Gene Therapy

I was talking with my dad tonight. His family is very much of the engineer mindset. He (and his siblings) won’t go out for a walk without measuring, either before or after, the distance covered. They won’t go on vacation without a set itinerary. They get very agitated when anything deters them from their course of action. Analytical some might say. Anal, might say others.

I tried to explain to my dad a little about Buddhism and how it differs from Hinduism. In Hinduism, a person goes through certain rites of passage – progressive stages in life that see them through birth, education, marriage, and family before releasing them to seek a spiritual path after their kids are grown and married. This makes sense to my dad. When I tried to explain that in Buddhism, you didn’t have to wait to seek a spiritual path…that life itself in this very moment was the spiritual path, he didn’t get it. He wanted to know what we were working towards. What was at the end. He didn’t understand this idea of life without a goal. It seemed very meandering and fruitless way to live. What was this philosophy that didn’t have education and marriage and procreation as essential parts of life? Were Buddhists simply content to sit on a mountain somewhere? This is the same man who find the thought of meditating, “thinking of nothing”, a waste of time better spent doing work around the house. 

I love my dad and he is a very wise man. But he gets these strong genes from his mother. And these are genes I’ve inherited. Genes I’ve been trying to make peace with, because this analytical, mental way of living isn’t exactly in harmony with my philosophical beliefs. When I talk to my dad, I the discussion and arguments that go on within my own mind. Then again, when I talk to my mom, I see the same discussion but from the other angle. But they’re happily married still, so I guess there’s hope for my genes to coexist.

I Had a Dream

I had such a vivid dream last night. It was pretty involved, rather vivid and even the usually faceless people had faces. And it was emotional. Through the course of the dream, I was unsure, shy, flattered, intrigued and flirtatious. Though I was loath to admit it, even in my dream, I fell in love. Then I was betrayed and heartbroken. And a thought “it always was meant to end.” I woke up with such a heavy heart this morning and wondering if this is something I believe about love. That it was always meant to end.

I’m not a negative or a pessimistic person, but I suppose I do have an embarrassing superstitious leaning. I am fearful that the good will end. I sometimes find myself nitpicking something I enjoy apart just so I can be less crestfallen when it fails or disappoints me. I’m not proud of it, but I’m aware of it and it is something I’m working on. But in my dream, none of the hesitancy or critical nature I sometimes display in life was present. Just an open, young heart and then a crushed one. It was as if my subconscious was trying to warn me that if I go on trying to live without fear, I’ll get hurt.

But then I think of all of the other emotions, before the heart break. I think of the elation, wonder, aliveness of being. A sense of recklessness, fun and play. The heady thrill of falling into the dizzying depths of love. Thank you, Subconscious, but I think it’s worth it.

Playing Pool

I went swimming for the first time in a month today. I always approach the pool with a feeling of trepidation. I’m one of those people who are always cold. So, submerging my body voluntarily in cold water isn’t something that comes naturally. Especially, first thing in the morning. I’m afraid I whine a bit. Going on about foot cramps, lack of sleep the night before and various aches and pains, all to give small voice to the million nerves that are repulsed by what I’m about to make them do. It sounds over over-dramatic. It feels over-dramatic. 

A few decades back when I first started, I used to be able to jump in and go. But now my brain has gotten involved and it demands I go slow, if I mean to go at all. I could be in bed. I dip my feet in and shiver, but manage to get up to my knees in before I have to stop. I was right. It is cold. Inch my inch I lower myself in, stopping at intervals to make faces at the ladies in my class. Part of me is running away from the pool at top speed even as another part is impatiently demanding I get on with it. I quiet my shallow end foot hopping to stare at the other end of the pool. I look at it, look at the water. I carefully put my face in the water and look up towards my goal again. Then I push off.

It takes me four lengths for my body to accept reality. Then the amazement begins. My body gliding through, up and around the water. The feel of it, soft and silky against my skin. Bubbles. Weightless and graceful, this is where I began and where I was meant to be. It always surprises me how good the water makes me feel. How it never fails to draw out my childlike nature. For the next hour I play. Marveling at what I can do, attempting to do what I cannot. I end with my muscles spent, breathless and alive. What was I complaining about?

But my absolute favorite part comes next. Water of a different nature. The hot shower.

Here

Vivian: "Baby, I'm going to treat you so nice you're never going to want to let me go."
Edward: "3000, for six days, and Vivian I will let you go."
Vivian: "But I'm here now."

-          Pretty Woman

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Pretty Woman, but as I lay in bed this morning, inert and happy in the morning sun, Julia Roberts’ young, dreamy face came to mind. She has just been told that her days of indulgence are numbered -- that there will be an end and return to her less than ideal life-- but that doesn’t deter her from enjoying and delighting the moment. So, not quite ready to get out of bed and end my sleepy bliss, I chose to pull myself back from everything that awaited me and snuggle down into my cocoon for just a little longer. 

There is something quite yet so profoundly sensual about living in the here and now. It makes sense when you are enjoying what we are doing. Yet, even if what we sense isn’t the most positive of experiences, it reminds us that we are alive. I, like most, try to distract myself when I’m going through a less than pleasant experience. But on the occasion I’ve sunken in and allowed myself to be, to feel, to live every inch of what it had to offer, I have found the sensation an affirmation of my existence. It reminds me that life is about not just the good. It has helped the lessons I learn to stick. It has helped me change where I need to. Or maybe just realize that even in the pain there is unexpected pleasure.

Refresh

I’ve been away during the last couple of work weeks and as such, I haven’t been able to go to yoga or to synchronized swimming during the week as I usually do. Even the weekends, in fact, have been a little slower pace than I’m used to. Last weekend, I found myself creaky during Saturday morning yoga and I was sure my body was chastising me for not moving more during the work week. Likewise that Sunday, I seemed decidedly off kilter during dance class. Coordination was more than a little challenging. So it was with a little trepidation that I went into yoga this Saturday. However, my experience couldn’t been more different. I don’t know if it was lack of sleep or something else, but my brain blissfully turned off and my body just moved. It felt like butter. Rather than think discouraging thoughts at my body, I was able to listen to it and it flourished under the attention. Today during dance, I had less awkward experience, as well. I wasn’t able to shut off my brain as much as I had in yoga, but I found myself listening to the music more and when I allowed that as my point of focus, my movements were less self conscious and more fluid. Most importantly, I had fun. 

I think I benefited from throwing myself out of routine during the week. Although not exactly injured, I feel like my body healed with the slower pace and I found the pleasure, again. This week it’s back to my regularly scheduled program, but it’s good to know that there’s something to be said for switching it up, every once in awhile.

Lemonade

So I had been feeling a little angst-y about the whole dating scene. I was meeting guys who were good men in sub-optimal situations. Two that were going through a divorce, one who was a poor artist without a sense of responsibility or consequence, another who lived in the opposite corner of the nation, etc. Just not relationship material for me. Frustrating.

I had dinner with a friend tonight and something became clear. These guys were not romantic relationship material, but what was wrong in developing friendships with them? I’ve treasured male companionship from the time I was young, climbing trees and using sticks for swords. I grew up boys. My favorite movie was Star Wars. My favorite color was gray. I loved to play with Leggos and G.I. Joe action figures. Growing up, I learned that guys will tell you what they think of you to your face. Far easier to deal with then the cattiness of teenage girls. These days, I love my girl friends but I am sometimes in easier company with my male ones. Since moving to DC, I have far fewer than I had in Atlanta, so why not cultivate some more? 

 I know that some people – mostly men -- have strong opinions about the “friend-zone”. I know these guys might not want me as their friend if they can’t date me. But I do know I have a good chance with at least two of them. So where’s the harm in having someone to geek out about Batman or go see a hockey game, with? Why not make the most of these great yet greatly unsuitable men?