Inertia. (Katie)

The inertia of today - of this week - is breathtaking. It is an absolutely amazing day outside. 73 degrees with sunshine and the pleasant noises associated with peaceful, happy, kids-are-in-school neighborhoods. A dog is barking, a lawn mower has just started down the block, and I can hear the murmur of two women through my open windows as they walk together, crunching through dried leaves. I do not know what to do with this day. It defeats me. I've already done the things you are supposed to do to maintain your home; I've cleaned the kitchen, started the laundry, changed the sheets on the bed, unpacked from our abrupt trip to Kentucky and clipped the dogs' nails. My husband wants to rake leaves tonight when he gets home. I should start ahead of time so we do not have as much to do. But I probably won't, and I'm not really sure why. All those things took me until noon. I have wasted the afternoon and now it is 3:18 pm. And I'm in front of my computer writing about how I'm not doing anything.

It's been a strange week. Unexpectedly my uncle died on Monday, a week ago today, as I write this. For a week I had a reason for my attention to wander at work. To forget to give Bella, my darling incontinent great Dane, her medication so she had accidents in the house again. I didn't exercise, in any way. The spare time when not at work was consumed by trying to find flights to Louisville, talking to my parents who had already made it down there, calling my brother and sister, trying to find a house sitter for the dogs. I understand this is just what you do when something unexpected happens. But to have so completely dumped every other obligation to concentrate on this event, even when there was nothing I could do but pace, did not speak to me of clarity of mind. I do find this troubling.

My uncle was more of a grandfather than an uncle. He always made me feel special, and pretty, and loved. He had a voice rubbed rough by whisky and cigarettes, and huge hands with giant callouses from his job as an electrician and from his hobby of rebuilding motor engines. He made southern noises that I can't replicate and every time he saw me would say, "there's that sweet thang! C'mere sugar!" The southern accent is a comforting thing.

I'm trying not to make this a eulogy to my uncle, because there already have been several, all done by people who knew him better than me. But to see all those people brought together by his death was a place we had not been before. We have been an extraordinarily lucky family, in that the only family death I remember - ever - was my grandmother's 10 years ago. She was elderly, and ill, and it was not unexpected. This is new.

So, because this is new, watching the people in my family navigate this was educational. My cousin, the son of my uncle, is younger than me. But he was an old soul this week and gave me a blueprint on what this might have looked like had this been my father. I got to see how my mother might cope with this. Because this is a huge fear for me. Losing my parents. I know this happens to everyone at some point, but I have discovered that the thought makes me quake to my core in fear. I don't take them for granted, but they have always been there. This is probably not a fear that you can take on as a challenge, but it has been reassuring to see that it is survivable. However it's not a fear that I can sustain for very long. It rears up with a vengeance when I hear that my dad has a coronary angiogram appointment in Iowa City, or when my mom has to have an MRI for unexplained back pain. Or when my uncle dies. But then those fears fade into the background of my day to day life and become dormant until the next thing happens to poke them. This I find amazing. That the biggest fears are ones that don't occupy most of our mind's time. Or at least mine - I imagine that parents must live there on average more than I do. What is that? Trust? Trust that the systems in place and our loved ones' good judgement will keep everything running smoothly until it doesn't? Does the mind become too overwhelmed at the thought of losing the people we love that it has to relegate it to "emergency fear" so we can concentrate on what to have for lunch, or where to get gas, or what type of laundry detergent to use?

My husband and I got back from Kentucky last night. I couldn't face the thought of work today, so I took it off. Tomorrow I have to do a day-long observation in a kindergarten room. This always gives me a heachache. I think that to be a pre-school or kindergarten teacher one has to have the prescience and intuition of an air-traffic controller. I do not, and so they are exhausting to watch. And then tomorrow night is my scheduled swim practice that I avoided last week because it was Too Much. And, funnily enough, my husband just called with an ETA time to commence leaf-raking.

I think my obligations are returning to consciousness, and dragging my feet feels irresponsible. So, tomorrow will be busy. And probably the next day too. I hear my husband now in the driveway. The dogs are barking. Any second, the rest of my life will burst through the door. And the next time I post, it will be about normal things like exercise, anxiety, work, angst, blah. But today feels like a threshold, where I can use the past tense to say that my uncle's death was difficult. His death also showed me again what I already knew. That my family is one to lean on if I need it. They can take it. And that even the biggest fears will retreat in the presence of well-meaning people bearing homemade lasagna and hot dishes.

In a side note. My husband, upon hearing that I was in a group of strong women, now calls this my "post-feminism-call-to-arms-group." And he just asked me if I was going to burn my bra.

Here's to Deetsie.

Brain farts, AWAYYYYY! (Katie)

All right. This is supposed to be about fear and conquering said fear. Only, I'm afraid and not afraid. My biggest fears, like social conflict, are things I don't really know how to tackle. Have a grueling round of holiday party small talk where not once do I say, "Oh, that is so interesting! I read this study once that...."? I do not know how to use sarcasm as a joke. I do not know how to respond when people say passive aggressive things to me. I do not know how to act as if an inside joke is not an inside joke. I am not suave. I can stick to weather, and until we get to the real meat of a conversation that is all I got, so I hope you like talking about how nice it is that we have sunshine this time of year.

So, because of all those, "I am not's" I am routinely paralyzed by the social dynamics most people are comfortable with. And when I say paralyzed I do not exaggerate. I once went to a Christmas party hosted by a colleague where I took the guest list for granted and that it would include only our small circle of people I work with daily. It did not. I knew when not only the superintendent of the district I am employed by, but also the superintendents of the neighboring districts started showing up that I was in trouble. After accidentally offering the (clearly and obviously) pregnant wife of the principal at the high school a beer, I spent the entire 4 hour evening playing with our host's dog. With my husband by my side giving me wildly questioning looks indicating his total incomprehensibility at how I was acting. We beat a retreat as soon as it would not look like I was running out of the house with my pants on fire, and I tried not to hyperventilate as soon as we slammed the car doors. Upon which my supportive husband turned to me and said "you're really bad at that. We should never do that again." I was, and still am, in total agreement. Social situations cause me such anxiety that really, it is most helpful to everyone involved that I skip them.

So, what does that leave? There's plenty of things I am afraid to try, but mostly because of fear of actual bodily injury. I'm not a risk taker in the physical sense of the phrase. No one would classify me as an adrenaline junkie, although my husband would dearly love it if even a LITTLE bit of the time I was. Somewhere along the way I have become cautious with my physical person.

But I don't want to confuse "adventurous" with "adrenaline junkie." Because I do feel that I am adventurous. At 22 I backpacked in Scotland and England for a month, and then turned around and took the geriatric tour of Germany with my then-78 year old grandmother a week later with a bus full of other similarly aged people for 3 more weeks. (And wasn't THAT a treat! Don't mistake me, I love my grandmother dearly and it was a fun trip, but to be the only person younger than 65 automatically designated me as the suitcase schlepper, destination finder, curb spotter, and dinner-table-saver for the duration of the trip.) I worked for two summers at a camp for behaviorally disturbed 5-18 years olds in the boundary waters of northern Minnesota. I worked in Maine for the same reason. These experiences shaped my career path in that now I work full-time with behaviorally challenging kids. I applied (and was on the way to, had I not met my husband) to work in Scotland as an educational psychologist. If I find something I have an interest in, I don't have paroxysms of insecurity that prevent me from pursuing it.

But, I think there's the problem. I find it SO easy to talk myself out of being interested in stuff that involves effort and planning with the potential for failure. Am I interested in physical health? Sure, enough to eat right *most* of the time and to take walks with the dogs. But enough to actually get to a competitive level in sports? Nah. Do I like photography and enjoy taking pictures? Well, sure! But enough to put it out there and take criticism for it? Not really. Do I want to have a closer relationship with my only sister? Definitely! Enough to do the work? Sometimes.

I hate that good enough has become my philosophy. I am so averse to feeling anxiety and stress that I will go to amazing lengths to avoid it. My psyche craves equilibrium, and when I feel anxiety and stress my coping mechanisms aren't always the healthiest. Most often I eat. But, in the recent example of my wedding in June, I lost 20 pounds and was probably the most fit I have been in 5 years. However, the entire driving force behind this weight loss was the not-uncommon fear of looking like a whale who puked up a bolt of taffeta. As soon as that fear was gone, I went back to my old habits and quickly gained 12 of the pounds back I had (PAINSTAKINGLY, EXCRUCIATINGLY, EXACTINGLY, OBSESSIVELY) lost.

By the way, to lose that weight was an awful process. It took 6 months to lose 20 pounds and I counted every calorie in and every calorie out. My nature is not detail driven for the most part. "It'll be fine" is my rallying cry. It was exhausting, and more than once I wondered if I was a thin bride-to-be trapped in a body meant to survive Arctic winter on nothing but grass roots and reindeer hooves. However, I am now faced with the reality that my ass is spreading and my underwear is not fitting properly. This is distracting in meetings.

So. (Rein it in, Katie). Here's the challenges I have for myself. I have printed, matted and bagged 19 photos I have taken in the last 4 years, and am getting ready to put them up for sale at a local (very small) craft fair. I don't know where this is going to go, if anywhere. No one will call me Ansel. But, I guess I want to see if anything I have is marketable. Here is one:

I took this in New York, in April of 2007. My husband hates it and says it's not a real photo (I don't know what that means because clearly it is), but I like it and have included it anyway.












My second challenge to myself is to get my rear back in gear. I know how to do it. I did it less than 4 months ago. But it's SO HARD. I don't want to put a weight loss goal on it, but more of a fitness threshold. I want to swim 50 meters in 35 seconds (I'm at 47 seconds now). I want to stick to a workout schedule. Period. That's it. I DO NOT want to talk myself out of being fit.

So.... I guess onward and upward.

Stay tuned!!