But what does it all mean?

I've found myself wanting to post something here many times over the last week and a half, but I didn't because there's so much going on, and I don't know how to tie it up in a nice bow. Because at the end of the day I'm a story teller, and stories have, on at least one level, meaning. Perhaps this does, too, but I don't know what it is yet. Or maybe I do, but then my options are limited. That's not a story I want to keep telling.

Well, here at least is what happened. 

I am no longer a garden coordinator at the garden I've been in for fifteen years. I agonized for a long time, but when I finally made my decision I was done. All of the different stakeholder groups are dysfunctional, even if among them there are some wonderful people trying their best to do their jobs. This has been the case for a long time, but when people couldn't rise to the challenge of dealing with a rat issue--and, not incidentally, fulfill their contract obligations--that crossed a line for me. I could say so much more, but out of respect for friends still there, I won't. 

That was last Saturday, and the stress of it was enough that on Sunday morning I developed a neck spasm that didn't ease up until the evening. I thought I would be done with physical therapy on Monday, but the spasm earned me not only two more sessions, but also a gentle lecture on stress management. Indeed. 

The therapist also gave my thoracic spine an adjustment. I've never has one of those before, and it was disorienting. It also let loose a lot of blocked emotions, and a weird rash. Dramatic, but not something I would chase.

In the meantime, I felt pulled to mind body workouts as I thought about my eczema, and after a week of experimentation, I settled on qigong with Lee Holden. I still love Lucy Wyndham-Read, but I feel the detox effects with qigong in a different way. Fortunately, there is no one saying I can't do both.

I can say all of that was helping me manage my stress better, because when I found my sister's caretaker sleeping in the early evening (while my sister was awake), I knew I needed to make a change but I did so with a minimum of drama (thanks in large part to one of my other sisters). I've been at the house in the suburbs since Friday morning, and while I would rather my husband and I be home with our young adult son, I am much calmer and even content than I was in a similar situation last year. 

The situation is in flux, though, so I was extremely fortunate that I was so close to my goal of 1000 calls at the beginning of the week. Happy to report that by Wednesday I had completed them, because I'm not sure when I'll be able to get on a call again. My husband and I need to celebrate, but not sure how yet. 

On Thursday, my last hurrah in the city, my husband and I went to a social with some other activists. I was as awkward as I ever am, and powered through as I usually do. It was fine; I met some nice people, but as usual I'm sensitive to power dynamics and calibrate accordingly. If I'm ever exhausted by social interactions, it's because of that. 

So that's my story, such as it is. 

Deb in the City

I'm not that way

May and June were a little tight around here. Several big bills came in at a time when our income was a little lower than usual, and we had a bill due in a few months that we were putting funds aside for. It was tight but it wasn't desperate by any means; we were in no danger of not being able to pay bills, and when minor emergencies came up, we could attend to them. But anyone who has ever suffered from financial hardship for extended periods of time knows how traumatizing it can be. As with all traumas, they can be triggered with surprising ease, never mind what you intellectually know and even believe. 

Thus in June I found myself developing a very bad case of hives, and on top of that the insomnia that frequently haunts me became unbearable. I remembered something I had read in the book Move the Body, Heal the Mind about the value of more intense exercise in getting some sleep, so I decided to follow the author's plan. 

The first day found me bored out of my mind. I walk all over the place, but for this more intense, half hour walk I decided to go into one of the many green spaces near my home. It really is lovely, but after three laps around the body of water I thought I was going to jump out of my skin. However, it worked: I slept really well that night. More intense exercise does work, but I could not repeat that experiment.

The second day called for a warm up and then circuit strength training. The exercises were very doable, even though my right hip was strained, but it was still a little boring. (But again, it worked.) In desperation, I jumped onto YouTube to find something at least for the warm ups.

I stumbled upon British trainer Lucy Wyndham-Read. Her workouts are very doable and creative, and the fact that she's my age makes me take her a little more seriously. After one session, I was hooked (and, yes, my sleep has been great). I'm spending no more than thirty five minutes on my workouts (unless I'm really inspired), I'm working up a sweat, and I feel good. We're basically doing low-impact circuits of approachable light calisthenics (my downstairs neighbors just don't appreciate my higher-impact movements), and it's..fun.

It's fun, and I feel good. It's been a while since I had that combination from physical activity, and it was noticeable. I'm someone who's been physically active most of my life, so why was this different? And since this was the case, why had I spent so long tormenting myself with yoga and Pilates?

I think it comes down to performance, and once again that makes me cringe.

I just can't anymore

 

I once read something in an old Glamour magazine in the late 90s (don't ask for more specificity than that) in which someone said training for a marathon made them feel like they weren't just working out, they were now being athletic/practicing a sport. At the time I nervously nodded my head and started doing the exhausted kind of math I did in my late twenties. Must be serious about working out to the point of being an athlete...no matter how much time that took out of my already punishing schedule.

I was disturbed to realize how much I had taken not only seriousness but athleticism to heart (and no, not because of this one article). And it's probably obvious that I was very aware of what people thought of my physical activity, whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not. (Who knew being the last one picked for dodge ball stayed with you this long...)

I was a yoga teacher, and I was a Pilates instructor. When I stopped teaching, I was then a Walker, even when I had young children, and even when I was suffering with cancer. And I always felt like I should practice -- and I mean, practice -- qigong more. And even when I did something that was less doctrinaire, it had to be "fusion", or at least conscious of those modalities. And even when it wasn't, much of it was informed by the principles of dance.

Well thank goodness for weight training...except that always had to be done "correctly". I don't just mean form -- please, your form is extremely important if you lift weights! -- but the methodology -- the thinking -- behind all of the moves had to be logical. Squats, deadlifts, and shoulder presses were my holy trinity, because they got your whole body and you wouldn't waste any time and that was what people who were serious about weightlifting did.

There were many times when I would exercise and I would feel better afterward, but it was always tempered with "how can I improve?", "did I do that as well as I could have?", "did I do it correctly?", and, of course, "what would other people think?" The hell of it was always -- always -- that unless I did something unapproachable for many people -- walk for a really long time, do something that required a lot of core strength, or push into my flexibility -- my modalities were silly or girly or not going to give me Results or just not serious enough and why was I bothering? 

Honestly, a lot of times I hated working out, but for the last week I haven't. And did I mention that I feel good? That is worth me no longer having a respectable identity. I am not a yogi. I am not a Pilates practitioner. I am not a qigong student. I am not a dancer. I am not a weight trainer. I am not even a super duper walker. 

I just work out. And I feel good. Oh yeah, I also sleep really well.

Deb in the City

Busy ≠ Productive ≠ Satisfied

As far as I can tell, Fear Of Missing Out (FOMU) is unfounded. As I've written before, while many people worry that giving up their smartphone will mean they're going to be consumed by thoughts of the social media posts they're missing out on, I've found the opposite to be the case; after just a few days without a smartphone, I didn't even want to check my email on my laptop. Hell, after a week, I didn't really want to look at a computer screen, period. There's this ideal existence out there for me in which my conventional flip-phone is my sole means of electronic communication and my notebooks are my primary vehicle for writing.

You know what else is implied in that ideal existence? Not being so god damned busy, and letting go of that was much more terrifying that letting go of my smartphone and my stupid social media accounts. My sense of self was tied up in those notion of myself as Someone Who Got Things Done, and even more frightening, what if I was bored?

Three months after I walked away from being a Busy Person™, I can assure you, once again, that FOMU is overrated. I'm not only calmer with less on my plate, I'm more satisfied.

What you'd like to use when you have a lot to do

I didn't add anything new to my life. Everything I'm doing now is something that I had to do already, in one way or another. Those projects include:

• Managing my finances. Now, instead of keeping one eye on my balances and another on my expenses, I'm able to dig in thoroughly and attack some "structural" projects, like refinancing my condo (which I began and completed between May 1 and now). I am loving the kakeibo system, not just because of the structure, but because, as with all things of this nature, it's forcing me to make sure my short-term actions are reconciled with my long-term goals. (And no, I am getting absolutely nothing from you clicking on that link, other than the satisfaction that you're not clicking on an Amazon link.)
  
• Educating my sons. I'm calling it "educating" because we're transitioning out of homeschooling, but I'm still playing an administrative role (I don't think this is very different from many other parents of teenagers). Since May 1, this has included getting them ready for a placement exam, helping them register for courses, and navigating the financial aid system (add that to the above category too). 
• Writing. I've touched on some of the challenges I've encountered over the last few years, not the least of which was negotiating COVID-19 and the effects it had on my family (again, I don't think this makes me very different from many other people, particularly of teenagers). I have felt, in many ways, behind with this project -- here's another reason to avoid busy-ness, because that's a constant state of being, and it's nerve wracking. I've been able to get back into the habit of regular writing -- even if it's just a paragraph on some days -- and I recently felt brave enough to commit to a goal of getting this installment done by the beginning of November (what's the opposite of a stretch goal? A safety goal? Because that's REALLY doable for me) and the whole thing drafted by the end of February (that may be a stretch goal). A few days ago, I went back and figured out what I've already written and what I have left to write. While I've been telling people that I'm half-way through this saga, it turns out that I'm more like 60 percent along (make that 62.5% if you want to be really nerdy about it); 10 down, 6 more to go. (What?!) I may not be able to make the end of February, but now that I have fewer other things to do, I'm going to get much closer that I would have before. (And you'd better believe I'm going to want to throw myself a party when I'm done.)
  

The above is three bullet items, which doesn't look like a lot, but all of them have multiple layers and nuances. In my experience, that's true for most things -- but also in my experience, those nuances feel like roadblocks when we're juggling multiple projects, but exciting opportunities for growth when we're not. (I'm not exaggerating, but it's something you have to experience for yourself to believe it.) 

Even more importantly, for me at least, is that being able to work on three projects on multiple levels is much more satisfying than having to work on six on a shallow level. When you have, frankly, too many things to get done, emergency mode requires you to keep the high-level goals for everything foremost in your mind, and some of the most important details easily accessible. You have to know The How, but it's very easy to lose sight of The Why. When you have fewer projects, it's harder to lose touch with The Why, and that can "power you through" when the work gets tough (sadly, nothing ever guarantees that sometimes work won't get tough). 

What you can create for yourself when you're not overscheduled

 

All of that means that different parts of your brain are working; instead of a two-dimensional map, you're able to create a three-dimensional globe that helps you navigate in more detail. And instead of feeling like you're going to fall of the page and into the end of the world once your project is over, you'll have a better idea of where your next destination should be and how you should get there.

Which is awesome, because come to think of it, that idyllic existence I talked about above is definitely going to benefit from the presence of a globe.

Deb in the City

Dreaming of May and June

If I'm honest, I get sick -- or at least feel sick -- a lot more often than I should. If I go a week without feeling some level of lousy, that's sort of amazing. While health is a multi-dimensional subject, I feel pretty good about correlating much of that to how much I get to sleep.

But it's more than that. Yesterday (or at least, the day before I wrote this), I woke up after eight hours of sleep and felt Pretty Good. Alright, awesome. Proceeded to do my day, which included a couple of errands. About four hours into it I felt awful. My limbs hurt, I was tired, and I just felt Lousy. 

This may or may not be related to the event I had later that evening and the stress around prepping for it. I'm not sure, I don't really care. The one thing that I do know is that I'm exhausted, burnt out, and I need a break.

I don't get a break, really, until late April. I've spent a long time looking forward to something -- "Everything will get better when...", but my body, mind, and literally my heart are telling me that I need to fully arrive at that day in late April and take the break I've been looking forward to in one way or another.

I think I need six weeks, and that brings us to early June. I want to find a balance between being having a schedule and feeling overwhelmed with to-dos. 

The thing I keep thinking about is walking, for a long time, in spaces I love. As we're coming out of extremely cold temperatures right now, that feels like a fantasy, but even in Boston that will be doable by May. I want walks every day, in beautiful spaces.

A little bit of heaven

It will be garden season by then, so one day of my weekend can be devoted to gardening, composting, rose bush pruning...ah. (If it sounds strange that I'm looking forward to kind of grueling physical labor, perhaps that gives you an idea of the other stresses I've been under.)

I will get to deliver my Self Care Learning Circle at that point, and it feels like I'll have a little more integrity doing so since I'll be taking care of myself. That's one night a week.

Could I go to a museum at that point? I would love to, although it's not nearly as much fun with a mask.

And then? Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll enjoy sitting at home and reading, or maybe I'll be able to sit outside and read. (Beaches are not worth even thinking about at that point here, pandemic or no.) 

I have no idea how I'll feel after that or what I'll want to do, but I know that I need this.

Cook Through Your Anxiety!

That will totally be the title of a self-help book in the next two or three years. Don't worry, I have no intention of writing it.

Thinking about food, as I did in my last post, makes me think about food, and on Monday night I took a close look at what I had in my pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. I couldn't even face my over-stuffed spice shelves, and what I had was SO. MUCH. that I'm not going to list out everything. Just know that it was A LOT, and even after going on a cooking binge, it's still enough that I don't need to go shopping for almost a month (but don't worry, that didn't stop me -- more below).

I came up with no less than seventeen recipes that I could make without having to go shopping. When I say I could eat for a month, I wasn't kidding. On Tuesday, feeling anxious about my sons' food issues, the upcoming election, poverty, the environment, and pretty much everything else, I made: vegan, gluten-free sourdough bread (in my Instapot, no less), chocolate beet cake, tomato sauce, vegan chili, and lentil soup. That's just me cracking my knuckles -- seriously, I have twelve more dishes to go -- and the fact that I needed to do some homeschooling and other general parenting. The latter included a phone call with the nutritionist, during which it was decided that they both need a lot more protein. So, budget conscious though I'm trying to be, I spent more money than I'd like to confess to on animal protein sources. As I watched my husband and son devour one-fifth of what we'd spent in one sitting, I started to wonder if the mathematics of better food needed fewer times really works out when you're talking about two growing boys. 

 

I think even this picture is giving a good idea of the awesome texture of the cake and the for-real red velvet color.

(I'm making meat for my sons because they need it. And before someone wants to get on me for not giving them vegan sources of protein, please know that one of the things that seems to be bothering them is, yep, beans. Soyfoods, probably because of the fermented nature, seem to be bothering them less, but that's not cutting it for their growth. Before you say at least give them vegetarian options, they both have issues with dairy and one of them has issues with eggs. And to anyone who wants to argue that their growth and general health isn't worth what I'm feeding them, we don't have anything to discuss.)

Perhaps you'll be surprised to hear that stress-cooking doesn't actually make your stress go away. To really burn through stress, I need to move around, but I was confined to my home both Monday and Tuesday. By the time I got back from shopping I was ready to jump out of my skin, but then I found that my body bars (36 and 15 pounds) had arrived much earlier than I'd thought. Woo hoo! As soon as my husband cut them out of the boxes for me I did what I had been promising myself I'd do: deadlifts and squats (36 pounds) and overhead presses (15 pounds). Oh, my! You know how your body can just scream for something it hasn't gotten for a while? That's how I've been feeling for a very long time, but when I picked up those bars, the delicious ache in my muscles told me that it was finally getting what it needed. 

With the prayer that I will be able to avoid food shopping for, I don't know, a week, I attacked the kitchen this morning, making chicken soup stock and then chicken soup. (Did I mention we roasted a chicken last night? It happened.) After a little calculus and chemistry with the boys -- highlight of my day, I kid you not -- I think I'm going back for vegan, gluten-free mac and cheese and squash pudding. Or we'll see what else we can come up with that I can fit in the fridge.

Off to make someone an egg and vegan cheese sandwich on gluten-free bread,

Deb in the City