Life in the Land of Meh

I recently came to the realization that I have lived in Reno now for nearly 10 years.  Although I made the choice to move here for the betterment of our family, I have been divorced for almost half that time.  This is, not surprisingly, an idea that sticks in my craw on many levels.

I often wish that I could say that my divorce doesn't affect me anymore, but I'd be lying.  Of course it does.  Even now, five years after the breakup, as I still deal with the frustration of inefficient communication with and limited cooperation from the ex, I am disappointed.  Regardless of how much I think I have emotionally moved on, it all still bugs me.  He still bugs me.

Add to that, of course, the constant struggle of making ends meet, the living in the same messy apartment, the insurance hassles and the single momhood (with so few romantic prospects I may as well be a nun), it is perhaps understandable that during this time of year in particular is when I often feel my divorce the most.  While certainly not the only time of year that I deal with the effects, after quasi-recuperating from the busyness of summer employment and costume making in my Halloween Sweatshop of One, November and December seem to be particularly challenging.  Maybe it's because November is the anniversary of the divorce or because of the holidays, but I often feel just so, well, meh.

As a means of alleviating or even simply understanding the doldrums, I decided to go through my older posts (and half posts yet to be finished).  Perhaps there was some clue among my previously written missives as to how to self-motivate, instigate change or, more importantly, recognize my path? What I discovered instead is that although the tone may be slightly different (less angry or overtly cheerful), the underlying themes of most of my posts are so much the same--especially those in the later part of the year (Now is the Winter of our discontent...ha ha).  This is, of course, partially the problem.

Over and over again, I have listed my wishes and goals.  I have pushed myself to try new things.  I have worked to be open to possibilities and grateful for what I have.  Perhaps because I believe that I am on the verge of Something Great, however, I find myself taking stock in how far I've come throughout the year--or haven't come as the case may be. I cannot help but feel impatient that there seems to be so little progress in my life since the divorce.  Internally, leaps and bounds perhaps.   Externally, not so much.  It's hard not to be disheartened.

In a recent discussion about this with my little sister from another mister, I know I am not alone in feeling this way.  Although she is in her twenties (I am nearly twice her age!) and newly married, we each are battling a similar malaise, this sense of wanting to be something more...but not quite getting there.  We are each at a crossroads, each feeling that the path to even get to the fork in the road is winding and meandering.  Although she is just starting on her journey, while I feel like I am RE-starting, we are each craving change, preferably of a positive nature.  We have already been living in a quagmire.  We don't want to be stuck there, but, dear God, how do we get out of it?

As with anything, there is no easy answer, no quick-fix or miracle cure, no matter how much I wish there could be. I know that this is just a phase of my life, but, seriously, five years is more than enough time to be feeling like this, thanks.  It's getting to the point that I don't even know what other lesson I can glean from this experience.  Malaise and Apathy need not be permanent residents.  This ain't no pity party.  I refuse to believe that this is all there is to my life.

Gah.  Time to go travel or dye my hair or move or, well, something.  I hope I can break out of my chrysalis and spread my wings soon.  I'll keep you posted.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep....

Until next time, my Lovelies....

Please Just Go to the Lobby (or to Hell)

WARNING:  RANT CONTAINING QUESTIONABLE LANGUAGE AND EXTREME ACTS OF DOUCHEBAGGERY AHEAD.


One of my pet peeves is people who talk during movies at movie theaters.  I used to be extremely intolerant, but after having my daughter (and therefore mostly only going to kids' movies where I was surrounded by very talkative children) this has lessened somewhat.  I have gotten to the point where I don't mind when someone leans over to their movie-going partner and makes the occasional comment.  What I still don't understand, however, is when teenagers and adults have full-on conversations at a very loud volume.  To me, this is selfish, unaware and (the worst of all these offenses) downright rude.  I mean, seriously, if you need to talk that much, wait for the DVD or On-Demand release (or steal the movie off the internet)--whatever will allow you to not be at the same movie theater I am.

Lest this make me sound like a curmudgeon yelling at those mangy kids to get off her lawn, let me explain something:  I love movies.  Going to a movie is a rare treat, a means of escape, a generally fulfilling experience.  I just want to enjoy it.  Such was the case on the night which inspired this blog entry.

My friend and I recently went to see Pitch Perfect 2.  She had had a rough day and needed to unwind.  Although I had already seen the film, I was eager to go see it with her.  And, hey, it was discount ticket night (and she was buying), so BONUS.

My friend chose the seats, two in the center about 3 or 4 rows back from the walkthrough aisle.  There was a couple in the row behind ours, lounging with their feet on the seats in front of them (don't get me started on that one).  When we approached, even though my friend took care not to sit directly in front of them, the guy looked annoyed.  After we were there for about five minutes, he sighed very loudly and then very obviously changed his seat.  My movie partner and I laughed, made an offhand comment to ourselves about it ("Gee, I'm sorry we've impeded you from putting your dirty ol' feet up.") and shrugged it off.  This was all before watching the previews.

I should have known this was not the end of it.  I swear I have some sort of Spidey sense when it comes to other movie goers.  I have been to enough rowdy movies to know when someone will cause problems.  Sadly, I was not wrong.  About halfway through the movie, the couple started to talk.  At first it was in hushed tones, maybe a sentence or two.  I quietly shushed them once.  Not a grouchy, annoyed "Shut up!", but a gentle release of air, like a sigh.  "Sssssshhhhhhh."  This seemed to work.  For a while.  As the movie continued, their conversations became more and more frequent, lengthy and loud.  The guy in particular had a booming voice.  Finally, with maybe 15 minutes left of the movie, their talking reached its pinnacle.

Now let's be honest here, Pitch Perfect 2 is not a movie to which great attention needs to be paid.  Nothing of great consequence will be missed if one's focus is shifted for a second.  Because the entire movie is about how the Barden Bellas are going to compete at the World Championships, however, when they actually perform at the competition, dammit, I want to hear them sing!  I can't imagine I was alone in this, and yet no one was saying anything, just sitting there suffering in silence.

So I turned around to see what was so important and special about these two people and their conversation that they had to interrupt the movie-going experience of everyone around them.  I made eye contact with the guy and put my forefinger to my mouth in the universal symbol of quiet.

Mr. Chatty did not like that.  He immediately began posturing in the Cro-Magnon, chest-beating manner of douchebags everywhere.  "Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he yelled.  Wow, over-react much, dude?

I looked to his girlfriend to see if she was going to tolerate this behavior.  Apparently, though, this was a gal who likes her men douche-y.  To my delight, she too joined in the fun, flipping me off with both hands.  "Yeah, bitch, shut the fuck up."

"Exactly!"  I said.  "Please be quiet."

At this point, the "big man" was practically jumping across his girlfriend like he was going to fight me.  Thoughts of all the misogynistic encounters I've ever witnessed flashed through my brain.  Could I tell this girl to "keep her bitch on a leash"?

"Just turn around, bitch," he said.  Then he started swiping his hand across his head in a gesture of brushing his hair to the side.  "Just turn around and comb over your hair, you fucking dyke."

OK, that one got me mad.  Even if I were gay (I'm not), is being called a homosexual some kind of insult?  The word "dyke" is insulting, yes, but the idea of being gay?  What was I missing here?  I mean, clearly all women were just dying to be with this peach of a guy so if they weren't or if they opposed him, they must be gay (or pretending to be so he wouldn't be in their dating pool).

And what made him think I was gay in the first place?  Because I have a pixie cut with side-swept bangs, that makes me a lesbian?  Yes, because of course all lesbians look alike and that is the haircut of choice.  Well, shit, someone better tell Emma Watson, Jennifer Lawrence, Michelle Williams, Ginnifer Goodwin, Anne Hathaway, Winona Ryder (et cetera, et cetera) that they should have re-thought their "gay" hairstyles.

Or was it because I attended a chick flick with another female friend?  Does that make me gay?  I guess no straight girls would ever dare attend a movie without a man present.  Better let the row of gals in front of us know they are breaking the "rules".

So I said the first thing that came to mind, "Oh please.  I have sucked bigger dicks than you."...and turned around to watch what little was left of the movie.

I'd like to say this emasculating comment about both his personality and potential size of his penis shut him up.  It did--momentarily at least.  Unfortunately, as I was taking deep breaths to calm down from Hulk mode, he started talking again, if only to prove his "superiority".

What happened next was beautiful.  Everyone around him started shushing him.  Not gently either.   The trio of older people in front of him.  The couple behind him.  The family next to him.   Finally, his slag girlfriend said (and try to read this in as snotty a voice as possible), "Uh, let's go."

HALLELUJAH!

My friend and I applauded as they made their walk of shame and douchebaggery down the stairs.

"Don't procreate," I muttered.

Later when I recounted this story to some friends of mine, I expressed delight that others finally began to speak up.  One person I told said, "Well, of course they did.  You made it possible for them to do so."

So there's the moral of the story, Lovelies...If you are personally affronted, PLEASE don't just suffer in silence.  Be brave and speak the hell up.  There may be many others too afraid to use their voices until someone else does.  Sure, I was absolutely terrified that he would be waiting to pummel me in the parking lot, but safety in numbers.  Most importantly, DOWN WITH THE DOUCHEBAGS OF THE WORLD!!!

Hey, I think I found my mission in life.  And I'll be fulfilling it one movie theater at a time.  Ha.

Until next time, Lovelies....

Art in Imitation of Life (or: The Blooming Season)

A few weeks ago I acted in a show called Any Given Monday for a local theater company.  A dark comedy about what happens after a woman leaves her husband, suffice it to say, I have spent the last couple of months amidst swirling emotions.  Although not exactly my own story, the similarities brought up a lot of feelings with which I thought I’d already dealt, implanting them once again into my consciousness.  I even dyed my hair brown for the show, a color I later realized I haven’t had since I was married.  I have been wistful, introspective, impatient and occasionally weepy (although that could just as well be from watching Grey’s Anatomy marathons on Netflix).  Sometimes it really sucks being such an emotional creature.  

Anyone who knows me (or who has read my previous blog entries) may remember that my marriage ended after my ex had an affair with another woman. Sure, we tried therapy, but by the time we did, it was futile.  I never believed he had any interest in fixing the marriage or even any remorse about the affair, barely even recognizing it as such.  People always talk about life-changing events.  The divorce was one of mine.  I had been rocked to the core...and I apparently still feel the rumblings.  

Why then was I drawn to a play which would dredge up such emotion?  Am I simply a glutton for punishment?  Ha.  Perhaps.  In truth, however, I have always been attracted to projects and experiences from which I will learn something or grow somehow.  I’d hoped that this show would be cathartic--even if only by giving me a chance to work on a show not involving kids, Shakespeare or monologues about vaginas.  

I was not disappointed.    

Part of acting is becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable.  And, whew, was this play uncomfortable.  In the play, the wife leaves her husband for another man, yet, when she realizes her mistake, she returns home and begs to be taken back.  While there are other circumstances that force this decision, she admits the folly of what she had done.  Her husband forgives her and they are able to move forward, their relationship stronger than ever.  Reinforced by the casting of the actors as my husband and daughter (whose portrayals were eerily similar to the personalities of my own ex-husband and an older version of my daughter), is it any wonder that this play perhaps offered the resolution I never felt I had?  And it was nice being married again--even if only in two-hour increments (and to someone who went home to his real wife).

Sigh.

I know there is no time limit to grief or personal growth, but I couldn’t help but also be agitated by all the re-emerging feelings associated with doing this play.  I just sometimes feel so stuck in my progress and unable to move on--a sentiment solidified by the sad fact that I am still single, still struggling, still...well, just STILL.  I know there have been some changes, but every once in a while I feel everything so keenly I can’t help but think, “Seriously?  This again?”

Yet I keep pushing through it, attempting to keep the Blue Meanies* at bay.  I keep challenging myself (like with this play) and working for change, yet as I do, I often wonder, “Is it enough?”  Which of course is followed up with:  “Will it ever be?”;  “What else do I do?”;  “Is there anything I can do?”;  And the old chestnut, “What the hell is my path?”  Further and further down the rabbit hole, into a deeper, darker place...

And then I see this quote on, of all places, Facebook (which apparently does some good sometimes):  “Sometimes when you’re in a dark place, you think you’ve been buried, but actually you’ve been planted.”  

So there it is.  An explanation for all of my struggles:  I have been planted.  I am just waiting for my time to bloom.  And then I am going to spread out all over like a creeping rhododendron...or a Passion Flower.  Everything’s coming up roses and all that.  Just have to wait for my season.

Man, I hope it’s soon.  Maybe I'd better go get my “petals” ready and dye my hair pink again.  Can’t poke my head through as a flower in the same color as the dirt.  

Until next time lovelies….

*The Blue Meanies is a reference to the villains in Yellow Submarine. I use it as a metaphor for cranky (non-clinical) depression. This is not a state in which I prefer to be around other people.

Now Entering the Grey Zone

My very good, albeit occasionally more conservative friend, posted an article on Facebook which blasts the film version of Fifty Shades of Grey and claims that the film teaches us "twisted and warped ideals." This is not the only article I've seen with a similar consensus. Other articles have claimed that it teaches us about violence toward women or that it is anti-feminism or anti-love and anti-romance.  
Perhaps this is a strange reaction from someone who considers herself pro-feminism, pro-romance and pro-love, but I find it fascinating that so many people seem to be up in arms about this film. I doubt that most of them have ever even read the books or seen it since, at this writing, the film has yet to be released.  In truth, I have yet to see the movie myself, but I can say that it is based on a pretty cheesy and somewhat poorly-written erotic novel. A novel, I might add, that the author claims was written as an "adult" version of Twilight, so take that for what it's worth.
Having read the trilogy, however, I don't see the books as propaganda for violence against women. If anything, they have instead seemingly opened everyone's eyes to the previously underground world of BDSM and erotic play. The bedroom can be a place of "dirty little secrets", and, like it or not, they have been successfully exposed--and even sometimes embraced--by the mainstream public through these novels.  

Here's actually what is more troubling to me...It's not the sexual acts depicted in the novels that bother me. Although I've personally never been a fan of hardcore S&M, it's the main character's seemingly blind hope that this man, Christian Grey, will love her or that she can "fix" him if she consents to his desires. Although he does happen to fall in love with her, to me this notion is no less ridiculous than many of the ideas about love found in most Disney or modern day romance movies.  
A lot of the articles I've read seem to be centered on the "violence". To be fair, the female character, Anastasia, does sign a contract allowing it, but there are also extensive rules and negotiation surrounding their sex play--just as there would be in most BDSM relationships. She holds the power to walk away or to stop it. He doesn't just arbitrarily beat the sh*t out of her at any given moment. That would be inexcusable. Is he a controlling and flawed asshole? Sure, but I've dated a few of those too...and they weren't even into BDSM.  
The article my friend posted makes some pretty general claims, including that sadomasochism is "basically extreme acts of violence and abuse for sexual pleasure" which are "not cool". This seems to me a pretty judgmental and biased opinion being touted as fact. Not all S&M acts are "extreme". Having known several dominatrixes and submissives, it is, again, NOT about violence. Sometimes it's about holding back the release of pleasure or finding ways to pleasure or intellectually stimulate one's partner using props, bondage, blindfolds, etc. It CAN be about sensuality. Partners do not always engage in this type of sexuality because they are "effed up" or "control freaks" (as this article implies...and maybe as the novels do too), but instead because they feel secure within the relationship to try something new. Or simply because they LIKE it. Why do we judge others for having different tastes?
I am wondering if the somewhat general negative response to this movie is because we don't often SEE BDSM in mainstream films? What (or who) deems the written or filmed sexual acts as pornography?  Is it really the sexual acts themselves or because the idea of BDSM doesn't jibe with everyone's idea of pleasure? Yes, the sex scenes in the book are quite graphic, yet, when translated to the movie, may well not be as explicit. There are way too many studio execs and censors for that. Hell, the movie could very well suck just due to poor writing, acting or directing--in which case, the film may be forced to become a cult hit watched out of curiosity like The Human Centipede or Pink Flamingoes. Or, conversely, because the guy or girl is hot.
I will also say, if the general public fears that this film will become the blueprint for sexual and/or romantic relationships, then perhaps we are not giving ourselves or others enough credit! Are we so weak-minded that we cannot decipher right from wrong, fact from fiction or love and sex? Can we only live our lives a certain way because someone makes a movie about it? Seriously?  
I am a huge proponent of taking responsibility for one's actions and desires, both in the bedroom and out of it. Don't like BDSM? Find a partner who doesn't either. Don't want to see this movie or read the books? Then don't. Worried that this film will teach the youngsters or people of the world that sexual violence is OK? Then advocate otherwise.
No, I am not telling you that you have to support this film or to try BDSM--nor am I professing my own support. I am simply asking you to exercise your abilities as a human being to formulate your own opinions based on fact-finding and soul-searching. Treat others as you'd like to be treated, not just because that is what you are told or because you judged others "worthy" of good treatment. And understand that a movie (or play or book) simply tells a story. It doesn't have to be YOUR story.

Until my next entry, Lovelies.... *** Other articles that offer contrasting opinions: https://www.lifesitenews.com/blogs/the-3-most-dangerous-lies-promoted-by-50-shades-of-grey

http://themattwalshblog.com/2014/07/25/women-america-4-reasons-hate-50-shades-grey/

Always a Woman, Never a Victim

Every February for the past three years, I have participated in The Vagina Monologues as a fundraiser for a local women's charity.  This year, I am participating in two productions, one of which I am also producing and directing.  As part of the V-Day Global Activist Movement, the show is designed to generate broader awareness for the fight to stop violence against women and girls.  While this is a very worthy cause, it is only one of the reasons I am drawn to doing the show, year after year.  Instead, the appeal for me is for the sense of community that typically surrounds the production.

I have always loved being surrounded by people working toward the same goal.  Although a bond is certainly generated between members of most acting companies, for some reason, with this show, there is something more:  a place of support, respect, understanding and acceptance.  There is an outward celebration of the feminine and a definite "you can do it" vibe.  We are the "Vagina Warriors".

Interestingly, it is while in this environment of strong, capable women, I realize something about myself:  I have no tolerance for "Victims".

Oh, I am not talking about those who have survived after being victimized by rape, bullying, violence, molestation or the other awful things that can happen to a person.  I am speaking instead about those who wallow in their self misery, blaming others (or the event) for every less-than-pleasing occurrence in their lives...about those who whine or complain about their situations and who choose to do nothing about them (or their perception of them)...about those who look for the negative in every situation and then are surprised when their prophesies become reality...about those who abuse their friendships as they obsess over every detail of their miseries.

That's not to say I haven't done all of these myself.  Of course I have.  Every once in a while a pity party does wonders.  Sometimes the wallowing lasts a longer time than others (although I like to think it can and should be directly proportionate to the pain generated from the event).  I have had a few friends who couldn't handle being around me until I sorted through some of the awfulness--which may or may not be contrary to what I actually wanted and/or needed from them.   I have felt so lost at times that I didn't know how to claw my way back.  I have spent days alone, sobbing in the shower, the car, the kitchen, the bedroom, all while in a self-enforced hermitic seclusion.   Yes, I have experienced crippling depression, lethargy, malaise or rage.  It happens.  I have allowed it to happen.

But then I do my damnedest to get the hell over it for the very simple reason that I am not comfortable in my misery.  Misery causes me to feel ill, to experience aches and pains, to feel like a duller, less vibrant version of myself.  I don't like myself that way.  I don't like holding on to anger.  I don't like not taking responsibility for my own happiness.  I don't want to return again and again to the same types of people, situations or circumstances and not learn from them.

In truth, I am too damned stubborn about seeking a better life to be complacent.  I get edgy and "think-y" and sometimes even "rant-y" when I don't like my situation.  I do rely on my friends and family to be sounding boards and to help me sort through personal and emotional wreckage, but ultimately this is my journey.  I could feel sorry for myself or I could focus my energy for change.  While I am often impatient when changes don't happen "quickly enough", I am really trying to hold on to the idea of "everything in its time".   I am Learning.

Look at me getting all growed up and sh*t.  Ha.

Until my next entry, Lovelies....

***

For more information about my productions of The Vagina Monologues, please visit our website.

Forty One-derful Things: The Bikram Yoga Experience

In my effort to have forty-one new adventures in 2015, I decided to try Bikram Yoga.  I had been entertaining the idea for a while, but it wasn't until my friend received a gift certificate for Christmas and invited me to go with her that I even made it through the door of the studio.  This was a Really Big Deal.

My first time in the Bikram Yoga studio was on the day after Christmas.  Although technically at the end of 2014, I consider this experience the first of my Forty One-Derful things, because I have continued to attend classes on an almost daily basis (unheard of for me!).  Not since my foray into Roller Derby have I followed any sort of regimented exercise program.  In truth, I haven't skated regularly since 2010--which tells you how long I have lived a predominately sedentary lifestyle.  Not surprisingly, this period of time coincides with (and is the result of) the break up of my marriage and depression, but I digress.  

If you are unfamiliar with the practice of Bikram Yoga, it is a series of 26 specific movies and 2 breathing exercises performed in 100 degree heat over the course of 90 minutes.  There are many yoga acolytes who frown upon the practice of Bikram Yoga, calling it the commercialization of yoga (just as Tae-Bo allegedly was to kickboxing.  Incidentally, I used to enjoy Tae-Bo until my knees protested.).  I was scared to death to try it.  I mean, seriously, 100 degree heat?!  How can that possibly be good for me?!

What I've found is that the heat doesn't bother me as much as I'd thought it would.  Yeah, it's difficult, but hey, I used to live in the tropics.  It's not unlike that.  After all, when it's hot (and humid!), I move, I sweat.  Currently, however, I have the coolness of winter to help with over-heating once the class is over.  I am not sure how well I will like Bikram Yoga when it is hot outside too.  Time will tell, I guess.  Either way, if just surviving the heat is the most difficult thing I have to do all day, that knowledge itself brings a sense of accomplishment.

Actually, and perhaps surprisingly, the most difficult aspect of Bikram Yoga for me is the breathing and meditation.  I have taken only one other yoga class (not in the heat), and it was the same.  Remembering to breathe through the moves, to focus on stillness, to clear my mind, these are what challenge me the most.  I am not known for sitting still.  Even in repose my brain is always in overdrive.  The more classes I take, however, I find that the regimented moves (and the semi-scripted instruction of the class leaders) help me to release control.  I don't have to think as much about what I am doing (although of course I do).  While the class instructors encourage listening to one's body and only doing what the individual can physically do (even if that means taking a small break to breathe through the discomfort), I can also just strive for improvement, opening myself up to the experience.  Curiously, I especially love the scheduled relaxation moments during the practice.

As with anything, though, there are good and bad days.  One unfocused thought about anything other than the Yoga can cause me angst and agitation. Anything from how I really want a pedicure (Not that anyone cares, but I figure if I have to stare at my feet for the better part of 90 minutes, they should look pretty) to what I am wearing (there are mirrors everywhere!) to the best placement of my mat (Heaven forbid I am by the vent blowing more hot air) to what I have to accomplish later that day (Grocery shopping, work, housecleaning...)...all of these can derail my breathing.  This in turn can lead to frustration, panic and/or lightheadedness.

I also have to work especially hard to not berate myself for being unable to do a pose fully.  When I mentioned this to one of the instructors (who I jokingly call "Pretzel Boy" for his amazing flexibility), he told me, "Your body took a long time to get to this point.  It will take a while to open it back up.  Be kind to yourself!"

This, it seems, is just one of the general practices and ideas behind Yoga.  Just being kind to yourself can really go a long way.  While I am definitely NOT one of those Yogis who place their mats right up next to the mirror so they can stare at themselves perfecting each pose (too easily distracted by what I am wearing, remember), I feel like I better understand the importance of that kindness--and of physical self-awareness.

Because of the heat and stresses of this exercise program, I have to be diligent about listening to my body (both during and after class).  I am not always great at this, choosing instead to ignore physical ailments as I force myself to make it through the day.  Part of listening to myself also includes figuring out what is a realistic Bikram Yoga schedule for me.  Three to four days on, one day off?  Every other day?  I already know that by day six in the heat (which I actually tried), I really need to take a day off to recuperate.  I must also carefully monitor my water intake every day.

There are some days when I occasionally find myself in an almost manic state either during or after the class.  This usually allows me to accomplish a lot throughout the day, but it also means I tend to do better with earlier classes (yes, even at 5:30am).  While the early hour is indeed a challenge, there is something really extraordinary about stepping outside into the cool air after the class, the steam rising from my body.  I already feel gratified by the exertion, but to see the moon low on the horizon while the sun rises on the mountains...It feels special somehow.  Like a gift for taking time to work on myself.

And I am finding I do look forward to spending that time by myself.  Who knew it'd be while exercising?  I love my daughter, but she can be a lot of pre-pubescent angst and energy.  It's hard to deal with her sometimes.  I am really hoping that by learning to calm myself during class through measured (and/or deep and cleansing) breaths, it will also help me to be a better mother.

After all, as one of the instructors (a very sexy, rock star type) told me,  "You don't have to force or push anything.  By practicing yoga, everything will just fall into place, even in other aspects of your life."

Oh, I hope that is true.

Well, here's to positive thinking and positive being.  Until my next entry, Lovelies....

Forty One-derful Things: A Goal for the New Year

Hey!  Did you hear?  Another year has come to a close.  It is a NEW YEAR!  Woohooooo 2015!!!

There, now that I got that out....

As always, New Year's Day brings with it reflection, introspection and resolutions.  This New Year's Day is, of course, no different.  What is different, however, is that I am finally starting to feel like my  year is starting off with an upward slant.  For the last few years I have fought through depression, malaise, exhaustion, disappointment, a lack of focus and too much inconsistency.  While I know that there is still much to learn and much to do (and I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up), I have actually formulated a plan for this year that excites me.  

Last year, my fortieth on this earth, was a pretty good year.  Sure, it started out a bit rocky, but in the last few months I have been feeling that there may finally be forces at work that will absolutely result in positive outcomes.  I don't know in what way they will manifest, but I know that I will have to be the one to see them through.  After all, some of my best experiences were because I opened myself up to them.  I need to make my own opportunities.  

In 2014, I created many (and mini) goals for which I could strive to accomplish.  I wrote 40 blogs leading up to my fortieth birthday.  I organized my pantry.  I didn't lock my child in a tower (even when there were days that I really wanted to).  I also experienced many "firsts".  I dyed my hair pink.  I took a bucket list worthy trip to Ireland!  Yup, 2014 may be pretty tough to top.

So here's what I propose:  In 2015, I will turn 41.  I want to experience new things.  I want to go beyond just eating at new restaurants or reading a good book or seeing a new movie.  While I am not adverse to including these sorts of experiences, these are things that I would probably do anyway.  I want to do more, be more.  Perhaps I will learn a new skill or travel to a new place...the possibilities are endless.  

The time limit is not, however.  My goal this year is to experience 41 new things by the end of the 2015.  That's 365 days for 41 new adventures...I'd better get started!

I can't do this alone, however.  Life is always more fun when we have someone to share it.  With that said, I am open to suggestions--and if anyone wants to join me on this journey, let me know.  ;)

Until my next entry, Lovelies....