Springing Forward

i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything which is natural
which is infinite which is yes -- e.e. cummings

I haven't really been in the mood for posting lately. I've been journaling lots, working through some stuff. I'd forgotten how nice it is to take pen to paper and just pour everything out, without wondering what someone might think.

My e-seminar is fabulous but it's a lot like therapy. Lots of things are coming up. I'm learning so many little tools and habits that I love, things that--if I can manage to find a balance between persistence and forgiving myself when I screw up--are transformational. It's all about creativity and mindfulness and "saying yes to joy." Isn't that a great phrase? I feel like therapy taught me how to recognize my unhealthy patterns and what they stemmed from. Now this e-seminar is teaching me new patterns that I can replace them with. That is pretty much exactly what I'd hoped for. It's worth every penny.

One of my new practices is keeping a "gratitude and gains" journal. And one of the things I'm steadfastly grateful for is how gorgeous it is outside lately. I'm not a huge poetry person but I love e.e. cummings for phrases like those above: "leaping greenly spirits of trees" and "a blue true dream of sky." Aren't those just the exact perfect phrases? I read that stanza and feel a thrill. Just like Anne of Green Gables!

Now I'm off to sit beneath those tree-spirits and that dream-sky in the sunshine.

Entertaining Thyself

I have a confession to make.

I've never gone to a restaurant by myself before.

I mean, Au Bon Pain, Starbucks, the dining hall, sure. Whatever. Cafes and coffee shops are one thing. An actual seated meal with a waitress is another.

I'm not sure why the idea made me uncomfortable, exactly. I don't think people who dine alone are pathetic lonely losers. On the contrary, when I see people navigating the city alone, without one whit of apparent self-consciousness, I'm always impressed. I worry too much about what other people think of me. It was something I knew about myself back in high school and thought I'd grown past. Recently, when making my list of things that drain me, I realized that that was a total fallacy. I've gotten better at faking it, maybe, but I'm still incredibly self-conscious. I think it's come home to roost now that I'm not busy with ten million things, now that when people ask I can't rattle off a list of impressive accomplishments or to-dos. Like, logically-speaking, I know that my friends (much less complete strangers) do not like me based on whether I've read the new Stoppard or had eight hours of rehearsal this week or whatever. My self-esteem needs to catch up. And yet...the idea of so much unscheduled time tends to freak me out.

Anyway, one of my new philosophies is that it's good to get a little uncomfortable sometimes. Today after yoga I went for lunch by myself. There were a few awkward moments, like when the busboy got a little flirty. It was hard not to eavesdrop on the couple next to me, since they were all of six inches away. But I wrote in my journal and generally enjoyed myself. How could I not, with a fresh fruit cup (pineapple and grape is my new favorite combination), salad, and a chicken-zucchini-roasted-red-pepper wrap? Yummy. I walked through the market and bought myself a "congratulations on finishing your book and losing 5 pounds; you deserve a present!" bracelet that I loved. I stocked up on some gorgeous arty cards. I ogled paintings I covet for our new apartment. And then I sat and eavesdropped on other conversations in a coffee shop, and people-watched, and wrote in my journal some more, and read a little. And had a truly fabulous white-chocolate raspberry scone.

Yes, indeed. I am, at the ripe old age of almost-28, learning to enjoy my own company all over again.

Ta-Da!

It's finished.

375 pages. 115,194 words. 6 months and 10 days.

It's not finished-finished of course. Not for reals. I tend to be all self-deprecating, all, "Oh, it needs lots of work." Of course it needs lots of work. That's why it's called a rough draft! But I am proud of myself.

It's the first time I've felt that way in awhile, actually. Just glowingly happy. It's bigger than doing Wheel twice in a row, or making a new recipe well, or paying off a credit card. It's nice. Sometimes this new dreaming-big thing terrifies me. It's scary to want something hugely, to let yourself hope you might have a real shot at it. It's easier to think, Oh, I could never. But where do you get by living small?

Now I get to launch into preliminary revisions. I've never liked revising before, and in fact never really got around to it in the books I wrote in high school. This time around I'm super-excited to embark on this next stage. I love these characters and this story and I'm not ready to let them go yet, not even for a little while. There are several characters whose names change midway through, or who merge into other characters, or who disappear entirely. There are scenes that I need to add, inconsistencies to fix, motivations to clarify. I'd love to work on that for the next month or so before I hand it back to my trusty readers and ask them to read it again. And I have a five-day weekend next week, thanks to the Pope's visit to D.C. Perfect editing time. Hallelujah indeed.

Just Say No!

I'm taking an awesome e-seminar right now run by Christine Kane, musician and blogger extraordinaire. She's an amazing, thoughtful person and I am learning so much. Today's assignment (in brief) was to create a list, over time, of the things that drain us and stress us out. I was amused because last week I eliminated two of the items that would have been at the tippity-top of my list.

First I quit volunteering at Theatre Z. I'd been volunteering there for about a year--every week over the summer, every month since--but when I started writing again last fall my enthusiasm for it waned. I love reading Steve's scripts--and my friend Meg's too--and giving them dramaturgical feedback. I know that I have good instincts and it's nice to use that analytical part of my brain sometimes. But on the whole, I'd rather focus on my own writing, not on critiquing others', especially when I get primarily scripts from the slush pile that I'm rarely excited about. It had become a chore. In fact, it had become something that I habitually procrastinated on until the very last moment and then totally stressed over getting finished in time. I kept going because, well, I got free tickets and, theoretically, a good connection. But honestly? I haven't seen their last few shows, free or not, and I can get cheap-o tickets online when I'm interested. And while I am crazy about their dramaturg, I was primarily dealing with their intern and only running into him every few months for five minutes here or there. The benefits just weren't worth doing something that I didn't enjoy anymore.

Second, I unsubscribed from a professional listserv. It had occasionally been the source of good and interesting information. It helped me stay marginally in-the-know about the field. But more often, it clogged up my inbox in a major way. I felt bizarrely compelled to read all the emails, but they were often just lists of plays that fit a certain requirement or people sounding off on various obscure translation issues. Last week people were, for the nth time in the last few months, bickering and sniping at one another, taking intellectual debate into personal attacks, and it was the last straw. I don't need that negativity and it was just making me super-irritated with people I don't even know in real life, but would now avoid like the Plague if I ever had the misfortune to meet them.

I'd been wanting to do both things for ages, but I think it felt like severing my last ties with the professional theatre world. When I ran into people from grad school and they asked what I was doing, after they'd rattled off their list of rehearsals and shows, I could always pipe up about my volunteering or something interesting I'd read on the listserv. Now I can't. What will I say instead?

Who knows? Who cares? I'm not working in theatre. I'm not using my master's degree. I'm not having a baby anytime soon, either. But I'm happier this way, so my ego will just have to get over it.

Being My Own Cheerleader

Yay! I'm so proud of myself! Steve suggested that we not try and drive into the city this morning for my yoga class. He strongly suspected it would be a traffic nightmare downtown between the Cherry Blossom Festival, the National Marathon, and opening day at the new Nats stadium. I was sad to miss Miss M's class, because it's always an amazing workout, but I couldn't blame him for not wanting to get stuck in traffic all morning when he's driving two hours tonight for Jill's going-away party.

But I got up and did my 75-minute yoga practice anyway. And I finally figured out how to do Crow pose! I also did two (rather brief) Wheels and Side Plank on my right side! I have absolutely no arm strength so these are big breakthroughs for me. Earlier this week I also figured out how to push through my legs to do a Shoulderstand that is less a Leaning Shoulderstand of Pisa. I'm so proud of me! It's really exciting to feel like I'm making some progress and getting stronger.

This is Why

Last night Steve and I met at Oyamel, one of my favorite restaurants. We had a short wait at the bar, our conversation amusingly interrupted by one very-stressed out lady in search of a margarita. She was only too willing to share the trials and tribulations of her day with me, and I tried to listen sympathetically while ignoring Steve's "she is totally wackadoodle" expression. Then...oh, the food! Oyamel does little Mexican dishes--antojitos--like its brethren Jaleo (Spanish tapas) and Zaytinya (Greek mezzes). I had a grilled chicken taco with lime and cilantro and guacamole and green onion, and a shredded duck taco with tomato and pineapple slices, and then a fabulous chocolate cake with nuts and Mexican bittersweet hot chocolate, topped with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. Steve had plantain fritters and grilled cactus paddles with black bean salsa. (I dared him to try either the cactus or the grasshopper taco. It turns out I actually like cactus; he's not a big fan of the texture.) He also had a dessert we couldn't quite identify (he forgot what he ordered) topped with coconut and passionfruit sorbets. I love restaurants like this, where it's all about the marriage of interesting flavors and trying new things. I feel like I'm right inside an episode of Top Chef!

Afterwards, we saw the Merce Cunningham Dance Company perform at the new Harman Center. First, I have to say I really like the new theatre, although the glass-fronted lobby brings out my fear of heights a bit. The touches of wood inside and the layout feels really welcoming to me, although I haven't seen any actual theatre there yet, so who knows how that works. (Steve wasn't a huge fan of it when he saw Major Barbara there recently; it was, according to him, "too boxy," which I'm not quite sure I understand, but...there you have it.) Second, I've never seen modern dance before, so I have no knowledge of the terminology. But the show was fascinating and insane and beautiful. I was so impressed by the incredible athleticism and grace of the dancers. They were amazing. There were parts of it I didn't care for, mostly a long solo in the second piece, but I really enjoyed it overall. For the 20-minute third piece, Eyespace, they handed out iPod shuffles to each audience member. We each hit "shuffle" and had our own unique experience of the score and the show. It was a neat idea; the experience was very isolating, and I found myself paying more attention to the music in my ears than the dance onstage. It made me think a lot about the nature of a show and how I like the communion of it, experiencing it with others. It also made me think about my commute, how I'm totally in my own little world when I'm listening to my iPod, even though I'm surrounded by people on the metro.

It was a night of trying new things and really, really liking them. We learned we're certainly bigger fans of modern dance than we are of opera. Next I want to try ballet!

And I have to confess that a tiny part of me kept thinking how appalled my family would be by both the night's meal and the entertainment. I mean, if they're freaked out by yoga and butternut squash, can you imagine their reaction to the discordant mechnical music and modern dance and cactus paddles? I can just hear my stepdad, all, "What the hell is this supposed to be?" It made me giggle. But it also answered my sister's question perfectly. Nights like this are why we live here.

New Spark

Who knew that counting calories could make a girl feel so empowered?

I’ve always associated diets with feeling grumpy and deprived. It was always an “I can’t” mindset—I can’t have cookies or chocolate or—well, you get the idea. I tried Atkins once for two weeks and I’m going to blame the serotonin drop from going abruptly carb-free for being a total bitch the whole time. I’ve seen my mom struggle with Weight Watchers and shady diet doctors and Curves and all sorts of different programs, off and on, my entire life, without ever sticking to a consistent lifestyle change. I didn’t want to fall into what I see as her unhealthy, unhappy patterns of yoyo dieting either. I vowed back in mid-February that something had to be done.

Well, thanks to Jilly’s recommendation, I did do something. I joined Sparkpeople. And seriously? I am so glad. It is awesome. I love it. I sound like a freaking commercial when I talk about it. Just the simple act of logging all my food and exercise every day has been incredibly motivating. I love seeing my weekly accomplishments there in black and white. Granted, it took me a few weeks to stay within my calorie range consistently. On Easter, I still ate an entire day’s worth of calories in peanut butter eggs (loooove). But I don’t feel deprived when I stay within my range, even the low end, if I make smart choices. My new favorite sandwich is a whole-wheat pita with chipotle hummus, cucumber slices, roasted red pepper, and goat cheese. Actually, goat cheese is my new favorite thing in the world. I love zucchini too: especially zucchini and a can of diced tomatoes over pine-nut couscous with a little goat cheese and pepper on top. And carrots with hummus. And...I could go on, but the bottom line is that I really do like vegetables, and it's fun to experiment with new menu options. And I can still eat a few Dove dark chocolates or Life Savers. The key really is moderation. And not eating something just because it’s available. And planning ahead. My coworker just asked if I wanted to have pizza for lunch, but I suggested Quiznos instead and promptly went to their site to check out nutritional data. (So many restaurants have this now and it’s genius.) Hello, honey bourbon chicken with a side salad of fat-free balsamic vinaigrette. I will be seeing you shortly!

And I’ve exercised all but four days in the last month! I'm really proud of that. I set a March goal of 1000 exercise minutes, and after I do my 75-minute yoga class tonight, I’ll exceed that with four days left in the month. The message boards on Sparkpeople are filled with really dedicated and helpful people; when I feel my motivation to work out flagging, I read them and see the inspiring progress others have made. I’m starting to exercise an hour a day six days a week and I have to confess that while I don't always want to get started, I have so much more energy than I did before. It’s fantastic. And I feel so much better about myself!

I have a goal of losing 20 pounds and I know it’s totally possible. I'm becoming addicted to feeling so much healthier and more energetic.

See? Such a commercial.

Culture Clash

In the midst of a family Easter celebration, my stepcousin--whom I see only at this annual Easter lunch, and whom I graduated high school with--asked me if we're planning to have kids.

I was completely surprised by the question, all wide-eyed, stammering, What? and she continued, Do you get asked that all the time? To which I truthfully replied, No, never, actually. When I'd gathered my wits, I explained that, yes, we do want to have children. In a few years. And before she moved away, she made a joke about how she was way ahead of me. She has three kids already: six and four and three. And they're adorable, and they livened up the boring family gathering considerably, and it tugged at my heartstrings a bit when the blonde three-year-old in her pretty pink Easter dress called for Mommy. But ohmygoodness I cannot imagine being responsible for them.

Still, sometimes I wonder what this time in my life is for, exactly. I've done grad school--in retrospect, I think perhaps too soon, and perhaps not the right program for me, but nonetheless I do have an M.A. I'm married. We've decided that D.C. is our city, and we're planning to move into the actual city this summer (yay!), but home ownership is still several years in the future. But...what now? I'm so goal-driven; I find myself feeling restless a lot lately. Like, is it okay to just relax? Really?

I was unusually quiet at family gatherings this weekend. For ages I had classes or wedding planning details to fall back on in a conversational lull. Now I'm not sure what to talk about. I feel so self-indulgent sometimes. I'm writing my book. I'm off-and-on looking for a job that will be more challenging. I'm...spending a lot of time navel-gazing? I guess that's okay. But the parts of my life I'm most excited about (save my writing, which they are endlessly supportive of) aren't things my family can necessarily relate to. They laugh about my newfound yoga passion. When I asked my mom whether she'd ever tried butternut-squash ravioli, she looked at me like I'd grown two heads and frostily informed me that people around here do not eat things like that. My sister asked me why we want to move into D.C. when it's so expensive, and all my reasons dried up under her dubious stare. I know that my family--especially my mom and A--are very, very tightly bound to their routines, and they both tend to question and disparage things that are new and different. It's about them; it's not about me.

The job situation aside, I'm really happy with my life. I wish going home for a weekend didn't make me question that, didn't make me feel the need to provide a list of accomplishments and intentions to somehow prove myself.