There are many times, I have had that unsettled feeling that I am not productive enough, not leaving a significant enough mark in the world, not clutching onto that brass ring, not swinging on that star. It hits me once in a while, and I ride the familiar roller coaster of unease. It's more than restlessness and just shy of full-blown panic.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
Showing posts with label realizations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label realizations. Show all posts
2011-09-22
Filling the Un
There are many times, I have had that unsettled feeling that I am not productive enough, not leaving a significant enough mark in the world, not clutching onto that brass ring, not swinging on that star. It hits me once in a while, and I ride the familiar roller coaster of unease. It's more than restlessness and just shy of full-blown panic.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
On my desk, there are literally 3 novels in various stages of completion, sitting there. There are countless ideas for novels and books in my head. Yet they gather dust in both places. At my work station, I have boxes of beads and bindings waiting to be turned into jewelry. In my drawers, there are paints and brushes, pens and appliques, paper and pencils waiting to participate in my great art project. On my computer are various images and textures itching to be turned into digital art. On my phone, under To Do, is listed a camera that I want to buy and start taking photographs to use in said digital art.
Let's not even mention the other things on my To Do list that need to be done. One of which is bombing my garden because after all that work and money, it is again overgrown with weeds. So much for low-maintenance garden. Time to install grass and put this albatross on the market. I'm not made for this. Give me a self-contained apartment and I'm good to go.
And as I sit, with this feeling of un-achievement. As I wallow in all the things that I could be doing but don't, I ask myself: What the Eff are you waiting for? What's holding you back? Where has all your mojo gone?
Maybe I simply have given myself too many things to do. It could be possible that I'm suffering from apprentice-at-many-things-but-master-at-none syndrome. Maybe, my focus should be shifted from all the things that are not getting done, created, achieved and focus on what I have accomplished to start with.
After a long struggle, I am solidly on the road to losing weight, having lost 30 lbs or so over the summer. I feel like I am carving myself out of the layer of excess baggage I have been carrying around for most of my life. After all, I have lost a small 5 year old that had been piggy-backing on my body. I feel lighter, more accomplished, prettier and more human. I feel like I will achieve the total weight loss that has been my Nemesis and be the woman I have always been inside, underneath, in my head.
That's huge. That mends my self-esteem and how I move about in the world. It helps my gaze meet that of others instead of looking away in shame because of the way I look. It boosts my confidence and self-assurance that I have a place in the world instead of living in a category of people who are constantly being criticized, made fun of or pitied. I am becoming unchained from the stereotype that fits a body type that fits a mental image this society has about people who have looked like me. That's got to be worth as much as a finished novel?
I have been independent and supporting myself for most of my life. I have gotten very little help along the way in paying for my bills, making the decisions that make a life function smoothly, providing the necessities and some of the luxuries. I have managed to buy, sustain and pay for two houses in succession by myself. That's gotta count for something. At least one line of jewelry can equate to this accomplishment.
I have successfully eased 20 years-worth of students into an understanding of how their brains work, an appreciation of literature and the written word. I have made them think, and laugh and be engaged. And I'm still doing it to this day with equal commitment and passion. I love the essence of my job though I have no interest in the politics and agendas that plague the system that has not succeeded in jading me from the things that I love- imparting the brilliance of literature and the students with which I interact. That's surely on par with a gallery of paintings?
Am I famous? Hell no. Will I ever be? Who the heck knows? That doesn't mean I haven't achieved greatness in some small way (yes, I know it's an oxymoron). It also doesn't mean that the novel I have been sitting on, or the jewelry line that languishes in my head, or the artwork that is awaiting to leave my fingertips will not surface. It means that I need to stop focusing on the unfulfilled and start filling it.. bit by bit.
The feeling between uneasiness and full-blown panic begins to ease. I reach for my phone and put "Save for a Camera" on the top of my to-do list.
2011-05-07
CSI: Genie
Sometimes I get too caught up in my inner space, intent on solving it like a crime scene. I become an investigator, trying to piece together the remnants and fragments of past hurts, trying to find clues that have lead me here. I become a medical examiner, deconstructing the body I carry around, disconnected to who I was and who I am. I become a prosecutor, condemning myself for all my faults and many mistakes. I become a forensic specialist, taking the jack hammer to the hard shell that encases my heart to find what hurt it so.
There is much to investigate, but I'm not a crime scene. I'm a person. Speckled, imperfect and alive. I don't have all the answers, but I am responsible for the life I am leading right now. I can let it slip by while I swim in a murky pool of whys and wherefore. Or. I can get on it.
So that is what I choose to do. Get on with my life. I can't promise myself that every day will be as perfect as today with the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Murphy's oil rising from my freshly washed floor, and the smell of mowed grass wafting in from outside; but I can promise myself that today is a new day. A fresh start. A slate of possibilities.
Over the next few weeks I will be chronicling the changes I will be making, and the steps I will be taking in pursuit of a more authentic life. A more productive one. I need to tackle my procrastination and see at least one vision to its fruition. So many started projects have been left by the wayside while I moan about the way things suck in my life. Moaning doesn't get anything accomplished. Action does.
I have been considering deleting all my posts on this blog and starting fresh here too, but that would be as inauthentic as buying a rug to cover the scratched floor. There's no reason to delete anything. This blog chronicles my ups and downs, my joys and losses and it is part of me. Its the forensic evidence of who I am. Speckled, imperfect and real.
There is much to investigate, but I'm not a crime scene. I'm a person. Speckled, imperfect and alive. I don't have all the answers, but I am responsible for the life I am leading right now. I can let it slip by while I swim in a murky pool of whys and wherefore. Or. I can get on it.
So that is what I choose to do. Get on with my life. I can't promise myself that every day will be as perfect as today with the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Murphy's oil rising from my freshly washed floor, and the smell of mowed grass wafting in from outside; but I can promise myself that today is a new day. A fresh start. A slate of possibilities.
Over the next few weeks I will be chronicling the changes I will be making, and the steps I will be taking in pursuit of a more authentic life. A more productive one. I need to tackle my procrastination and see at least one vision to its fruition. So many started projects have been left by the wayside while I moan about the way things suck in my life. Moaning doesn't get anything accomplished. Action does.
I have been considering deleting all my posts on this blog and starting fresh here too, but that would be as inauthentic as buying a rug to cover the scratched floor. There's no reason to delete anything. This blog chronicles my ups and downs, my joys and losses and it is part of me. Its the forensic evidence of who I am. Speckled, imperfect and real.
2011-03-10
The Food Closet
"Experts" often ask what our relationship with food is. My answer? I don't have a relationship with food. I have relationships with people, some healthy and others not so much. I'm not in love with food. Food is not my comfort. Food is not my joy. I don't live to eat. I'm not using food as a surrogate for love.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
But I do enjoy good food. I appreciate an accomplished home-cooked meal preferably shared with others. Sushi makes me drool every time. Fruit is beautiful. Salads (i.e. greens with a vinaigrette) are for the birds unless you add a lot of unsalad things to them like nuts, exotic fruits, cheeses and meats; in which case they stop being salads but garnished meals. A bit of cheese, some warm bread, sliced cucumber and a glass of wine are heavenly.
But...
I don't sit at home downing chocolate bars and tubs of ice cream. I have never eaten a whole cake or a bag of chips at one sitting. I don't eat salads in public and go home to jowl through a pan of lasagna and fritters. I don't lose sleep at night planning what I'm going to have for breakfast. Most of the time I make my own food and choose the healthier option.
I'm not a closet eater. If I feel like a burger, like I did yesterday at lunch, I have one. Yes, with fries. This isn't something I do frequently or even often. I'm not a self-righteous salad eater. I don't play with my food. I eat it. I am not what I eat. I'm me. Not perfect, but not completely flawed.
I refuse to be a closet eater, ridden by guilt with every bite I take. I see the looks of judgment when I choose to eat a burger in public.Those who like to pigeon-hole think they know why I'm fat. They don't know anything. I refuse to feel guilty even though everything in the society I'm living in pushes guilt on me. I'm fat; but I'm not stupid or ugly or lonely or unsuccessful.
Parenthood: (Goofy man to gorgeous woman) "You can't be lonely! Are you around blind people?"
Hellcats: (Vapid cheerleader to equally vapid friend.) "What if this is it? What if this is all I get? What if after this I'm unsuccessful or fat or poor?"
The Talk: (Hostess) "He's a little pudgy, but cute."
Those are the preconceptions that the media filters into our subconscious. It's only sensible that ugly people be lonely, and inconceivable that a hot babe experience loneliness. Being fat is equated with lack of success and poverty. Only skinny people are successful and financially stable. On the plus side (pardon the pun), it's remotely possible for someone to be marginally attractive if they're overweight.
That's our uphill battle. We have to overcome the negative stereotypes fostered by all corners of society. We have to look past the appalling judgment perpetrated by the media while trying to feel some sense of empowerment about who we are. We have to overcome the sense that we deserve to be marginalized, ridiculed and judged just because we don't look the way we're "supposed" to.
This is my struggle that isn't made easier with others' judgment or the media's underhanded prejudice.
This struggle won't be won by turning myself into a rabbit. That's not healthy. I must release the guilt and negative feelings that I've ingested throughout my life; and, hopefully, in releasing the anger, hurt, resentment, and self-loathing, I will become lighter. I'm not fat because I eat too much. My body has become the repository of all the toxins I've been force-fed by others. It's time to stuff them into the closet, and seal the door.
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