July 2011


6:15am (EST). Sweating like it’s my only source of income. Nessum Dorma playing. First time in full crow pose.

Nessum Dorma

It may have only lasted a second, if that, but it happened.  It happened, and then I fell out of it, and as my teacher Denise said, “This practice should make you humble.”  It did and at that moment I realized that being humble doesn’t have to be a bad thing.  Usually people tell you to be humble after you’ve been a little too prideful.  Trust me…walking into a power yoga class at 5:45am I was anything but prideful.  I was, however, a little nervous and a smidge intimidated by something that hadn’t even happened yet.  I’d been in other power yoga classes before, and yet because this one hadn’t happened yet I created preconceived notions about it.  I think I do that a lot in life in general (can I get an AMEN! from the peanut gallery??).  It’s easy to assume that what hasn’t happened yet is going to be challenging and it’s even easier to create “fun” little stories about how this challenge is going to be something negative.

Don’t do that (can I get an EASIER SAID THAN DONE??).  Simply expect that something new is going to be just that. It will be new and no matter the outcome, you will learn something from it.

Namaste,

~Rachel

not me doing crow pose

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I have a new black notebook.  With this new notebook arrived new ideas for things to write.  As my old dark brown notebook started to tear and fall apart, so did my motivation to write or when I did finally write, stick with it for more than 20 lines.  It’s so odd how motivation and creativity can dwindle at the same rate as an inatimate object and become reborn at the arrival of a new object.  Does this mean that my “creativity” solely rests on the presence of pretty things rather than talent?  Or am I inspired by change and new beginnings?  I’m not sure and frankly I don’t really want to pick one.  As an arts and science gal I reserve the right to never have to come to one solid conclusion.

Now that I have this new notebook I am writing down EVERYTHING.  You just said something hilarious/asinine/offensive?  Slip on a banana peel in my presence?  Inappropriately grab at a girl when her boyfriend is millimeters away? It’s going in the black notebook, and if I remember I will give you a co-author credit.

Are millimeters far?  I don’t know…I’m an American.  Making a note to look that up later.

 

my new notebook from the paper source

…and not with sexiness.  At least not mine, and let’s face it, probably not yours either.  In New Jersey the temperature will be rising to a ballbustingly 100 degrees today (Fahrenheit, not celcius, so at least that’s one thing to be grateful for).  On top of the oppressive heat outside, the AC in my house has decided it doesn’t FEEL like working.  Well guess what pansy…neither do I!  So with the heat being a presence in my life pretty much 24/7, I’ve been lazy and cranky.  And as such, haven’t felt like doing much except for staring.  Staring, my sweaty sweaty readers, has become a pretty intense hobby for me.

Since I spend most of the day at work, I spend most of my allotted staring time staring at my co-workers.  Work still gets done, but only between rounds of no holds barred staring.   Here’s the round up: I work with Desperate, Meek, Crazy, Double Crazy, Possible Serial Killer, Horrible Cake Baker, Awkward, Attention Seeker, Gossip.  Those are the main players anyway.

Sure, I could be a more positive observer, and I know that I probably should be.  My defense?…IT’S SO GODDAMN HOT!  I can barely even be positive about myself as I move from one sauna to the next.  My dad gave me very dad-like wisdom yesterday, saying that when he was growing up in Brooklyn they didn’t have AC so the apartment was always a sweatbox.  That’s fab, dad, but I was born in 1985…in New Jersey…to a middle class family…and it’s been 7 years since I lived in non-air conditioned freshmen dorms.  People (important people) say that weather really affects your personality and mood.  Amen, sisters.  When your feelings toward a particular, oh, shall we say, office, aren’t so great to begin with, chances are they will deteriorate as the temperature increases.  It’s not my fault that people are the way they are.  I just happen to be a world class observer who gets people.  People are really easy to read.  Especially ones who work in offices.

Check back on my cynicism in about 2 months.  Fall is my favorite season for so many reasons, the main one being that I definitely feel more relaxed than during any of those other uber PMSy seasons.  I promise I will be much more chipper with a scarf around my neck and a chai latte in my hand…

…Did I mention that I’m middle class?  No apologies from the peanut gallery.  At least not until it gets down to about 83…

This song has been stuck in my head ALL DAY.  My boyfriend said that it was written before people started to write good music.  I’m starting to doubt the last four and a half years…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dj2Vo8QYny4

Is that a bear behind you??  If you’re living in the northwest portion of my brain you will see one, regardless of whether it is there or not.  I love the outdoors and get giddy when I find a new hiking trail or right next to the lake path.  My cynical southeast brain worries that walking the same path will get boring, but it never does.  Take that, Mississippi!  And yet, when I’m outside enjoying the beauty of nature I always have one worry…one worry that expresses itself quite loudly…BEARS.

Yesterday I walked/ran four miles on the Raritan Canal with my boyfriend.  We couldn’t have had better weather and had a great time mocking each others paces and just plain old enjoying the outdoors.  I didn’t tell him this because I didn’t want to ruin the day, but I was somewhat worried that we would run into a bear.  Let’s set the setting, shall we?  We were not in the forest.  There were main roads on both sides, in front, and behind.  There have not been any bear sightings in the area in quite some time…believe me…if there were, I would know about them.  But when we passed a giant clump of animal poop (hopefully animal poop), I mildly freaked out.  Even though I kept walking, I froze.  In the end there were no bears and we had a great run.  A few months ago I was up in the Berkshires and decided that I would enjoy a wonderful early morning walk in the woods (yes, real woods).  I forced myself a few hundred feet ahead before turning around, heading back to the safer, more populated trail.  No one had said that there had been bear sightings.  Shouldn’t I have been more concerned with the peace of the forest than my neurosis?  What did I miss out on by being such a big pussy?

So where does this fear come from?  I’m sure I’m not the only one to be afraid of the possibility of running into a bear, but why do I conjure them up when there is no logical reason to do so?  Does it stem from my (probably unpopular) opinion that Winnie the Pooh is the most boring animal cartoon/literature character ever?  Am I secretly an adrenaline junkie and this fear is really a hope that I get to see one in the flesh?  Nah…I’m more concerned about my own flesh than theirs. 

Anyone else have a fear that causes said scary thing to appear only in your mind?

…and I don’t feel like writing it down, figuring out the number of points it equals, or wishing I hadn’t eaten it.  Guess what?  Peanut M&Ms are amazing!  As are peanut butter filled pretzels, hot dogs, chai tea lattes, and pizza.  Consuming all of these things in the same day might lead to an explosion of some sort, but having them every once and a while, I have decided, really isn’t a bad thing.  Well…it’s not terrible, anyway.

What is a girl to do when she obsesses about her weight and body but would rather not?  Momentary moments of enlightenment arise here and there where I…I mean, a girl, decides that her body is actually pretty OK, especially compared to how it was before the “one portion=the size of your fist” trick.  Unfortunately, these moments are severly outnumbered by the doubt-filled, obsessive, just plain sad thoughts of inadequacy and self deprecation.  I’m perfect the way I am, but if my thighs could just not touch as much and if I looked as good in a bikine as the girl under the blue umbrella, then things would really be OK.  I’m the first one to evaluate someone I just met based on their size, but only as how it comes to my own.  Kate Middleton has gotten WAY too thin, but it would be nice if I could have such a tiny waist.  Again…bathing suit season (clearly invented by men).

This is not a post about how I overcame my body image issues.  I proclaimed in an early post that I would try to be as honest as possible to you, my gorgeous just the way you are readers.  I’m not really sure what I hope to accomplish with this post, and if I click “Publish” it’ll be a miracle worthy of a national holiday (maybe even one when the banks close!).  I suppose the point of writing it is to admit that yes, I have a body image problem, and no, it is not something that I can/want to just live with forever.

Hopefully one day I will be able to accept my body…or figure out how to get a 6-pack…shit…no…I mean self-acceptance!…This is going to take a while.

Bachelors degree in English: Check.  Bachelors degree in Journalism: Check.  Masters in English:  Check.  Hatred of all things numerical: Check.  And yet, here I go into a meeting to give a presentation on the financial management of our office.

Dear George, Virginia, David, e.e., Wally, Erica, Margaret, J.D., Fay, Ray, et al,

I sincerely apologize for this stray into the dark side where multiple conclusions are unheard of and reading takes the form of random letters placed meaninglessly next to numbers.  Please note that it is only temporary and I fully intend on reading The Dubliners the absolute moment I get home!

In good health and good reading,

Rachel

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