I have to say I enjoy the Spanish words for “Good Evening” more than any other language. For some reason, those words feel so sublime and exude a sort of warmth.. A simmering or smoldering feeling… like the best summer nights we are all waiting for…doesn’t that very thought make you smile…
Let’s talk about rest.
Say it out loud a few times. Because reading a word and saying it feels differently.
It sounds like a reclining word, doesn’t it? Or like it’s eyes are gently closed with a soothing on it’s face.
Relaxing, restoring, rejuvenating. Resting.
I tend to think of rest requiring some kind of lesser noisiness as well. We don’t want to disturb it now, do we?
I think it needs a kind of internal stillness. Except for your ever beating heart. Have you considered recently how very relentless your heart is?
I could safely say that my modus operandi in this life is “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”.
All GO, Almost All the time. Though I have learned to sleep in the past 5 years.
The phrase “Pace yourself” has always failed my understanding. I can pace myself in the fast lane, but slowing down outside of my sleep hygiene ritual is hard for me to take. I can sit in the silence of my home for an hour or two. I can bask in a sunrise or sunset or the sun shining into my home. I can sit with my cats and dogs and give them their due appreciation. I can savor my food, music, good books, an hour of tv, for a short duration. I can enjoy my garden. I feel I have a solid daily appreciation of the sensual beauty of this life. But I wouldn’t call it rest.
And it has recently come to my attention that I should take a rest sometimes.
I hadn’t taken a day off from working out in so long I can’t remember. Last summer I started working out hard everyday and never stopped…if I was my client, I would have a lecture for that…your body needs to recuperate and recover. It needs rest outside of sleep.
I am honestly terrible at resting. I feel guilty for it and I’m not sure where that is coming from.
Do you allow yourself to rest? OR is this just my problem?
Since I’m all about embracing uncomfortable things, I decided to not work out on this past Friday and yesterday…of course I went back to it today. I also slept in late this weekend and didn’t do as much as I usually do. I’m not sure if that’s actually what “rest” is, but I’m working on it.
Personally, I feel like I have conquered a serious week of too much. Too much at work and too much to take care of in my personal space. Too much for my body. I don’t feel that very often.
But what’s most important is that I have arrived here.
One week older…YOU are in fact one week older now.
Do you ever think about it? Getting older that is?
How do you feel about it? And where did you learn how to feel about it?
Are you allowing others to determine how you fell about that?
When I was teaching hot power yoga, I had a couple of women in class tell me that when I reached my 40s I was going to spontaneously begin to love wine AND gain weight. I was in my mid-30s at the time and I thought what a horrible thing to say to a younger woman. What kind of sisterhood is this? And maybe their experience wasn’t going to be mine, so WTF??
Safe to say, 40 came and went and yea, not only did I never acquire a taste for wildly consuming wine, I have not had any change in body composition. In fact, I’m on the flip side of my mid-40s, and yea, still going strong. I actually got fitter last year, because I started doing more weight training.
And that’s not meant as a brag, but rather a message to all the women out there who are younger than me, age isn’t something to give up to, but rather a realization that it’s same same. We all have been aging since our first breath in this world. It’s just that we have all these mile markers in youth that make it a celebration of accomplishments and then in your late 20s, that tends to die down.
The question is WHY?
Why do we want to spend the rest of our lives, which by the way is equal at least to the length of time that you have already been here, being miserable about something we cannot control?
Since I have been in my current professional occupation, I have had the privilege of learning where the boundary of “OLD” really lies and let me tell you, it’s a helluva long ways a way from 30, 40, 50, 60, 70s even.
There is something that happens to us around 85 where it appears our bodies make some kind of invisible choice to either continue to thrive or start shutting it down. I could speculate as to why, but there appear to be way too many variables to point the finger at a particular guilty party. I feel 85 is a good age where you may refer to yourself as old. If you feel the need…
What I can say with some certainty is this: AGE IS THE ACCUMAULTION OF YOUR LIFE CHOICES. NOT A NUMBER.
Read that 5 times.
The choices you make have repercussions both positive and negative.
Aging is essentially the product of your math.
Yea, it’s a theory. Yes, another one. They’re just gonna keep coming, so you should get used to it….
Life is really all about bad or good math. Choices we make involving bad bets on the percentages, not adding up things correctly or forgetting to subtract debts in all the aspects of our life. And we will all do a lot of bad math before we die.
Fun example: Squirrels, not dumb animals, but seriously the ones hit by cars, that’s bad math. They didn’t do the proper calculations on the speed of the vehicle, the distance they had to cross on that particular road and how fast they could run. Bad math.
Humans, SO MANY EXAMPLES of bad math. Just think about it.
The quality of your age has everything to do with your math skills.
Excessive drinking, social drug use, smoking, eating a lot of sugar, not moving, not sleeping well, not getting serious about your mental health, how you handle stress, your illnesses, overutilizing pharmaceuticals versus learning to be an advocate for yourself, not drinking enough water, all big subtraction. A deficit that you create in your body.
The reverse or opposite of ALL THOSE THINGS, are positives in your body.
Aging is your equation of those things and your ability to navigate them. Seek answers, be curious and learn about your body/your vehicle, be honest with yourself, and remember nothing is set in stone or predestined, you have the power to ALWAYS change course. You are in fact Dorothy who was always wearing those ridiculous shoes.
Aging is no more of an issue than you make it. I’m completely serious…
I have to also add a few words here that the reason I thought about this topic this morning was because I found myself tearing up at the kitchen sink thinking about Dave. I find that randomly happens…
THIS SONG came up on my Bose. (Yes, go listen to it. I’ll wait. It’s very important to hear this one.) A few days before his suicide, I had heard it again and found myself drawn to it. I kept listening to it and wondering if he had ever heard it. I thought about the fact that is seemed we were becoming friends finally after the divorce. After everything. I thought how grateful I was that I wouldn’t be in my singledom alone. I thought I should tell him both these things. I didn’t. And then he was gone.
Dave’s suicide made me feel old for the first time in my entire life. I think because I realized that for the rest of my life he wouldn’t be simultaneously alive with me on this Earth. And I realized how long I may have left here to live without him. He would never become an old man. He wouldn’t see how his story really ended. Or the ending I hoped he would have.
And for me this is a part of my equation now. I have to figure out how I can add enough positive into my life to take on that kind of subtraction. Because these emotions have a seriously huge number, but I’ve determined I can find an offset in the years to come. I believe he would want me to.
I’m still struggling to figure out where to begin talking about Dave’s suicide and my feelings about it in a way that will hopefully be helpful and insightful versus just a lot of loud words scrambled around on the page.
I do not under any circumstances wish for my words to resemble Shakespeare’s line from MacBeth “Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.” Because right now, that’s where I’m at. And in the moments, where my thoughts and feelings have felt organized in a more eloquent way I’ve been nowhere near pen and paper or keyboard. But I know it’s coming..
Until then, perhaps a more intriguing and lighter dish befitting a Friday morning…
I was thinking this morning about how the conditions were not quite right for a walk. Abit too cold, it was 39 degrees and abit soppy wet from all the rain, which would prevent us from walking our usual route. In case you didn’t know, dogs are creatures of habit, just like us. And when I deviate from the regular path, it seems to cause abit of a dust up.
This got me to thinking though about how many elements have to come together or into fruition to create really great moments in life. You know what I mean, those moments where you stop and take notice of something particularly exquisite. And think, remember this...The times when life is fully realized for the gift it is.
Maybe it’s A particularly delicious fruit. A really transcendent emotion. A kiss. A first embrace. THE first cry of your baby. THE first time you meet someone. A conversation on a phone late at night. THE way the sunlight sneaks through and shines. THE stars in the sky. THE weather on a particular day/night. THAT sunrise. THAT sunset. A look in the eyes of someone you love. ONE act of kindness or compassion or curiosity satisfied. A moment of realization.
Just ONE moment where it’s magic. And it is magic, don’t sell it short, because most of life is mundane and practical and required living. For these moments to occur, everything aligns, all the senses and your soul. And like magic, it’s gone almost as quickly as you realize it’s here.
And we cannot control it or force it or replicate it, that’s why it’s magic.
These things don’t happen often, not the REALLY REALLY good ones.
I’m not even sure if other people can see these things or it’s just me. But I hope you do.
Dave always said he couldn’t.
And I’m not saying they are always joy-filled, but rather life-filled. They feel full in every sense. Full of the gravity of being human. Full of my life. They make life really real.
And I feel somewhat certain that these things belong to this place, Earth and wherever we go next, I don’t think these exist, not like we sense them here.
And I just so happen to have few in photos, so I’m just gonna roll them out now.
Since you aren’t me, you really can’t feel what they meant to me, but just know that what I am showing you is magic.
I have officially lapped the one year mark since my ex left our home AND on last Friday, it was one year from our divorce. One solo trip around the sun. Somewhat hard to believe, but true.
And where I began is definitely not where I am now, so that’s progress. Maybe not the kind of progress I rather ambitiously hoped to have, because I think we all want to excel after we crash and burn. We wanna get back up at a racing pace when the truth is we were knocked on our ass and are completely dazed and out of breath. I wanted greatness while everyone in my life said, all you have to do in the first year is survive.
Do not adjust your browser, I have indeed changed the name of my blog.
As a friend used to say, “Is this the hill you want to die on?” No, no it was not. I may not have won the first round of semantics for the word “pussy” but I tried my best, which is all any of us can really do.
It’s been well, about 3 months. Three months ago, I was happily blogging along in December with my virtual calendar for Christmas. AND then…then well, my little blog was invaded by what I’m going to call, “The Porn Horde” Why would I say that? Because there was an exponential rise in visitors here. Like HUNDREDS actually, and upon abit of investigation, these fine people were looking for an actual Pussy Advent Calendar. Not as in cat, as in vagina. Or perhaps vulvas. Does such a thing exist out there? Quite possibly. And while I do not believe in censorship, I can’t say I have any understanding of that situation. Maybe it’s because I own my own vagina/vulva, so why go looking for others??
(I raise my shoulders in a massive emphatic shrug here…)
Last week we had a spell of sunrises and sunsets that just consumed the entire sky with the most extraordinary colors. And the intensity of the colors was just WOW. A visual salve for the soul in these colder temperatures.
Earlier this morning, I gave birth to a beautiful bouncing baby post. I saw it, held it, heard it and then published it. And then POOF, gone. ALL. GONE.
ALL MY WORDS GONE. All 1500 of them. There is no word to describe how that felt.
Imagine going thru the delivery of your baby, you see your baby, hold it and then, well, NO BABY. In fact, said baby went back into my proverbial belly, or rather mind in this case, awaiting future possible re-delivery. I guess at least I didn’t have to have an episiotomy, am I right?
My sincerest apologies for missing Imagination Monday. There was a washing machine/laundry disaster that took away my morning and very briefly my sanity as well. It’s amazing how all the things humans have built for convenience become so f*cking inconvenient when they break down.
I’ve arrived today to share with you the meaning of LIFE. I know, I know, many people promise the answer to this question, but I’m here to deliver. Now, I would like you to know up front, I could be wrong as I didn’t create the universe, but lately I’ve been learning a thing or two about myself and well, I think I may have found something. Something deep down the the darker recesses of my cave of my soul.