tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85879539227040298332024-03-12T19:34:20.230-07:00The Daily BaileyFaith, family, and mental health.Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.comBlogger1382125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-85903076628649442422023-06-15T10:16:00.003-07:002023-06-15T10:19:37.571-07:00The world as chatterbox<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOplXL_t0-zPvnQejshvVI6CSnRQspclyOguhdpKAuiZ6hbJRyzzIOb-WHJbtS6g0FDERMlwQFn_k14o3-If-Pn9_rUPziEbrpOK0pdD9Fs6T221w-bBGG-qlxyFOspWL6VrvNfHAmAUh059hPSyNM4oTQNKHmBvSSf7SIJvzLFe2zCFh03UQr8iZ/s4032/IMG-0091.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOplXL_t0-zPvnQejshvVI6CSnRQspclyOguhdpKAuiZ6hbJRyzzIOb-WHJbtS6g0FDERMlwQFn_k14o3-If-Pn9_rUPziEbrpOK0pdD9Fs6T221w-bBGG-qlxyFOspWL6VrvNfHAmAUh059hPSyNM4oTQNKHmBvSSf7SIJvzLFe2zCFh03UQr8iZ/s320/IMG-0091.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />There is a barista at my neighborhood Starbucks named Baylie, and nine times out of 10 whoever takes my order at the register spells my name on the cup using her spelling rather than mine and I think that's sweet. It shows affection for their own, and they do seem to like Baylie, particularly this one young man on their team with whom she seems to have a little flirting thang going on. :)<div><br /></div><div>I hope it works out between them, and that they invite me to lead the espresso toast at their wedding, having been a homonym of the bride and all.*</div><div><br /></div><div>*And also a former Starbucks barista, thank you very much.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of coffee shops, and restaurants like Panera where people camp out with their laptops or come to catch up with a friend over lunch -- do y'all share my same overwhelming annoyance in overhearing others' conversations?!? Is it just me??</div><div><br /></div><div>Look, I understand that these are the exact places <i>designed </i>for folks to gather and chat and not be expected to keep quiet. This isn't the library, I get it. But the particular way that my blood pressure rises and the urge to roll my eyes becomes so intense when I have to listen to people across the way talking about their dating lives, or their kid's dance class, or their particular contributions to this work Zoom they're on...forget it. I can't. I mean, I would say many types of situations in life cause me to arrive at my worst, but in the listening-to-others-gab category, oh I'm at my worst. (Ya know, when I'm not busy being at my worst stuck in traffic or waiting too long to eat lunch or just generally judging and being jealous of people.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Truly though, I completely get the fact that people have the right to assemble in a coffee shop and that hundreds of times I am SURE <i>I</i> have been the annoying one yapping one table over driving some other cranky lady hyped up on too much caffeine nuts while she has to listen to me talk about my cat or Céline Dion or whatever middle school novel I'm currently reading in great detail. </div><div><br /></div><div>I understand that this is a normal part of daily life, in a period in history when there are a whole lot of us on the planet and so we are bound to be near each other in close proximity a lot. I also recognize that sometimes the nearby ramblings of others don't bother me one bit -- so much of it depends on how well-fed, well-rested, well-hydrated and generally happy I am in a moment to determine how accommodating or irritable I might be. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't really have a point here (I rarely do). I suppose I'm just looking for a communal "Amen" that we're all annoyed with each other, with the same exact strangers who in other moments we can deeply love and find true connection with. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess what I'm saying is that rational understanding doesn't always breed patience, or sympathy, or compassion or general reasonable, civil reactions from humans. At least not from this human. </div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time, Friends. -- The DB</div>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-66997790680556839142023-06-14T16:46:00.001-07:002023-06-14T16:46:21.488-07:00Navigating<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgllSMHkfd25-Z5PBJMDU20Yx3aol9_aKuoaUTdC0ySdLePrkN6MUYr7EbWd-kehf81EBqGfDVEVcnjy1WI0vkEeA4vlNv3bx6esPWhW-btqqIGP939K1hmnhPuAWGFl-fnue9nUWNboE6Qm8yuHRlNUqlIxdqhAO_-QDguIACwbiDC2XnD-TdRSd/s4032/IMG-9907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgllSMHkfd25-Z5PBJMDU20Yx3aol9_aKuoaUTdC0ySdLePrkN6MUYr7EbWd-kehf81EBqGfDVEVcnjy1WI0vkEeA4vlNv3bx6esPWhW-btqqIGP939K1hmnhPuAWGFl-fnue9nUWNboE6Qm8yuHRlNUqlIxdqhAO_-QDguIACwbiDC2XnD-TdRSd/s320/IMG-9907.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Good afternoon, Friends.<p></p><p>Long time, no blog.</p><p>I'm not sure I'm really going to use this space and my time to explain my absence, nor will I explore or make promises to you or myself about how many blog posts I'll promise you in the near or distance future, so let's just say for now, right now, I am here. And if you are reading this, you are here and we are here together. </p><p>So welcome back -- to both of us, I suppose -- and I hope each party is uplifted in internet community or whatever through this here little blog post which let's be real will be about some topic or thought(s) that I am yet to determine. </p><p>Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, and buckle your safety belt for whatever's about to happen below. </p><p>***</p><p>I drink a lot of mint tea these days -- "tea," rather, as I understand any "herbal" brew without caffeine to be not actually tea but in fact just a good-old-fashioned regular leaf in water. Mint tea used to be one of the varieties I most disliked, as I think I found the understated water to be slightly depressing, or boring. I also think I wrote a blog post about how I came 'round to enjoying mint tea, circa 2010. </p><p>Anyway, that's what I drink now, most afternoons at work. At least one cup, sometimes a second or a third. I like that, being stimulant free, it can't further agitate my proneness to anxiety. I like that, being warm, it brings a touch of coziness, slowness, care and comfort to my space, particularly after I ease back into focused thinking and tasks following my lunch break. I like that it doesn't tend to oversteep and become harsh in flavor the way a well-intentioned pekoe or Earl Grey might. </p><p>I like the somewhat idiosyncratic irony that in being mint it is cool but being brewed in hot water it is also warm in the same sip; I find subtle identity in the cup, recognition of being a strange person with sometimes contradictory opinions and often moody feelings -- as I see my reflected image on the liquid surface I also feel a sort of understood, quiet kinship with this beverage I'm holding that seems to be the same way, with its mind both never quite made up but also VERY made up on certain ideas and wishes and rankings of pop singers.</p><p>So what I'm saying is my afternoons get pretty philosophical, OK?</p><p>***</p><p>I feel left out a lot these days, or left behind, which has been the case for many days, weeks, and months throughout various periods of my life but is certainly not always true. I can point to several times when I have felt very welcomed, celebrated, and gathered both consciously and organically into a friendship fold. </p><p>A lot of the reason for this current season of jealousy and sense of injustice is, frankly, money. The world has become a much more expensive place -- cost of food, drinks, lodging, transportation, rent, retail items, etc. have all gone up considerably in a relatively short period of time. I also think that travel has become more in vogue in the last couple of decades, and has not always been paired with a thoughtful or realistic regard for the fact that travel is a luxury experience. Even on a shoestring, things like airfare are expensive. Airbnbs, hotels, food, gas -- it ain't cheap. Perhaps this is anecdotal, but I have found that the many positives of travel have been preached more and more since my adolescent years and meanwhile the larger conversation in our society about the <i>practicality </i>of visiting Mumbai and Madagascar and Miami has not been adjusted. </p><p>I have made financial decisions in recent years that I have learned from, and I am still learning to re-build tendencies and create new, better habits in that regard. One of the ways I've somewhat improved in my spending is to at least draw a cap on what I deem to be justifiable for purchasing, particularly when it comes to non-essential, big ticket items or excursions. However, making these choices to scale back can lead to feeling left out and left behind. </p><p>In addition to feeling like I can't financially participate in certain things or am not invited to certain things, I also leave myself out of things. I have consciously pulled back from several relationships after my feelings were hurt, either by a brash comment that was made or even by what both I and the person delivering the joke knew full well was a joke -- and I have a pretty good sense of humor, generally. But I'm also pretty damn sensitive, Guys. Too sensitive for my own good, that is for sure.</p><p>I've pulled back from people and events, for many reasons including the fear that I might be bored, ignored, jealous, angry, or uncomfortable. I truly did not consider myself to be someone with social anxiety before, but now I catch myself finding lots of excuses not to attend things and then finally realizing I'm sometimes just scared to go. Recently I had to talk myself into going to a birthday party, telling myself it would be good for my general mental health to get out and socialize, reminding myself how wonderful the birthday girl is, and finally telling myself that if I don't start attending events again on some sort of a regular basis then this social anxiety and feeling left out/left behind/generally "other" is only going to get worse. So to this particular most recent party I went, and I made some friends for the night and talked about Dolly Parton and <i>Crazy Ex-Girlfriend </i>and coconut water and it wasn't great but it wasn't terrible and I enjoyed my time to an extent. I sipped two non-alcoholic beers, left before midnight, and got up for spin class the next morning, well-rested and not hungover and able to kick some relative ass on the bike, I might add.</p><p>***</p><p>I've changed a lot, and I spend a lot of my energy trying to reconcile the way I knew myself to be for several decades with the way I feel now. It's hard, upsetting, annoying, and causes a primary theme in my life of feeling discontent on either side of a situation or character trait. </p><p>I find, often, things that used to excite me a good deal -- putting on makeup and a cute outfit, having drinks with friends, getting to know strangers at a party -- no longer give me a reliable dopamine hit or confirmation that some of my best bits of personality and sociability are still life giving. Now, the good side of this is that I can find gratitude in less grand moments of life, when I leave an event where I am wearing makeup and trying to have fun with friends and recognize that I will feel more refreshed the following day because I am in bed reading another chapter rather than ordering another round. </p><p>But ultimately it's still hard to find myself feeling unhappy -- or flat -- in moments and circumstances that used to be fun, and to feel maybe not <i>un</i>happy in "opposite" situations (e.g., hanging quietly at home, not spending money) but also not real thrilled or excited or joyous, either. It all leaves me feeling kind of Blah and Blegh and I'd prefer to feel like Bailey. </p><p>***</p><p>So that's (some of) where I'm at. As always, I love to read and love to smooch on my cat. I have piles of books and a pile of fluff in my home that I can count on for nightly comfort, and -- somehow, by the grace of God -- I still have people who show up in my phone and my email and my socials telling me they love me and like me and that to some extent in their own way they understand some of this stuff I'm going through and that they dislike it for me when I am discontent. </p><p>I am moving forward. I am trying to figure it out. I am trying to figure me out. I am doing a lot of exercising and making sleep a priority and drinking water and giving thanks for my job and coworkers. And apparently: blogging again. Well, for now, People. For today. We'll see what's next. </p><p>Xox,<br />The Daily Bailey</p>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-10647423642553885922020-08-24T22:55:00.000-07:002020-08-24T22:55:18.214-07:00Take Five!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHrCjCaimGn7omSi59TQUFbzBoPXF1vvvfSsEhyphenhyphenBBJ7uZxSSt4D_MXg1OFrhZ4a6iJ3VoAKPsNOvhOdkl_hJRmAkiFIzVS6L7FQnEFkkaaIjZ5O10wuYDKjdqoaLASC-NTyxmtCxiUB4/s2048/IMG-9766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHrCjCaimGn7omSi59TQUFbzBoPXF1vvvfSsEhyphenhyphenBBJ7uZxSSt4D_MXg1OFrhZ4a6iJ3VoAKPsNOvhOdkl_hJRmAkiFIzVS6L7FQnEFkkaaIjZ5O10wuYDKjdqoaLASC-NTyxmtCxiUB4/w384-h512/IMG-9766.JPG" width="384" /></a></div><p>Wow, Y'all. This got long (but it's bullet points so relatively a quick read?). I think I need some new things to do. But also what are you doing, watching <i>Gilmore Girls</i> for the eighth time? You've got time to read this. I mean, if you want. No pressure. OK here we go!</p><p><b>Five things I'm good at</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Petting cats (no, really, though. My methods are fine tuned, and even timid felines respond well)</li><li>Making someone I've only just met feel very safe and welcomed</li><li>Letting people say something they are scared to say because it's not widely welcomed and not run away screaming</li><li>Talking to anyone about anything anytime</li><li>Writing (not always coming up with something interesting to say, but sentence structure and such I have down)</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things I'm not good at</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Volleyball (or being competitive/taking an interest in winning in sports)</li><li>Asking for a raise</li><li>Telling people that they have hurt my feelings</li><li>Putting letters I write in the mail within a reasonable amount of time</li><li>Convincing myself that I will be OK and content and confident one day</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things that frighten me in general</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Belly dancers (they are very sexually forward)</li><li>Peacocks (same reason)<br /></li><li>Using street drugs</li><li>Embarking on a new career/job (fear that it will be too hard, I won't like it, etc.)</li><li>Bungee jumping. No thank you.</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things that frighten me in current circumstances</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The nature of communication and relationships in our country</li><li>The election in November</li><li>Not having a job</li><li>Monotony/social isolation</li><li>Being misunderstood, I guess</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five foods that I love</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Watermelon (even though I rarely eat it, or any fruit)</li><li>Kraft macaroni & cheese, the spiral kind, with black pepper on top</li><li>Pizza -- any kind will do, but pepperoni/pineapple/jalapeno is a personal sweet spot for me</li><li>Restaurant pancakes, with a tiny hint of saltiness, melted butter and sweet syrup. Never mind that I can only down about four bites of a short stack before I'm totally full. Yasss. </li><li>Ridged potato chips with French onion dip</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five items in my closet that I love</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The color block cardigan sweater from ModCloth</li><li>My "All I want for Christmas is Celine Dion" sweatshirt</li><li>The dalmatian belt I found at a thrift shop in Kansas</li><li>The Hawaiian print maxi dress I got a year ago and still haven't worn but I bet looks even better now since I've lost weight</li><li>The <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B4IkhUmJFjt/">Sally dress</a> I made for Halloween last year</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five people outside of my family who have seen me cry </b>(or at least listened to me do so over the phone)</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Alex</li><li>Michelle</li><li>Wendy</li><li>Steph</li><li>Sam</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five vacations that were especially memorable/hold an extra warm, cozy, happy place in my heart</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>When my family went to various towns and scenic points in Colorado, summer of 1998</li><li>Chicago, October 2014. First time I met my bestie's husband, surprised Dad who was running the marathon, made soup for old college buds, sleepover and manicures with Michelle, and an "autumnal lunch" together as she described it, my first Rachael Yamagata concert with Nick. I had just adopted Max and would soon start dating Alex, though I didn't know that. I was at a good, happy, independent spot in my life, and I remember that trip as a moment in time, sandwiched between good things just happened and about to happen, oozing with cozy Midwestern gooeyness and people I love to pieces.</li><li> Table Rock Lake, summer 2011. I was taking a summer class in grad school, and I drove to meet up with my bestie who had just gotten married, her husband and parents. My favorite day was when we took the boat out to a cove, anchored, wore life jackets as diapers so we could sit and bob in the water, turned on the radio and just sipped beers and talked and laughed. </li><li>Centerville, Iowa, summer 1996 (?). I could be overlapping a few trips into one melded memory, but they always involved radishes dipped in salt, games of Uno at the kitchen table, indoor golf putting, trying to stack blocks on uneven carpet, and my grandparents who always smiled and joked and laughed and made us feel good. This particular summer was one of the supercharged, brushed-with-pink-highlighter ones, because COUSINS were there. It was a family reunion year, I believe I was the owner of a bottle cap smiley face necklace, and while the boys were away fishing or something, the aunts and nieces prepared a water fight heist for their return. It was epic and perfect.</li><li>Spring break, 2001. I was a sophomore in high school, and I chose to spend part of my week off with my grandma, simply because I enjoyed her company. I think maybe my brother drove me there and stayed for a day or two. While Grams had a doctor's appointment I went to the mall and bought a Dido CD and some clothes, she took me out on her gravel country roads and taught me to drive her red Jeep Cherokee, and after she went to bed I stayed up late and watched Gilmore Girls, allowed to eat all the ice cream I wanted. Epic and perfect. </li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five weddings I've attended that I loved</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>My "Uncle" Dan and his wife Pam. At sunset in Missouri, no more than 30 - 40 people in attendance. A three-piece band playing "Play that funky music" and "Mustang Sally" while I cut a rug with the minister (Dad). My mom and I each got a glass of red from the bar and clinked together in a Cheers. Later the best man came over and said he had watched our moment from across the room and found it really special and moving. </li><li>Ed & Kailey. I had only briefly met them once before, as evidenced by the fact that the name placard at my place setting said "Alex's Girlfriend," which I thought was hilarious and a once-in-a-lifetime silliness. Many of the attendees were part of the groom's softball team, and there was much raucous chatting and dancing throughout the night. I ignored Alex for much of dinner to talk deeply about all things in life to my brand new gal pal seated next to me. When "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" started playing, a film crew might as well have been present, because there was so much exuberant singing along and dinging a spoon on a plate to the beat happening that we basically created an updated music video. Also I'm pretty sure I made several requests from the DJ and I think he played all of them. </li><li>Corie & Cyle. The whole bridal party spent the weekend in a ginormous house with like five beds crammed in each room for full-on camp experience bonding, the wedding was outside by the lake and the reception was on the lake in a cruise boat (dance floor on the roof). My pops helped with the ceremony, so I got to hang with the 'rents, my friend gave me a very fun side pony curly poof updo, we did a little joy ride out on the boat after the nuptials. And at the rehearsal, they had Amber Bock and I put pulled pork <i>on top of</i> a burger and dipped each bite in ranch dressing, get on my culinary genius level, people. Boom. So good.</li><li>Jason & Laura. The first time I attended a wedding top to bottom, rehearsal through reception. My big bros and I drove up to Michigan in the snow, listening to Nickelback (yes) on the radio and I at least (yes) enjoyed the listening to Nickelback. I had never been to a wedding before to witness all the bridesmaid dresses, the dancing, the clinking of glasses to get them to kiss. It really opened up my imagination to a world of planning my own wedding, even though now I'm fine with a very bare bones (read: cheap and not intense/stressful) affair.</li><li>Nick & Garrett. A beautiful event, for sure, and I had lots of fun with all the pre-planning and preparation, but mostly it was just a very special day to see someone I love very much live into his true being and go before as an example to me. </li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five random classes I've taken in school</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>History of the Middle East</li><li>Folk guitar</li><li>Introduction to HR</li><li>Ballet</li><li>Games (Yeah, seriously. In seventh grade I took a six-week course where I learned to play chess, backgammon, and some other things that I don't remember how to play now)</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things I miss doing while we are waiting out Covid</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Going for long runs/hikes without a mask</li><li>Putting on makeup, perfume, and cute clothes to go out and meet up with peeps</li><li>In person interviews for jobs, actually. Felt like the ball was really rollin' when those were happening.</li><li>Working out with my trainer</li><li>Visiting KC to eat burnt ends and cheesy corn bake and have Boulevard on draft and squish nephews and have nightly happy hour with Mom and Dad</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five ways in which I've changed since my youth</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I'm much better at getting up in the morning. I'm not grouchy or unkind with those around me, and I become fully functional very quickly.</li><li>I am open to dressing and acting and talking in feminine ways.</li><li>I'm not nearly as willing/committed to going out of my way to make sure that everyone in the room is included and has someone to talk to. I still hate being left out and as a result am very intent on making connections between people and always hoping that my friends will hit it off with each other, but I no longer take it on as my personal responsibility to carry a conversation or babysit people. Also, I'm now super comfortable with silence and don't feel the need to talk to people sitting right next to me; if we're both choosing to simply exist nearby each other without conversation, I don't think we're necessarily being rude or shy or inappropriate in any way. </li><li>I will actually interact with dogs now, and that was not always the case, believe me. </li><li>I drink alcohol now. I'm not even sure I was ever at a single party in high school where it was present, and I barely drank in college and even then I waited until I was legal. </li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five ways in which I've remained the same</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I still find cats to be incredible creatures and I still get very excited any time one comes in the room and talk baby talk to it, even and especially if it is the one I have lived with for six years now.</li><li>I still love bright colors and dress in terms of comfort over style, for sure. </li><li>I'm still "one of the guys." I can be surrounded by men and not bat an eye or feel the need to flirt or be cute. I am equally skilled at joining boys in shop talk as I am at ignoring it (as well as their burping, wrestling and toilet humor). Putting on "I have three brothers" blinders makes for a good life, my friends. :)</li><li>I'm still loud. And hyper. And dramatic (even though I still won't actually admit I am dramatic).</li><li>I still love the written word, and music. </li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five types of cuisine I love (favorite dishes in parentheses)</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Thai (Pad Thai, spring rolls in that light dipping sauce, Massaman curry and pineapple fried rice, please. And anything with that peanut butter-y sauce or dressing, duh.)</li><li>Bar/pub food (shoestring fries w/room temperature ketchup, chicken tenders and honey mustard, tots)</li><li>Chinese (lo mein, cashew chicken, Beijing beef (at Panda, obvi), crab rangoon with hot mustard and sweet and sour sauce, hot & sour soup)</li><li>Indian (chicken tikka masala, chicken korma, lots of basmati rice & chai)</li><li>Italian (pizza, hello. Spaghetti & meatballs, fettucine, ravioli, lasagna, and all the parmesan cheese you can manage. Keep it comin', People). (Ideally this is in a red leather booth with my boo at Pinocchios with cheap glasses of wine, headphones in as we write).</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things that stress me out when I think about planning a wedding</b> (P.S. Not engaged. No rumors. Ah, whatever, this is quarantine, you're bored. Start rumors, just don't call the tabloids. Unless Bridget Jones is reporting the story, then call the tabloids).</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Picking bridesmaids and bride's boys. I do not repeat do not want to hurt feelings. Left to my own devices I could easily, truly pick 20 of y'all to come up and represent! as my crew, but realistically I'll have to pare it down to like six and. And, I just can't.</li><li>Money. I don't have it. Next.</li><li>Being too in my head reminding myself to enjoy the day that I can't actually enjoy a day in which every single thing in place has been hand selected by moi and, oh yeah, I'm marrying my person.</li><li>DJ set list? I mean what if I'm being so badgered about flowers that I forget to tell Khalid that "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJLIiF15wjQ">Wannabe</a>" and "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6wbugWrfLU">That's the Way it is</a>" are MANDATORY? <i>Love has come to she who believed it and therefore we must hear the Queen declare it to us ONCE AGAIN. </i></li><li>The fact that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJsa6-y4sDs">the Queen</a> most likely will not actually be able to provide her in-person entertainment at the event itself</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things that excite me when I imagine a wedding</b> (still not engaged)</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Employing my brother and dad to offer their carpentry skills for a theme I have in mind</li><li>Setting the niechews (nieces and nephews) loose to open the ceremony with their own personal dance moves (Two thousand percent this element is more important to me than having an adult bridal party)</li><li>Having it be really small, like teeny weeny, and then spending several months afterward inviting our friends in various cities to meet up with us at pubs to have a bunch of mini receptions</li><li>Getting ready with my girlzzzzzzzzz. And a few of my poor boys who are going to have to put up with our Valley girl fast chatter.</li><li>Wearing my Grams' dress that Mama wore, too.</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five famous authors who I've never read</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Austen</li><li>Twain (And I have been educated in Missouri. I know.)</li><li>Hemingway</li><li>Steinbeck (OK, fine, I've started, and, like, his prose is beautiful, but it cannot be sped read, OK? So I've only really scratched the surface and don't consider myself an actual "reader" yet)</li><li>Tolkien</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five magazines I've had subscriptions to</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Seventeen</li><li>YM</li><li>Essence</li><li>The New Yorker</li><li>Smithsonian</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five places I'd like to visit</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Wieliczka salt mine in Poland</li><li>The Smokey Mountains</li><li>Tuscany</li><li>Santorini</li><li>This place I found online once in upstate New York that has like all these brick walls half broken down, half emerging from the ground and it looks like a magical outdoor playland where my brothers would have a FIELD DAY. </li><li>Bonus place: House on the Rock. Been there before but I will go back. I must. And there's a quirky hotel nearby where I need to lodge, plus my brothers and I have a very serious shared dream to go to this attraction during Halloween and scare the pants off ourselves. I will wear a diaper in preparation.</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things I've never told a therapist</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Ha!</li><li>As if</li><li>I'd reveal that</li><li>here.</li><li>Move along, Nosey.</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five musical artists whose work I love</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>This has of course been established but: Céline</li><li>Glen Hansard</li><li>Agnes Obel (new discovery for me. Incredible and one of a kind)</li><li>MØ (and that's not just because someone thought I was Danish at her concert, though that certainly skews my affection)</li><li>Mark Knopfler</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five albums I love</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd</li><li>Chesapeake, Rachael Yamagata</li><li>Brothers in Arms, Dire Straits</li><li>By the Way I Forgive You, Brandi Carlile</li><li>The Way I Am, Jennifer Knapp</li></ul><p></p><p>Five shows I will likely watch over and over for a long time (favorite character in parentheses)</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Felicity (Felicity. Close second place Javier. Close second second place Noel)</li><li>30 Rock (Tracy, followed by Frank and Angie of course and Grizz and Dotcom and Dr. Spaceman OK this is hard)</li><li>Friends (Joey)</li><li>Friday Night Lights (Tami and Landry)</li><li>Wonderland (Miranda, Harry, Maggie, Rob. And Collette and Dani. I have trouble picking favorites)</li></ul><p></p><p><b>Five things that might make me a bad person</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I once broke up with someone on Christmas Eve</li><li>I once told someone I would go to a dance with him and then later told him I wouldn't</li><li>I kind of don't want to vote in November (I more than likely will, but I'm not feelin' real great about it)</li><li>I don't think most puppies are very cute (and even though I'm obviously enamored with all cats, I greatly prefer the full grown kind over the kitten version)</li><li>I used to turn in assignments torn straight from my spiral notebooks (and got real annoyed when my teachers made me cut off the edges first)</li><li>Also I dog ear books. ...Yup....</li></ul><div>......anyone still reading or have you all unsubscribed now that you know I'm a monster?</div><div><br /></div><div>[Even though it doesn't really make someone a monster if they fold over a piece of paper to mark their place. I call that a life tool, not the move of a villain.] </div><p></p><p><b>Might make me a great person/your best friend ever</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I have edited many college essays pro bono</li><li>I have been known to send bouquets of flowers when they are least expected</li><li>Generally speaking, my outfit will usually not match and I will be the one speaking loudest and revealing more personal truths than I should, so if you're with me in a crowd I'm probably going to make you look better/take attention off you if you're not into that.</li><li>I am always willing to painstakingly break down the tiniest of details within a fictional television show world. So if you need to discuss whether Felicity really made the right choice for her love life in the end <i>and</i> discuss how weird those Todd Mulcahy episodes are, I am here for you. </li><li>I am pretty darn generous, with both tangible belongings and my listening ear and commitment to throwing a party for you. </li></ul><p></p>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-46472781843068438232020-08-23T18:15:00.001-07:002020-08-23T18:15:34.101-07:00My birthday party in the year I turned 14<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBBkS0wF_0cxXIecSoSvcM1eBz892KJoD3u4vlxmBP6XlIzROvF4Po06i0y1XVbgBxtOmBipPrVSLqNwi52vv3TnryyliptO864qb9zDQv0wz2UUJ83LC-0zJg2drmIPiL3C5LuuYX6U/s2048/IMG-9740.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBBkS0wF_0cxXIecSoSvcM1eBz892KJoD3u4vlxmBP6XlIzROvF4Po06i0y1XVbgBxtOmBipPrVSLqNwi52vv3TnryyliptO864qb9zDQv0wz2UUJ83LC-0zJg2drmIPiL3C5LuuYX6U/w410-h307/IMG-9740.JPG" width="410" /></a><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p><p>I just showed this picture to Alex over FaceTime and he asked, "Who is that girl sitting right next to you who looks exactly like you?" and also, "Why is she in front of the cake if it's your birthday?"</p><p>I then proceeded to tell him about three blonde girls in my past who had at one point or another been mistaken as my sister or straight up twin or straight up me. </p><p>The answer to Alex's first question is: Laura, who was my best friend from church when I was in the eighth grade. This picture is from my 14th birthday party, and I think this was probably the first time that I invited school and church friends to hang out in the same social space, which was pretty revolutionary for me at the time. </p><p>Remember when it was so weird to think about being friends with people outside your grade in school? And how much INSTANTLY cooler a girl was the second she started dating an upperclassman or even got invited by one to a dance? (Now that I think about it, I was actually twice asked to dances by boys one grade ahead of me, but I consider this purely incidental/anecdotal and does not vouch for my coolness or cuteness, I argue). Anyway.</p><p>Today I have friends of all ages, including very close friends, who are anywhere for six to 40 years younger or older than me (obviously the 40 years only applies to people older than me, as I do not (yet) have any friends who are negative five years old). I think one of my favorite things about being an adult is that I can completely set aside the notion that I have to be within the same age group of someone in order to have a real connection and relationship with them. So many well outside my decade of high school graduation have provided me with so much enjoyment, camaraderie, safety and comfort. </p><p>Finally to the point of this tangent: I once read in a psychology book that when people start having kids and sending those kids to school, their group of adult friends tend to have less to do with common age between them and more to do with their children's common grades in school. Interesting, eh? I mean, it makes sense, but this is one of those things that I, anyway, wouldn't necessarily think about without a researcher to observe and then tell me about it while I do my summer class homework at a Starbucks after work. </p><p>Ohhhhhhh K. Where were we? Oh yes, Alex's second question: why is Laura sitting in front of the cake and not me? I don't really know, nor did I notice, nor does it really bother me? You know, like in terms of symmetry even? I thought at first maybe it's because my brothers had lit the candles just before the photo was taken, but then I remembered being very interested in my newfound grown up skill of being able and unafraid to light a match at this past point in my life, so it's likely I lit the candles actually, and maybe Laura even helped me. </p><p>So it's an unsolved mystery, People, and one I could care less about but one that caused Alex to ask an immediate question, which just proves once again we are incredibly different people. Seriously I feel like he is the natural journalist given the questions he asks. Not that I ask bad questions when I do reporting, but I definitely ask different ones than he does. Maybe we should team up, travel the world and write for <i>National Geographic</i>.</p><p>Nah.</p><p>OK moving on. </p><p>***</p><p>The picture above is from my birthday party in the year that I turned 14. It may have been taken on my actual 14th birthday, as it was on a Sunday that year and I have in my memory that this party occurred on a Sunday (also that makes perfect sense, as church (and Laura's home) was 30 minutes from our home, so it's very likely that Laura rode home with us after church and then her parents picked her up later).</p><p>OK so what do we know so far? It was my 14th birthday party, Laura was sitting next to me, candles were lit. Possibly a Sunday.</p><p>And now that we're, I don't know, 1000 words deep into this post and I've told you very few pieces of information you're probably no longer reading but that's OK I'm going to keep typing. But new information is coming now, I promise.</p><p>Other people in the picture: my three bros, and my friends Liz and Emily from school. I knew both Liz and Emily primarily through band. We may have had some classes together, but they were lunch buddies definitely and occasional sleepover and Halloween party buddies as well. I remember one time explaining <a href="https://www.mathsisfun.com/algebra/sohcahtoa.html">SOH CAH TOA</a> to Emily over the phone and was super impressed with myself for doing so effectively. I'm still really impressed by that, because, how? Guess I do have a knack for making things clear through words, even when they are mathematical concepts. </p><p>My oldest brother was home from college for the summer. My mom was taking the picture, and my dad was in Missouri finishing his first year of seminary schooling. As you can sort of see through the windows behind us, we lived in a beautiful wooded area in Colorado. We hadn't sold our house yet, but within a couple of months we would, and we would move to be with Dad, to a new region, new schools, new jobs. It was not completely easy or completely terrible, and I do have several good memories of that time and a longstanding affection for the area as well. I would consider living there, with its urban/suburban sophistication and brick homes and generous supply of foliage. </p><p>I'm sure there was sparkling grape juice in the goblets. My cake was a football field, because I was a tomboy like whoa. I was wearing the necklace my small group leader at church gave me as a gift the week before when Laura and I were confirmed. I think it had a sunburst with a cross on it, to represent my confirmation verses. Sadly at some point I lost it, but wore it for a good while first. </p><p>Maybe five years ago, my small group leader was in LA visiting her son, and I went to meet up with them. We had wine before the son's play, then went to a diner afterward. I met his wife that night, and later discovered that both of them know Alex through the acting/sketch comedy world. About two years ago they showed up at a party I was at, and I had no idea they knew the host, so when they walked through the door I freaked out and immediately texted my siblings that our childhood friend was on the same patio as me. </p><p>***</p><p>My 14th birthday party was notably smaller than those of prior and several future years. I don't fully remember why, but if I had to guess I would think that one of the factors driving that choice was because I was going through a season where I felt kind of left out from some things and groups at school, and honestly probably felt like maybe some attention within one group was shifting away from me and more to other people. I'm not proud of this attitude, and I also don't discredit my feelings from the time. It's very hard to remember the details of 20 year old memories, but I remember feeling very sad and hurt and depressed to a degree, probably, because of shifting social dynamics. So I think it's likely that I decided to invite just a few people who I felt safe and happy with at the time, and I'm proud of Past Bailey for honoring her feelings and the needs of her heart. That was probably a very pivotal moment for me to step into such agency and really helped set me up for many good things in my future ahead. </p><p>Other random things I remember from that day: </p><p>I think we played basketball with the hoop in the driveway. We pretended to smoke the birthday candles as if they were cigarettes, which we thought was very funny and original and fun. I think one of my gal pals gave me some silver cake batter lip gloss from Bath & Body Works, and it was very exciting to see it frost my face and smell its yumminess. Metallic lip color was <i>very</i> on brand for the late 90s, even if I was a tomboy and hardly wore makeup beyond watermelon Lip Smackers. </p><p>Hold up, I (obviously) just googled this to see if it's still available for purchase, and you mean to tell me that it's Lip SMACKER, SINGULAR?</p><p>!?!?!</p><p>Gonna pretend my whole youth has not just been put into question based on this new fact, so that we can wrap up this post. </p><p>Was it ALWAYS Smacker, just the one Smacker not more than one Smacker? (I guess this is promoting monogamy among young people if we're subliminally asking them to land on one partner to plant a smacker on? But even then they should be allowed multiple smackers with the one partner, yes?).</p><p>I really cannot with this. I'm gonna need some time. </p><p>Also doesn't seem the gloss is available for sale. Sad. </p><p>OK for real let's wrap this up. </p><p>My parents still have that kitchen table. It lived in storage during our jaunt in St. Louis, but he's still kickin' in KC. </p><p>Laura made the volleyball team that year at school (much cooler and more athletic than I), and her family got a pool table for the basement. We frequently hung out after church at her house, playing SkipBo and watching MTV I think. Her dog was named Cody, I think, and she and I had a joint confirmation party. </p><p>Liz, a tiny person, played a very large tuba and was quite good and made the local honor band more than once I think. One of the rooms in her house had bunkbeds in the closet for storage reasons, I think, but at my request we most definitely slept in them once. </p><p>Emily was a dancer and I called her on a Friday between commercials telling her to quick, turn on ABC and watch <i>20/20</i>* because they were doing an interview about her topic for our research papers in English. She was full of spunk and kindness and always quick to laugh. </p><p>*The good ol' days, with Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters and John Stossel and yes I watched every week after Sabrina and Corey and Topanga.</p><p>***</p><p>To sum up, this picture was taken in the last few months of a time that I remember with great fondness overall. For five years my family lived in a gorgeous area, we had a hot tub at our house, <i>loved</i> our church and pastor and youth pastor and small group friends. I was good in school and enjoyed my teachers and assignments. I loved going to middle school dances and usually led the others in dancing without concern for how they looked while doing so. Hopefully they grew to feel good while dancing just however they wanted to dance, because frankly I really just wanted them to have a good time like I was having. And hopefully they still like to dance now, if just around the island in the kitchen while we wait out a pandemic. </p><p>Xo,<br />Me at 14</p>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-25927825246437435832020-08-22T15:22:00.001-07:002020-08-22T15:22:12.525-07:00Analysis of a cluttered room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaH-IxpyYL_vRLOIYmqdy9UnUp13m8pI4b0zrkf91JwSupLda1eLpZ8Nv4VSpQ3ASCnZKmGIV2wU-Jz2RE43rEDq43v4gBCER_nCxe4jZ02yPNZOtx1qRfeEl99ePPYgxN1fL8tCm-h1k/s2048/IMG-9729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaH-IxpyYL_vRLOIYmqdy9UnUp13m8pI4b0zrkf91JwSupLda1eLpZ8Nv4VSpQ3ASCnZKmGIV2wU-Jz2RE43rEDq43v4gBCER_nCxe4jZ02yPNZOtx1qRfeEl99ePPYgxN1fL8tCm-h1k/w384-h512/IMG-9729.JPG" width="384" /></a></div><p>I have pretty much, basically, always inhabited a cluttered bedroom. A period of exception that I can remember is when my family was selling our house in Colorado and so when we were at school during the day our rooms had to be relatively tidy in case there was a showing to a potential buyer. </p><p>I also remember at some point during that school year asking my mom if the realtor and house shoppers were looking at the insides of our closets, and she was like, "Yeah," and I was like, "Oh."</p><p>I most definitely "cleaned" my room each morning before running to the bus by shoving things into my closet and crushing the doors closed around them, abiding by the logic that no one would never look in there because why would they want to see my troll doll collection and many latch hook kits as a basis for their home purchase decision? </p><p>(Now that I am older I understand full well how appealing a walk in closet is, and in fact it is one of my most desirable items in a future home, so I get it that looking inside a closet is mandatory. My dream closet would allow me to have nearly all of my clothes hanging up on hangers -- yes, even casual t-shirts -- so that I could see everything at once, have a cubby or drawer or something for all my workout clothes, nails on the wall to hold purses and belts and necklaces and hats and scarves. This is the dream and hopefully someday I will see it realized in all its glory. Also a full bathtub, slanted ceilings/walls, a little protruding window nook, built in bookshelves, and a patio/deck/private outdoor space please and thank you.)</p><p>Anyway, I told my older brother this, that they were looking in our closets, and he was like, "Whoops," because he, too, had been operating with the shove-and-stuff method of closet "cleaning."</p><p>So beyond this period in eighth grade when my bedroom was clean but not really because all my secret messes were in the closet, I have always lived in clutter. </p><p>It is actually a very difficult thing for me to grapple with, as it affects my anxiety and discontent and lowers my self esteem and no I'm not being funny. If I could change a few things about my personality and life, near the top of the list would be having a better adherence to tidiness, because I know it would help me so much. I will say that since Covid began, I have managed to realize that while no matter what I will always very quickly make a mess of a space, I now have the confidence and awareness that in about 30 minutes I can put things in various corners and nooks and take out the trash and voila it looks much better and I can breathe easier. I used to get over over overwhelmed every time I tried to clean, furthering my dismay and dislike for myself nearly every time, but I do think I've had a recent breakthrough in that regard so that's a(n actually enormous) win. </p><p>OK ANYWAY. </p><p>The point of this conversation so far is to introduce the picture I have posted above that is of a bedroom that is not actually one that I ever lived in long term, but it is one that I stayed in for about a week in 2005. </p><p>I have been flipping through old print photos from all the disposable cameras I used to carry around in my youth, and I don't know the degree to which this will become a trend for me and my writing, but I am considering using various pictures as a jumping off point to write love letters to my past and people and things in it. </p><p>So let me introduce you to the bedroom at a convent in Johannesburg, South Africa and my many various belongings that I can identify and recall with much clarity even though I'm pretty sure I don't own any of these things anymore except maybe the photos and a bible that were inside those bags. </p><p>***</p><p>So, first: the bed. The one in the corner there, with the pillow propped against the brick, that was the one I slept in. My dear friend Samantha rested in the other one, pictured more in the foreground. This bed is, to date, one of the ones that I remember as being the most comfortable of my life. I'm not even sure it was a real mattress, but rather like a big pile of feathers or straw except not pokey? I sunk into that bed and it was awesome. It was like solid but not hard and it was no nonsense and it just cradled my very jet-lagged body and it was a welcome proprieter for my arrival into a big semester of learning and growing. This was the very first spot we stayed in Africa, so by the time I finally hit the pillow I had been awake for, I don't know, maybe 30 hours at least? I slept hard that first night. I also remember one of my final thoughts before drifting off was the wonder at where I was on the globe. I had never been outside the US, and it was so crazy to fully grasp just how far away I was. (My parents told me later that during that semester they were at a museum or Union Station or something and there was a giant photo of sand dunes -- maybe in the Namib desert -- and they said they just held each other looking at that image, knowing I was out there somewhere. God bless them so hard for letting me go on that adventure, when I'm sure they were freaked out about it. And God bless my big bro who honestly really helped convince them to do so.)</p><p>OK, second: the company. As I mentioned, my girl Sammy was in this room with me. We already knew each other from our undergrad campus in the States and were already very good friends. We decided to room together at this convent where we were told Desmond Tutu would sometimes holiday, and so we obviously of course told ourselves that we were sleeping in Mr. Bishop's quarters, even though it was likely he was usually put up in the flat above ours that I think actually had its own bathroom as opposed to the hot pot and tea that ours was outfitted with.</p><p>Which brings me to, third: the hot pot and tea. Yes, there was an electric hot pot as well as rooibos (red bush) tea bags and I think, too, a tin of biscuits or rusks for us to enjoy at our leisure. Rooibos is a decaffeinated tea and I prefer it with milk. Generally speaking I drink tea without cream or sugar, but rooibos is an exception. There is a British grocer/novelty shop in Santa Monica that sells rooibos and raisin rusks and these tiny mint candies that I like and once in a while I will buy all three and transport back to being 20 in the southern hemisphere.</p><p>OK, I realize this is long so I will now move on to the STUFF in the room and try to describe each item quickly. Ready? Here we go:</p><p style="text-align: center;">On the bed: </p><p>The khaki green (fake?) cuorduroy jacket: purchased, I believe, at Macy's during winter break sophomore year on a shopping trip with Mom. It was trim and casual and more trendy than most of my wardrobe and made me feel stylish. I do believe this was the warmest article of clothing I brought with me, as I predicted I would not ever desire a sweatshirt or sweatpants or other various layers during the spring and summer months of my stay. I was wrong.</p><p>The Herbal Essences toiletry bag: I think the bag itself was a Christmas gift my freshman year of high school (-ish), maybe from Grams, and it had various small bottles of shampoo, hair spray (which I can still precisely smell in my mind's nose), etc. inside it. I proceeded to use it to hold my toiletries on just about every vacation for several years until I finally tossed it maybe three or four years ago. </p><p style="text-align: center;">On the floor: </p><p>The Kansas City Chiefs duffle: No doubt a "hand me down" (read: I probably just decided I was allowed to inherit it) from one of my big brothers. This, too, went with me on many vacations, especially those requiring car travel and/or not enough days away from home to require a roll-y bag of luggage. I also used it as my gym bag for a long time (I recently, suddenly remembered that I used to always bring a duffle to the gym, and at some point I just stopped I guess), and got rid of it maybe three years ago? because it was starting to fall apart and had some weird sticky stuff on it that didn't come off in the wash.</p><p>The blue and silver running shoes: I want to say Nike, but they may have been New Balance. They were a narrow cut, which made my wide feet look extra hip, despite the fact that they were usually paired with conservative knee-length skirts and wide-strapped sleeveless blouses to be respectful of our many hosts in southern Africa but also to protect my footsies from all the walking we did. Later I discovered that one of my best friends, Corie, had purchased the exact same pair for herself, which we thought was hilarious and awesome because there tend to be a lot of similarities in our very different lives. </p><p>The red backpack: This backpack was purchased when I was 17 at a K-Mart, and I threw it away when I was around 31, replacing it with a purple REI pack that has its facets but is not the same, we all know that without me having to tell you. The red backpack became so faded and torn that I finally had to say buh bye. But before I did it went on many plane rides, train rides, around one high school and across two college campuses. It visited at least two, maybe three countries, and went to many states, hotel rooms, one or two hostels, Hawaii I think yes but Alaska no. It served me well. There was a Canada keychain on one of the zipper pulls that my brother gave me, and I salvaged that at the site of our parting, a dumpster in Encino.</p><p>The modern art design photo album inside the red backpack: A Dollar General purchase, I believe. I took with me for this semester two albums of photos featuring at least one shot of basically anyone I knew. Family, grandparents, cats, friends. I think it was suggested to us that we bring photos so that we could show the families who hosted us in their homes, as a conversation starter and to make our time with them more meaningful and intimate and kind, I guess. And/or I wanted to have pictures with me so that I could look at the people I love who were far away (remember, this was 2005. I didn't have a laptop, smart phone, or anything of that nature. I'm pretty sure over the course of four months I talked to my parents on the phone just twice. It was certainly tough at times). Anyway, at my first homestay, in the historic Soweto district of Joburg, the girls I was staying with were so taken with a picture from my senior prom that I let them keep it. Makes me smile to think it might still be buried in a drawer somewhere, in a private home that doubled as a bed and breakfast, or maybe in a big girl flat. Makes me smile even more to think that someone might pull it out and be like, "Who the -- are these random white people in my drawer?". I really hope it brings silly confusion if not a kind memory to whomever has it now. </p><p>The floral print fuschia top that is smushed in the duffle: I think my mom bought this for me at Kohl's before I left on my trip, to help create a base of outfits that would keep me cool and be professional. I would wear that top now, except that it became pilled and I no longer have it. I remember one of the women who cooked for us during that semester said that she liked it and I said thanks but that I didn't think it was me; I was still very much a tomboy in those days. She said something about how the flowers on it were bright, or happy or friendly or something, and that that was me. Her comment forever shifted my perspective and now I love love love floral prints. (Side note: this kind woman and her colleague made us some sort of cold lentil tuna salad that I loved and several loaves of piping hot bread. I would carve off inch-thick slices and slather them in butter and slowly my pants did stop fitting.)</p><p style="text-align: center;">And finally, on Sam's bed:</p><p>I think that is a tote with our alma mater's insignia on it. Sammy and I are still friends and in recent months have had two phone conversations that were each four hours in length. This was not difficult for us to do nor were we a part of some kind of world record challenge. We just enjoy each other that much. Our first real conversation was in a field in front of the arts building 17 years ago this very month, and we have never lost our ability to gab. She is one of the funniest people I will ever know, astute and well read, and her self-assuredness shows me that I can live my life in nontraditional ways and it's actually totally, totally OK. </p><p>So, you see, it's obvious why I roomed with her when we arrived in a faraway land just moments after leaving our teenage years. I had my first full beer that year, nursed it for at least an hour and it was warm when I finally drained the glass. A Hansa on draft at <a href="https://www.southafricanbedandbreakfast.info/accommodation/Windhoek/Cardboard-Box-Backpacker/">The Cardboard Box</a>. If I were to go there now, I would do almost everything differently, with less fear and more conversations with my heart, actually listening to her and following some of her instructions. But ain't that the truth for most things? I was different then, younger, newer to my time on the planet. What it was is fine, and it is best for me to just love that baby Bails, understand her choices, and do things now to offset some of the things I wish I had been brave enough to do then. My past is not a mistake, just something to take notes from, I suppose. Highlight various passages and study for the next exam.</p><p>As someone at a dusty desert hostel would say, back from spying warthogs and easing their muscle strain with some freshly poured suds: </p><p>Cheers. To our past, present, and hope. </p><p>Xox</p>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-10211416527809759882020-08-09T15:14:00.003-07:002020-08-09T15:29:05.521-07:00The stripes of a Tiger<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MJaPH_nNEPOiRjyHtmC7u-RFPjFANLbWL7YIp4WncdBbZq3j7bDl7qHnE_hd4m70ICetCWyV5bPRBMSBenxHdv1Gciuexz1dIM7E_SKH9N2ziM62-WtiuYJ6OOry4dNDq2CRMpmGlTA/s2048/IMG-9523.JPG" style="display: inline; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MJaPH_nNEPOiRjyHtmC7u-RFPjFANLbWL7YIp4WncdBbZq3j7bDl7qHnE_hd4m70ICetCWyV5bPRBMSBenxHdv1Gciuexz1dIM7E_SKH9N2ziM62-WtiuYJ6OOry4dNDq2CRMpmGlTA/w307-h410/IMG-9523.JPG" width="307" /></a></p><p>Ten years and one day ago today I attended a wedding. The nuptials were held in the chapel on the campus of my undergrad alma mater, a metaphor I've never realized until literally just now, as shortly after the wedding reception I climbed into the backseat of a car, popped some Benadryl to knock me out and slept all the way back to Missouri where I would start graduate school the next morning. It was like a direct hand off of the educational baton, one last visit to my old stomping grounds before meeting my new ones. </p><p>On August 9, 2010, I passed a student on the steps outside of Lee Hills Hall reading a newspaper (he would become a ubiquitous fixture for all of us, just like that with his creased pages) on my way into that lecture hall on the end of the building, with recessed seating and a cozy warmth to it. Y'all know the one. </p><p>My first day of "boot camp," where we spent probably two hours going around the room listing our bachelor's degrees and institutions, sharing why we came to journalism school, and a fun fact about ourselves. My fun fact was that I had just obtained my very first cell phone a week before. I think I started rambling and quickly finished my set with a shouted: "I'm not shy!" and then shut up so the next person could talk. </p><p>After my introduction, a few people down the row one boy said his name, then dipped his head my direction and said, "And I went to Valpo too." Shocked that there was another person here in this space that went to my tiny school of less than 4,000 students, I refrained from totally freaking out publicly (but I'm pretty sure I went straight to him during our next break to compare notes about all the people we both knew). Several weeks later I would orchestrate a game of pick up football in the park, and it was here that this boy and I collided heads HARD. In retrospect, we should have gone to the hospital, but ya know, here we are. </p><p>Ultimately, yes, I am glad that I went to grad school, but mostly, no, I don't feel proud of my professional accomplishments since crossing that stage wearing a fancy master's hood. I'm still trying to figure out if that really matters. Lately I've been looking at a more comprehensive evaluation of my life and its blessings, potential, idiosyncratic creature comforts. </p><p>I met some people at Mizzou who have stayed in my life ever since. I've been on cruises with them, driven to northern California to see them, or even scarier yet driven to Orange County to see them when they're in town. Their emotional support and silly friendship have been invaluable to my life, and they alone are worth the cost of student fees and giving hours of my life away to grading exams as a teaching assistant...</p><p>...</p><p>my eyes are still bloodshot from those nights of combing through essays about media framing and deciding whether each one deserved exactly 16 or 17 points out of 20. (And then later defending my choice of giving only 16 or 17 points during my office hours when students came and contested. Thank God for coffee, is all I'm saying. Sophomores fighting for an A instead of a B are pretty intimidating.)</p><p>I rented a dirt cheap apartment, Peeps, a fully furnished basement of a house with a kitchenette, utilities included. Free laundry, no pet rent, private entrance. My walk was shoveled in the winter, smoke detector batteries replaced. Upstairs was my dad's best friend from high school (and still best friend today) and his wife, and one of my biggest regrets during my time there was that I didn't go upstairs to hang out with them during the blizzard in 2011 when our cars were all buried in snow drifts for a week. </p><p>***</p><p>My first reaction to a girl who I now trust my heart to fully was one of jealousy. On our first day of reporting class she was called down to the front as a star student example to talk about the article she had written for the paper the day before. Later she spied me in the newsroom flirting with some guy and thought I was easy. In the spring we were assigned to an editing "triad" together, and that summer when she called me on the way home from a road trip my connection to her really took root. </p><p>I cried a lot during graduate school, which actually isn't saying much because I'm a crybaby anyway. The stress was real, there was always something to be done, a paper to write, articles to read, community events to attend then come back to the news desk and clarify things for an editor before they finally hit Publish and I could go home to the cat and white wine and gummy candy, pilfering Netflix documentaries using my ex's account until I decided maybe I should cut ties and stick to the free cable I was provided. </p><p>I "hated" the town where I lived at the time, but looking back I think that was only because I had no money and limited spare time to enjoy its many charms. If I lived there now I'd utilize the heck out of the bars, local craft brews, cozy downtown, lush trees, balmy nights and confident thunderstorms. I would bring Max my tiger cat to be a real life mascot in the land of university Tigers. I would attend my first football game at Faurot Field once Covid is finally gone for good. (I did tailgate twice, once to write a story about homecoming traditions and another to actually sip suds in the sunshine). </p><p>The coffee at Kaldi's was way too caustic and even though they had the best interior woodwork that made you feel like you were in a loft, goodness it was crowded and noisy and I couldn't concentrate and you had to get a new receipt every two hours to access the WiFi which, seriously. </p><p>The sweet potato chips with horseradish BBQ sauce paired with a gin & tonic at Addison's, however? Primo. I had one of my biggest laughs ever there, hanging in a booth with a random group after we chilled in the hot tub at the awesome indoor grotto on campus. Another time a few of us gossiped there, seated at the bar, about how James Franco had been sighted in town that weekend for the annual documentary festival. </p><p>I remember those two years with reality but also with much fondness. </p><p>I can still taste the donuts I bought from Starbucks every day before class, until my savings sifted out. I hosted a Halloween party and a birthday party when Kansas turned 150. I made lentil tacos for two boys who were roommates and asked one of them to chop the onion because it made me cry. I went to a conference in Michigan and drove to St. Louis to see Anne Lamott on her book tour, then caught up with my friend John. </p><p>On St. Paddy's Day, I think, we played Wiffle ball by the columns and then it started pouring and we relocated for beers and then I cross stitched on the love seat, taking a rare Saturday completely off. One of my best friends got married the summer in between my two years of instruction; I wore a blue sundress and had an awesome side pony updo poof and we danced on the roof of a cruise boat in the Ozarks after sunset. </p><p>Various classmates took turns catsitting for Dibbs, enticed as I offered them full access to my extensive VHS collection while on the clock. And speaking of Dibbs, he met me at the door every night, let me sling him over my shoulder, already purring. He got fat in that apartment and then petite again. </p><p>Michelle would have me over and feed me meatloaf and curl my hair while we watched The OC. </p><p>I experienced some serious anxiety, depression, late night fear of my own brain during those years. I turned the TV on while washing dishes and ironing at times just to have sitcom chatter in my space so I wouldn't think I was going crazy in the silence. </p><p>One night, on the phone with a classmate, I told her I was cutting up an avocado and she said, "Are you a f***ing princess?! Those are like a dollar!" I still laugh at that memory, how we were all broke but always found some loophole excuse to meet up at a watering hole and avoid our scholastic responsibilities.</p><p>I'm grateful for that time, for the education, for the laughs, the coziness. The faculty who took a chance on me and believed in me. The boys who flirted with me and made me feel interesting. The friends who I still text and call and wish I could get together with on more frequent occasion. That February clothing swap while it rained and we sipped red wine and told each other how great we all looked in each other's old duds, giddily clutching wads of cotton skirts and jackets as you dashed to your cars! Such a great afternoon. </p><p>One decade later I'm obviously reflective, evaluating where to go in my career, my dreams, my relationship with words on a page. I've spent the last several years being both jealous of my classmates and also knowing that a hard news pursuit was never the one I was after. </p><p>My self esteem has suffered and then suffered some more, but recently my brain doesn't find it too out of line to imagine writing a book, starting at an entry level marketing position, working my way up to be an HR recruiter, moving to Australia, hand sewing a quilt. </p><p>Life seems, so far, to be a wearing journey through confidence and angst and finding sudden, unexplained pure peace in a moment when distant trees somehow tingle my edges and I know that I'm totally, a thousand percent OK. </p><p>My future is a big old question mark. My present is a lot of tidying, shuffling, hand stitching. Dreaming. My past holds, in part, Mizzou, and I do love that, even if it wasn't perfect. </p><p>May you all find your way. And may I mine. Always with a tiger tabby cat to mascot me through. </p><p>XO. M-I-Z. </p>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-66091907976421993502020-08-05T18:36:00.002-07:002020-08-05T18:36:30.328-07:00Alphabet soup and my new hobbies of cycling and avoidance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK663-2KY7Nw-SIYfSIJoZwTSftSdE0pVraIbqoWkSczOelun3et4TwzrY2luB4WFNLI_ZG63scbHcGf1rGiXrAXVdQyFmyEyUkXPrCYOKL5wbJNUu5vWcb6eKLaUeGxulXWHjr8KTyYY/s2048/IMG_8969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK663-2KY7Nw-SIYfSIJoZwTSftSdE0pVraIbqoWkSczOelun3et4TwzrY2luB4WFNLI_ZG63scbHcGf1rGiXrAXVdQyFmyEyUkXPrCYOKL5wbJNUu5vWcb6eKLaUeGxulXWHjr8KTyYY/w384-h512/IMG_8969.JPG" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Well. Hello there. <div><br /></div><div>Been a minute, eh? </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like 80 percent of blog posts around the world must start with some explanation or acknowledgment of space between posts. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which is boring and annoying to be honest. And yet here I am participating in the tradition.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sitting here in a big ol' chair that could almost be a love seat listening to the Iron & Wine Pandora station. </div><div><br /></div><div>An ad just came on, after one song. Ads on music stations -- and YouTube, and Prime -- and those interruptions every time you enter a website to tell you about their cookie policy or to ask for your email address in order to get 10 percent off -- all these things are my new nemeses. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm very cranky these days, in quick bursts or for several hour sprints. It's fun for all involved. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm continually restarting my pluck. Lots of walks around the block, occasional walks away from devices, forcing myself outside, forcing myself on a FaceTime call, reminding myself to be grateful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Someone needs to take away my Amazon Prime account, for sure. Anyone need some candles, toothpaste, vanilla syrup? I've got it all, Friends. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm applying to jobs, all of them. Every kind, size, flavor. Cycling between feeling like Icanofcoursewhywouldyouevenquestion crush that HR director job even though I have no experience and feeling like I would never be accepted for a baby girl internship for an online 'zine even though I have a master's in journalism and my byline is easily searchable already. </div><div><br /></div><div>Life is a lot of cycling these days. Content, grateful, looking forward. Angry, agitated, ready to give up. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cycle cycle cycle. Maybe I should order some biker shorts to coordinate my outfit to these fluctuations in my insides. I'm sure Amazon has them available in multiple colors and patterns...</div><div><br /></div><div>I still only personally know one person who has contracted covid (that we know of). He was hospitalized and is home now, doing much better. I know friends of friends who have been sick or died, and I am still in awe that it hasn't brought grief upon my life yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think I watched video of the Beirut explosion twice, and that will be it for me. Too upsetting, too big, too much distanced terror to take on. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've read more news than I ever did before. Even as a "journalist" I've never been a big media consumer. I really like the Apple news aggregate app on my iPad mini, but there are certain days that I have to say, Nope. Not today. No news today.</div><div><br /></div><div>More and more and more (and this has been building for several years) I operate my life inside a bubble, in order to enjoy it and not get super upset and overwhelmed and just done with everyone and everything. I do my best to control who I talk to, when, what we talk about. I control what I watch, listen to, read, follow. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some people probably don't want to hear this, but in many ways I really hate the world we're living in, and I'm waiting until it's not quite like this anymore. I figure this will take several years to be a reality, so cross stitch and cats and bubble gummy Disney shows here I am. I know that the world has always been a place filled with great violence and pain as well as one filled with great humanity and strength and kindness, and I understand and agree with the arguments that it's always been equally, relatively rough. In my lifetime, however, I've noticed a marked shift in recent years that has really made me sour and made me not want to engage. I have opinions, I have thoughts, I have ideas for solutions, many that I think are measured and fair, educated and reasonable, but as an extroverted person who's made a life of conversation and expressing herself through words both oral and written, Friends, I'm just not interested in adding my voice to the noise. I don't want to be misunderstood, I don't want to give attention to self righteousness. I'm done.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will always be here to listen, but I may limit my time and degree of engagement, and if you ask for my two cents please know I'm unlikely to offer it. </div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>Max continues to be ridiculously excellent. I don't know how it's possible that the human brain actually perceives that our pets have gotten cuter every time they enter a room, but Lord help me if I ever have a human child because I'ma just be like SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE all the live long day. </div><div><br /></div><div>I crumpled up a tissue earlier and he seemed very curious about it, so I put it between his paws which prompted him to get up, jump off the bed and leave the room. </div><div><br /></div><div>Drama Queen. Like mama like baby kitty prince.</div><div><br /></div><div>As many days as I remember I take fish oil, magnesium/zinc/calcium, vitamins B, C, and D. It's too hot for alphabet soup so I take it in capsule form for now. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back on Prozac which has me crying way less. My therapist calls me on Fridays at 2. Sometimes he gives me homework, and he graciously lets me treat him as my life coach, walking him through the particulars of how I'm organizing my bedroom these days. He's helpful and kind and I am grateful.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have been in good hands, taken care of emotionally and nutritionally and financially thanks to the many members of my tribe, the one that I've built and nurtured and polished for years. I am a girl with her dollhouse, moving the baby from her bassinet to the high chair, letting the dog out to go wee, opening the windows, adding a hutch to the great room. I frequently feel that I have fallen behind, bitten off more people to love than I can chew, but I do hope that every random letter, email, text, and TikTok giggle I pass along is helping y'all because y'all help me. I used to be better at my craft of friendship, I assure you; everyone got all the attention all the time. I hope you forgive me for being, well, more human now. </div><div><br /></div><div>A friend of mine is sick and I don't know how to help her, given the tight parameters that germs have now put on us. She played a pivotal role in my life, she is always there for me. It's never about her. Now it should be and I feel my hands and heart are tied. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am working on a cross stitch pattern that depicts the emotions from <i>Inside Out</i>, using so many colors pleaseth me much. I am reading <i>To Kill a Mockingbird </i>for my first time ever. Ms. Lee was a masterful writer. I would be done with it already but I always crack it too late at night and fall asleep within a few pages. But it's excellent.</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally I've joined a cross stitch group on Facebook. Don't know what took me so long to be honest. </div><div><br /></div><div>All righty, time for a chicken sandwich and some rosé and sticking my face into the bib of fir on Maxy's chest. He's so warm and unassuming and a good good GOOD boy. Baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>Xox,</div><div>Max & Max's mommy</div>Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-61785369003121207392020-03-08T22:24:00.001-07:002020-03-08T22:24:34.944-07:00to the point of actually<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
My mouth has been watering all day.<br />
<br />
Googled it.<br />
<br />
Unless I've been poisoned or am teething, I've got no explanation for this, because I'm not on any new medication nor am I suffering from heartburn.<br />
<br />
But is it annoying and is it causing me concern?<br />
<br />
Yes and yes.<br />
<br />
But isn't everything causing concern?<br />
<br />
Well, mostly.<br />
<br />
Like why I keep having bad dreams.<br />
<br />
Why an hour of tidying will improve the state of my bedroom but never fully "cozy" it. And how within just a few days it looks like a nightmare again. Always.<br />
<br />
Why I can't find a full time job. Why I feel misunderstood by the entire hiring community within and without my industry, regardless of which industry I'm choosing to identify with on any given day. (The one I got my bachelor's in? The one I got my master's in? The one I randomly think I might rock in, but have no idea how to <i>get</i> in?)<br />
<br />
Why I've lost touch with my friends and only communicate with them in snippets.<br />
<br />
Why there's so much struggle.<br />
<br />
What's funny is some things are suddenly easier. For almost a decade now I've been trying to reconnect with my one-time relationship to running -- the continuity, the ease, the casual confidence. All of a sudden it's like once again not a big deal to go for a jog. It's not a huge mental struggle. On Friday I clocked a mile under 11 minutes after not running in two weeks, after having told myself at the top of the mile to slow down, take it easy, because we're getting back into this, Sweets. Apparently we were still able to burn rubber.<br />
<br />
I mean, my grade of rubber; I'm not an Olympian, Friends, and I never said I was.<br />
<br />
One of the other symptoms of excessive mouth watering is "acute stress reaction."<br />
<br />
Now that one I can buy. Why is running suddenly a piece of cake again? Stress? ...Yeah, I'll go with that.<br />
<br />
The last time I was running on the regular I was definitely meeting that clever cliche of running from something. I was running from anxiety, from fears that were irrational but packing enough strength to cause chronic and awful insomnia, fears that followed me for another few years even if they were more or less abating as time moved forward.<br />
<br />
And then one day, I'm telling you, they were gone.<br />
<br />
With only verrrrry rare, brief flare ups that still sometimes visit me, those fears suddenly evaporated into...well, into nothing, honestly, because now they are nothing. I don't believe they went to live somewhere else, like someone found them in a thrift store and thought they'd be tough and try out a new bad girl look, only to discover man does that leather chafe.<br />
<br />
Nope. Rather: (that particular) fear? Gone.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Today I am certainly fighting stress. I'm running from it a bit, I guess, but I'm doing so in full awareness that each cycle on the treadmill is only doing so much. I'm also trying to go device free for one hour a day, I'm meditating, doing yoga, getting outside, and breathing SO MUCH. I'm not kidding when I say that I do audible exhales most of the time. Life is saturated in self talk and constant recalibration of spirit, of pluck, of honoring feelings but not housing them in some storage facility because this wareheart is full, y'all.<br />
<br />
I started exercising in December -- and I still haven't found a lasting stride -- for the sheer motive of cheering myself out of my blues. Since then its purpose has been ever-shifting to improve confidence, prove to myself I can do hard things, drop weight, boost endorphins, get out of my head, blah blah blah blah blah.<br />
<br />
I have lost weight.<br />
<br />
I'd say...yeah, I'd say I've improved confidence.<br />
<br />
I maybe haven't created a habit but I have done something enough times in a certain period of time to prove to myself that this really doesn't have to be that big of a deal to put on my shoes and get outside and jog just a bit.<br />
<br />
I'm not making light of this. I know full on how difficult it is to exercise, to continually remind yourself that it's important <i>to the point of actually </i>successfully forcing yourself to do it, even when you feel terrrrrrrrrible and felt terrible just one day before and felt so much better after a short jog or vinyasa or dumbbell rep and you can still readily remember that because hello this cause and effect happened in your life just yesterday yet still you have to once again convince yourself <i>to the point of actually</i> doing it again. Just for today.<br />
<br />
All the while not worrying about whether you'll do it tomorrow. Or need to do it tomorrow or want to do it tomorrow or whether it will be easy to do or hard to do or medium to do or OK not to do because something else will take its place of serving and supporting you.<br />
<br />
PHEW.<br />
<br />
AUDIBLE EXHALE.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
So I'm running from stress, and backward (?) to my twenty-something body (whether that is ill-advised or laughable or going against some sort of feminism standard that I "should" have, I don't know) and toward stillness of mind and few-hour long spurts of feeling carefree compliments of a well-oxygenated bloodstream and toward what is maybe a twisted or even sick aim which is to move into a memory of some positive feelings I had a decade ago even in the midst of knowing that that time a decade ago was one so filled with unexplainable fear that I couldn't even sleep most nights.<br />
<br />
Yeah. Whoa. The brain is weird.<br />
<br />
Audible exhale.<br />
<br />
So here's what I've realized in writing this, what I hadn't realized an hour ago when I started writing this because yes I discover things as I write. And yes, finding one's stride with her creative pursuits and feeling guilt and depression for not feeding those pursuits because she's afraid it might be her gift to the world and struggling with the possible arrogance and responsibility of that is something so much more intense than jogging a lap 'round the block.<br />
<br />
So here's what I've realized:<br />
<br />
<i>to the point of actually</i><br />
<br />
Not to the point of every day, habit tracking bullet journaling it.<br />
<br />
Not to the point of making a hit podcast about it, or even a mediocre or bad podcast about it.<br />
<br />
Not to the point of keeping the many VIPs in your friend and family circles abreast of your every progress and fallback and drama, even though you so badly want to have that 3 a.m. dormitory we'll-stay-up-all-night-and-talk-about-every-detail schedule open to them because you love them and they're knowing your stuff helps them support your stuff.<br />
<br />
Not that.<br />
<br />
This:<br />
<br />
<i>to the point of actually</i><br />
<br />
<i>to the point of actually</i> doing whatever it is you need to do today, this day, to honor your value.<br />
<br />
The exchange rate of a day's commodities, a moment's circumstances are going to make the required movement vary. Some days the movement will in fact be no movement, or at least less movement.<br />
<br />
The point, I guess, in how I see it right in this moment, is to convince your brain and heart and body -- your team, if you will -- that you have value that needs to be honored <i>to the point of actually </i>making a move to honor it. This may sometimes take your other team -- your cheerleaders -- to convince you or if nothing else agree to sit with you.<br />
<br />
Tonight I can convince myself to the point of actually closing that WebMD browser tab that wants me to believe I am poisoned.<br />
<br />
I don't believe I am poisoned.<br />
<br />
I believe I am stressed. I believe I am on a journey, when I might actually prefer to have arrived at the treasure chest on the map, earning a frothy lager on the house at the sight of my weary posture and scuffed-up satchel.<br />
<br />
I believe that I have value. And I believe that honor and value each need the other in order to reach that treasure chest where they can drop their satchel, the one they've carried together.<br />
<br />
I can't taste that free drink, but I can paint up in my mind the bar stool that I'll sit on to accept it.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's why my mouth is watering. I'm thirsty for what's next.Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-80499371685365140512020-02-22T12:28:00.003-08:002020-02-22T12:28:59.121-08:00Carpet under our feet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVzG9zjLrHHxBmtxjeZ5lOzm8SA-9tLDgC3smGdgSJbVRzFvdUZHrpjqMxLbjYWBSeOtHanOK8MCOdgUN-y-hCblj5PkuQeUKJ0Xib55LmDOKPOfEH4107BIr7UzZv06oVEO7kty356c/s1600/IMG-6588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVzG9zjLrHHxBmtxjeZ5lOzm8SA-9tLDgC3smGdgSJbVRzFvdUZHrpjqMxLbjYWBSeOtHanOK8MCOdgUN-y-hCblj5PkuQeUKJ0Xib55LmDOKPOfEH4107BIr7UzZv06oVEO7kty356c/s400/IMG-6588.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
When I was in eighth grade, finishing out the middle school chapter of my educational journey, my father was beginning a chapter of his own.<br />
<br />
After a year of taking Greek language classes at a Presbyterian seminary in Colorado Springs, he drove to St. Louis to move into a dorm with other middle-aged men who were away from their families (they nicknamed their home "Fossil Hall") and continue on with Hebrew coursework and the rest of his ministerial studies.<br />
<br />
Eventually my mom, myself, and two brothers still living at home would follow, but for a year we were separated with occasional visits during the holidays and school breaks.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Just this morning I saw a friend's post on Facebook -- a picture of his children eating on a picnic blanket outside. The photo immediately made me remember the picnics we used to have during that year that my dad was far away, and I couldn't help but think that my friend's children will cherish this picnic memory forever.<br />
<br />
I would post a picture of one of my own eighth grade picnics, but to be honest I don't even know if it's in my bedroom at the moment or in storage. (So in its place you get a picture of my mom and grams and I at my alma mater, circa 2001).<br />
<br />
So I suppose I'll have to use my words.<br />
<br />
In the year that my dad was beginning school, my family remained behind in Colorado so we could sell our house, so my mom could continue working to support us financially, and so my brothers and I wouldn't have to, yet, be pulled from our school district nor I from my last year of confirmation classes at church.<br />
<br />
We knew all along that we would eventually be moving into a much smaller space in Missouri, with limited storage space (interestingly enough, in all our moves over the years, it was only until just very recently that our beloved foosball table finally left our family forever. Priorities.), so one of the first things we did was host a garage sale where we sold our big sectional couch.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure a plastic lawn chair came to fill the new living room void, and beanbag chairs from Nintendo Quarter in the basement were probably dragged upstairs as well. And really, I think we did a lot of our after school TV watching on the floor. We didn't care, we were kids watching TV. You could have sat us at a classroom desk and we would have still contentedly fought over whether we were going to watch <i>Full House</i> or fly fishing footage (yes, this is what my older bro of 15 years of age chose to view. And we wonder why he's become a birdwatcher today. Brewers are born as old souls, I'm convinced).<br />
<br />
While we frequently ate at the dinner table, we weren't unallowed to eat in the living room, but to protect our carpets, Mom had us lay down beach towels as giant placemats.<br />
<br />
So for several nights that year, we sat in line on our brightly colored magic carpets, the milk glasses aligned on the fireplace hearth to avoid spillage, and together we watched Whose Line is it, Anyway?.<br />
<br />
Over time I convinced my family to watch 7th Heaven with me, and my mom really grew attached to the characters. If memory serves, she wept at the sweetness in the episode when the twins were born and declared Ruthie to be her favorite.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
There have been a million shifts and turns and adjustments in our lives since that year -- wow, TWENTY TWO YEARS AGO -- and in seeing my friend's post this morning I am reminded that we have survived all of them and that I can get through all the hectic details of my present life.<br />
<br />
Because things will change.<br />
<br />
And I can find a way in the now.<br />
<br />
My dear, precious parents no doubt struggled the most in that year apart from each other, adjusting to a new shared income, seeing each other only every few months, working or studying full time, and simply not having each other in the same space to work through things together.<br />
<br />
But Dad came home for Christmas and drove to Manhattan, Kansas to surprise us during spring break. When his school year was finally over, Mom got a job in Missouri and moved into Dad's dorm as Dad came back to Colorado to be with his crazy children for the summer.<br />
<br />
It was a lot. Life often is. But they found a way. We all did.<br />
<br />
No place to sit and balance a dinner plate on your lap?<br />
<br />
No problem. Just fluff out a magic carpet and ride that windy wave through the atmosphere until you land.<br />
<br />
Sending love to all of you who are deep in transition, or feel stuck in a feeling of this is forever. And sending love to those of you who are content. May we all serve each other in this time, with our resources, our empathy, our resilience and our humor and enjoyment in each other.<br />
<br />
Ride that windy wave. Notice the breeze. And trust in a changed future.<br />
<br />
Xox,<br />
Bailey & MaxBaileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-53444864901576602042019-08-01T22:54:00.000-07:002019-08-02T08:29:04.861-07:00I'm a feeler. <div abp="2418" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="2419" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdL4hUjKzxk_RCqotWYINM729D7TvhI8vxZMY3UbgcEFmAGyTq8QtVnfUBAnsg7WjRM4_bBLhf_sZvZi-7Dt5XmvE_JS0yvCoaZtJF1VYB6sh5wFr0mg-voyHcciSwcIp-6_7GXhaN-I/s1600/IMG-2711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="2420" border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="613" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdL4hUjKzxk_RCqotWYINM729D7TvhI8vxZMY3UbgcEFmAGyTq8QtVnfUBAnsg7WjRM4_bBLhf_sZvZi-7Dt5XmvE_JS0yvCoaZtJF1VYB6sh5wFr0mg-voyHcciSwcIp-6_7GXhaN-I/s400/IMG-2711.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I've finally discovered my party line.</div>
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(I don't even know if that's a phrase, outside of a shared phone line back in the day or a dividing line politically, but I'm tired so I'm making it a thing. A party line is the line you deliver at a party about yourself.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Example:</div>
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"So, Bailey. It's nice to meet you. What do you do?"</div>
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<br /></div>
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And here's my answer, here forward until further notice:</div>
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"I'm a feeler. I feel."</div>
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<br /></div>
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The end.</div>
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<br /></div>
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**</div>
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<br /></div>
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People, I am so unclear on what I should be doing with my life, it's pathetic.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I feel that. I feel the pathetic.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel the jealousy, the anger, the inability to let go of things that happened years ago.</div>
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I feel the sensitivity when a friend corrects me, tells me something as if I wasn't already aware of it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel the fury when I go out of my way to be thoughtful and encouraging and focused in on another and that another doesn't do a d*mn thing back in my direction.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel the judge inside, harsher than any judge anywhere anytime. Bailey B. judging Bailey B. is ruthless. All punishment, no grace.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel that which can only be described as "the SQUEE" when I get a picture of my chubby nephew, hair spilling out of his Patrick Mahomes headband. I feel the urgent and consistent need to show everyone JUST HOW CUTE.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel this need to harp and woe myself and pity party like no one has pity partied before.</div>
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I feel the hard-learned job (?) to count my gratitudes, to give thanks for the warm chamomile at my side and the fact that I have shampoo in my shower so I don't need to stop for more on the way home.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel the list of gratitudes lift me. I feel the meditations lift me. I feel the social interaction lift me. (Almost) every time.</div>
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I feel the wonder, the ache, the fear, of what this life is going to look like if I choose to be a writer. Am I even going to enjoy it? Will it be harder to choose not to write?</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel probably jealous of you. Doesn't matter what I'm jealous of, but trust me, I envy you. I envy your dinner, your money, your body shape, your career, your contentment, your laughing at that memory that I wasn't a part of, even if I was deep in a memory of my own. </div>
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**</div>
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<br /></div>
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There is a person in my social circles who I feel jealously obsessed with. I check on their social media account daily. I recognize the personal hell they've been through in recent months, yet I can't beat, can't push down nor squash nor incinerate the belief that they're happier than me.</div>
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I love my partner. I'm obsessed with my pet -- in a good, non-checking-his-social-media-accounts-for-negative-fuel way. My family is unreal and so many of my friends are funny, smart, considerate, kind. A joy to be around and they build me up. Through texts and dates and emails and G-chats they always leave me with a LEGO brick, stacking up a tower of fierce, variegated love around me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yet jealous.</div>
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<br /></div>
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**</div>
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<br /></div>
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Hi, I'm Bailey.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh, and what do you do, Bailey?</div>
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<br /></div>
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I'm a feeler.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel.</div>
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Sometimes I hate it, sometimes it's fine. Sometimes it's new love on a golf course, sometimes it's funnel cakes and powdered sugar up my nose or fishy breeze whipping my hair cruising the lake at sunset. Sometimes it's irritation at the redundancy of my feelings on repeat.</div>
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Sometimes it's trying to write something brilliant as I feel myself getting more and more tired, making a joke via text about being a feeler, then realizing that's a blog post, then powering through the fatigue to tap it out, all the while wondering if this is going to alarm CONCERN.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes feeling is the responsibility of explaining that you're not crazy, you're not in need of intense professional care, you're just you. That after a solid night of sleep you might be a cheerleader on a trampoline tomorrow, and you'll just be like thank goodness I got a break from the bad feeling, at least.</div>
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I feel that if I post this, some of you might freak out.</div>
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I feel that some of you will be like I GET IT.</div>
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I feel like I will feel my way through all of that.</div>
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I will feel with my knobby tentacles through and around all of it. I will get stuck on things, suctioned into conversations of which I didn't wish to partake. I will get mad, annoyed, uncomfortable. I will feel no need to get involved, and I will dip my fries in more ketchup and could we get another round, please? Thanks.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel I will catch onto all of you people with my many feeling arms of emotion, and some of those moments will be beautiful and unexpected kismet and I will find God once again once again once again through the communion of His people as I duck into a space when I just need a break from the feeling.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, from the bad feeling at least. Or the feelings on repeat or the laundry list feelings or the "did I leave that candle burning?" feelings of crazy-making worry.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div abp="2498">
Y'all will feel through this stuff with me, in your own way. You're gonna make me nuts, I know it. Jealous, angry. Over the moon with love.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But what a lonely ocean it would be if my tentacles were forever waving in the surf, never to curl around your aimless, scribbling, dancing arms reaching out of the reef.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And what a lovely ocean it can be when our vacuumy rings bump edges and make a noisy, wet peck of greeting. The kind that hurts your ears, but in the good way. Not the obsessive social media searching way.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div abp="2504">
See you out there. May your feelings be content today, your gaze zeroed in on a dazzling school of fish, their commitment to traveling in a pack an inspiration to slip your wandering arm over to grab that of the one next to you.</div>
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<br /></div>
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MWAH.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sorry, did that smooch on your cheek hurt your ears?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div abp="2510">
Nah. Just right.</div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-48660388914301228052019-07-30T16:29:00.001-07:002019-07-30T16:35:30.747-07:00What my life is<div abp="215" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="216" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbgmcBNSOKtX4da5GtMl90eP5tWL515O8H7EclstMdokxlRU4VviIQRQHRQzl0-8oqXAvmPlIxzgOpoAMFFY3LVNB16SZBa7UVJ5La2rX3nJ5DAKLPbjqORQ9BdA2LKteHeWU4p8KEfs/s1600/IMG-2759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="217" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbgmcBNSOKtX4da5GtMl90eP5tWL515O8H7EclstMdokxlRU4VviIQRQHRQzl0-8oqXAvmPlIxzgOpoAMFFY3LVNB16SZBa7UVJ5La2rX3nJ5DAKLPbjqORQ9BdA2LKteHeWU4p8KEfs/s400/IMG-2759.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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When I was about 24, I called my biggest brother and whined and woed about how my friends were traveling more often and making more money than me and just generally living more luxurious days and nights than I was. </div>
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Ten years later and what else is new, am I right? I kid, I kid, but then again not really.</div>
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My brother calmly listened during our decade-ago phone call, said "mm hmm, mm hmm," and finally said, "I'm hearing a lot of what your life isn't. But what about what it is?"</div>
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This has come back to me in years since; it was a gentle reminder to shift perspective and realize just how much our cup runneth over, especially in moments when we trend toward bellyaching. </div>
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This is not a commentary whatsoever about not being allowed to have problems in the face of basic needs being met. I could give you a whole laundry list of things I am carrying around with me right now, yet I am not interested in getting into the argument of whomever who lives wherever having it harder than me for obvious reasons. </div>
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I will say that I think a lot of those whomevers are better than I at measuring what their life is than what it isn't; in many ways they can be better than I at preventing their chin from dipping too low. </div>
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But again, I am not here to initiate or carry on that discussion. </div>
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I just want to focus on what my life is. You don't even have to read on, this is really just an exercise for me to feel better. So move along with your day, please, or if you so please, continue to read on. And, here we go:</div>
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What my life is</div>
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by the Daily Bailey</div>
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7/30/19</div>
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My life is a cat that snuggled next to me all night last night, save for a trip to his dining counter. </div>
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My life is texting my dad-joke-loving brother a bunch of groan-worthy memes.</div>
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My life is FaceTiming with my nine-year-old niece and thinking to myself, "Who on earth is this kid I am talking to??" loving her suddenly adopted grown up turns of phrase. </div>
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My life is organizing my closet full of my many clothes and realizing I have an outfit, a pattern, a wrap for all seasons. </div>
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My life is planning two weeks away later this year to see family, and deciding to pass on other opportunities for travel. </div>
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My life is reconnecting with an old friend, and texting on the daily with a pretty new one. </div>
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My life is tomatoes and cucumbers diced, salt and pepper sprinkled on top. Three birthday parties in one weekend and subsequent new Facebook friends the days following. Doing an hour long workout and only growling during the planks. </div>
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Chomping gum, some days mint flavored, others watermelon. </div>
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Aiming for my macro percentages and feeling like a boss when I get close.</div>
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My life is light beer more than craft beer, meat without bread. But raisin bread for breakfast, with butter because yum. </div>
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Pink toenails and red fingers. Two pairs of gold/silver sandals, one set of straps in a braid fashion, the other more of a rope. </div>
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Workouts inside with the occasional brave journey into the outdoor sun. </div>
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My life is reading, once again. Ahh, sweet love above this interaction with words on a page. How many years the paragraphs have lit my nights, why should I have ever suspected they were anywhere but just around the corner waiting for me to return? </div>
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My life is a car that is essentially empty of stuff!!!!!!!! Those who really know my shame around my messy vehicle can imagine how much healing breath this offers me. My life is a trunk full of empty tote bags, at least 50 in total, some probably on their way to Goodwill or to unsuspecting friends who will soon possess a little piece of me. </div>
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My life is being grumpy, frustrated, asking a lot of why, yet trusting that this will swing back into calm breeze and emotional ease. </div>
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My life is siblings who love their kids, make me laugh, and fight for better lives for us all. </div>
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My life is the partners of those siblings, who treat me like a friend, work tirelessly in their jobs, and brighten my brothers' lives so in a way I can't thank them for enough.</div>
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My life is a possible five mile walk in tremendous heat after work, and two girls who are willing to do this August race at a "let's just get it finished" pace. No pressure, just pals. </div>
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My life is a supportive partner who lets me cry like a toddler. Who, together with me after tears have been dried, marvels with me once again at the fact that I could not be more like <a abp="71" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCtyygSfw-M" target="_blank">this girl</a>. </div>
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My life is <em abp="121">Friday Night Lights</em> season one, Tami and Landry and Riggins, oh my. </div>
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My life is blogging approximately once a week, which hasn't been the case in many moons. </div>
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My life is habitual scrolling of social media, with occasional scheduled breaks from the madness. </div>
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My life is jealousy of people I know, sheer excitement for others, impatience to plan and contentment to be in the moment, even though a lot of moments are grumpy.</div>
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My life is tickets to a LEGO pop up event, a Tegan & Sara show, vague pending dates with friends and couples. </div>
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My life is fizzy water in the fridge, chilling for my arrival home. Bubbles to snap at the surface and make my teeth grit together after the first shocking gulp. Hydration and community. People who love me and check in via text. People who encourage me in my fitness journey and rejoice with me every time I get some of my bravery as an airplane passenger back. </div>
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My life is more than enough lipstick, journals, books, dresses, swimsuits, deodorant sticks, dumbbells, shampoo options, DVDs, cross stitch projects, and songs in my phone to call upon for any mood or occasion. </div>
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And so many tote bags. My life is bag after bag after bag, inside which I can't collect fast enough the blessings being poured out always. Yes, always, even yes, when grumpiness and confusion are present. They each get a bag, too, and may they find friends to nestle with them inside the slouchy canvas, to whisper secrets to like kids at a sleepover, giggling as connection and kindness win out.</div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-37164889330509271082019-07-24T15:31:00.001-07:002019-07-24T15:33:02.165-07:0015 ways we can buoy each other up<div abp="112" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="113" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JG-ugeKjRagx1Eg3oMDlM21GzPx9TPncr920sKa9N2sxXdynZ4IH72A0EfZ2aSplDZCjX_9UZST8ysZVir273TQoceYdzAYIfoYIfjK5FQcUq95mPoYpiZ9Zjda59qNL5p75t8PoHm8/s1600/12671840_10100270050563709_6304601201795699183_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="114" border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1288" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JG-ugeKjRagx1Eg3oMDlM21GzPx9TPncr920sKa9N2sxXdynZ4IH72A0EfZ2aSplDZCjX_9UZST8ysZVir273TQoceYdzAYIfoYIfjK5FQcUq95mPoYpiZ9Zjda59qNL5p75t8PoHm8/s400/12671840_10100270050563709_6304601201795699183_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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1. Provide compliments. If you think a particular item of clothing flatters someone or you appreciate the way another person makes you giggle, say it. Don't keep it to yourself.</div>
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2. Be generous. Be willing to part with material things you're done with, pick up flowers to present to a host, offer to buy the first round at happy hour, or make a friendship bracelet. There are plenty of things we can do that don't even have to involve monetary usage, and countless ways to be creative with what we already have in order to brighten someone else's life. </div>
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3. When you think someone will like something -- a TV show, a musical artist, an ice cream flavor -- text them and let them know. </div>
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4. Avoid the jugular. Try to intentionally begin conversations without focusing on things you and the other person disagree on. There is always enough time to argue; make space for neutral topics and calm air. </div>
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5. Be honest when you're feeling down. It can only improve trust and camaraderie between people when you offer first to speak truly about what's on your heart. What's more, it can make a fearful person more brave to express their own struggles, and in voicing your personal heartache you help lance some of that poison that comes from keeping a thought a secret. </div>
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6. Suggest small actions. When someone tells you they're depressed or anxious, give them only a baby step of advice: walk for five minutes, drink one glass of water, change your clothes and go buy a soda. When you can, offer to join them. </div>
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7. Take care of yourself. Keep those fuel levels topped off and regulated, so you can more easily do the other things on this list. If you need a night off, say thanks for the invite and stay in and read that book, brother. If you need the opposite, speak up and ask someone to meet you for coffee to get you out of your isolated funk. </div>
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8. Put forth your utmost to have fun. If you're engaging in hobbies purely for the fact that they make you happy -- embroidery, running, talking to strangers -- people will take notice in a way that inspires them to conjure up their own joy. It's when we get competitive and do things for the feedback that it get hairy, but simple contentment is a wholesome goal to aim for. </div>
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9. Pray for people, talk to the universe on their behalf, send good juju or simply hope that others are having a good day. Wish them well from afar through a difficult work meeting, ask a higher power to assuage loneliness, and trust that they will be strong and capable in the face of their challenges, letting them know you're available to debrief later. </div>
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10. Reach up. Help someone get an item down from a high shelf. Ask for a handhold to assist you when you've been sitting too long. Look up and see the sunshine so you can remember it's there and reflect it back off your face onto the people stuck in fluorescent sludge. </div>
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11. Put good out there, whenever you can. Fighting and irritation and hangriness are going to come visit us no matter what, so fill in those pockets in between with kind gestures, affectionate hugs and arm touches, and silly stories so that we all can live more balanced, knowing that rest will always return amidst the deserts of stress. </div>
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12. Let each other (and yourself) off the hook. Give yourself a cheat day with your diet. Forgive the person who didn't tip you. Let someone rant and rave at you about something trivial in their day just this once. No sense in counteracting all the little irritations with more irritation. You don't have to let everything go, but every once in a while, try letting something go. Remind yourself you're not a toy, and if you get wound up, others aren't necessarily going to come and release you; in some regard we are responsible for reducing our boil to a simmer. </div>
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13. Try not to speak poorly of those who aren't in your presence. Recognize that your opinion can spread ill will to those who listen, and venting doesn't necessarily help you come around to believing that this person can change their behavior down the road. (I know this sounds REALLY preachy, and I was afraid to write this post because of that; just know I'm terrible at this piece of advice and I'm writing it so that I can hear it because I need to). </div>
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14. Surprise and delight. Again, this doesn't have to be costly, but where you can, catch people off guard in a good way. Let your employee go home early, bring a dollar store birthday balloon to a party, write a letter and smack some real postage on that sucker and see how good it feels to lick that envelope and mail out some happy. Lower your expectation of an enthusiastic reaction, and remind yourself that you're definitely making someone feel good. </div>
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15. Depart the harbor in hope. Expect easy seas, and keep faith that if things get rocky, we'll figure it out together. Be a champion for discovering and utilizing the skills of every last person in your crew. Help each other learn, mediate across tension bridges, and set sail with the triumph of knowing that you're going to do everything in your power to make sure all parties return safely and boy if we aren't going to at least try and enjoy our time untethered. </div>
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Be quick to grab those ropes when we dock, shake out lifejackets and tuck them under seats. Hydrate the seasick, guide disembarking children, and suggest the party not end here, tired and windblown at shore. Stumble your soggy boat shoes just a few steps further, and be sure to raise a toast to your newfound shelter; and to each other, for forming a team and weathering forward to solution. Cheers, Mates. </div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-28529212957664852862019-07-22T15:40:00.001-07:002019-07-22T16:51:03.308-07:00The facts of life (at this moment)<div abp="116" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am (mostly consistently) counting calories and sticking to a daily limit.</div>
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I am both finding myself jealous of other women's bodies as well as content with my own. </div>
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If I read for 10 minutes, I will fall asleep. </div>
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I have zero library fines. </div>
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Max wakes me up around 6 a.m. each day requesting scritches, and he bumps his head against mine. It takes me a few waking moments to figure out what's going on, but it is the best alarm. </div>
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Ice cold water is my jam while sitting at my desk during the day. I shiver and refill my bottle and recognize that my behavior is crazy.</div>
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I am working out with a personal trainer again. </div>
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My cross stitching activity has decreased, my reading has increased (as has my napping). </div>
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I got to see my family last week and it reset me in so many ways. Special and precious are they. </div>
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There are fresh sheets on my bed, which research shows increases the joy of entering slumber about six fold. </div>
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Four plus years in, Alex and I don't have a song, but we are considering <em abp="12">Don't Worry Baby</em> by the Beach Boys and Dire Straits' <em abp="13">Romeo & Juliet</em>.</div>
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I frequently have no idea what I'm doing with my life. At times this feels like a free canvas that is MINE, at others it feels like the GPS of my heart is not available. </div>
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I feel politically apathetic, and I bet if people knew that they'd be upset. </div>
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I feel, as I have for the vast vast majority of my life, that probably nothing is in my control. Yes, I can make my own decisions, free will freshman philosophy discussion blah blah, but I don't ever believe that my final call determines <em abp="14">the</em> final call, if that makes sense. </div>
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Michelob Ultra has 2.3g of carbs and this pleaseth me. </div>
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I believe in time I will complete the <em abp="15">LA Times</em> crossword I began a week ago. </div>
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A large stack of books sits above my bed, and I wondered as I built the tower if they would hurt me while toppling in an earthquake. I did not, however, relocate the pile. </div>
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I recently sat next to a pilot on a flight to Denver, and his kind, chatty presence helped me tremendously in the face of my air travel anxiety.</div>
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My five-year-old nephew is fearless in the swimming pool, and I am baffled by this.</div>
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My parents finally donated my brother and I's trumpet, the one that got lugged through knee deep snow, five days a week from approximately 1994 - 1999. </div>
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If you sleep on the day bed in Mom and Dad's basement, it is very dark save for a light on the DVD/VCR combo. </div>
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It is difficult for me to get a lot of protein in my diet. I do not crave it. Minus runny eggs. I do crave a leaky yolk. Even though I think the protein is in the whites? See? Not easy. </div>
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Others might disagree, but I feel that this summer as a whole has been less oppressive than the last few in LA. </div>
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I struggle to read or watch anything that is highly or widely recommended, because the pressure is too much. </div>
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A pair of adorable cross stitch bibs are on my Amazon wish list, but I am refraining from adding them to my cart. </div>
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I am trying to turn a mental corner with some people in my life who don't seem to take an interest in me. Trying to move forward without resentment and ill will; just recognizing that the connection isn't there, disappointing as it may be. </div>
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Last night I bought beets and corn, tuna and Spaghettios.</div>
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I think my Instagram account isn't working properly, as it appears I am losing several followers, and when I add someone as a friend, hours later it looks as if I never requested them. </div>
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Tonight I could exercise, read, stitch, shower, sleep, or go see a friend who's in town. I couldn't tell you what I will select to do. </div>
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A friend who I haven't known long but feel quite connected to is on her way back from Europe. I look forward to hikes and happy hours with her (and will resist pouncing on her schedule right away, as she probably needs to get past the jet lag and, I don't know, maybe wants to see her boyfriend first). </div>
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My mama fixed my pink sweater and I am so joyful. </div>
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I have gum at home, but I wish I had some on hand to chew right now. </div>
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It has been warm in LA, and we sweat when we walk, but we walk on our breaks anyway. Because we can, and it is motion, and it is sun. </div>
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I find myself holding onto clothes rather than getting rid of them. I tend to have a binge-purge/shop-donate pattern about me, and I find that if I just wait a bit I will re-appreciate clothing that I may be tired of now. Also I am trying to be gratefully aware of all that I have and get comfortable with living in that which is already provided. </div>
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A friend picked her wedding palette, and I am so excited to find a textured dress to wear in the woods as she moves her life forward into a union that is already so full of love. </div>
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I have no patience when it comes to waiting to plan special events for my people, and I can't wait to celebrate this cutie pie, kind, beautiful bosslady bride. </div>
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I am shivering as I type this, something Alex would notice before I if he were here by my side. Our companionship is so easy it feels like the sea; calm waves meeting outside a boat, taking shade in her sails. Afternoon warmth glimmering between mast and fabric, sparkling contentment on our heads as we share the silly details of our day. A younger me feared I would grow bored from the simple things, but today's me says this off-menu item was exactly what I meant to order. And to this I say thank you. </div>
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</div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-6278576426664370582019-07-17T16:08:00.000-07:002019-07-17T16:08:09.381-07:00When the reader loses her place<div abp="158" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="159" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_BdOX4zQoiegJYctt2qRGi29Z9MZhe5vLyQM3hnh210zMWJyR1cja9gHyPkL2HTK3BOIwIg5AxgUnzp0pSOSHMWzQ-VgQoUFjBGoI8Y9367tDOvRG9BuSIR1hG8lIAmJF2nfTRjZYOA/s1600/IMG-2620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="160" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_BdOX4zQoiegJYctt2qRGi29Z9MZhe5vLyQM3hnh210zMWJyR1cja9gHyPkL2HTK3BOIwIg5AxgUnzp0pSOSHMWzQ-VgQoUFjBGoI8Y9367tDOvRG9BuSIR1hG8lIAmJF2nfTRjZYOA/s400/IMG-2620.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I went to the library during my lunch break today, after paying a large amount of fines to get my patron status back to "good."</div>
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I checked out some classics, some kids' literature, a book about finance and a guide to vitamins. I got back to my car and wanted to read right then and there, for the rest of the afternoon. But alas, it was time to return to work. </div>
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I texted Alex about my haul, and told him I'm unsure I'll read even one of them in full, or even start most of them. I had a great time picking them all out, couldn't stop myself from growing the pile in my elbow even higher, all the while knowing that I may simply return them in a few weeks, untouched and undiscovered. My brain bounced between feeling guilty for the risk of building more fines, then over to a place of happily picturing myself doing what I once did on the daily: read.</div>
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My text conversation with Alex turned quickly from silly to sad. He said he could relate to reading voraciously for years and today not being quite as interested. I explained that sometimes it feels hard to read, as if there is too much pressure to finish a book or enjoy something that was recommended, so much that it feels almost as if I've forgotten how to read. What was once nearly instinctual has become a chore, something that other people do but I can no longer keep up.</div>
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This all sounds dramatic, I'm sure. But it's hard when you lose a piece of your deeply dug habits, especially when you never saw it coming. </div>
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From about the time I graduated college until a few years ago, I read every night before bed for 30 minutes or more. Every night, minus those few evenings a year when exhaustion won out. But mostly I fought sleep to get words into my head. Numbered pages were my most important meal of the day. </div>
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***</div>
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It's true, according to Goodreads, that I've read 40 some books this year. But most of those were picture books and most were read in the first few months of the year. Since then? Basically nada. </div>
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Last year I had a brief love affair with the <em abp="12">New Yorker</em>. Read it with giddy glee...for about three weeks, then I let the subscription take my money until I finally faced the music that this wasn't meant for the long term and cancelled my payments. </div>
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When we shoot pool, Alex jokes that I'm usually good to play for about 40 minutes, then I lose interest. He's not wrong; I switch off with no warning or reason, and I wonder why the beer-advertising lamp above the table is still lit since clearly I'm done. Shouldn't life be on our schedule? </div>
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In my mid-twenties I ran three to six miles a day at least five days a week. For a whole year. Outside in 90 degree humidity, on a treadmill indoors when snow caked the curbs of the 24 Hour Fitness parking lot. </div>
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Then I went to graduate school, ran a few times in the first month of classes, and ultimately stopped. I managed to train for and run a half marathon a few years later -- when I was unemployed, of course. What else is there to do when you don't have a job? -- but since then? I've never run more than six miles at a time, and it always feels like a fluke when I do. </div>
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***</div>
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So what's with all this giving myself titles, and being upset when the nametag loses its stick and flutters into the trash can? For years, I called myself a "runner," a "writer," a "reader," without hesitation or feeling as if I needed to flex my credentials for people to believe me. Today I find that others don't seem to be too concerned whether or not the amount I participate in something qualifies me as a member of the team, but I am quick to correct them if they assign me as more heavily committed to a hobby than I really am. I only want credit if I'm currently established and obsessed. Otherwise don't group me into a family; I haven't earned the kinship. </div>
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Did I mention this probably sounds dramatic? </div>
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What I've learned -- in this process during which I am still learning -- about breaking up with a hobby is that it is a little dramatic. Because there is a grieving season involved. But also, I wonder if the separation is maybe natural, and furthermore, perhaps a blessing. Or at least not that big of a deal. Not something to cry about, even though we do. </div>
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I used to read all the time, now I don't. What's the big deal? People still by and large think that I'm smart. At least I hope they do. I never felt as if I needed to read the classics to prove myself, so why do I care now when someone says, "You HAVE to read <em abp="13">Ready Player One</em>!," that I can't get myself to focus long enough to get through chapter one? </div>
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I mean for crying out loud, SO WHAT??</div>
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So...well, that was me. And I thought without even really thinking about it that it would always be me. </div>
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And I think there's the key, to the blessing I was talking about. To the not-that-big-of-a-deal piece. </div>
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Being "a reader" is not who I am. </div>
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I <em abp="14">want</em> it to be a big part of who I am, but even when it was a big part of who I was, it was never the full me. Reading has certainly shaped me over time, structured my knowledge base, peppered the tidbits of Julie Andrews memoir trivia I offer up at parties. </div>
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No one ever asks for Julie Andrews memoir trivia, so it is up to one's self to get it out there in the world. </div>
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I want to be a reader, or at least someone who reads frequently, but why? Why exactly is this so important to me? </div>
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Your guess is as good as mine.</div>
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But I think the thing to realize is that we are never going to be the things that we do. And we are ever changing in the degree to what we do and how vigorously or seriously we do them. When we are students, we do a lot of coffee drinking and highlighting and complaining. When we are new parents, we do a lot of teaching babies to moo and quack, we refill a lot of sippy cups, we enforce a lot of bedtime. When we are faced with illness or trauma or fear, we do a lot of crisis containment, a lot of catching our breath, a lot of saying, "I love you."</div>
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Do you ever think back to a time, even in the last several months, when something had you tangled and trapped with worry? And realize, Hmm. I'm completely past that now. </div>
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We are never (exactly) the same as we were before or as we will be later, but we are always here, and of value. I think the struggle is trying not to get too attached that we used to "be a runner" and now we're simply "someone who runs." It's not easy, especially with over-achieving, success-driven American standards flowing through our water source, but I think part of growing up (or at least, part of my life, personally, right now) is learning to recognize that we still hold meaning and purpose, no matter what, where, or when. </div>
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***</div>
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I have been rethinking calling myself "a writer," as it seems that anytime I sit down with the intention of writing something for publication, I cry. </div>
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No, literally. I cry.</div>
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I get cranky watching Alex type type type away next to me, and I pull out stationery from my bag and write notes to my nieces and nephews, most of whom can't read. </div>
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Because that's easier. And makes me happy, whereas forcing myself to do something because I should, because it's my destiny, is not. </div>
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One of my bestest friends recently told me that no matter how much I do or don't write, I have still affected several lives in positive ways without even filling a well with ink. It was sobering and novel to hear that. </div>
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And frankly? Freeing. </div>
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Another friend said she loves my words, but that she loves me more. "Because you are your words," she said. </div>
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Anything I put on a piece of paper is borne from Bailey, the ever-changing person who sometimes runs, sometimes reads, sometimes cries and wanders and babysits and crafts and makes messes and cleans them and avoids confrontation and boldly speaks her mind. </div>
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It's all me. None of it is fully me. But all together it is me. </div>
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***</div>
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It's still hard to know that a dozen paperbacks are baking in my passenger seat right now. Hard because I know I may not read them. I may accrue fines and pay them in shame and wonder why I even visit the library in the first place. </div>
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But then I remember why: because I love that place. The library gives me peace, quiet, opportunity to come into communion with sentences of letters that match the codes in my heart. </div>
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I remember the tiny, crowded branch in Colorado that offered safety during thunderstorms. I remember the carrels where I would tuck myself to do algebra, treating myself after to a trip down the <em abp="15">Babysitters' Club</em> aisle. I remember collecting quarters from Mom to buy animal crackers at the café, then her collecting me from my studies to take me to confirmation class. </div>
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I have spent much of my life in libraries, in bookstores, in musty smelling pages that disappointed when Rhett snubbed Scarlett but lifted when Jo found her way. </div>
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I have checked out more books in my time than I have read; this is a fact. In fact, this is basic math. We are consumers driven to get more more more, and it's not my fault the public system allows me to have 30 titles at once. We have been pretty well trained to take on more than we can maintain. This is 21st century first world life. </div>
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I have no idea where I'm going with all this, but here might be part of my point: </div>
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When I was shopping today for my volumes of free words, I felt, at least in part, good. In the face of knowing I may not read them, I didn't put them back. I took them to the counter and complimented the coffee mug of the page checking me out. She offered to renew my titles on the front end so that I wouldn't have to worry about it later, and with a little faith I said yes please. </div>
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Once upon a time I was a reader. </div>
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Today I am tucked somewhere in chapter 34, decorating a nightstand in a room where a cat sleeps. Trying to figure out what I'll say next. Getting those words just right before sending them out into the world. </div>
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Meanwhile being relevant, being a friend, being a girl who, sometimes, reads. And what a gift that I know how, so someday sometime I can meet some friendly words who right now are waiting eagerly in the stacks for just the right moment to say hello and feed my spirit. </div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-84136773137710429342019-07-09T12:31:00.000-07:002019-07-09T12:36:01.772-07:00The Privacy of Anxiety<div abp="58" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="59" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXHQ3MetXmVlEHrawxl7I8OreHasAMp-vn9xrIPjoA0HUeBz2Th4sIJu56MpJ7pydi8Agx6GSh9dLHp6XiO8C1zPU8I0VMlwxbR-OFkpspHASOUhtDbKn_OeCZZlqq4LwPc38WdGeitU/s1600/IMG-2346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="60" border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="486" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXHQ3MetXmVlEHrawxl7I8OreHasAMp-vn9xrIPjoA0HUeBz2Th4sIJu56MpJ7pydi8Agx6GSh9dLHp6XiO8C1zPU8I0VMlwxbR-OFkpspHASOUhtDbKn_OeCZZlqq4LwPc38WdGeitU/s400/IMG-2346.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My parents have two cats. One petite with a belly, the other ginormous. I love to pick both of them up, even though Petite squawks in complaint and Ginormous scrambles to get down. I can't help but pick up all felines I encounter. It is deep, deep in my DNA to do so. </div>
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Whenever I pick up Ginormous and he scrambles, my dad reminds me that his favored animal is a "ground squirrel." Dad believes there are two categories of house pets: ground squirrels and tree squirrels. The latter are OK with being held up high, the former need a steady footing to be content with a lift off the ground. </div>
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It has taken me some years to figure it out, but after several anxious vacations on cruise ships, many squeezes of Alex's arm on airplanes (or, when I'm flying solo, squeezes of strangers' arms), and a couple of recent earthquakes, I now know for certain: I am a ground squirrel.</div>
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I like my steady footing. I want the surface beneath me to remain still, solid, supportive and trustworthy. </div>
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Roller coasters? Not a problem. Those are designed to move along a planned, tangible track, and they have constraints to hold one along the course. </div>
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Karaoke? I'm on it. I've been acting silly in front of others my whole life, and the possibility of missing a Celine high note will only cause me to giggle with barflies afterward; I won't, rather, question if the break in continuity has affected my safety. </div>
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***</div>
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I've found myself inside several private anxieties recently, and it really has me thinking about this fact that we so often keep worries to ourselves. </div>
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There are so many reasons, for me anyway, to decide to keep things quiet instead of air them out:</div>
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Sometimes I'm afraid that if I speak my fear, the person who hears it will confirm that it is based in fact. Worse, they may do this in a callous manner that makes me feel as if I am wrong for worrying at the level that I do. </div>
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Other times I fear that speaking it will cause my listener to become anxious herself, about something she wasn't previously giving thought or energy to. I don't want to bring others down with me. </div>
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And sometimes it's just downright embarrassing to admit that I'm scared about something, especially if it's irrational or out of my control, or both. When my brain is on repeat, I doubt that others will understand why. </div>
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***</div>
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Over the years, I have feared: earthquakes*, fires, floods, tornadoes, plane crashes, sinking ships, nuclear war, cursing people via my negative thoughts, intrusive violent thoughts, suddenly becoming schizophrenic, etc. </div>
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*(Even when I lived in Kansas). </div>
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Yeah, I'm a real treat at parties. I don't ever damper the mood of the room. </div>
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I have been in seasons of very intense anxiety in my life. I have felt shaky, physically uneasy, for days, or weeks at a time. I have feared that God would smite me, even though in other times I felt exactly the opposite -- that I am loved and precious, forgiven and whole. </div>
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A few things break through the stubborn, crusty surface of terror -- social gatherings, easy chores, creative crafting, and of course the strongest and most reliable: a good, hearty laugh. As Anne Lamott says, "Laughter is carbonated holiness." So incredibly true are her wise, reviving words. </div>
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And, I am slowly learning, that time is the most proven catalyst to pass us through our tortured streams of thought.</div>
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Graciously, my seasons of extreme unease have always passed, sometimes overnight, sometimes just...I don't even know when or how -- it just lifts like vapor. </div>
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I'm not kidding, though, when I say that some of my seasons have lasted entire years. Of course there were moments in there where I felt a little more calm, silly, regular. But take me back to a moment of isolation, insomnia, or boredom, and wham! Right back at Square DEFCON One. </div>
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***</div>
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Here's the other curious thing about all this: we so often look, seem, and act like we're fine, even when we're not. Sometimes especially when we're not. I've lost count the number of people who have marveled at how put together I am, once I open my vulnerable mouth and start showing them my insides, messy just like theirs. </div>
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"But you're so well-adjusted, so high functioning."</div>
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Yup.</div>
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And there's the rub. </div>
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And the survival. </div>
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I'm not saying that hiding behind fears is how to get through something, in fact absolutely not. I think step one is always to find your safe people, who won't discount your feelings, won't shame or mock you, when you bring your skittish, scaredy cat pieces to them, sometimes 100 or a thousand times over. </div>
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But I do think that sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to do what we would do on any other, not-anxious (or less-anxious) day. Throw in a load of laundry. Pay your gas bill. Floss your teeth. </div>
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And get around people. </div>
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For me, when I get very frightened, I literally tighten up, scrunching my limbs as close to my core as possible. I'm a ground squirrel, though I may seem like a flailing, brave, karaoke-singing tree squirrel. And I can tell you from years of depression and anxiety and boredom and agitation that isolation is nevvvvvvvvvvvver the answer. </div>
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Ya hear me? Never. </div>
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***</div>
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After Friday's earthquake, Alex snuggled me for a long time and I told him I didn't want to be away from him, even in the kitchen while he was in the living room. I had left tomatoes half-peeled when the foundation underneath us gave way, and I needed to finish that soup (which I did, eventually, and we tried not to fall asleep <em abp="12">in</em> our bowls of it at 11 p.m.). </div>
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"The only time you get to be brave is when you're scared," Alex said, bolstering his belief in me that I could return to chopping veggies (as well as offering to come be near me and help cook). </div>
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"What is this, a Pixar movie?!" I retorted. </div>
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"Yes. Yes it is."</div>
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***</div>
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Here's the thing. I hate being scared. Always have. I'm sure you do, too. Even if you love horror movies and haunted houses, something at some point gets you out of your tough shell of safety. I hate -- we hate -- uncertainty. The fact that anything, anyone, could be taken from us at anytime is the worst. </div>
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Cue Jean Ralphio: the wooooooooorst!</div>
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But here we are: Living. Paying our gas bills. Texting each other to make sure we have food and water on hand, saying we're scared, and then picking up a bag of chips to take to that backyard BBQ we were invited to before all this anxiety interrupted everything. </div>
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I honestly don't know where I'm going with all this. Part of this is simply me journaling out the thoughts I've been carrying around since Approximately Wednesday. </div>
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I suppose my takeaway for you is similar to all my other takeaways, when I get on my preaching box: find your safe people. Speak the privacy of your anxiety. You don't have to vocalize it constantly, and for goodness sake at some point we literally have to force the conversation away from current affairs and back into <em abp="13">Seinfeld</em> quotes. Always revert to 90s sitcoms when you can; that's another piece of the survival pie. </div>
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It is an awful mystery to be so alone and so similar to each other all at once. </div>
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But wait for the break. Wait for the break in your fear, in your ache, in your financial drought, your loneliness, your grief, your boredom, your whoops-I-drank-too-much-coffee hyperactivity. </div>
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She'll come. And one day you'll find yourself in the kitchen peeling tomatoes and you'll notice, Hey. I'm all good. And you'll lift a head in thanks, dry your hands and scuttle to the living room to plant a peck on the cheek of a Someone who helped get you through. </div>
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The break always comes. And safe people are holding hands in a chain around the perimeter, ready to catch you in a game of Red Rover. </div>
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Red Rover, Red Rover, send Mercy right over. </div>
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We've got this. Just keep catching each other, y'all. And notice our friends on the sidelines, who haven't been invited to play. They may have a secret just like yours. </div>
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Xox,</div>
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Bailey and Max</div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-57614748651065367702019-06-24T14:27:00.000-07:002019-06-24T14:27:25.100-07:00Grateful, blessed and thankful<div abp="113" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="114" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7RTtHVoTil8lOcxfZFabYabooBNjLuy8MzrlP4Tb59zf5PKI-DwAL_MDRhduuI6C8uwB3j1yQiIGnh7ehFsCqyaUDOPTFVmRfWD3IYR5yT9scbhhyphenhyphenqIdyIin9EfyRMCbf9gQxaM5cEo/s1600/IMG-1983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="115" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7RTtHVoTil8lOcxfZFabYabooBNjLuy8MzrlP4Tb59zf5PKI-DwAL_MDRhduuI6C8uwB3j1yQiIGnh7ehFsCqyaUDOPTFVmRfWD3IYR5yT9scbhhyphenhyphenqIdyIin9EfyRMCbf9gQxaM5cEo/s400/IMG-1983.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I saw my friend Debbie this weekend, whom I value so much. Throughout our few hours today, she kept saying she is "grateful, blessed and thankful." I thought, "I'm gonna use that." It's a good gratitude statement to have on hand, to say out loud, to feel out loud. </div>
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Today is not perfect. It's Monday, hello. I was out too late last night. My leftovers didn't heat up well. I have worries and fears and to dos but not a lot of to do energy inside me. I napped during lunch and watched a video of a fluffy cat sitting in a box even though I have that kind of programming live at home. I ate some peanut butter to ward off my fatigue-induced queasiness, made an afternoon playlist on my phone, and poured myself a glass of fizzy water. </div>
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And now, I give thanks. </div>
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Grateful, blessed, and thankful. Thanks for the phrase, Deb. And the pizza and the company and for laughing so gleefully when I raced to sip down the foam on my soda. Xox</div>
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Grateful, blessed, and thankful today! for...</div>
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Glen Hansard's healing tunes</div>
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Friends who find me to be a help and a light in their lives. What a gift they see me that way and I them.</div>
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A comfortable bed and a cat who sleeps in it</div>
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My recent self-propelled choice to exercise at all, and furthermore, outside</div>
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My purple hiking pack that more frequently gets used as an airplane carry on</div>
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Bruce Springsteen covers</div>
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Plane reservations for July and August -- tickets to see my tribe</div>
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That while I may be out of shape and self conscious about my look, I can walk, I can take the stairs at the office. My blood pressure is always even and I have several doctors who I trust and like. </div>
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Daydreaming about nuptials of a dear friend next year -- planning and honoring and celebrating this girl who's been so careful with my tears, my goals; so quick to remind me that doubts are normal but not my friend.</div>
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The 8,000 bottles of shampoo in my shower. I am ready to battle dander, itch, fade, and build up, yes yes I am.</div>
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Cucumbers and tomatoes with salt and pepper and Paul Newman balsamic vinaigrette, this is my new favorite snack!!!! Hallelujah I am eating veggies as a snack! Something from the ground as a snack! May the cholesterol rejoice!</div>
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A niece who carries blocks in her mouth as she crawls. She is efficient and knows already to keep close to her the things that bring her joy and I am proud.</div>
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The Valley has not been insanely hot most days this summer so far</div>
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Cracking an ice cold fizzy water open after a big long walk and letting those cran-razz bubbles hit ya</div>
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A community that has scattered and diffused somewhat of its traditional makeup is still a part of my life, as I have had so much recent contact with several of the lovely souls inside it</div>
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Two hysterical comics at an open mic last week, one of whom had me laughing so hard I ceased to make sound</div>
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I have too many friends to keep up with; I never run out of people to contact and set up happy hour dates with</div>
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A surprise package for Mommy and Daddy that just needs some postage</div>
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My city. I just love it and once upon a time I never would have let myself imagine that I could belong to such a place.</div>
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My new peony Clinique perfume</div>
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No meetings at the office this week</div>
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Calorie counting apps, and the presence of mind to aim for five pounds lost, then five more, not a defeating 30 all at once</div>
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The bright blonde in my hair right now</div>
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All the rainbows covering storefronts in West Hollywood</div>
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Knowing through a tired haze that things will work out, be OK, return to center</div>
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Summer is here</div>
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Summer is here and we are grateful, blessed and thankful. Yeehaw. More of that on tap, please. </div>
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Be well and safe wherever you are, in grief, in stress, in confusion or joy. If you're feeling stuck may I suggest writing down some of the good. </div>
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Xox,</div>
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Daily Bailey and Max o' the Office</div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-56152330252575348862019-06-20T16:35:00.001-07:002019-06-20T16:35:54.631-07:00Grateful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="107" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPbKnFOIBJ6bEaqpYRT7Z5v9RjicDWxs5YuXXXR3Xl2fUyv47Eqz1Wi4ylcZb7L-bVnJzE4hhASCQu9ZYWYWK5yokB3SdBwlpi6UwZ2sbyjdG3pTS3jln_W7SKxco90CDKORG6eMvTE0/s1600/IMG-1845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="108" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPbKnFOIBJ6bEaqpYRT7Z5v9RjicDWxs5YuXXXR3Xl2fUyv47Eqz1Wi4ylcZb7L-bVnJzE4hhASCQu9ZYWYWK5yokB3SdBwlpi6UwZ2sbyjdG3pTS3jln_W7SKxco90CDKORG6eMvTE0/s400/IMG-1845.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I know this whole, "List things you're grateful for" thing is all en vogue at the moment, but, well I don't have a rebuttal to that. I'm just participating. Vogue. Strike a pose. </div>
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Today I'm grateful for the following: </div>
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The affordability of tea</div>
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The return to rest after missteps and misspoken words</div>
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Pants that fit</div>
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Pop music</div>
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Minty, silky lip balm</div>
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Opportunities</div>
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Cheap, walk-in massage places</div>
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Running into a friend at the store in a city of 4 million</div>
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To be reading again. Beautiful novels and silly junk alike.</div>
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When I am window shopping and reason with myself, "Bails, you already have that at home," the statement is true. I am not without.</div>
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Same thing goes for friends. I have those in abundance.</div>
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If I never publish or even write a book, I am still a child of God and I still hold value in the lives of many</div>
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Payday tomorrow</div>
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Squishy blond nephews</div>
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Max is digging his new salmon/egg/sweet potato food</div>
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A planned read-along of Steinbeck with a precious girlfriend</div>
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Casual Friday</div>
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Clean hair</div>
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Nail clippers</div>
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Epsom salt, infused with eucalyptus</div>
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Feeling the bags under my eyes goes heavy as I pause to listen to meditation music</div>
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Eased traffic now that school is out</div>
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Quoting <em abp="12">Cool Runnings</em> with a friend via text and laughing maniacally out loud in a public place</div>
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Feeling safe, even when discontent</div>
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A box of mac and cheese waiting for me in the pantry</div>
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Parents who answer the phone several times a week and spend 40 minutes jabbering with me during every call</div>
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The strange, unknown reason why I am a magnet for my girlfriends' hand-me-down clothes</div>
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Friends who blaze their own trail. Even though their journeys make me jealous, they do show me that paths are many.</div>
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Simple, colorful, pendant necklaces</div>
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Invites to concerts and dinners before each show</div>
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Room temperature, sliced tomatoes with salt</div>
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Perfume</div>
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Cracking up at texts from my brothers</div>
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This new sunscreen that Neutrogena put out that smells ever so slightly of coconuts</div>
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All the daylight, and the hug of warm air that greets me after work</div>
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The harmony of Mark Knopfler and Chet Atkins, a cappella, and that some genius was smart enough to record it before the latter passed</div>
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Antacids</div>
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Naps</div>
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Local breweries</div>
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People who are kind. Always people who are kind. They resuscitate and embolden me again and again. </div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-82405802554144980522019-04-23T12:16:00.001-07:002019-04-23T12:17:54.007-07:00Taking your frustration out for a picnic<div abp="160" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="161" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ODK4sXzkgqGkISPTE9jADJMPo46rsFxQNo7KcdL4H5PRwCVXFazFjB2DaNPQjxNrbipDPxR0Eox_m4c5r7DeS6OV44rmWcdhbZ9k8nPo4gZEzLzkwICMM3tWyEGtA9b5JJR4b-krwKY/s1600/IMG-8078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="162" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ODK4sXzkgqGkISPTE9jADJMPo46rsFxQNo7KcdL4H5PRwCVXFazFjB2DaNPQjxNrbipDPxR0Eox_m4c5r7DeS6OV44rmWcdhbZ9k8nPo4gZEzLzkwICMM3tWyEGtA9b5JJR4b-krwKY/s400/IMG-8078.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span abp="19" style="font-family: "calibri";">I hope you’re not tired of reflective meditation devotion
type posts, because here comes another one!<br /><br /></span></div>
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<span abp="25" style="font-family: "calibri";">Well, I don’t know about y’all but this is a jealous,
frustrated week for me. Lots of negative aches running through my emotion
nodes. Looking at people on social media who I probably shouldn’t be paying
attention to, rehashing the grievances (unintentional or not) caused by people
I struggle with, feeling defeated during exercise effort. <o:p abp="26"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="28" style="font-family: "calibri";">Ouch. Not fun, Friends. <o:p abp="29"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="31" style="font-family: "calibri";">I know if I put my phone down for a bit, and take a breather
from the Interwebs for some hours, I’ll more than likely feel better, feel more
truly at peace with who I am and who I surround myself with for love and
giggles. <o:p abp="32"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="34" style="font-family: "calibri";">I will also begrudgingly admit that last night’s walk/jog is
helping my mood today. I admit with resistance because the movement itself was
really unpleasant. I’m surprised I didn’t actually drop tears during my long,
slow climb to the top of the hill (and please note that tears did come even
after I had finished the course). I could barely jog any of the up portions; I mean
we’re talking I would take maybe 15 steps and then I had to walk again. And I
don’t know about you but when I get upset it may give me a quick spark of
speed, but in general my breath sharpens making physical activity much more
difficult which in turn makes me feel emotionally even worse. <o:p abp="35"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="37" style="font-family: "calibri";">But eventually I reached the top, and I was able to jog the
rest of the distance down and then along the level surface it melted in to. And
today I feel not quite as edgy as yesterday. <o:p abp="38"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="40" style="font-family: "calibri";">But it hurts to be inside our heads, in no small part
because once we arrive inside one of the gristly crevices we don’t want others
to come join us. Well, we do, but only if they agree with us, which, in my
experience my Positive Polly friends always annoyingly try to drag me back to a
place of joy instead of just griping with me. They are so annoying, I’m not
even sure why I keep them around sometimes. <o:p abp="41"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="43" style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh right, because they’re all really cute and funny, and sometimes
it’s their turn to gripe and I get to offer support over fermented suds so that
role’s OK. <o:p abp="44"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="46" style="font-family: "calibri";">Yesterday I moved through a really unpleasant string of
thoughts that made me think exercise truly doesn’t make me feel better, so I
should just give up trying to slim my body and accept that I will only regress
from here forward. Truly, this is the state I was in for a good 20 minutes
yesterday, until the ground’s grade tipped downward and my body was able to
more easily remain in motion. When we fall in these moments of quitting on
hope, we are at best labeled dramatic and frequently waved off to go deal with
ourselves until we can sensibly come back to the general public. And as we all
know this only tills our insides for more heartache, grooms us to practice
greater isolation. <o:p abp="47"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="49" style="font-family: "calibri";">Now for me, I have a really annoying partner who insists on high-fiving
me and telling me how proud he is of me and then making me a turkey burger with
vegetables while I steam out in the shower. But even before him, I had amazing
friends who would let me whimper over the phone, and I’ve long known the healing
power of hot cheese and carbs. (If you ever find yourself at a loss for words
with a person in crisis, order pizza. Trust me. They need it.)<o:p abp="50"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="52" style="font-family: "calibri";">Anyway, so now I am here today. Still apparently following
my thoughts to the negative excursion they’re on, but overall doing better than
yesterday and more in a place to walk myself back to a place of problem solving
and rest. <o:p abp="53"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="55" style="font-family: "calibri";">So here’s my prescription for you today: Lead yourself to
water. Lay out for yourself a virtual picnic, near a stream. Bring a soft
blanket, pick a dry patch of grass, and fling those canvas corners out to flick
the wind before they take a nap on the ground. Listen to the water, watch it
create patterns around rocks, and eat popsicles and brie, doesn’t matter to me.
There is no food pyramid here, we are just aiming for yums. <o:p abp="56"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="58" style="font-family: "calibri";">Think of one thing you can do today that will simply be for
the enjoyment of it, and give yourself 10 minutes to do it. Even if you have to
wait until the kids are asleep and you’re almost too tired to stay up much
longer, just give yourself the gift of leisure. Flip through an old photo
album, scribble with crayon, tip back in a chair on the porch. Remind yourself,
through engagement, that life is not always a climb, not forever a comparison
to others’ success. Eventually it levels out, and we actually decompress in the
sunset, rather than cursing the glare it splinters across our windshield. So go
ahead. Pull over. Step out of the minivan, and let the light filter directly
onto your face. Release the kiddoes from their carseats and lift them on your
hip so they can see, too, how a day nods farewell to us with color, promising
to send his friend, Tomorrow, who will be dressed in an equally dazzling palette. <o:p abp="59"></o:p></span></div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-52575870573486356292019-04-22T16:03:00.001-07:002019-04-22T16:04:13.483-07:00Monday's reflection -- finding calm in the cranky<div abp="172" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="173" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgIQ7aEgBAMspPcDSUn1KesA3sz8cB7fCBVNeBkFjos7GiSs-a0UjFEObkshHcaxv_C5eQ0La8DrTg-rCX8UNXXK8CHhUYKDWxDNCoFt_AMuJklnH1O7OcnG1s_fCiGZyTZoyNyI1k_Q/s1600/IMG-9178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="174" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgIQ7aEgBAMspPcDSUn1KesA3sz8cB7fCBVNeBkFjos7GiSs-a0UjFEObkshHcaxv_C5eQ0La8DrTg-rCX8UNXXK8CHhUYKDWxDNCoFt_AMuJklnH1O7OcnG1s_fCiGZyTZoyNyI1k_Q/s400/IMG-9178.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span abp="18" style="font-family: "calibri";">Sooo, raise your hand if you started the day in a pretty
decent mood (after getting through the road rage of your commute, of course)
and then you accidentally napped during lunch and you’ve been a crank pot ever
since. <br /><br abp="2421" /><o:p abp="19"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="21" style="font-family: "calibri";">Nope, just me? <o:p abp="22"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="24" style="font-family: "calibri";">All right, well I guess I’ll put my hand down to finish
typing this, this meditation/reflection thing I essentially promised myself I’d
write for you today. <o:p abp="25"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="27" style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m tired, and not an obvious kind of tired, like due to
lack of sleep or some other real reason. No, I’m that kind of tired where I
only know I’m tired because all signs point to it, and those signs are
crankiness and crankiness. <o:p abp="28"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="30" style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been drinking water. I just made coffee and stopped by
a coworker’s office to fill my pocket with jellybeans that I have now consumed.
It maybe helped like a teeny tiny bit – but that’s it, people! I’m still
cranky! Don’t take this away from me. <o:p abp="31"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="33" style="font-family: "calibri";">Please take this away from me. <o:p abp="34"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="36" style="font-family: "calibri";">In fact, maybe you can take this away from me, because it is
my aim this week to continue writing encouraging posts to help keep the people in
my blog life going, and in so doing perhaps I’ll encourage myself. So let’s try
this, I guess. <o:p abp="37"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="39" style="font-family: "calibri";">OK let’s start by thinking of one thing we’re each looking
forward to. It can be Hawaii next month, a concert in August, or it can be putting
on your coziest sweats after work tonight. One thing. Let’s close our eyes and
really feel and see and think about how that thing is going to calm our inner
motion. Watch that waterfall plunging out of the bathtub spout and hitting its
puddle below. Hear the soapy crystals tink, tink tap the glass jar as you pour
them into the mix. Feel yourself lower into the heat and automatically exhale
the moment’s stress and annoyance. Keep your eyes closed. <o:p abp="40"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="42" style="font-family: "calibri";">You’re already there, huh? From the redundancy of your
cubicle you’ve just taken a bath (albeit a dry one). And I bet you’re still
taking bigger breaths than you were a minute ago, eh? I know I am after that
little exercise. <o:p abp="43"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="45" style="font-family: "calibri";">OK next step everyone put your phone away. For 30 minutes,
no peeking. <o:p abp="46"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="48" style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, finally, what should our last step be? <o:p abp="49"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="51" style="font-family: "calibri";">Hmm, how about this? Change one thing about your current
circumstance. Unless you’re perfectly comfortable and at peace, in which case
remain seated, please, and text me the address of whatever spa you’re at
because I want to come join you. <o:p abp="52"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="54" style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh wait, no phones. Whoops. Enjoy, then, my sweet friend. <o:p abp="55"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="57" style="font-family: "calibri";">For the rest of us, let’s change something up. Get up and go
to the bathroom, particularly if you’ve been ignoring your urge to pee for the
last hour. Turn on the fan, open a window. Go fill up a water bottle, steep
some tea, sit outside for five minutes. Put on lip balm, spritz your scarf with
perfume, go put your feet in warm water. <o:p abp="58"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="60" style="font-family: "calibri";">…<o:p abp="61"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="63" style="font-family: "calibri";">Ahhhhh, welcome back. What did you do? I took my glasses off
and collapsed into some forward folds, touching the carpet and noticing how
Rastafarian the color-combo of it is. Isn’t it interesting how one stretch
gives birth to about eight more? Stretching always sounds so boring, and a
little painful, but whenever we do it it really changes our immediate feelings,
massages out some of the struggle. I find it addictive even though it’s rarely
enticing enough to begin. <o:p abp="64"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="66" style="font-family: "calibri";">Unfortunately – and, unfortunately again, I have confirmed
this with a licensed professional – a lot of the things that make us feel
worlds better are not interesting. Their label is boring, they take away from
our binge-watching time, and they’re kind of dry. <o:p abp="67"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="69" style="font-family: "calibri";">But so was our bath we took earlier. We had no water, but
just in remembering how something we <i abp="70" style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could</i>
do <i abp="71" style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could</i> help us unkink our funk, we
were able to find ourselves in a better space. I for one feel much less anger
toward thin Instagram models than I did an hour ago, I don’t know about y’all. <o:p abp="72"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="74" style="font-family: "calibri";">So let’s move forward, K? Or just sit still as time moves
forward, since we don’t really have a choice about the seconds ticking off. But
remember they’re not ticking away, we are not losing our place. In taking the
time to regroup and to give a hoot about helping ourselves feel better, we are
finding our place, and earning back time that would otherwise be spent in
tension. <o:p abp="75"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="77" style="font-family: "calibri";">Much love, and we’ll be reflecting again soon. Xox</span></div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-19775631947394622512019-04-19T10:19:00.001-07:002019-04-19T10:20:04.548-07:00Another meditation/reflection/take-a-pause thing for your day<div abp="4669">
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<a abp="156" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQuNnpKVllxe6f-dg5Dpra1oXJF4cYvgbIiBbQkDv0qjpKai0clB2iQeCpz8_Suq6gV02IUzOQ58gF9APzO-YfaTfWNAVcPu9KA4VyoRRbZcj5WtEOIc0r6de_qrYsFYysQIg9A9S5Tc/s1600/IMG-8793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="157" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQuNnpKVllxe6f-dg5Dpra1oXJF4cYvgbIiBbQkDv0qjpKai0clB2iQeCpz8_Suq6gV02IUzOQ58gF9APzO-YfaTfWNAVcPu9KA4VyoRRbZcj5WtEOIc0r6de_qrYsFYysQIg9A9S5Tc/s320/IMG-8793.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span abp="16" style="font-family: "calibri";">Here we are, Friends. Another night that our hearts
circulated liquid and our lungs lifted gas and we woke up without incident.
Wow. <br abp="2423" /><o:p abp="17"><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="19" style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m not being crass, I really do think it’s a sizable
miracle that our lives remain alive day after day, because we all know how
fragile life can be. So I don’t care if you’re in the crankiest of moods, do me
a favor and take a moment to be grateful that you get to be alive today, and
remember that the crankiness will abate and maybe tomorrow will be amazing and
you get a chance to enjoy that. Go ahead, give thanks, I’ll wait. <o:p abp="20"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="22" style="font-family: "calibri";">Ahhh. Feeling better? Me three.<o:p abp="23"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="25" style="font-family: "calibri";">I began my morning with the usual, snuggling that cat. He
loves to squish in close when I wake up, and I feel wrong letting up on the
petting until he’s done purring, which is why I’m usually running out the door
in a rush. But he could not be more worth it. <o:p abp="26"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="28" style="font-family: "calibri";">What’s worth it in your life? Adding storage space on your
phone for pet photos? Earning a buck to feed your kids? Tending to your dream? Personally
I struggle with the latter, but I’m trying to regain my focus. <o:p abp="29"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="31" style="font-family: "calibri";">Beyond coordinating the occasional bachelor or surprise
birthday party, I’m not the most enthusiastic planner you’ll ever meet. While I’ve
always been full of opinions and ideas, in many ways I let life happen to me,
and I find a way to make the circumstances handed to me work. Growing up my
family moved several times, and I really couldn’t put in a vote or protest that
would stop us from loading up the U-Haul and driving to Colorado, then
Missouri, then back to Kansas. While it’s definitely a strength that I’ve grown
to make the best of things, I think it’s fair to say that my grasp of
goal-setting and goal-achieving is a little off. <o:p abp="32"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="34" style="font-family: "calibri";">When I’m asked to plan my future, my self-esteem goes rigid.
My confidence clocks out and I give up on even thinking that I might be able to
go after something and get it. It’s unfortunate, and disheartening, and one of the
worst feelings on planet earth to believe that one is wasting her education,
skills, talent or time. I can imagine every one of us can relate on some level.
<o:p abp="35"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="37" style="font-family: "calibri";">But guess what? Our lives are not wasted, nor are we a
waste, though at times it may feel that way. You may not have a clear five-year
plan of how you’re going to find things that feel like they’re missing. You may
not really enjoy the work it takes to make change. You may not have a crowded
vision board of cut-out words and pictures to inspire you; your head may just
be full of nebulous longings and your heart may not have received the message
yet that it’s aching for more. <o:p abp="38"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="40" style="font-family: "calibri";">Wherever you are, <b abp="41" style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i abp="42" style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how</i></b>-ever you are, whoever whatever
whichever life you’re leading – it’s OK. It’s exactly as it should be, even if
you hate it. Because life can be molded to look so different. Are you the same
person you were in high school? Duh, totally not. But, well…a little bit the
same, yeah? Your core – of silliness, bravery, perception, grit – is supremely
sticky, very hard to remove, I don’t know if you know this. We might be able to
wash off our teenage awkwardness, expunge offending photos of that ill-advised
perm, but You? Your greatness? Your power and prowess and passion? Sorry,
Honey, they ain’t gone anywhere in all this time. <o:p abp="43"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="45" style="font-family: "calibri";">So take heart today, if you can manage. And if you feel like
you can’t, close your eyes for a moment and see yourself as a kid. Remember
him, remember how he would spend a Saturday morning – what did he race off to
do, so eager to engage, not worried about a time limit? Look back at your baby
girl self in her pastel-painted bedroom. What did she want, what did she believe
she could have before experience made her wary that maybe it wasn’t for sure a
thousand percent possible to achieve? <o:p abp="46"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="48" style="font-family: "calibri";">Sit with that kiddo and give them love. Tell them their
ideas are great, their energy an inspiration! Listen to their music, scan the
posters on their wall, find their family dog and give him a pat; let him
remember you with a lick of the fingers.<o:p abp="49"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="51" style="font-family: "calibri";">Then invite your youth to step into today with you. Feel
that sticky core squish against your bones and let your essence effervesce around
your bloodstream. Hang with Younger You, buy them an ice cream and get lost in
the chatter of what you two – excuse me, you ONE – have always wanted. <o:p abp="52"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="54" style="font-family: "calibri";">Ready? Eyes open. Let’s do this.</span></div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-25118085756746050422019-04-18T09:23:00.003-07:002019-04-18T09:26:54.001-07:00A meditation/pep talk/reflection/breath for today<div abp="4665">
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<span abp="20" style="font-family: "calibri";">There are a lot of things that need to be done. They’ll get
done. And if they don’t, the world is going to keep on spinning. You’re not
going to lose your job, your friends, the love of your kids. It will all still
be there tomorrow. In fact, I bet you’ll find it later today. Just sip that
coffee and take a breath – really feel it balloon in your chest then spill out
from your nose – and recognize that though the preferred lack of stress may not
be here in this moment, it will return in time.</span></div>
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<span abp="23" style="font-family: "calibri";">That’s the thing about a day – it changes a million times.
Morphs from a rush of deadlines to a sudden drink of lemonade on the porch.
Then you’re chasing a tot in a diaper, next thing you know you’re watching him
sleep on the baby monitor. I used to deem it a weakness – an extreme weakness –
that I could have so many feelings in one day. <em abp="2426">WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?</em> was the
only way I could greet the reality, like a party guest I didn’t invite so why
are they still here??<o:p abp="24"></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<div abp="2430">
<div abp="2435">
<div abp="2444">
<div abp="2450">
<span abp="26" style="font-family: "calibri";">With a therapist explaining over and over that my person is
normal, and working together with her to cope with and address my many
emotions, I truly am able to calmly live with the fact that this is just how it
is. We go through a lot of thoughts and feelings in a short amount of
time. Our brains are super complex and impressive, honestly why should we be
surprised that they’re capable of shuffling through moods and reactions like
they’re feverishly looking for a number in a Rolodex?<o:p abp="27"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="4665">
</div>
<div abp="28" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2435">
<div abp="2441">
<div abp="2451">
<div abp="2458">
<span abp="29" style="font-family: "calibri";">So I guess that’s a secret that life in general never tells
us – there’s going to be a lot of shifting. From happy to sad, angry to jealous,
bored to overwhelmed, anxious to lost. And when you can’t take any more of the
Ferris wheel ride, they send you back up for another nauseating loop. <o:p abp="30"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="4665">
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<div abp="31" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2440">
<div abp="2447">
<div abp="2458">
<div abp="2466">
<span abp="32" style="font-family: "calibri";">But there’s another secret that takes longer to discover: we
recover. <o:p abp="33"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="34" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2445">
<div abp="2453">
<div abp="2465">
<div abp="2474">
<span abp="35" style="font-family: "calibri";">A hundred times a day we recover. Think how many things you’ve
overcome this morning already. Got toothpaste on your shirt? I bet you changed
it before running out the door, or you realized that you’re going to be OK
smelling just a little bit minty fresh today. Kids had a meltdown before
school? Bet they’re fine now. Discovered you were out of coffee at home? Bet
you snuck into Starbucks to remedy that. <o:p abp="36"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="37" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2450">
<div abp="2459">
<div abp="2472">
<div abp="2482">
<span abp="38" style="font-family: "calibri";">What, you still haven’t had your coffee? Are you crazy?! Go!
Now! Stop reading this and get a cuppa!<o:p abp="39"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="2455">
<div abp="2465">
<div abp="2479">
<div abp="2490">
<span abp="41" style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span abp="42" style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><o:p abp="43"></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="44" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2461">
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<div abp="2487">
<div abp="2499">
<span abp="45" style="font-family: "calibri";">What I’m trying to say with all this is that you’re totally
fine, Friends. And if you’re not fine in this moment, you’re gonna be fine in
one of the next several moments. There are so many ways to reset an annoyance,
a frustrated attitude; so many healers inside your head ready to rescue you
from that fear that just washed over you. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="44" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2467">
<div abp="2480">
<div abp="2497">
<div abp="2505">
<span abp="45" style="font-family: "calibri";">My tiny practical recommendations?
Drink some water, get outside (just sit, for five minutes), make a list, hug
someone you love, text something honest, close your eyes for a few seconds.
Turn on classical music or silly 90s music or Motown. Always Motown. <o:p abp="46"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="47" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2472">
<div abp="2486">
<div abp="2504">
<div abp="2513">
<span abp="48" style="font-family: "calibri";">And then? Psych yourself out. Pretend you believe that you’ve
got this, that the pain is going to correct its course and head back toward
peace. Find one thing to look forward to, even if it’s the shipment of brightly
colored Post-It notes arriving at the office today. Hold onto the blessings
around you, and if you can’t touch them just yet, make sure you’re in a
reaching formation so you’ll catch them when they come near. <o:p abp="49"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<div abp="50" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2477">
<div abp="2492">
<div abp="2511">
<div abp="2521">
<span abp="51" style="font-family: "calibri";">Reeeeeeeeeeeeach. <o:p abp="52"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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</div>
<div abp="53" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2482">
<div abp="2498">
<div abp="2518">
<div abp="2529">
<span abp="54" style="font-family: "calibri";">Open up your chest, to possibility, to change, to trust.
Feel that? That’s hope pouring in, filling in the little crevices that were
crowded with crud. In reaching you’ve made space; you’ve stretched apart the
grievances that were grinding together making everything feel ouchy. Now the
balm of ice cream and giggles and tenderness can have a turn in that bounce
house of a brain you’ve got. <o:p abp="55"></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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</div>
<div abp="56" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2487">
<div abp="2504">
<div abp="2525">
<div abp="2537">
<span abp="57" style="font-family: "calibri";">You. Have. Got this. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="56" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2493">
<div abp="2508">
<div abp="2530">
<div abp="2543">
<span abp="57" style="font-family: "calibri";">You. Are. Beautiful. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="56" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2499">
<div abp="2512">
<div abp="2535">
<div abp="2549">
<span abp="57" style="font-family: "calibri";">In all your
overthinking and panicking and worry you are finding room for a different train
of thought. A train headed for the prairie, golden light filtering through the
window to brush your forehead as you watch city melt into fields of wheat. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div abp="56" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div abp="2505">
<div abp="2520">
<div abp="2540">
<div abp="2555">
<span abp="57" style="font-family: "calibri";">Hear
that? That’s the whistle humming you to rest, Baby. Listen to her love, echoing
off the air and dancing for miles ahead. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-11983780609972333072019-04-08T12:27:00.002-07:002019-04-08T12:27:41.674-07:00A weekend that won<div abp="91" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="92" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgjYThMoNrYkHhIOZcegg5b0nrnXqu27ChqEEuFkUonQhwMI9Ai2ODoLCrOWznCjWCrAlP8OvwzyrxovyKFwM_wO5UCCLwwv4lP3PHOiuC9jB1DAAQPUMvATUv7CxpiXlgPD7PfNBYKQ/s1600/IMG_0426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="93" border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="629" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgjYThMoNrYkHhIOZcegg5b0nrnXqu27ChqEEuFkUonQhwMI9Ai2ODoLCrOWznCjWCrAlP8OvwzyrxovyKFwM_wO5UCCLwwv4lP3PHOiuC9jB1DAAQPUMvATUv7CxpiXlgPD7PfNBYKQ/s400/IMG_0426.jpg" width="392" /></a></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
This weekend was a service to my soul, a tune-up for my attitude, a peace amidst questions. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
So many tiny, amazing things happened, and even with tears involved it was basically perfect. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
I finished it with a 12-hour night of sleep and woke up still sleepy. Sufficiently worn out and supersaturated with gratitude. Supergratituded. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
***</div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
I had a party on Friday to celebrate the Daily Bailey's 10th birthday. Friends came out to be a part of the event, and I reveled in the miracle that (save one of the people in attendance) I knew none of them seven years ago. These are friends I've met at a wings restaurant, a Gin Blossoms concert, a backyard BBQ, church, even through blogging itself. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
I made a quiz about the blog and people asked if the different colors of paper it was printed on meant that the quiz had various versions. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
"That's just because I like color," I explained, and assured them the quiz was strictly voluntary, because if there's one thing I hate it's mandatory games at parties. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
Alex, angel that he is, recognized I was busy circulating among the attendees, hosting it with the most of it, and offered to grade the exams. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
I kneeled atop a bar stool and read the answers in the crowded brewery, and my friends gathered close to hear the results and eagerly shout which ones they thought were correct. Our proctor Alex revealed the surprised winner, a faithful reader of the blog who scored a 7/11. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
There was rainbow-colored cake with cookie dough bites edging the rim, a last-minute text sent just in time to a guest who hadn't arrived requesting she bring candles. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
There was an exorbitant fee for "cake cutting" even though we just borrowed a knife and did the cutting ourselves, but the service staff was so kind and calm and attentive with us that I switched my annoyance into the perspective that this was just an extra tip to thank them for all their help. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
People stayed late and ordered happy hour food. One friend left then returned later with another friend in tow. I got sleepy but knew it was amazing that people had gathered for my milestone and so I bucked up and enjoyed their excitement as they found Ninja Turtle stickers and SpongeBob tattoos and coupons for karaoke and hiking dates in their party favor bags. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
I fell asleep in my jeans and woke up pleased and content. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
***</div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
Alex and I jogged around the block, and I stopped to walk but didn't spiral into feelings of failure. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
I felt the endorphins arrive and smeared ivory foundation over my splotched, athletic face. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
A group of musicians whom we've met through an open mic performed a showcase, and when we arrived they all got big grins on their faces and pulled us into hugs, so excited that we showed up. One of them played a song that I didn't request, but he knows it's my favorite of his and that I listen to it regularly to calm down and rest inside a moment. He told me after his set that he had played it on purpose, and our beers clicked in the sound of friendship.</div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
I cleaned my room and my bathroom and lit candles of different hues and scents while a cracked window brought in fresh breath. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
Feeling self-conscious about something I cried, and Alex tickled me to make me laugh, and at some point the tears stopped. (Then I showed him <a abp="216" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCtyygSfw-M" target="_blank">that video of the girl who's crying</a> and cheers up thanks to Fraggle Rock and peanut butter and jelly, and we agreed with zero joking that she is just like me.)</div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
With my body curved in an L-shape, I took a nap, then went out for pizza and salad. Put gas in the car, bought cat litter, went back home and quickly fell asleep again. </div>
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</div>
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I ate macaroni salad and de-scaled the coffee maker and called my mom. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
I wore a dress and started two books, gathered papers into a stack and put away laundry I washed the week before. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
I painted my nails to look like Easter eggs, to literally have color at my fingertips. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
But even if this weekend had nails in the nude, or a cake without funfetti, or quizzes printed on paper white, it would have been filled with hues a many. Because the tiny, amazing things, and the giant, generous hearts that filled it are so colorful my life feels like a stationery shop where everything is free. Cards of mint and pens of coral, washi tape of grape and stamps of flora. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
My friends are a boutique of paper and pencils, and coming from this writer, that's a compliment to be reckoned with. </div>
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</div>
<div abp="4664">
Thanks to all who helped us celebrate far and wide, who offer me giggles and endorphins and cheers over beers on the regular. Your color reminds me this life isn't black and white, and that it doesn't have to be sad like grey either. </div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
Xox</div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-47990583347957244722019-04-05T19:17:00.000-07:002019-04-05T19:17:37.764-07:00The Daily Bailey: A Decade of Gifts<div abp="4664">
<a abp="232" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4B-yC5H1eJ4CORvleIou-Ce1lis_q-NZvgcQ8sdFrQqyNdUbBxShO2lCIx12V_ey9JE55gIAespD6J9RqNm7Wqma8d3YkXGi6y6FhuxkDE6jppNFrh21cdw2qxuAdiA4Ka7afhyGKNE/s1600/45146059_10100755517039999_6711981620955447296_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img abp="233" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4B-yC5H1eJ4CORvleIou-Ce1lis_q-NZvgcQ8sdFrQqyNdUbBxShO2lCIx12V_ey9JE55gIAespD6J9RqNm7Wqma8d3YkXGi6y6FhuxkDE6jppNFrh21cdw2qxuAdiA4Ka7afhyGKNE/s200/45146059_10100755517039999_6711981620955447296_n.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<div abp="4664">
<span abp="17" style="font-family: "calibri";">I admit it’s a little weird to commemorate/honor/celebrate
something that, of late, I’ve neglected. But this blog has laid so much
groundwork for my life, and if I never started it I maybe wouldn’t see myself
as a writer today, and boy would my life feel different. As I’ve reflected on
the past decade as a blogger (<a abp="415" href="https://thedaileebailey.blogspot.com/2009/04/all-right-so-i-have-blog.html" target="_blank">10 years today, what?!</a>), I decided it’s
appropriate to make a list of 10 gifts that the Daily Bailey has given to me.
Because without her generosity, I might be pretty lost. So without further ado,
here are the gifts this dear blog has bestowed upon my life and person: </span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="19" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="294"><span abp="295" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="296" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="297" style="font-family: "calibri";">1.</span><span abp="298" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="299" style="font-family: "calibri";">Assurance<o:p abp="300"></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="26" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="27" style="font-family: "calibri";">When I started blogging, my ultimate dream was to know that my
words could make others know that they weren’t alone. That dream has come true
for me, as readers have come back and told me that I helped them feel they were
in good company. In reading those responses, I realized <i abp="28" style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> wasn’t alone, either, and that was a miracle I never saw coming. <o:p abp="29"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="30" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span abp="31" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="32" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><strong abp="301"><span abp="302" style="font-family: "calibri";">2.</span><span abp="303" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></strong></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="35" style="font-family: "calibri";"><strong abp="304">Belief</strong> <o:p abp="36"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="37" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="38" style="font-family: "calibri";">After blogging for 10 years, and letting that springboard me
into other genres and industries of writing, I truly believe that I am a
writer. What’s more, Y’all call me a writer, and that’s just notarized
validation right there. Really, though, it means the world to hear that title attached
to my name. Crazy, wild, beautiful journey I never knew I was setting out on. <o:p abp="39"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="40" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="305"><span abp="306" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="307" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="308" style="font-family: "calibri";">3.</span><span abp="309" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="310" style="font-family: "calibri";">Practice<o:p abp="311"></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="47" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="48" style="font-family: "calibri";">Even though I’ve sweated out my beginner’s fear in
newsrooms, the blog has provided me with more consistent and valuable practice
as a writer. I’ve learned that even if no one reads a post, it’s still
worthwhile to throw my heart into it. Writers aren’t made by influence nor
affluence. Writers <i abp="49" style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make</i>, and it’s up
to us to say what we must, regardless of audience.<o:p abp="50"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="51" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong><span abp="52" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="53" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="54" style="font-family: "calibri";">4.</span><span abp="55" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="56" style="font-family: "calibri";">Distraction<o:p abp="57"></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="58" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="59" style="font-family: "calibri";">Whether I’m on deadline to turn in a magazine piece,
avoiding filing my taxes, or when I was in graduate school especially, blogging
has become one of my favorite forms of procrastination. It makes me feel
productive, sometimes garners reader discussion, and…it always provides me with
more of that great teacher: practice. <o:p abp="60"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="61" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="312"><span abp="313" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="314" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="315" style="font-family: "calibri";">5.</span><span abp="316" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="317" style="font-family: "calibri";">Confidence<o:p abp="318"></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div abp="4664">
</div>
<div abp="68" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="69" style="font-family: "calibri";">Without my blog as a base, I wouldn’t have considered
studying journalism, but doing so led me to my life here. Several jobs and
situations have made me feel like my edges were mis-cut, but thanks to the
established confidence that had been laid by blog experience, I learned that I
could power my way through challenges and become a more well-rounded writer. <o:p abp="70"></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="319"><span abp="320" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="321" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="322" style="font-family: "calibri";">6.</span><span abp="323" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="324" style="font-family: "calibri";"><span abp="325" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope<o:p abp="326"></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<span abp="80" style="font-family: "calibri";">While my career doesn’t look the way I want it to, my
vocation does. I feel truly called to write, and that alongside the continual
encouragement I get from friends and readers gives me a forward-looking
mindset. Knowing that blogging could have gone in any direction (or nowhere),
but decided to go somewhere gives me faith that things will continue to be
borne of that initial effort. <o:p abp="81"></o:p></span></div>
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<div abp="82" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="327"><span abp="328" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="329" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="330" style="font-family: "calibri";">7.</span><span abp="331" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="332" style="font-family: "calibri";">Outlet<o:p abp="333"></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<span abp="90" style="font-family: "calibri";">So many emotional wounds have been lanced via writing for
this blog, and if not fully healed at least some of the poison got out once I
knew that I wasn’t keeping my thoughts to myself. Making vulnerability so
public has definitely had its share of misgivings, but ultimately it’s one of
the best decisions I’ve ever made. <o:p abp="91"></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="339" style="font-family: "calibri";">Rest<o:p abp="340"></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<span abp="100" style="font-family: "calibri";">In the blogosphere and beyond, I have been heard, and what's more, loved in response, and that
conducts such incredible peace. <o:p abp="101"></o:p></span></div>
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<div abp="102" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="341"><span abp="342" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="343" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="344" style="font-family: "calibri";">9.</span><span abp="345" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="346" style="font-family: "calibri";">Purpose<o:p abp="347"></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<span abp="110" style="font-family: "calibri";">Growing up in a loving family, with good friends and supportive
mentors and teachers, and believing in a God who loves us all, I have never
doubted that I have value. But purpose is another animal that one has to really
chase in order to trust he’s there; purpose has a way of disappearing around corners,
making one feel lost in the forest. My purpose still plays hide-and-seek on
occasion, but I know she’ll always return to heart base. <o:p abp="111"></o:p></span></div>
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<div abp="112" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><strong abp="348"><span abp="349" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span abp="350" style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span abp="351" style="font-family: "calibri";">10.</span><span abp="352" style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span abp="353" style="font-family: "calibri";">You<o:p abp="354"></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<div abp="119" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="120" style="font-family: "calibri";">This blog has fostered so much community it my life it’s
essentially ridiculous. I have literally made friends through the vehicle of
the Daily Bailey, and I truly feel that in allowing me to test the waters as a
writer, blogging has provided me with opportunities which have led me to new
places which have landed me on barstools having conversations with all of you.
Whether I was tapping out responses to your comments on my phone or passing
along a business card to a complete stranger, the Daily Bailey has
wholeheartedly connected me to fascinating, loving, funny, thoughtful people
who have gotten me through very difficult times. <o:p abp="121"></o:p></span></div>
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<div abp="122" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="123" style="font-family: "calibri";">So on this anniversary day in my life, let me raise this
here post to YOU. <o:p abp="124"></o:p></span></div>
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<div abp="125" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="126" style="font-family: "calibri";">So much love and then more love and then guess what more
love. <o:p abp="127"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="129" style="font-family: "calibri";">And not least of all, we raise this post to my dear sweet
mama, a woman who shares her initials with the Dailey Bailey and who once said, “Bails, I think you should start a blog.” What a smart
woman. Love you, Mom. Xoxo</span></div>
Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-37681734859487622592019-03-28T11:54:00.001-07:002019-03-28T12:06:49.219-07:00Life, March 2019. <div abp="263" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="264" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKb7HpfYAbonSNoQB8ZTYHgQqdK8dmtnvaO-paw7fhtO1Jz2Rnv78eaWv9sjGMdAsq57AKhEsiJPjwR-yRcgogkx97anpJk-Z772fPQCq9pmQ4bsos4TJXcoCpWQyJ0VYII96JNCTGEw/s1600/IMG-0255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="265" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKb7HpfYAbonSNoQB8ZTYHgQqdK8dmtnvaO-paw7fhtO1Jz2Rnv78eaWv9sjGMdAsq57AKhEsiJPjwR-yRcgogkx97anpJk-Z772fPQCq9pmQ4bsos4TJXcoCpWQyJ0VYII96JNCTGEw/s400/IMG-0255.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Life, March 2019. </div>
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Here's what it looks like: </div>
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An <a abp="57" href="https://evolutionofsmooth.com/pages/lip-care" target="_blank">eos egg</a> sits beneath my PC monitor at the office. I smear it over my lips about eight times a day. </div>
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I've discovered that several magazines are free in a virtual reading format via the <a abp="154" href="https://www.lapl.org/" target="_blank">LAPL</a> website. I've been enjoying <em abp="59">Esquire</em> and <em abp="60">O</em> and <em abp="61">New York</em> and <em abp="62">Seventeen</em> (for memories) and even <em abp="63">HGTV</em> magazine when I am in a good place to not get jealous of all the beautifully decorated bedrooms and living spaces. </div>
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My babiest nephew has curly hair and it makes every picture texted to me that much more amazing and irresistible. </div>
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As of last night -- and please be mindful this boycott may be lifted in a matter of hours -- I am taking a break from the Amazon Prime show <em abp="64">Homecoming</em>, because it makes my heart pound and adds to my general tendency toward nervousness. But it's so good. Shea Whigham's performance is particularly great. </div>
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I spent yesterday's lunch break reading the first half of a <em abp="156">Baby-Sitter's Club</em> novel. I love that I can speed read through it because when I see the characters' names I don't need to reorient myself to who they are: Kristy tomboy, Mary Anne shy, Dawn hippie, Stacey sophisticate, Claudia artist, Mallory bookworm, Jessi dancer. Boom; takes no thinking at all, these are deeply grooved pathways in my brain. These are the sisters who were birthed in the 80s and waited until the late 90s to meet me. They gave me agency and confidence to provide childcare beyond simply getting my brother ready for school, kept me company on road trips. Mama worked at the library, and after school I would comb carefully across the Sitters' shelves, hoping to see the next number in the series not checked out, as I was committed to reading their story in order, following their journey as an honorary member, a baby babysitter in Colorado taking tips from headquarters in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. </div>
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My friend told me I should throw a party for a milestone in my life and it feels a little egocentric, but I think it's an opportunity to surround myself with people who support me and reboost that spark inside me. Plus she said she's buying cake so how I can I back out? </div>
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I am trying to spend more time at home, and I am trying to work on one cross stitch project at a time until it is completed, Missy. </div>
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I'm also working on speaking to myself in kinder tones than this stern Missy language. </div>
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I wear jewelry nearly every day. This is new. My fidgeting with it and taking it off while at stoplights is not as new. </div>
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In general anxiety has been my go to fragrance I've been wearing, but I've come so far in recognizing it, handling it, truly believing that it will disappear in time. I've been drinking water without being told by Alex or the internet or Dr. Oz. </div>
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Still no library fines in several weeks! I am crushing it!</div>
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As of, well, yesterday, I am trying to resist the knee-jerk habit of buying and eating chips. I think I can ignore them for a while and find solace in cheese and beets and other, less carb-dense-salt-rich-oil-soaked items of nourishment. OK fine maybe cheese is not great for you but this is one step I'm taking, People. We'll revisit cheese later. </div>
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Sorry. That "People" talk was basically Missy language. My apologies. It must be the chip withdrawal. </div>
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I don't check my texts and Instagram as frequently as usual and it really makes a marked difference on my levels of agitation, impatience, and discontent. </div>
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And that's basically my life right now. It's interesting how it changes all the time, separates into seasons that we don't even notice until we've switched into a new one. At present my season is drizzling worry, but the winds blowing in are so peaceful. So very so. Self-esteem is budding out the ends of twigs and my allergies are going crazy but I don't even care because Peace. Calm. Breath. Bright threads of lime are stemming up into flowers of azure across eggshell canvases, while Max snoozes in the purple comforter meadow across our bed. I bring my neon pink scarf with me in case there is a chill, but it remains tucked in my bag, as the days are warm. But why not carry a little color, just in case? </div>
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Be well, my friends. Feed that anxiety water; she doesn't thrive in humid spaces. Close your eyes and feel your cheekbones soften. Flip through a magazine and admire the thousand-dollar fashions. Snuggle the cat and read an old book; serve yourself memories, and believe in the future. </div>
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Xox</div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8587953922704029833.post-9819968402888176102019-03-14T09:35:00.003-07:002019-03-14T09:35:24.280-07:00A meditation/devotion/blessing thingy for your day<div abp="133" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a abp="134" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWB6nxPuY8LNmqzrayuppjQnOVkhyphenhyphenajWk2is9GN_9w8ALq-5I2HxY2_16rKTFdnOuOpslUzS_p0-MpvkeWGmiBw8ocp_m5-jg8_3BS7vNudYQwSwIaV6Fff41NthsIgQywLgUa_6mCr0/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img abp="135" border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="599" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWB6nxPuY8LNmqzrayuppjQnOVkhyphenhyphenajWk2is9GN_9w8ALq-5I2HxY2_16rKTFdnOuOpslUzS_p0-MpvkeWGmiBw8ocp_m5-jg8_3BS7vNudYQwSwIaV6Fff41NthsIgQywLgUa_6mCr0/s400/Untitled.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span abp="13" style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<span abp="14" style="font-family: Calibri;">To my <u abp="15">tired </u>children,</span><br />
<div abp="4672">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div abp="16" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="17" style="font-family: Calibri;">Rest will catch you, somewhere soon. You’ll be able to lie
back in the netting of her hammock and let your weight float on air. It will be
a miracle of density and physics, meanwhile it’s a weird miracle all its own that
your body recognizes fatigue to signal you toward sleep. Hold on. Breathe for a
moment, sip some water, make another cup of coffee. I won’t tell anyone. </span></div>
<div abp="18" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="19" style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p abp="20"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="21" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="22" style="font-family: Calibri;">To my babies who feel <u abp="23">stuck</u>,<o:p abp="24"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="25" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="26" style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll be freed from this stall, though it feels now that
confinement is your permanent lot. You won’t be in this state forever;
absolutely something will change course. Jobs and relationship status and
attitude and investment and money situations change all the time. They follow
their own individual schedule, and we’ll always have the calendars of others to
make things feel more unfair. But you’re on your way. Find one thing today that
sets you free, even for a moment. Hold it. Bless it. Invite it back tomorrow.
Chances are she’ll show up again. </span></div>
<div abp="27" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="28" style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p abp="29"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="30" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="31" style="font-family: Calibri;">To my friends who <u abp="32">can’t keep up</u>,<o:p abp="33"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="34" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="35" style="font-family: Calibri;">Your pace is just fine, honey. The deadlines don’t define
you, the rat race doesn’t rule you. Priorities will rise to the surface. You’ll
skim your ability across the smaller worries underneath, and with finesse you’ll
meet the immediate. Your kids won’t judge what you pick and choose, as long as
you choose affection and exceptional parental obsession with those tiny tots
you are bringing up. Let them bring you up, too. Let their tiny fingers with swollen
knuckles pet your head. Drink in their tiny voices that tell a story and get
distracted a hundred times before the finish. Hold their tiny torsos in your
lap and feel those tiny hearts beat against their chest. Feel that the tiny are mighty, and let the future strengthen you. </span></div>
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<span abp="37" style="font-family: Calibri;">***</span></div>
<div abp="38" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="39" style="font-family: Calibri;">To my peeps married to <u abp="40">anxiety</u>,<o:p abp="41"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="42" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="43" style="font-family: Calibri;">Whoops, when did that wedding take place, right?
Nevertheless, it sure feels like we’re locked into a contract now, and further it
feels like a bad dream because we never would have picked such a relentless,
unloving partner for our better-deserving self. You know what, though, babe?
That partner is just kind of here, swirling amongst us, tucking into the
corners of our handbag and the creases of our overcoat. And you know what else?
You’ve lived with that partner for a thousand years, and you’ve always, always
survived. When you can’t get the irrational fears to abate, can’t get the worry
loop to desist, try the next step: breathe in and around and through it. Look
out, look up from the ever-shrinking corner you’ve painted yourself into. Don't punish yourself for ending up here. Simply hold
open your palms, to make it easier to catch Grace. </span></div>
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<span abp="45" style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p abp="46"></o:p></span></div>
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<span abp="48" style="font-family: Calibri;">To my loves who are <u abp="49">content</u>,<o:p abp="50"></o:p></span></div>
<div abp="51" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="52" style="font-family: Calibri;">Praise the good Lord in Heaven above that you are at peace,
my sweet. Those around you who struggle are jealous of this stillness, but
goodness do they need you to keep close. Be gentle as you come near. Set down
the tea in front of them, then find a reason to fuss elsewhere in the home.
Give them time to approach the mug; though they feel the warmth, they still
fear the steam may burn. Use your calm, your joy, your strength, to infuse the
space around them with safety. Open the windows to let pressure air itself out. You
may want your charge to speak, to cry, to release in a way that proves to you they’ll
be OK. They just need you, Love. Be there. Refill the tea, squeeze a shoulder,
then go fuss. Come back with socks, tattered copies of Calvin & Hobbes,
pizza. Always pizza. Let the cheesy triangles work their magic, let their goo
melt into the soul. You are a light without a dimmer setting. Your brightness
only builds. </span></div>
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<span abp="54" style="font-family: Calibri;">***</span></div>
<div abp="55" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span abp="56" style="font-family: Calibri;">Wherever you are is OK. Your mission is to believe it. <br /><br />Xox</span></div>
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Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10002878553856506526noreply@blogger.com0