On the Ninth Day of Christmas....

ON THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...THE VALUE OF REST!

It’s only the second day of the New Year, and I am already so freaking weary! 

OK, to be fair, there is no actual personal reset when the year rolls over (and if you read my last blog entry, you know I think we put too much pressure on the date change anyway), but seriously.   So.  Freaking.  Weary.  I just want to lie in bed with my laptop and write…or surf the web…or hang out on Facebook. 

Oh wait, I’m already doing that.  Lol. 

So here’s what I’ve learned for today:  Sometimes we need to appreciate the value of rest.  For the last few weeks, I have been battling what I call the Irish Croup (so named after my 2014 trip to Ireland where everyone seemed to have the same lingering cough fostered by the damp, cold air), creaky joints and girly stuff besides.  My body is apparently physically rebelling against me in an effort to force me to slow the eff down.  Which is funny, because I feel like I have slowed down.  She says because she is only working on two shows, reading one book, raising a kid and trying to work.  I am hardly busy.  Ha ha. 

And yet my mind never stops.  Not even when I am asleep!  Even late at night, my brain is filled with super bizarre imagery and random situations (like the dream I had about Chris Evans last night…although that was probably brought on by watching What’s Your Number? before falling asleep…and could have been way worse.).  Won’t it be useful, then, when I am able to master Jedi-style telekinesis?  My body will rest, while my brain causes the action. 

Oh dear, but I am rambling.  Hey, not all of these blog entries can be winners. 

Sigh. 

Until Next Time, Lovelies…

The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything

Happy February 1st!

It is a little less than two weeks now until my 42nd birthday.  As I have for the past few years, I generally use these few days before the anniversary of my birth to contemplate the past year and what goals I would like to accomplish in the upcoming year.  Yes, most people normally do this in December, but I never feel as if the New Year really begins for me until my birthday.  This is probably because January tends to be my month of recuperation and rejuvenation after the holidays.  Often I feel like I am just trying so hard to even make it through that I can barely even think about any changes or new ideas until after the calendar New Year.

Last year, in honor of my 41st birthday, I decided to do and/or discover Forty-ONE-derful new things.  While I had hoped to write more blog entries about these things, what can I say but, well, LIFE.  Sometimes forty-one adventures take some time, you know?  Lol.

Perhaps you are wondering if I did, in fact, accomplish my goal.  The answer is, yes--and then some.  Some of the things were related to each other (or to my preexisting life), while some were separate events or adventures.  Some were simple moments, while others were Experiences.  Perhaps I will clarify or tell you more about some of them.  Perhaps not.  Either way, I have enclosed my list below.  :)

But what to do this year?  What specific challenge do I set forth?  As always, there is still so much more I would like to experience.  Maybe a hip hop class or banjo lessons.  Maybe more travel to unfamiliar places.   Maybe a new love interest or career (both of which I have been working on for a while.  Lol.).  This list is just the beginning.  Know that I will continue to try new things.  I am still ready and open to the experiences--and that is a good place to be.

And maybe that's it.  Already this year I have felt the rumblings of Changes on the Wind.  Maybe I just need to sit back and see what happens.

After all, the Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything is...42.

Until Next Time, Lovelies....

***

FORTY-ONE-DERFUL THINGS:  THE LIST

1. Bikram Yoga
2. Ghost Tour in Virginia City
3. Produced, Directed, Acted in First Show for Sisters Three Productions (of which I am co-founder)
4. Worked at 3 New Theaters (Acted and/or Directed)
5. Did 3 Shows at Once (INSANITY!)
6. Widened My Social Circle(s) by Becoming Involved with New Groups, Friends, etc.
7. Auditioned for and/or Submitted My Resume to New Places
8. Signed a contract for an Equity Show
9. Got My Equity Candidacy Card
10. Performed in the Mainstage (Nighttime) Show at Lake Tahoe Shakespeare Festival
11. Attended My Brother’s Wedding
12. Went to the Laguna Beach Tide Pools with the Family
13. Saw a Dead Seal
14. Zip Lining
15. Zumba
16. Trapeze Lesson!
17. Went to Six Flags Vallejo
18. Swam with the Dolphins
19. Picasso and Wine Painting with My Daughter (and Mimosas)
20. Lived in Boise for One Month
21. Viewed Performances at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival
22. Membership at the Boise YMCA
23. Nia, Qigong, BodyJam, Barre, Water Aerobics Classes
24. Lindy Hop Lesson/Dance Social (By Myself)
25. Watched (and MET!) Eddie Izzard
26. Entered Writing Contest
27. Minnesota Trip (for Cousin's Wedding)
28. Visited the Judy Garland Birthplace Museum (Minnesota)
29. Mall of America
30. Kayaking
31. Watched the Northern Lights
32. Pet Ownership (Besides a Fish)
33. Pet Euthanization :(
34. Twisted Colossus at Six Flags Magic Mountain
35. Hyperspace Mountain at Disneyland
36. Griffith Park Observatory with My Daughter
37. Boogied at Club Cosplay
38. Oingo Boingo Dance Party at the House of Blues
39. Medieval Times on New Year's Eve
40. Various ComicCons with My Daughter
41. Two Actual First Dates

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....

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....

The Aftermath of Being Born a Traveling (Wo)Man

It's been almost two months since my trip to Ireland.  While I have tried diligently to make sense of my thoughts and hasty notebook scribblings about my visit, I am finding them hard to articulate.  Part of the challenge probably stems from what I had hoped to accomplish with my trip.  For me, this vacation was much more than just crossing another country off my bucket list.  This trip was to be my first with someone other than a spouse or family member (at least for more than a couple days).  I had hoped it would bring me some clarity and focus about what I wanted to do with my life.  Maybe I would meet the man of my dreams.  Maybe I would find a job.  Maybe I would simply eat my way through the country.

Well, at least the last one happened (Mmmmmm, parsley sauce.  I could seriously bathe in that stuff.).

After returning to U.S. soil, I've had many people ask me how I liked my trip.  For the first few days, I could only vaguely respond, "The country was beautiful."  I didn't really know what to say other than that.  Of course I enjoyed the trip, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of malaise upon my return.  I wasn't invigorated or focused.  If anything, I returned feeling exhausted and maybe even disappointed.   After so much planning, I didn't have anything to look forward to any more...And to be honest, as a person who often needs "alone time" to recharge, traveling with someone for almost two weeks straight was difficult.  Not only were we two different types of travelers (I am a see-everything-while-I-can kind of gal), I am just not used to spending 24/7 with anyone, not even my daughter.  As much as I hate to be alone, sometimes I hate NOT being alone even more--something my travel partner realized in the final leg of our journey when I finally snapped in a glorious explosion of crankiness on par with some of my best PMS moments.  

In spite of wanting some alone time, however, I just wasn't ready to go back to "real life".  There was no exciting love or work life waiting for me.  I've felt creatively and emotionally stagnant for a while.  I needed this trip to help feed my soul.  Instead, in coming back, I just felt hungry for more.   

As in both Scotland and England, I felt at home in Ireland.  The people really are very warm and welcoming, especially on the west coast, where curvy American girls are treated like a breath of fresh air.

In Galway, we stayed at a bed and breakfast (which was actually a home) where the owner invited us to chat with her in the kitchen while we ate, something which made us feel instantly like one of the family.  Her husband drove us into the downtown area--after picking up his 30-year-old, super-cool daughter so he could drop her off to hang out with her friends.  While downtown, we were given a personal tour of the local theater, just because we walked in and expressed interest in their programming.  My travel companion (educated as a mortician) was also given a tour of the embalming facility at the local funeral home (I waited outside).  A local bookseller spent half an hour sharing all of her favorite Irish kids' books when I asked what I should purchase for my daughter that she'd like.

The Irish people were not all sweetness and light, however.  In both Galway and Kilkenny, we caroused, drank and danced in the local pubs where we discovered that sometimes the Irish (and visiting Manchester) boys are quite forward, something I certainly wasn't expecting and my travel companion thoroughly relished.  The boys (and some of the girls) seemed to appreciate our sass and, ahem, other assets.  

And yes, everything really is that green in Ireland--mostly because nothing ever freakin' dries there.  We happened to travel during a pretty rainy week.  Even though the rains weren't by any means a deluge, we were wet enough that our clothes were damp for days.  I had some pants that I don't think dried until we got to Dublin five days later (when I was able to lay them over a heater).  The weather, while responsible for the fabulous rolling green hills, also did nothing to help alleviate the cough I developed.  We nicknamed it "the Irish Croup".

Then there was the driving.  Sure, the countryside was stunning, but I couldn't really observe it at my leisure.  We had chosen to rent a car to travel around Ireland.  My travel companion (who self-admittedly is a nervous driver) opted to be the navigator and passenger, leaving me to drive not only on the "wrong" side of the road, but amidst the crazy, bat-out-of-hell drivers that are the Irish.  Lovely, calm and personable people in life, yes.  On the roads, no!  With no shoulders on the narrow roads, somewhat high speeds and limited signage, I have never been so frazzled by driving in my life--and I grew up in Southern California.

The food in Ireland was pretty crazy as well.  Crazy good that is!  Filled with notions that it would be all potatoes and cabbage, we were quite pleasantly surprised by the variety and quality of food.  Apparently there has been quite the movement toward "foodie" gourmet or new twists on old favorites.  Everything we ate was really good or even exceptional (even the night we gorged on junk food in Blarney)!

Speaking of Blarney...kissing the Blarney Stone is SCARY.  Anyone who kisses the stone is lowered down headfirst and backwards through an opening in the castle tower.  Although there was someone holding me (and a grate to keep me from plummeting through the opening), I was very nearly in a panic.  Vertigo and heights are not good companions, but I faced my fear and did it.  Whew.   Oh, and Blarney is not (contrary to what we had originally thought) a tourist trap.  It was just a lovely little town which happens to have a famous castle in the middle of it--something which is pretty indicative of the country's wonderful ability to maintain culture and heritage while embracing the tourist trade.  A spontaneous decision to visit Blarney "if possible" turned into an awesome two-night stay.  It was certainly one of the highlights of the trip.

So when asked how my trip was, I guess I should respond, "I already want to go back."  After all, I never did meet my lovely Irish lad.   I am sure a fabulous life awaits me in Ireland.

Damn you, Nora Roberts.

Born a Traveling (Wo)Man: Dreams of Ireland

I have long dreamt of traveling to Ireland.  I had visited both Scotland and England previously, and had therefore been close, but had never stepped foot on the Emerald Isle.

Fueled by too many films and Nora Roberts novels, I have been drawn to Ireland by romantic notions of the sweeping green of its landscape, the wild craggy cliffs and crashing ocean waves, the lovely twinkle in the eye of a boisterous chap in a tweed cap, the raucous craic (music) in an Irish pub….and let’s face it, having always been attracted to dark haired men with green eyes and yes, even gingers, I have oft dreamt of finding my own Irish lad.  Seriously, don’t get me started on the accent….

You get the idea. 

And so I decided that this year, in order to celebrate turning 40, would be the year that I would follow my heart and travel to Ireland.  I won’t lie…I received some criticism that I, a single mother often struggling for money, would dare travel without my daughter.  It allegedly wasn’t right to leave her at home while I go gallivanting in another country spending money I don’t have, blah blah blah. 

To hell with what is “right”.  Here’s the reality:  I worked my ass off for this trip:  Longer/more work hours, less spending and copious planning…I searched for many weeks for the cheapest deals on airfare and housing.  I conceded to travel with one of my best friends (rather than traveling alone) in order to help pay for the trip.  I researched credit cards with low APR’s to assist with paying up front for the trip....

Besides, my daughter was spending the week with her grandparents and father in Texas.  Was I supposed to sit at home alone and continue to dream of traveling to Ireland “someday”?

Excuse the language, but f*ck that.  There comes a time in every person’s life where “someday” has to be TODAY.  Too often have I seen “someday” become NEVER.  Sure, I could stay home rather than racking up credit card bills in a foreign country, but damn it, I am 40.  I am divorced, a single mom, employed in multiple jobs seasonally and part-time.  I already put every ounce of my being into just existing.  Sure, there may be some who think I am a wild, free spirit with a carefree nature, but in truth, I only wish I could be that way.  Rather, I too often fall victim to Life, Responsibility and Propriety. When am I supposed to Live? 

So damn it, I was going to Ireland.

Oh shit.  What was I going to wear?

To be continued....

40 Days Till 40 (Day 19)

CHARGE!  AND THEN RE-CHARGE

My phone battery has been having trouble keeping its charge.  Even though I plug in the phone on a semi-regular basis, the phone’s energy will be zapped by the end of the day, sometimes even in a few hours.  I am not using it any more (or any less) than usual, so I am not entirely sure what is causing this problem? 

Personally, I feel kind of the same way.  Some days, I find it more difficult to recharge.  Typically, I can handle only getting a few hours of sleep (6-8 at the most usually works for me), but lately it seems that my sleep is more restless than not, perhaps due to the weird dreams that often plague me.

This morning, a friend of mine sent me a text at around 6:45am.  This is not something that I would normally be annoyed by as I am often up well before that time.  Today, however, I was in the throes of a frantic sleep.  When her text came through, I was dreaming about blowing up balloon bouquets (Damn!  Where are the purple balloons?) and being propositioned by a married man.  I blurrily answered the text—and promptly fell asleep for another hour.  Or I tried to, anyway.  By the time my alarm went off, I had clocked almost 10-11 hours of sleep.  Granted, they weren’t consecutive, being fragmented by bouts of wakefulness and odd dreams, but that is A LOT for me.  Clearly something is going on that is draining my battery. 

Perhaps it is a mad-dash schedule (even though I am on work hiatus, that doesn’t mean I am any less busy)?   Or maybe it’s lack of “real” exercise?  Too little protein maybe?  Gah.  Whatever it is, I clearly have to find a way to retain my charge.

Until tomorrow, Lovelies….

*Written 1/22/14.