that says HI. I sort of  finished it last week, but I didn’t know how to “bind off” or wrap up the last row. Anyway, Bonnie taught me tonight, and now it’s done, kind of. Bonnie said there was ONE MORE step–blocking, which means soaking the project in warm, slightly soapy water, then letting it air dry in order to get the “waves” or unevenness out. Here’s a picture of the warm-water-soaking.

Here’s a picture of the air-drying, which is what’s happening as we speak (don’t you feel included?).

I’ve blogged before about making a few mistakes while working on this project, about how they sort of drove me crazy. However, as I finished tonight, I fell in love with my mistakes. After all, this is my first knitting project. It’s like my first child. I’m a proud papa. I think my kid is beautiful. (Don’t make fun of his birthmarks, or I’ll kick your ass.) But seriously, I think those mistakes are like the scars on my knee. They tell a story. Also, like the mistakes my dance students made this evening, they’re an important part of the learning process.

Bonnie says my next project should probably be a beanie, a cap. For sure, I’m excited to get started and to get finished. However, I really am getting okay with The Long Game, the idea that most things worth doing–working out, learning to dance, learning to knit, um, sorting out your past or healing your body–take committed and sustained effort. Not that you have to do whatever it is every day, every damn day (this blog even by my standards is excessive), but you do have to keep showing up. That and, I think, give yourself more time than you think you need. Say, I’m going to take a year, maybe two, to do this–get myself in shape, learn a new skill, write a book. Tell yourself, I’m going to play The Long Game.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."