Okapis On the Brain

Zen Dance

A couple days ago I went to a dharma talk about imperfection - learning to recognize that things aren't quite right, and being okay with it. There's a lot about Buddhist philosophy that really speaks to me. I remember once when I was caught in the rain, realizing that it was only uncomfortable as long as I was striving (mentally) to keep dry, and every raindrop that landed on me took me further from that goal. When I gave up the mental cringing each time a drop landed on me, the rain didn't bother me at all any more. The dharma talk called this the distinction between discomfort and suffering. It's interesting that we're hard-wired to notice problems and want to fix them, but we have to override our own natures sometimes in order to be happy.

I think I have a long-standing habit of feeling upset and frustrated that my body isn't more perfect. Mainly in the sense of being uncoordinated - not knowing how to move gracefully and not being able to picture what various poses look like - which makes my dancing entertaining to say the least. Last night at dance class, the dharma talk was fresh in my mind. I did my best to keep up with the choreography, but when I couldn't, I was able to feel a sense of forgiveness and liking for my body anyway, and to just enjoy the freedom of the movement. It was really a lot of fun. Once I think I would have left the class feeling ugly and disappointed in myself. So that's progress.

The Good Old Days

I miss homework. Not grueling term-paper style homework, but elementary school homework that was almost fun - lists of vocab words to memorize, math problems that were almost like little puzzles, assignments to read a chapter in our history book and answer the questions at the end. I wish for my job I was required to learn spelling bee words and read about the Pilgrims. At the time, I would rather have been playing outside with the dog. Or reading some horsey book. But now, those kinds of assignments seem like fun. Perhaps this is just an aspect of the general nostalgia that everyone has for "simpler times."

Spending Time

My friend says, "I don't want to look back on my life and think, 'I wish I'd spent more time cleaning.'" She is so right. So instead of cleaning, she tortures herself with impossible love affairs.

The fallacy I think is that love affairs don't make for long or even short-term happiness. Being pulled in different directions just makes you miserable. Cleaning does make for, if not happiness, at least a kind of contentment. At least, it does for me.

Maybe the real truth is that all of life is about trying to find worthy outlets for one's energy. The life-force just keeps going, we all just keep on waking up and being hungry and walking around doing things - being alive, and the passage of time, just never stops. So it's all about finding something useful to do with that time. There are adrenaline-goals, and mundane defaults. And maybe, if we squint hard enough and keep trying even when we're tired, there's a little glimpse of something that's worthwhile and lasting and the stuff that makes for good memories.

Doing Crunches All Day Long

I’ve been noticing a lot lately that my stomach muscles are clenched up, and my stomach's tied in knots. I have to consciously make myself relax – then a minute later I notice I’m clenched up again. It’s like the default position. I wonder why. I don’t have any particular stress in my life that should be making me tense. Despite probably sounding like a pathological worrier in my blog, I’m actually pretty laid-back. Well, the upside is that if this goes on for a few more weeks, I ought to have a great six-pack.

60+ Skeeter Bites

More than there are toes to clip! It’s the price for spending a warm summer evening outside with friends. I have bites all over my legs, ankles, even the soles of my feet, fingers, and palms (not to mention the two on my chest). I guess my blood is sweet.

Keeping It In Perspective

This morning I was talking to the maintenance guy for our building, and I found out he works seven days a week - holding down two jobs. "When is your next day off?" I asked him. "Christmas," he said. I was amazed. Here I am feeling a little like a cog in the machine because I'm just cycling through the weeks with not much to show for my time, but he never even gets a day to collect himself. His 'weekends' are an hour here or there at the end of the work day, a coffee break, a few minutes with his family at the breakfast table. Yet he still smiles every day.

Toe Woes, Part Dos

I am in charge of keeping 56 nails trimmed. At least I was until yesterday - now it's down to 55. And no, my husband's aren't included in that count.

In addition to my own fingers and toes, I clip my bird's nails every couple of weeks (four on each foot), and the nails on my two guinea pigs (four on the front feet, three on the back) every month.

Yesterday I was sweeping in the guinea pig area. They have a section of the apartment fenced off and carpeted for their use, with a bridge that I made to get in and out of their cage. While I was cleaning up, I noticed a big dark reddish-brown stain on the carpet. I couldn't think what it might be - I was trying to remember if I'd given them a piece of beet or anything like that to eat. It was in the hiding place frequented by our older pig, so I picked her up and took a look at her. One of her hind toenails was completely missing, and the stump was crusted over with blood.

As near as I can tell, it must have happened several days ago, and probably when she was crossing the bridge from her cage - the structure must have slipped and pinned her nail between the two pieces, and she had to tear it off to get free. Poor pig! then she must have lain in there bleeding for a long time, and we never even noticed.

She seems fine now and the nail will eventually grow back. I fixed the bridge so it can't happen again. I feel like a bad mom though. I should notice when things happen to my kids!

Flower Girl

A girl with a huge vase full of flowers sat down next to me on the bus - lilies, irises, roses, baby's breath. I smiled and said, "Is it your birthday?" She gave a short ironic laugh and said, "No, I wish!...just someone being kind." I said automatically, "That's nice."

Then I thought about it some more, what someone being kind meant, and realized she must have had something bad happen to her, maybe a death in the family. I shouldn't have said anything at all. The last thing she needs is nosy strangers assuming things are good, when they're the opposite. I also felt a little awed, that people around me might be coping with things like their parents' deaths, miscarriages, losing their jobs, cancer diagnoses, or any number of other catastrophes - and my life is so sunny and free in comparison. It's like I'm skating under the radar. I feel almost guilty that nothing like that has happened to me, and terrified of how I will cope if it does.

Still Got It

I got hit on at the bookstore. It's been a while since anyone hit on me. I wasn't expecting it - for one thing I wasn't exactly looking my foxiest, I had on old clothes and my hair pulled back.

Anyway, I was sitting on the floor shamelessly reading a book I wasn't planning to buy, when I heard someone say, "Hey, I always do that too!" He had to repeat himself because the first time I didn't realize he was talking to me. Then I glanced up, saw him, and grinned. That was all the encouragement he needed; he plopped down next to me and said, "So what are you reading?" and it went from there. He asked my advice on classes he should take next semester, wanted to know where I went to school, asked what my favorite movies were, asked if I believed in telekinesis (his attempt to demonstrate his powers involved holding my hand and trying to read my mind). He had this shy, dorky manner about him, but at the same time he was pretty forward.

I acted friendly but the whole time I was trying to think of a way to bring into the conversation the pertinent facts that I was a) married b) waaay too old for him. Funny, usually I want people to think I am younger than I am. He was a nice fellow, but I just didn't want him wasting his time. Finally I said, "It's nice talking to you. But do you mind if I finish reading this section? I really want to find out what happens next." He got the idea right away, said, "Oh! Oh, sure," and hung around for a few more minutes pretending to read a book off a nearby shelf, then moseyed off.

Fears for the World

Things seem to really be unraveling in the Middle East. It's very worrisome. It feels on the one hand very far away and nothing to do with me - yet on the other, it's events of the type of ferocity and political bent that in the past have started global conflicts.

Once again I'm struck by a sense that the world is really far too dangerous and crazy to have children. Perhaps people throughout history have felt this way. "How can I have children? Cave-bears will eat them!" "They'll be sent to fight in the Crusades!" "They'll die of malaria." (sadly, that's still true in many parts of the world.) Now, though most of the things that endangered children and the rest of us throughout human history are avoidable in the U.S., there are new dangers to contend with. Suddenly completely unrelated people thousands of miles away might pose a threat to us all.

Cycling Through

Sometimes it seems like I spend the whole week looking forward to the weekend, and the whole weekend resting, and I never actually make much life progress.

The weeknights are pretty much shot because I'm tired, so I don't make an effort to do much. But I have this vision that great things will be accomplished on the weekend - I'll write, I'll go to cultural events, I'll visit friends and family, I'll go hiking, I'll learn new recipes. Instead, given half a chance, I do homebody things, resting and reading, because that's what I like doing. Then suddenly it's Sunday night, and I write it off as "another relaxing weekend" and plan to do the great things next time around.

I think it's because I tend toward living for the moment (aka laziness), as opposed to having a productive and meaningful existence. They're both really good life philosophies, but they're in conflict with one another. Whatever I pick, I'm going to feel obscurely guilty that I'm neglecting the other philosophy.

Wants

It's so, so hard to be consistently happy. So I have this whole bee in my bonnet about how I want to have a house and babies and try to recreate a childhood for them like the wonderful one that I had. Afternoons in the park, me and my husband swinging the kids between our hands, trading smiles over their heads, etc. It seems impossible to get there, from here. And I feel occasionally unhappy, verging on panicked, because of this.

But if I had a mortgage running me into the ground like some of my friends, and if I was a parent, which is like accepting a full-time, 24-7 babysitting job that you have to pay someone else to take over for you if you ever need an evening off - whew, would that really make me happy? I can't help but wonder if I wouldn't look back wistfully on the afternoons when I could come home from work, flop down on the bed, eat potato chips, and read Steppenwolf, totally unencumbered.

Dragonfly

Yesterday on the way home on the bus, we were stopped in traffic when I saw a dragonfly dancing above a car next to us. The car was a shiny dark blue-black color, and the dragonfly must have thought it was a pond, because he circled it repeatedly and tried to land, then finally flitted off. Then I noticed the girl sitting in front of me turn to her friend and point out the car. I couldn't hear what she said, but when her hand described the exact arcs of the dragonfly, I realized she must be telling him what we had both just seen. I love it when there are those moments of shared perception. It was like one time when I was driving and there was a magnificent rainbow over the highway, and a woman called in to the local radio station to say that she was on this particular highway and anyone in the area should go look at the rainbow. I felt like all of us in our separate cars were united by witnessing this same glorious sight.

The Gardenwife

I realized why I enjoy gardening so much. It's basically like cleaning. Here I am trying to steer myself away from becoming a boring housewife by developing an outside interest like gardening, but no, the garden is basically just an extension of the house. When I'm out there pulling weeds, watering, planting, pruning, mulching, it's the same routine as when I'm cleaning the house - go through and remove what shouldn't be there, put in what should.

I think it's borderline unhealthy that I like cleaning. It appeals to some organizational instinct that I have. The sign of a small mind. I use it to procrastinate when I should be doing big-picture things that require actual mental effort. My dad laughed when I told him this and said he's the opposite, the knowledge of cleaning tasks awaiting him inspires him to sit down and work on mathematical problems.

At least gardening, unlike house-cleaning, has some physical results. I've already harvested green beans, tomatoes, and gladiolus, and there's dill, spinach, zucchini, carrots, beets, and yellow squash coming up.

All Good

Coming down off a great weekend and work seems a little unreal. On Saturday, I worked in my garden, my husband played tennis, and we went to a movie and then out to dinner with friends. Yesterday, I really got into this book about life on Guernsey Island in the early part of the century. Later, we invited people over to watch the World Cup, and I fixed dinner. Very simple, but nice. I just felt happy the whole weekend. I have a good set of friends, my health, and the nicest husband in the world. I'm really pretty lucky.

Feeling Loved

Last night after dance class my friend and I sat on a bench in the dusk eating cherries together and talking about relationships. It wasn't the class, or the cherries, or even the conversation so much that mattered. But somehow the synergy made me feel better. I went home relaxed and happier than I've been in a while.

Argh

I need to get better with relationships. I'm not smooth like I want to be. I get het-up about little things and end up having stupid arguments about sunscreen's effect on melanoma that aren't even about that - instead they are about being ignored all morning and worrying that our marriage isn't as perfect as other people's.

And I need to really pull back and do some thinking about the kid question. I tried to have a "talk" about it this weekend, but didn't get anywhere. I ended up just floundering with "but it will all be worth it in the end," while he brought up sensible concerns about how a baby would interfere with sleep, hobbies, etc. He is right. Having a baby would interfere with our lives. And I can't express articulately why that just doesn't matter to me, why I still want us to have kids. It's an emotion that goes below language.

I'm too focused on getting him to agree to have kids (soon), and not enough on what is actually important - I should be thinking and planning and interested in the whole concept of creating a person, and busily making room for this person in our lives. Instead I have some crackpot notion that if I can just get him to say 'yes', everything else will magically fall into place. I'm so stupid and naive.

And I can't focus when there are a bunch of people over. I'm supposed to be this great hostess and make everyone feel at home and get them talking to each other, and instead I just flit around trying to talk to whoever looks left-out, and ignoring everyone else, and I have no idea if people are even having fun or not.

At work, I go around with my ears flattened down and my tail tucked. I feel beaten-down and I don't know how to change that. Being more assertive just seems to get me in trouble - my job is to be the low man. But after a couple of years of this, I'm starting to feel incapable of taking on anything more challenging; my self-esteem is shot. Getting married is just about all I have to feel happy about and proud of right now. When that wears off, what will I have?

Chivalry

One of the bus drivers I ride with occasionally has a one-man chivalry crusade. Several times during the bus trip, he'll clear his throat and make a little announcement, like "Now I know there are some fine gentlemen on this bus. And they know it's not right for a lady to have to stand. So I'm sure they'll be happy to give up their seat and let the ladies sit." What's funny to me is how this announcement, which I'm sure he intends to be nice, makes people uncomfortable is such a variety of ways.
- The men who are sitting feel uncomfortable because they feel like they just got called rude.
- The women who are standing feel uncomfortable because they didn't think the men were rude, but the announcement makes it sound like they expected to be given seats.
- Some of the men, on hearing the announcement, get up and offer their seats to women. This makes men who did not stand up feel like they were rude.
- Some of the women, on being offered seats, decline them, to show the men that they didn't think they were rude. This makes the women who accepted seats feel rude.
- After a little while, if there are still women standing, the driver will repeat his announcement. Then the men who offered their seats and were told, "no, it's ok" feel bad all over again, because they did offer, and now they're being chastised since there are still women standing.

Meanwhile, on exiting the bus some women pause to say, "That was nice of you," to the driver, thus reaffirming his belief that this is a good thing to do, and ensuring that he will continue to do so.

What an amazingly complex social landscape we live in.