Let me tell you what I need

I would love to have someone take care of me for a day.

Do we spend our lives yearning for our parents?
Seeking the safe nest?
I’m 28. Is it selfish to want to be taken care of?
Just a little bit, just sometimes?
Just when you’ve had 3 horrible days and you’re alone and you almost cried at work and you finally come home feeling OK but meanwhile your dog has eaten your beautiful black leather shoe?

I’m a grown up now, I have to do this myself.

But
A warm dinner (roasted chicken and green beans?) and a cool glass of milk. Set it out on the table for me.
A warm bed to crawl into. Tuck me in and sit on the edge of my bed, rubbing my back gently.
Hug me so tight
The other stuff will still be there but it can go away because we’re squeezing the whole world.

Is it wrong to need some nurturing? Is it really so bad?
Must I add guilt to the list of inadequacies that’s causing my thirst for coddling in the first place?
Let’s snap the vicious cycle
You take care of me, and let it bring you joy
I promise I will return the favor.

Opie the foster

It was just another day. Concrete below me, bars surrounding. A cacophony of barks assaulting my ears so hard I had to respond. I waited for the man to arrive. He’d clean my mess out of my cell. The kibble scramble would come next. Yes, food. Finally. There was nothing else to wiggle about. My days were punctuated only by the occasional appearance of the man’s face and the diurnal delivery of dry food.

The day wasn’t a hot day, not yet anyway. I breathed comfortably with just my nose, which felt good. I hadn’t been sleeping well because it felt like soup at night, and I had to keep my mouth open all the time, and mosquitoes and flies pestered my peace. At least it was quieter at night, unless a fox came up and set everyone on edge.

I had been there for 2 months, or forever. I hadn’t met all of the other dogs in the kennel yet, and I probably wouldn’t. They came and went, some back to their owners, some to an unknown place. All I knew is that sometimes a cell went quiet and I stopped hearing a familiar bark in the chorus. It made me uneasy.

I knew a few, though: Marty the beagle, Joe the pitbull mix, Mel the shepherd/lab. Mostly black dogs or furry matted ones. Occasionally there was a crisp boxer or a sharp, clean dachsund, but it wasn’t real because their owners would come back for them in a week after their vacation. Usually.

There was the man. He was friendly and I liked him, I wished he could have spent more time with me. He set down my bowl of food. I inhaled my cup and a half of kibble. The best part of my day, gone in 10 seconds. I sat back and panted, feeling my stomach expand, fresh energy coursing through me. It would have been marvelous to jump out of my cell and gallop the yard; I could see the grass and longed to till it with my paws. Instead I waited to feel sleepy enough to lie down.

Hours passed, and I waited for my next bowl of kibble to arrive. I had to poop, so I pooped. Whatever. I returned to the front door bars where I spent most days pressing myself eagerly, hopefully.

The hot July sun finally started to lower; I knew because the bar shadows got longer. Earlier it had rained and thundered and that was very scary. I had wanted to cuddle up against someone, but there was no one except walls and bars, so I went to the corner but that’s where I pooped last, but then it boomed again and I got scared so I curled up with my poop. I didn’t care if I was dirty anymore. It didn’t matter.

The man appeared, earlier than usual and without food. Odd. I cowered in confusion, but he made some friendly noises and guided me from my cell into his office. I hadn’t been in there since I first arrived! It smelled ripe and marvelous. I started exploring and forgot my apprehension.

A car door slammed, which usually means someone coming or going. I jolted out of my sniff trance, and remembered when it was me, and how I had been so scared. If it was a newcomer, I would make this dog feel welcome. Was that why the man had brought me out here? To welcome a new dog?

A girl’s head appeared at the door and she looked kind. Her hair was the color of my ears, so I liked her. She came in and crouched down to me so I didn’t have to jump up to smell her breath. I appreciated her consideration, even if I really do like to jump up and stretch out my long body on people. Her face twisted a little bit, just for a second – I surmised it was the face she made when there were marvelous smells.

She and the man talked and I wiggled back and forth between them. This situation was so strange and exciting that I peed! Suddenly there was a strange band around my neck and a long string attached to it that she held the other end of. It was weird to feel attached to her, and I didn’t like it when we got too far apart because it pulled tightly around my neck and I felt like I was choking. I tried to stay close enough so that this didn’t happen, but I didn’t always know where she was going and sometimes she didn’t go where I needed her to go, which was always wherever the next new smell was.

The man crouched down and whispered kind things into my big, long ear and then quietly dropped his head to get back to work, to go give Joe, Marty, Mel, and the others their evening meal. I tried to follow him, because I knew him and I knew he would feed me. But I was attached to the girl now, and she was taking me out front where there was a car! So I followed happily.

She opened a door and it smelled interesting in there so I jumped inside. That must have been the right thing to do, because she shut the door behind me and got in through another door. Soon we were moving down a bumpy road and it felt wild and strange to be in motion but not moving my legs. It had also become comfortable and breezy, even though before I got into the car the day was hot and still. I loved having a wide vista of all we passed, farms and mountains and animals and new buildings and even a sleek man on a bicycle.

After the initial thrill of the ride wore off, I started to feel a little nervous again. Where were we going? What would happen when she let me out of the car? Would it be like the place I was before, where there were so many trapped dogs like me? Or worse, would it be like the place before that, where the two bad people locked me outside without food and didn’t care if I died? We passed another farm, and I fantasized she was taking me to a huge field to run through and chase rabbits and squirrels. My heart leapt even though I was only using my imagination.

The girl talked friendly to me while she steered, and that was nice, but I still didn’t know her. Finally we slowed down in a place where there were more houses than grass. She opened the car door and I bounced out hesitantly. Asphalt. My field dream vanished and I was just scared: this place reminded me of the first bad place and I looked for the chain I would be tied to.

But then something weird happened: she went up to one of the doors, opened it, and let me inside! Tentatively, I followed her into her den. It smelled wonderful – animals lived in here! A surge of joy flooded me, from the tip of my velvet ear to the length of my tail, because maybe I would be able to stay here, too. What must have been a cat (I’d never seen a real one before) sauntered past, and I tried to get to know her but she hated me right away.

As I explored this strange new interior, the girl set out a bowl of food and water for me. I couldn’t believe it. The man must have told her what to do, because she knew exactly what I like. Kibble and fresh, cool water! After dinner she led me outside again and we tried not to choke me. When I peed and pooped on the grass she danced so extra friendly and even gave me a treat. I liked that.

Back inside, we played catch with a tennis ball and I even found a bone in a corner. It smelled like another dog, but I didn’t see anyone else there to claim it so it was mine. I loved to carry it around and chew on it, it tasted so good.

That first night, the girl took me outside another six times, which was really nice because there were a LOT of interesting smells to pursue. I sensed there were more dogs behind the other doors.

Later, when the girl was putting dishes away, I had to pee again and tried to get her attention so she could throw me another party and treat me. She didn’t notice, which was unfortunate, but I went anyway and felt better. When she finished in the kitchen, I was excited because maybe when she saw the proud puddle I had left in the hallway she would give me another treat? I watched her expectantly, keeping my long body still except for my thumping tail.

But when she saw my work, she didn’t react the way she had before. Her face turned to stone and she just cleaned it up with paper and spray and ignored me. I didn’t understand why she did that, and I didn’t like it as much as the party.

It got dark outside, I could see through the window. The girl started to act sleepy, and I waited for her to take me outside or back past the farms to the cell with the man.

She had something else in mind. With banana treats and a toy, she lured me into an impossibly small cage. I went nose first like a dummy, looking for the treat, and she tucked my long butt in behind me and shut the door! I whimpered with incredulity and turned around to get out of the cramped quarters, but couldn’t because there was no exit. This was way smaller than my other cell, nowhere to poop even, if I needed to.

As I made my case more insistently to be released, she stoically put a blanket over my cage and turned off the light. What had I done wrong? Why had she stuck me in here?

Before she went upstairs and turned out the light, she stuck her hand in and stroked my head softly. It felt really nice, and friendly. Maybe she wasn’t mad at me after all.

I still wanted out, but when I saw her climb the stairs I felt those chances receding along with her. I cried half-heartedly for another 15 minutes, hoping she’d respond, but she didn’t.

Once I stopped feeling upset about being in there, I discovered it was actually rather comfortable. Just the right size for me to curl up and sleep, like I used to do in the corner of my cell. It was dark out and I liked to sleep around this time anyway, plus it had been a big day. I curled up and rested my heavy head on my paws. I was not sure when I would have to leave again, but I felt happy to be in this nice house with a girl who fed me and stroked my head and said friendly things. Even though it was very quiet without the other dogs, I drifted off to sleep easily feeling safe, full, and comfortable.

Nature vs. nothing

Energetic storms rolled through with what epic gloriosity the likes of which such stale, desert concretescape had never seen. Hail smashed onto the pavement and fat raindrops gathered into puddles, moving with the purpose of a river and pooling around sleepy gutters suddenly called to function.

The cars carrying the patrons of Big Box Retail sloshed and skidded through stop signs, still trying to get to Target, Wal-Mart and Kroger before turning back – no inclement weather could interrupt a consumer Sunday already underway. The lesson of the ensuing rash of traffic accidents was lost on them; the habit to spend money earned (or not) during the week and to accumulate more was deep and essential in their small, narrow worlds

The poor, pinched trees, planted by some inept developer hastening to manufacture landscape and ambience, buckled and smarted from the unfamiliar pelts of water. Attention from Mother Nature was as foreign to them as the watering vast plains of concrete was fruitless to her. The trees were strangled in ruffs of bark chips and had never known a breath of fresh air. It occurred to me that might be why I always feel short of breath here. There are too many of us, we inhabitors of suburban sprawl, for the oxygen available. A parking lot here feels more natural than a park. As the cars dimpled from hailstones and buckled under a suicidal tree, I felt keenly the incongruity of this use of the world.

You do the best you can

“Ultimately, I believe, whether you choose one way or the other doesn’t matter. If you’re present when you make your decision, then you’ll be present in the next situation—and be ready to make choices as the need comes up. Of course, you always could have done things differently. But the ultimate importance is not what you do, it’s how you do it—the state of consciousness brought to the process, which hopefully will let you feel the aliveness of all your experiences.” -Eckhart Tolle (who looks like Yoda…appropriate resemblance?)

Fomtoolery

I’m afraid of squandering the tools I have been given and earned by chasing “happiness” and still ending up unhappy.

Maybe the secret is that you are most likely to find happiness (however you define it) by putting those very tools to use. The tools and the happiness are both means to their own ends.

This idea could be thickheadedly obvious but, like a memorable nightmare, it felt powerful and sharp like a new blade when it bumbled into my thoughts and then sliced right through them.

TKO

Today’s match-up in the internal ring:

The relief of leaving something behind dukes it out with the struggle of starting over.

Creative Problem Solving: Figure out how to eat the cake

Here is a familiar exchange:

Me: Blah blah, here is my dilemma, what do you think?

Conversant: “Sounds like you want to have your cake and eat it, too.”

Um…duh?

If I give the impression that I am anything but human, who wants anything less than the most of the best I can possibly have, please allow me to hereby set the record straight: I want to have my cake. And eat it too.

Speaking of food, I love going out to eat. I admit I can be a bit scientific when it comes to ordering – I assay my own appetite and degustatory desires, considering the menu’s specialties, season, price-to-value ratio, and the rest of my party’s choices. All that, before landing on the correct beverage pairing. It’s not always easy, but it’s lovely when it works. It’s just that I don’t love when the person sitting next to me orders the exact same thing, I don’t love when the table orders 5 glasses of wine instead of a bottle, I don’t love finding out that the halibut was $2 more than advertised because if I’d wanted to spend $14 I would’ve had the tuna.

The way I engineer these things can be pretty obnoxious, and overthinking this kind of thing can ruin an otherwise simple pleasure. This rarely happens, but I feel a childlike glee when I simply want a slice of pizza. When at least one constant can be cemented down among a cloud of variables, it feels a lot better. Of the zillion restaurants we could go to tonight, we can narrow it down to five because I definitely want pizza.

I struggle with black and white – the world is most alive in gray. When I have a dilemma, I know that the best solution is not this OR that; it is one that incorporates the best part of this with the best part of that. When I find the solution, it’s always compromise among options. This is why even after I have the menu of choices before me, I spend some time considering and marinating and imagining. I may appear idle, but there are actually combinations and permutations firing off in my head, hunting for the right answer.

In my experience, the right answer reveals itself slowly, and then all of the sudden. It begins by nudging and shouldering the other options until EUREKA! I finally pay attention to it and acknowledge its superiority over other options.

Life does not often afford the time required to make decisions this way.  Sometimes, the waitress comes before I’m ready for her, and I just have to pick something on the fly. When this happens, I always feel a little bit anxious after ordering and may even try to change it. Sometimes you just don’t know you want something until its no longer an option. If I change it, sometimes I wish I hadn’t.

But it seems perfectly natural to want time to slow down if you could use more of it, or to want two seemingly mutually exclusive opportunities to be possible simultaneously. Of course I don’t want choosing Door A to mean that I will never, ever be able to open Door B.

So instead of, “Which?” isn’t the question better question, “How?” Instead of “Do I want what’s behind Door A or Door B?” why not, “How can I get what I need from behind Door A and Door B?” An imaginative approach to a dilemma can unglue useless assumptions, clarify wants and needs, and yield an altogether better choice than first imagined.

If I sound like I want it all, it’s because I do. The only way I can be sure not to have it all is to ignore even the possibility. This is why I like the gray area, where asking “How?” turns a clash into a collaboration. Even if the possibilities only start as hypothetical – well, how does anything real begin? That’s how bridges get built, right? From prototypes? Why not embrace solution prototypes? Non-physical solutions can follow the same process.

If you want to have your cake and not eat it, too…well, no problem. I’ll take your slice. And have mine, too.

SRP: Final Thoughts (Part 2)

Choice. Balance. Choice. Balance. Choice. Balance.

Each day comprises a zillion different choices. Each choice we make takes us closer to or farther from our goals. Health: physical, mental, spiritual, social, emotional, financial, professional, creative – that is what I’m after. Having list items that address each of these facets of health is a smart way to achieve or at least approach that holy grail, Balance. If I am a gimmicky sucker for having to be so ploddingly deliberate, outsmarting my own weirdo psychology in order to find it, so be it. To me, it is work worth doing, the better alternative to surrendering to other distractions on offer.

For all the jesting I do about being lazy, why is it so much harder to change myself by inaction than action? I see this in my diet and fitness most clearly. I eat too much, so I exercise more (never seems to go vice versa!), and develop a cycle of frenetic intake and output hoping that the physical effort will absolve me of my excesses. Even if these do occasionally “balance” out, it’s hardly Balance, and it certainly isn’t moderation. Better to determine the root of the problem and address that (e.g. eating too much gets fixed by eating less) rather than create additional problems through overzealous prescriptions (e.g. exercising 2x as hard and getting shin splints).

This isn’t exactly breakthrough cognitive behavior science, but it’s so much easier to do than to not do. Ok  no, it’s not easier to run a marathon than to not run a marathon; I think it is easier (maybe just to Americans? Maybe just to me?) to burn off 250 calories than to not eat them in the first place.

Active resolves, efforts to change behavior that require doing, allow us to distract ourselves with charts and hope and effort. To distract ourselves from the inevitable pain of change. When we try to change our behavior by doing less, we either pick up a new distraction to fill the new void or we face the process change with no dilution. Not for the faint of heart, nor the faint of intent. In a world where we can never manage to do enough, it’s hard to imagine that we should just sit by and passively allow the exorcism of excess.

And yet, that is just what the doctor ordered. It is humbling to see how destructive our best efforts can be. Better to get out of the way, dammit, stop the masochistic overthinking and overdoing, and lower the volume.

Breaking down isn’t fun, but it presents an opportunity: to rebuild. When this happens, there are many tools and instruction manuals at our disposal – it is important to discern which will help be stronger than before and which add no value (or worse). The lessons and the tools and the process and the days and each hour and every conversation and all those articles: the ingredients of a life are worth sifting through and learning from. New combinations lead to new insights lead to new tools lead to a better life.

***

That’s the WRAP on the Self-Respect Project, folks. I can’t quantify self-respect, so there’s nothing I can point to and say “I improved by this amount!” The whole point was to see if I could pull myself out of the dumps and you know? I think it worked. A month after finishing this project (during which time I’ve been posting here), including long stretches of RAIN, I’m overall functional, productive, and happy. I’m more patient with myself, because I understand myself better. What quiet joy. What a gift to myself, and to people who know me (and therefore have to put up with me.)

Summer

Sun, stay up late with me,
Just listen to music
And let us linger in this languor a little longer.

My hair is crusty from the pool,
From the sun,
Again and again, and one
Time more. Just ‘cause.

These clothes
Barely qualify,
An ancient and holey t-shirt covers
A halter top untied,
Swimsuit bottoms wet then dried.
Feet palms scratch like sandpaper,
Wearing thin sandals smooth.

One freckled knee crooks up under
My thoughtful chin,
I’m lucky and a breeze swings by
Kisses me on the neck. I sigh,
“Can it be like this always?”
My heart quiet, my senses thrumming with the crickets.

SRP: Final Thoughts (Part 1)

Here are some takeaways from this whole rigamorale (which is more righteous than mere rigamarole.)

• Starting each day with a walk really works for me.
  • It clears my head, and even when it can’t it offers some distance between morning grouchiness and beginning my day. It gives me space to process how I’m feeling and what I want to do that day before I jump right in and try navigate without a map.
  • I also find that being outside centers me in an important way; when I feel the worst, I am usually also the farthest from nature. (Stuck in an office; burrowed in a sofa somewhere; windowless, no fresh air.) Even if I am grouchy and miserable outside, the natural environment works on me in a mysterious way, my pores osmosing fresh oxygen and good vibes. This is really important for me, and I intend to carry it forward.
• Meal planning is bloody brilliant.
  • It demands a LOT of time to do well, but it pays off for the rest of the week in the form of a thoughtful and healthy menu and a cheaper and quicker trip to the grocery store. And both of those things contribute to reduced opportunities to act impulsively, while shopping or preparing a meal or feeling bored and wanting a snack.  “Fail to plan, plan to fail,” ok whatever, but I am seriously impressed with the efficacy of this banal chore.
• The list is a training tool.
  • Putting naughty things on the list unplugs their thrill so I am less likely to do them, and putting humdrum thing on the list holds me accountable and increases the likelihood they will be accomplished. Regardless of the flavor of the task, in order for those conditions to be true I must respect and obey the list. Permitting some measure of subjectivity, of course (e.g. I know I have to do my ab exercises twice, because my list says so but heck I wanna go thrice! Or; I feel pretty good if I only watch 3 online episodes, even though my list said watch 5.)
• Unpacking all of your psychology and habits does not happen in 2 weeks.
  • It easy and simply gratifying to check off a list item once I’ve done it.  “Send email.” Check. “Drink 8 glasses of water today” – I can tick off each as I chug. But what about an item like, “Only drink water and tea,” (my positive spin on “don’t drink alcohol”)? These types of vague goals are longer to achieve. I can’t cross them off my list until the day is over, and seeing the same thing on my list all day numbs me to it. It’s worth rethinking how to phrase these kinds of goals.

More takeaways tomorrow.

 

SRP: Day 15

Tasks:

• 15-minute walk upon waking
• Draw up next week’s meal plan
• Buy groceries
• Drop off glass recycling
• Visit Champalou and/or Maison Darragon PER(ass C)HAPS
• Three chapters in Dorian Gray
• Finish GG Season 3
• Call Auntie Jan – happy birthday!
• Talk to M
• 8 glasses of water
• Summarize results and findings of the SRP
• 2 ab series
• Start embroidery

In the U.S. it’s called 2 weeks, in the U.K. it’s called a fortnight, in France it’s called quinze jours: all refer to à peu près half a month. I started this experiment/project with hope, and I am happy to say I have not let myself down. Each day, I have not let myself down. Over two weeks, I have not let myself down. Have I crossed every single thing off each list? Nope. Have I had hard days, and done self-destructive things? Yep. But the constructive outdid the destructive, and I feel stronger than I have in awhile.

Smarter, too – this deliberate effort has had the excellent side effect of breaking down my weaknesses into manageable habits that I can change, rather than one tenebrous miasma of failure.

And of course, the value of reinforcing respect for myself. Underlining, highlighting, bold-facing, capitalizing, chanting three times, painting it on my forehead backward so I can read it in a mirror: I Am Worth Fighting For. Every day I fight for myself, I prove that mantra, and a beautiful circuit of mutual reinforcement is strengthened.

I still have so much work to do, but now I have energy to do it. I greet obstacles and challenges with energy and vitality instead of immediate defeat. I still cuss and huff when I am clumsy; I still behave in ways I know are not entirely healthy. But it’s less and less, and I get better and better, and even if my hormones take me down tomorrow, I feel the peace of knowing I will rise again.

SRP: Day 14

Tasks:

• 15-minute walk upon waking
• Tidy up top floor
• Cleaning lady
• Three chapters of Dorian Gray
• Email Mr. M
• Email Alliance FR
• Follow meal plan
• Replacement grocery shop list
• Inner monologuery
• Charge cell phone
• Clear internet browser tabs
• Check career sites
• 5 GG episodes
• 2 ab series
• Boot camp
• Set up my week on gmail!
• 35-minute jog
• Glass recycling

Somehow Day 14 of a fortnight experiment is the penultimate day – let’s ignore that and not get hung up on semantics so I can drop some thought bombs.

Last week was tough. I had some dark moods and some tough moments – for no apparent reason, though my capricious hormones are always Suspect Number 1. It’s still difficult to wake up in the morning; after an unsatisfying night’s sleep, I just don’t want to get out of bed. Having always been something of a morning person, this is unusual. Probably more chemicals to blame – though this time I call caffeine and alcohol to the stand…

Evenings are the most difficult time to follow my meal plan. An evening activity of some sort would go a long way to remedy this, je crois. Having the family here also throws me off some, as I have to go along with what they have planned. Sounds a bit like real life there, eh? Think I can handle it? Even with these realities, I have eaten better, exercised more, and been more productive than I would have without making this deliberate effort. So I’ll put that in the “win” column, and give some preliminary credence to my original hypothesis.

I think the list can continue to evolve as I do. For the purposes of this experiment, the daily list comprised mostly short-term items. I think this was important to get me back on track – baby steps and all that. Going forward, I want to incorporate steps toward various long-term goals into my daily lists – not necessarily larger steps, just…more strategic small ones. If I were to graph it there would be multiple arcs going on, with me moving along them each day. Ad infinitum.

Surtout, I think this has been a mightily positive exercise. I may not be able to completely control my chemistry, but I can do a lot (or do a lot less) to influence it. I restrain myself in all the wrong ways; I have the power to fly and realize my potential, but I’m afraid (?) of this power, so I keep myself down with reliable methods of distraction. An imbalance of my own making has been revealed, and I see how potential gets choked by leaning excessively on distractions.

There is a new curiosity budding about what sort of person I am when I shed all of that junk and simply shine. Cut the fat from the psyche, from the body, from the spirit, from my time – what would I find?* I think I would find a woman absolutely unstoppable. I suppose I am not altogether ready to wear those shoes, maybe it’s a level of maturity and selfhood I am not ready to embrace? To be special on my own merit, not just because people who love me tell me so. How intriguing.

Don’t we owe it to ourselves and to the world to fly?

*I think I might also find that I just inadvertently busted an incredibly phat rhyme 

SRP: Day 13

Tasks:

• 15-minute walk upon waking
• Call Mom (mother’s day)
• E-mail Grandma & A (mother’s day encore)
• 2 chapters in Dorian Gray
• 10 Gossip Girl episodes (!?)
• Chateau Montcontour
• E-mail Alliance Française Mlle
• Prepare RM e-mail
• On Being podcast
• Afternoon jog
• Follow the meal plan
• 2 ab series
• inner monologuing

I love these beautiful days. It just fills me up and recharges my stores! So glorious! I had a beautiful walk and an invigorating jog. I feel clean after my shower. Breakfast and lunch were full of whole foods and colors and nutrients and I feel like a pretty, pretty princess.

***

I visited Chateau Moncontour (they had a cheerful wine museum, but rude employees standing about casting judgmental looks and the tasting was virtually fruitless) and Domaine Guertin (more generous, not especially fantastic but at least they were open and hospitable.) I’ll chalk the whole thing up as an excuse for a beautiful bike ride.

That’s one way to do it (musée du vin, Chateau Moncontour)

A passel of vessels of yore

All that bounty…and all my “dégustation” consisted of was a measly 5cl of standard bubbly. I think I got the “Let them eat cake” treatment!

Balzac was a fan of this understated residence (Chateau Moncontour)

SRP: Day 12

Tasks:

• 15-MINUTE WALK UPON WAKING
• Follow Meal Plan
• Finish Season 2 of Gossip Girl
• Watch first episode of Season 3 (if you can’t fight it, work with it)
• Write more inner monologuery
• Call Mom and Dad
• Bike to a winery
• Check SpiderNet
• Morning walk
• 2 Ab Series
• Read 2 chapters in Dorian Gray

I have been considering the importance of environment.

When I arrived at St. Aignan in April, I planned to follow a 1-week detox. April Fool’s to me – I managed 18 hours, and only lasted that long because I slept for 11 of those hours. I tried, sort of, but I was too ready to fail. So I did. Far from being healthier during my month there, I ended up being very much the opposite. How could this have happened? How can an outcome be so contrary to one’s intentions? Why was it so easy to let simple goals slip away?

After a short while, I felt I couldn’t “start over” until I was in a new environment. No matter that the rest of the month was ahead of me, I’d already thrown in the towel. I didn’t need to wait until I was in a new place, or until tomorrow: I can always start now. Yet I sought “geographic solutions to emotional problems” because thinking things will be better somewhere else rationalized procrastination and distracted me from the internal problem. Focusing on change without allowed me to avoid change within.

Because here is a true thing: change is really hard, even when we are changing for the better. I’d have thought the universe would have set up a better incentive system, but there it is.

The only time a new environment actually helps us make changes is when we capitalize on our shocked system to cultivate new habits. Indeed, it wasn’t until I was back in Vouvray – new place, new month, new me! – that I was prepared to do the work of getting better.

So: I am here, working hard, changing, and getting better. I do think the relocation shook me loose enough to be open to changing destructive routines. The weather is sunnier, which has been an undeniable advantage.

But there is another factor, and it’s also another possible argument for seeking a new external environment to incite change internally: Living in a nice place makes one want to behave better.

Here in Vouvray, am I subconsciously living up to the lovely décor? Striving to be worthy of my charmant milieu? Having a clean and organized living space that one can be proud of and comfortable in is a clear parallel to taking care of one’s body. Surrounding oneself with quality and cleanliness is one way to practice self-respect. Is a vacuumed floor as rejuvenating as a shower? Why not?

The wisdom of the “Make your bed! Clean your room!” script echoing in my ears from childhood only ever deepens.

***

Well it’s 9:27 and I am thoroughly exhausted. I jumped in the pool after dinner, because I felt like it. Na na nana na!

SRP: Day 11

Tasks:

• Write down some of my inner monologue
• 35-minute jog
• 15-minute walk upon waking
• 8pm – Skype with S
• Boot camp
• 20 push ups
• 1 ab series
• Follow meal plan
• Paint toenails
• Bring in trash bin

Once again, I woke up feeling grouchy and drained. While walking to cool down after my jog, I was ruminating on how out of shape I am, how my body is changing in a not good way, and how I only ever seem farther from my goals…anyway, I noticed (ahem, even as I write this, notice) my thoughts spinning into a familiar, destructive cycle. This in itself, the noticing, is progress: being mindful enough to see the spiral and then deliberately cease. It’s not easy, and I was pretty glum for the next couple of hours. There was a spontaneous burst of tears accompanied with the sense of how hopeless and bleak and sad and tragic it all is – that alchemy of sentiments was a hallmark of April, and of depression. Sad.

But look I’ve kept it at bay today, even if it does feel dangerously close to the surface. The rainy forecast has mercifully channeled sun instead. I have jogged, walked, and done a boot camp. I have eaten whole foods in sensible portions. I had one cup of coffee and now I’m having green tea that resembles pond water (in appearance only). I even spent some time writing from my head a little, like I was talking, and that was kind of fun. A well-rounded day.

Having listed the good things, I was about to enumerate on the things I have not done well today, but I am going to abstain. I don’t need to think about those things, I really don’t. They don’t me get anywhere but down. Aside from this morning, my energy has been pretty good, even if my attitude has been shaky. I’m really proud of myself for going for a run right away.

***

GIGGLES! I stayed up until like 1 in the morning watching TV. It was everything I hoped it would be. Sometimes I like to stay up late, drink soda, dress up, put on make up….just play. I realize I will be 27 in a mere week and a half [Note from present day: remember, these entries are from the first half of May!], but it is so refreshing to act like a kid sometimes. Recapture the 5-year-old’s wonder, reconnect with the 12-year-old’s version of a fun night. Try to remember some of those things you wanted to do, but couldn’t, just because you weren’t old enough – and then do them!

As to list adherence, I managed to do everything on it; unfortunately, I did a little more. I ate a lot of BEANS for dessert!? Maybe that’s better than processed Twinkies, but…that’s a low bar. Let me tell you: nobody, but nobody needs to eat a cup of beans with parmesan and salt at 10pm. I know better, I knew better, but there it is. I can promise that was not on my meal plan, so perhaps I did not really follow everything on my list. Well.