Category: Personal Growth (or not)

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Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Fish Movie Boundaries

One of the thing I do is to volunteer at the a theater as an usher/clean up crew. It’s been pretty cool. I see things I would have never otherwise seen like Japanese drumming, symphony, and now short films about trout. The people are generally very polite and congenial. It’s clear which of the people there have had too much to drink and maybe say things they wouldn’t otherwise, but they are rare.

Last night there was a dude who was different. He loomed up over me and started with common questions about what the show was.

“Is this about fish?”

“Uh,…yah.”

“Is it fiction?”

“I dunno man. I just open the door.”

“You just open the door?….is it like a Scorsese film.”

“Ha. I don’t think so.”

“So, is it like a Scorsese?”

I’d noticed that he’d moved in closer. With my back against the wall, I did not like having a large man only inches away from my face. I kept turning away to hold the door and engage with other folks. He wasn’t budging.

He asked if I fish. I told him no. He asked if I camp specifically “in the raw” (whatever that means). My gut did not like his questions, proximity, or his inability to pick up on my cues that I felt I had fulfilled my usherly courteous obligation.

This seems like the time to point out that I’m NOT the type to overreact to challenging social interaction. I wouldn’t call myself a tough girl, but I really do spend a lot of time in enough very tough situations without panicking.

“I’m from the mountains. I just come down to town to see what’s going on. Are you from the mountains?”

“No.”

“Oh, you’re from Redding. Are your parents living?” What the actual fuck?

I continued to try to dismiss him. He proceeded to let me know about his daughter and his wife that moved back out of the county. (Shocking.) He talked about his family in so cal. “Do you surf?” As I type it out, it all seems benign. But his insistence and his continued closing in on me was unsettling to say the least.

A bunch of thoughts were in my head. Why the fuck did my fellow door man, Rose, not show for her shift? Why when I try to throw ESP signals to security are they not looking at this dude? Am I being overdramatic? Have I become instantly soft? Thankfully the gods of drunk men gave me a chance to dispel some of that. As this went on, some beer-spiller totally interrupted creepy guy and called out “you’re beautiful.” He was drunk (and inaccurate) but somehow not creeping me the fuck out. This told me I was reacting to this specific creeper for some reason.

Creepy guy continued to pepper with questions that I did my best to parry away. He’d look down on me and “hmmmm.”

At one point he let me know that his deceased mother warned him about women like me.

I’m literally just there to open the door for people to see the trout movies. He asked how I spent my time as a child. I didn’t answer him. He didn’t take the hint and asked again. “I’m not comfortable answering any more of your questions.” He then said something about how he never tries to take married or taken women.

Luckily I saw someone I knew and dipped. The someone I knew was with some other person who was able to say that he saw the creeper and that it was really weird. I felt relieved, but then then a bit annoyed that it was like I needed someone to confirm the strangeness of the encounter. I should know that my comfort level doesn’t to be sanctioned by others. My boundary is mine to define and needs no defense.

I wandered over to security and let them know there was a creeper. They don’t know me. I felt (right or wrong) that they suspected I may have been overreacting. I mean, what can I expect strutting around in that fanny pack and lanyard. Whether they thought my concern was warranted or not, they still kindly said they would “keep an eye out” and walk me to my car at the end.

The dude disappeared. The trout movies were actually pretty cool. And my night ended with me un-murdered. Win-win-win.

Because I overthink things though, I ruminated about my imaginary murderer.

It made me think of a great book I read close to 20 years ago; “The Gift of Fear” by Gavin DeBecker. It was given to me by my MSW internship supervisor, Gayle. I wondered if it was intended to turn me into someone who just knows they’re always about to become some sort of victim. That’s not who I want to be and that’s fortunately now how the book read. It was more about “listen to your gut.”

He did however talk about the trap that folks can fall in when they’re being agreeable. This is probably a grossly inaccurate paraphrase, but essentially, bad guys use our niceness against us. I think most people want to be nice and assume positive intent from others. However, that doesn’t mean we have to compromise our boundaries or ignore our gut when it sends up the red flag.

The creepy dude reminded me of some people I’ve known in my work who’ve experienced unspeakable traumas and as a result sometimes never develop appropriate social skills. I have empathy for those folks. That empathy doesn’t need to result in me tolerating what feels unsafe.

“Wow Crystal. You’re putting way too much in to a weirdo hitting on you.”

I know. I overthink things. But I wanted to talk about it. My story at home included “dude wasn’t reading the signs at all” which was met with “You were answering the questions. What do you mean he wasn’t reading the signs?” I’m sure Brian was caught off guard by my strong and abrupt position. But it was an instantaneous highlight of how we can accidentally make people feel like it’s their fault when someone encroaches on our boundaries. It’s not. I didn’t cause the film fest creeper.

Your boundaries are not a list of do’s and don’t’s. They’re the guardrails for what you will accept and not accept. They don’t require justification and it’s not your fault if someone violates them.

If your boundaries are tested today, that is not a reflection on you. It’s a reflection on tester. It doesn’t matter if it’s socially awkward grown ups or if its your hamster’s physical therapist holding a hand out for a post Hamster PT tip; no is a complete sentence.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Trusting Yourself

It’s the time of my prepping for bikini competition where I have moments of doubt coupled with moments of time to think. That’s not the best combination.

On the upside though, it creates circumstances where I try to learn new things. Thanks Spotify for the pod casts and (judge if you must) guided meditations. Before you cast me in to the group that is convinced the illuminati are to blame for the price of eggs, hear me out. If you can overcome the painfully soothing voices and spa music, some of those meditations have some decent messages worth listening to.

This morning, the one that rotated through was on self trust.

When I “relaxed inside myself” did I really see an orb of pure white light that moved from the size of a pinpoint to (ironically) the size of a watermelon? No. Not in the slightest. I’m not judging if you do these things and you do end up with melon orbs, but that’s just not my experience.

The experience wasn’t wasted though.

The melon orb was supposed to signify “intuition.” K.

At the end of the calming directions, auditory Xanax said, “Ask your intuition what you need to know.”

There was still time remaining in the tanning bed (gotta be Oompa Loompa colored for bikini comps *eyeroll), so as lame as it seemed; I did internally ask myself what I need to know.

I was metaphorically crisply slapped into attention with the thought “it’s going to be okay.”

After I stopped being shocked that anything came to my brain, I began to promptly over think things. “What’s going to be okay?! Am I missing the opportunity to worry about something?!”

I was able to promptly come up with a list of things about which to worry. Some big, some small, some of my own creation, some outside of my control completely. But then I thought it again “it’s going to be okay.” It was like that’s the branded answer for whatever ______(insert worry here) was.

Okay. That’s not a bad message I guess, but where does a thought like that come from?

One of my Sunday post gym fave things to do is to try to learn stuff on ye olde computer.

Today I landed on a video about 8 Signs You Don’t Trust Yourself. It sounded like maybe it’d be about how someone shouldn’t have a credit card or be solely in charge of whether or not they cut bangs in their hair.

It was an interesting 6 minutes that wasn’t about credit or hair at all.

They start in the classic pop psychology/graduation speech fashion of having the definition of a word. “Trust is firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.”

According to the cute little cartoon guy, the signs to know if you struggle to trust yourself are:

  1. You second guess your decisions: A cue for of this applies is when you struggle to decide. Their example was choosing between pancakes and waffles, but I’m sure this could apply to lots of other decisions too, like things at work.  
  2. You overthink everything: After cartoon guy landed on pancakes, he wondered how good the waffles were and if he made the right choice.
  3. You trust other people’s opinions more than your own: How is a cartoon guy supposed to know if pancakes or waffles are better?!
  4. You don’t validate your own experiences: The cartoon guy had the feeling of “I swear that I remembered to do that” but then completely felt that he hadn’t and doubted himself. In my life, this one looks like I’ve walked a fair amount away from the car and then feel like I didn’t lock the car so I walk back and “boop” the key fob again just in case.  
  5. You’re afraid to speak up; you back away from being the center of attention: Cartoon guy was afraid of being judged even in groups of close friends.
  6. You try to control everything: Cartoon guy found himself taking charge and planning ahead with hypervigilance. The message was that religiously planning ahead can be a result of worrying that you don’t feel like you can trust yourself if there’s curve balls. Think person who gets their fam to the airport at 2 am for the 8 am flight.
  7. You struggle to recognize your worth: Cartoon guy felt embarrassed when people compliment him. And no matter how many compliments he got, he continued to sell himself short.
  8. You’re overly critical of yourself: Cartoon guys is always the first to point out his own mistakes. He maybe follows it up with some statement to normalize falling on a sword that no one asked him to with comments like “it’s my Catholic guilt” or whatever.

I resonated with some of the 8 signs. Especially that one where you don’t want to be the center of attention (Golden State Championships bikini competition 3/25 in San Jose BWAH HA!). But the rest of that resonating can be daunting. How is knowing that maybe you don’t trust yourself supposed to be helpful?!

Thankfully cartoon guy brought it back around. You can cultivate self trust. You can doubt, but still have hope that you’ve got the internal tooling to make good choices.

Essentially, just listen to your own illuminated watermelon and know that it’s all going to be some kind of okay.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not)

Enthusiasm

Sometimes a little quote will get stuck in my head, kinda rolling around like a marble in labyrinth. The quote may pop up when it’s helpful, like when I’m on the stupid stairmaster and have nothing to do for 30 minutes but step and think. Or; the quote may come up at unhelpful times, like resulting in me having walked to the kitchen and with zero recollection as to why.

The most recent of these quotes was from some olden days radio man’s show. Some 1950’s dude hurls quick insights and quotes at listeners in one of those baritone voices that soothes the soul.

The thing I listened to had a quote that the word “enthusiasm” is from the Greek and means “the God within.” When he said it, I braced for some ongoing words about spirituality that may threaten my core beliefs about the universe. I worried that I was on the precipice of being encouraged to join some new age cult.

Luckily for me, the golden voice moved on quickly. What I’d listened to seemed to be a compilation of the man’s inspirational tidbits. You could almost hear the ads for Simonize in the midst of all Mr. Nightingale’s personal development snippets.

That quote has inspired thought though. Surely the Greek didn’t mean we got God stuff going on internally. At least I hope they didn’t. I can barely manage myself, I really don’t need any extra responsibility like that.

I hope what they were aiming for is that enthusiasm (passion) drives people in the way nothing else can. And that this enthusiasm comes from within.

I want to never take for granted how special it is to see someone do what they do with passion and purpose. It doesn’t have to be the gifted surgeon who travels to 3rd world countries to save lives. I mean; that’s cool and all, but enthusiasm for what someone does can show in countless ways. If you make a kick ass cup of French press coffee, getting after it with intention; then you got that whole Greek thing going on too. Also, seeing the result of someone’s enthusiasm is a gift for everyone.  

So thanks Mr. Nightingale for the pinballing thought in my head for the last week. Hopefully it helps me to remember to appreciate the vivacity in others. At the very least thought, it’s also made me think about Greek food and made me hungry. That’s right….THAT’S why I walked in the kitchen!

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not)

Dead Batteries/Free of Charge

#DadJoke

Joy is like a battery; it has to be charge, it can power other things, and much like battery power on my precious cell phone, it’s an absolute necessity. I hope that we all strive to bring some level of joy to our surroundings in our own ways. I don’t want to become one of those people pleasers who makes it a mission of trying to make others happy. But I do hope that some of my interactions result in people feeling “not worse.” There’s plenty of times in which I have to be “that guy,” the one who has to say the hard things or hold the lines, but when it’s not one of those situations, but intent to be the opposite of a chi vampire.

If you don’t know what a chi vampire is, you may be one. They’re the folks that after you’ve chatted with them you feel depleted of energy. Like your soul became a discarded empty Capri Sun juice pouch. Given the choice, I’d rather be more like a chi Tesla charging station (without the accompanying virtual signaling) and a vitality leech.  

I can tell when I’m veering toward the vampire stage. There’s a pretty steady consciousness stream of sarcasm in my head. When it’s time to charge my joy stores, I get worse at gatekeeping those comments in the brain. They just freestyle their way out the old mouth hole; where you can try to do some clean up about them, but you can’t make folks unhear them.

Some people have much better controls of the use of their energy than others. My social battery runs hot which means it can burn out quickly. People can probably see it on my face as easily as a digital batter bar over my head like I’m a video game character.

Just as there are different ways to bring joy to others, there’s different ways to recharge your own positivity. They can be complex efforts of self-care or it maybe you just need to be still. I try to have a variety of rechargers in my tool belt. Some include construction paper, some include writing random things for others to read, and many include food or exercise (I’m basically a puppy). When it’s time to restore my positivity, I also have to look at what my attention is digesting.

Recently my Spotify found itself “stuck” (at my doing) in a loop of playlists like Villain Mode, Angry Girl Workout, and Bad Bitch Vibes. It was song after song of jilted-ness with revenge themes or “my power comes from your inferiority” themes. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to key a car or buy some Louboutin red bottom shoes so “bitches can be hatin’” I’m literally at zero risk of either, especially since I had to google Louboutin to spell it only to learn those shoes are $1,500! Suddenly I’m a bitch that be hatin’!

I also found myself consuming documentaries of murder and dysfunction. I enjoy human behavior so much I’ve made a living out of it. Watching those shows is easily justified as satisfying that curiosity. And the fact that shows like Dahmer are “chart toppers” tells me I’m not the only one who watches stuff like that. Much like I’m not at risk of those damn shoes, I’m not destined for crime either. Which begs the question; what’s the harm is watching or listening to stuff like that?

There’s probably not a lot of risk. And I certainly can’t address what such shows do for others. But for me, I’m a strong believer in the hypothesis that you get what you give. If I wander in to work sour in attitude, people will likely engage with me in the same demeanor. I “just feel like” whether you bring positivity to your day or negativity, the universe will respond in kind. Basically, if all I see it negativity, I’m much more primed to see more negativity. There’s enough of that around, I don’t need to go looking for more.

So, murdering body builder documentary went off, and Monty Python came on. Nothing quite like dead parrots and silly walks to cleanse the palate. I’m genuinely thankful for the shenanigans and the reminders not to take life too seriously. What I particularly watched was their 2014 “Live (Mostly)” show on Netflix. They’re all in their 70’s at the time. They’re still painfully funny and the silliness of it all was restorative.

So chi vampires, bring it. I’m ready to listen to how somehow your doctor’s office’s receptionists brother in law has some impact on your day. Hopefully my hype will last a long time. Buuuuttt… if you see me melting into my chair while intermittently uttering “wow. that’s crazy….wow…..crazy,” maybe ask me what’s up with Monty Python. Or better yet,….buy me some of those red bottom shoes (bwah ha)!

Thanks for reading!  

Categories
Personal Growth (or not)

Lemme Tell You a Story

I’m not that great of a story teller. And those long jokes where the details have to be in just the right order for the punch line to make sense, forget about it. I’ll mess that up in a heartbeat.

When I’m telling stories, I get lost in the weeds of how much information needs to be included for the story to flow. Maybe the person listening to the story doesn’t need to know that the story’s main character is the same person who had a flat tire 3 months ago. It’s probably not relevant to the current story. But maybe it is.

This line of thinking causes me to insert all sorts of random facts into whatever yarn I’m trying to spin. 99% of story listeners are inclined to let those random facts just continue to pop up when they aren’t necessary. Thank you 1% who don’t mind the pain of asking me “Why did I need to know the part about the hamster’s physical therapist for a story about you ordering Chipotle?” You didn’t. My Applicable Details filter is more than broken, it simply doesn’t exist.

When I get is story mode, it’s like a runaway train. You know it needs to stop, but all you can do it keep your eyes peeled for the inevitable wreck. By the time you hear my story out loud, it’s probably already been told in my head or told 8 other times to poor unsuspecting souls who may have thought it was safe to say “good morning” without it turning in to a immovable stream of words.

I use stories for too many things. Sometimes they’re intended to be cautionary tales or ways to help normalize someone’s experience. Such as: you’re beating yourself up about a thing you wish you’d done differently, I want you to be easier on yourself, I tell you about a stupid thing I said to my kid in 2012. I’m sure sometimes it is genuinely helpful. Other times, I know people are like “what the f is wrong with you? Can’t you see my eyes glazing over? I’ve heard this one already.”

Even if I can, I can’t stop.

When I get going on one of the classic hits, there’s just no redirecting. It’s similar to on South Park when Cartman has to sing the entirety of “Come Sail Away with Me” every time he hears just the beginning of it. I’m not proud to be Cartman-like, but at least I’m self-aware. They say that’s an important step in the solution. I’m sure repeat listeners to the some of my story chart-toppers have calculated that it’s easier to wait it out than to try to stop it.

There was a story recently that I shared too much. I thought it was hilarious and enjoyed retelling the events in specific order to try to maximize the impact of the mechanical bull rental. I still think it’s hilarious, and will gladly tell you, but spoiler alert, it ends with the rental of a mechanical bull.

I didn’t want to share the story via text, it’s just not the same. I went to tell it to one of my favorite quads in the social-work-iverse. Kim was gone, but Eletra indulged me. She laughed accordingly. I was pleased. As I was getting ready to go, Kim came back. If you don’t know Eletra, she’s really smart. She remembers details well. She re-enacted my story for Kim. It was as though I was a playwright watching oddly exceptional talent in community theater. I listened in, waiting for the delivery of all the details, hearing the unneeded add-ons that I thought helped explained the story’s main character like how he’d wanted top ramen hair one time which actually meant a perm. (Not needed detail. Not needed at all!) The story still killed, and I’m thankful I got to see my script. Buuuut, like that the brave have told me,….too many details and side roads in my story.

In classic fashion, hearing someone else tell my story has become a story of it’s own. I clearly can’t help myself. Also, I’ve found loosely associated ways to infuse that story in other conversations since that time. Have I eliminated one detail? Not a chance!

Thanks for listening to my story (ies)!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

I Don’t Know

Be brave enough to say “I don’t know.”

This is a note that I found in my phone today. It located in between a quote from the Nice Guys movie that made me laugh and a shopping list. I have no idea what compelled me to make it as a note. It’s my survival skill, the cornerstone upon which I base my entire existence. It’s not like I need to look at my phone to remind myself to say “I have no idea what’s going on,” but there is was nonetheless.

I just think it’s funny that I landed on it again today.

Tuesday starts a new role for me at work. A million years ago, when I promoted from a social worker to a supervisor, a sage woman with the wildest gray hair possible told me that she had never said “I don’t know” more in her entire life than she had in her first six months as a supervisor.

Clearly I thought this wouldn’t apply to me. I knew my job well, and I was eager to take on more. Even more clearly though, I was wrong.

Supervising is not the same as doing the job. Someone can be excellent at what they do, but that’s not an automatic translation to coaching. Doubt? Think of your favorite elite football (or other sport ball team) athletes. Look at their coaches. See that huge disparity in the two? One’s built like a marble statue and can move like apex predator. The other has a clipboard and quite possibly a beer gut. Proof positive that coaching and doing are two different skill sets.

As I was growing up as a baby supervisor, I was very thankful that I’d been given the tip that it’s okay not to know everything. It freed me from feeling compelled to try to misrepresent myself or to feel a need to hide inadequacies. Despite the deceptive name, imposter syndrome is real.

People (myself included) can do some seriously funky things when they are trying to characterize themselves as something like perfect.  We can become defensive, shift blame, or other forms of deflection. We can even become passive aggressive. I’m not passive aggressive, unlike some people I know. Or we can become condescending. Condescending means talking down to someone (These are memes….not personal statements. And they’re hilarious memes, at that).

I don’t want to do those things. I want to keep focused on the values that cause us all to be passionate about the work and celebrate successes. I also need to be aware of areas in which I have room for growth. “Everybody gets a trophy” doesn’t do too well for encouraging people to continue to live to their potential.

You may not be in the same spot as me, gearing up for your job change and avoiding gigantic office spiders. Even so, there’s still value in everyone knowing that you don’t have to “know it all.” I’m grateful for those who can be still in their humility and live as an example for others. Those who embody the quote; ““Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.” (C.S..Lewis, probably). We are lucky to have you. I’m also thankful in advance for the grace from everyone when I say “I don’t know” a whole lot here soon. Please know I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just being brave (bwah ha!)

Thanks for reading!

Categories
I'm Broken Things I Think are Funny

Bitches Be Tripping

I’ve been walking upright for over 49 years. I should have it pretty dialed in by now. Yesterday makes me question that.

The first incident happened before 7 am. I was at the gym walking towards the Smith machine. I was worried I was going to forget to take the weights off like some sort of caveman with no social skills. Leaving the weights out is like leaving your dirty dish in the sink and NEVER addressing it again. They should both be punishable by severe legal actions.

The repeat loop played in my head, “Don’t forget your weights. Don’t forget your weights.” I stared at them so intently that I failed to, you know…., WATCH WHERE I WAS GOING. The electrical cord to the fan that’s been there the entire time tried to take me down. Polite gym owners apologized and said that maybe they should illuminate the cord. I pointed out that it seems everyone can navigate it just fine, so the issue really could be isolated to me.

I made it about 30 minutes before my next failure. The pavement is uneven next to the work building I shower in between the gym and my work day. It didn’t just become uneven, it’s been like that the entire time I’ve walked that stretch. But, I was in my usual mode of trying to do more than one thing at a time, and pretty hopped up on post workout endorphins. Half-assed walking, half-assed on my phone, full-assed not paying attention to my surroundings.

I was sporting the Danksos, the official shoe of social work. They’re clogs with an elevated heel, skilled at their ability to roll an ankle when the urge strikes them. When it happened, I flailed about a hard as a little person can. Leg joints crumbled me into a human sized push puppet. I carry with me all the things a lady needs to get ready for a work day, from hair dryer, to towel, to lady facial war paint. I’m not sure what gods smiled upon me to grant me the ninja move to prevent myself from becoming a upended turtle right there on the road, but I’m thankful for their intervention. Upon recovery, I immediately looked around hoping beyond all hopes that someone saw it and got a great laugh. No dice.

I was then able to walk safely for a couple of hours. I was growing comfortable in my ability to stride.

But then the master of my universe probably decided I needed to be humbled. A quick smack to remind me of the importance of staying focused.

Part of my job includes reviewing stacks of documents. There’s a LOT of them because people in my office work very hard. This makes my desk untidy. As a result, when I’m done with a stack, I theatrically drop it on the floor so I can 1) feel rewarded by the thud it makes and 2) keep it separate from the other stacks. I don’t know if you’re aware; but between sheets of paper, there is not a lot of friction. They slide easily against each other. Therefore; if you have them on your floor, you should be mindful of their location. Otherwise you may step on them and take a brief skate resulting in your 3rd (!!!) near fall of the day.

At this point, it would seem the universe was just messing with me. As I left work, those same Danskos sought out a very rolly twig that sent me unexpectedly gliding again. I stopped and looked down at it with my best “Really?” face.

Obviously, this much ineptitude in one day demands it be dinner chat. After dinner, we when to the gym for a gathering/Chad Bushnell private show. As I headed towards the bathroom, Brian thought he was joking when he told me “Don’t trip.” *eyeroll

But I did! I did trip again!

This time also because I wasn’t watching where I was going so I didn’t see the mats that where right there the entire time.

Someone may read this and wonder if I’m okay. Yes (mom), I am okay. And, no (mom) I don’t need to see a doctor or have Web MD tell me I’m nearly out of time. I just need to pay attention to where I’m going and maybe try doing more things full-assed than 1/2 assed or 1/3 assed.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not)

Cascading into Culture?

You guys should totally volunteer at the Cascade. In the days of yore, I had a chance to be an usher for a fancy smanchy symphony and a film festival. At said film festival in early March 2020, there were rumblings of “I wonder if this coronavirus thing is going to be a deal?” It was. And as such, gatherings and opportunities to volunteer ceased.

The Cascade has reopened, and last night I got a chance to don my volunteer lanyard once again.

I’m pretty perpetually awkward in roughly 99.9% of the settings I find myself. This one was no different. The volunteers I met were all retired folks with a more culture than a truck load of Activa. My mentor, Rose, is a strikingly beautiful woman who must be a vampire for how young she looked and because she was better able to handle the nighttime hours than me.

I didn’t try to fit in when before the show there was chatter about going to see Hamilton or the merits of the local schools music programs. I couldn’t share what “productions” I had been in, and I had no information about the Madrigal dinner. Nope. Instead, my outsider-self got a text from my boy. It was a picture from inside the seasoned workout room at the jail. A picture of a rusty weights and rusty  benches with a lone sandbag on the ground. The entire conversation was as follows:

“100 pound sandbag.”

“Oh yah. What’d you do with it?”

“Over the shoulder”

The end.

However, one of the great things about music is how it doesn’t care if you’re a meathead in the midst of culture; you can all benefit from the wonder of people using tools to create live art.

The band last night was the Mavericks. It was phenomenal.

Brass, reeds, an accordian(!), and all the other standard musical stuff. They’ve got a loyal following. One couple I’d talked to before the show started was there for their 25th anniversary. They’d come up from their temporary home in Chico since theirs in Greenville had burned down. They said that since they’re in their 60’s they’re not interested in rebuilding in the place they loved. “We’re not going to live long enough to see it restore.” They could have been horribly depressed or cranky. But they weren’t. They were so thankful for a night of music they love. That’s how powerful music can be.

The event was smooth. Only one lady nutted up about people not wearing masks. Rose handled that with grace and composure. The lady in her 70’s that danced the entire 2 hours right in front of where I stood never did fall. I couldn’t tell if she was drunk, a yogi, or both; but she bent exactly like she was Neo dodging bullets in the Matrix. I don’t know how she remained upright, but I’m thankful she did.  I’m sure with the great power that comes with the volunteer lanyard, there’s also great responsibility. There’s probably something you have to do if gma is so overcome by rockabilly Tex-mex that she wipes out in front of you. It was a crying shame that the Mavericks didn’t perform my favorite song of theirs, but that’s okay. I’ll be still listening to it on my own anyway.

It takes a lot of volunteers to make an operation like this run. I count myself lucky that I can be even a little part of it. If you have some time to spare and see the value of picking up trash in exchange for great experiences, I highly recommend adding this to your schedule.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
I Work Out Personal Growth (or not)

They Call Me Johnny Utah

“Did you have a spiritual awakening?”
“I didn’t want to, but there were muthafuck’n dolphins”

My expectations around the plan of trying to learn to surf hovered in more shallow conditions that the first few feet of ocean we walked out in to; maybe some cool stories, maybe some cool pictures, most importantly though a test of if I can. I very much enough being tested. So on those shallow premises; I booked a surf lesson to commemorate turning 50.

I’m not what you’d call a “water person.” I do love to be on my paddleboard, but I’m also quite certain I’ll drown if I swim more than 5 feet from the boat in the middle of the lake.

I know those people who are absolutely recharged by the very nearness of an ocean. I admire that, but for me that body of water is intimidating.

That coupled with the fact that I swim like a rock made it so there were a number of ways I thought the experience could suck out-loud.

The ethically motivated surf school guy called the day before the lesson, “We’re going to have to cancel tomorrow. The waves are expected to be pretty big, and there’s a dead whale on the beach.” Poor guy, he was genuinely trying to be helpful and all I could do was giggle. Of course there’s a dead whale blocking the adventure. We made plans for a different day. I thanked him, and wondered if maybe this adventure wasn’t meant to be.

As it turned out, there were no swarms of locusts or freak forest fires on the beach to get in the way when the day came.

The water was 61 degrees. Outside temperature was nearly the same. Being the bonafide lizard that I am, I was more than a little worried about if I’d be too cranky being cold to have fun.

We waited near the shipping container on the beach emblazoned with the name of the surf school. Corky Carroll. Anyone who knows anything about surfing knows the name Corky Carroll. So obviously, I knew absolutely nothing about him or his schools. Uncle Joe had recommended them, and since they’d already taken steps to try to improve our experience, I was a fan.

Two of the surfer-est looking young men I’d ever seen sauntered up to the container. They were the most chill. They had wild sun-bleached hair and smiles wider than the beach we stood near. Fine examples of young men. One of the fit handsome boys said his name was Logan. Before I though better of it I blurted “Of course it is.” I’m guessing his parents thought Thor or some other worthy name could have been a bit much. Maybe my weird comment is what got me paired up with not Logan, but Blair. A walking advertisement for sunscreen with his freckles and red hair as a legitimate surfer.

I was handed a wetsuit, and promptly felt already way out of my league. I’ve never put on a wetsuit. It felt a little bit like putting on those jeans that you know you should probably get rid of, but you hang on to the hope that someday you can wear them AND breathe.

There was lots of bustle in the container “bruh” “dude” “chill” “dope” etc.

Very few moments later we yarded our boards to the beach. Roughly 3 minutes of instruction later, it was time to go.

My heart was pounding out my neoprene covered chest.

Blair, in his voice that makes Bodhi from Point Break sound high strung, casually says, “You’ll want to step like this so you don’t get stung by the stingrays.”

“I’m sorry,…what the fuck did you say?!”

Yah. Stingrays. Spoiler alert, he was right. There were no sting ray attacks.

I very much appreciate the young men for just pushing the activity along. It made it so I had zero time to contemplate various outcomes of doom before we were paddling out.

Me. Paddling the fuck out. In the Ocean. On a surfboard! “Whoa.” (said in the key of Keanu Reeves)

Blair’s zen voice told me “paddle paddle paddle” as the first wave he’d selected for me to try came. I tried to stand. I failed. It happened so fast, I forgot to panic. The wave reminded me who was boss. I tossed around under it’s power, then popped up with a whole new attitude. Surf guy was looking for my response. I gave a big “wooooo!” He smiled and nodded his approval and I paddled back.

I failed on the second attempt too. But then I made the third one mine. The timing was right. I stood up in the proper spot on board, then mother nature gave me a ride. I definitely had a “holy shit,…I DID it” moment. I could see Uncle Joe watching from the beach. I could Brian and his extreme jealousy that I’d made it up before him (Okay, that may be an embellishment, but it’s my story. I’ll tell it how I like)

I wiped the enormous amount of snot from my smiling face and paddled back. “Man. I hope Uncle Joe got video of that.”

“Dude. You’re here for the experience, not the video” said my half-my-age zen master. I had another “whoa” moment.

He’s absolutely right. In just a couple words. Ginger Surf reminded me that that my purpose was to be still and enjoy what was happening. Maybe it’s because I’m 50 now, maybe it’s the Chris Rea I’m listening to, but just thinking of that moment I can be overcome with just great vibes.

Brian was eventually able to get up too. Our surf spirit guides worked even harder than us to make sure that we could get the best from our experience. At least once I was singlehandedly responsible for taking out all four of us. I nearly ran over several people. I rode a wave to the beach once. That’s frowned upon, but I didn’t know how to end it.

As we peacefully bobbed waiting to the wave for us, Logan called our attention behind us. A small pod of dolphins literally fucking frolicked in the waves. Blair said that he texted them and asked them to show. “Are you like that guy from The Boys?” I asked him. “The Deep? Tot…al…ly dude.” He grinned. Having seen the same Amazon show is maybe the only thing I had in common with surf guru. That and that he was about the age of my boys. But bless his little young heart, that didn’t stop him from killing it as my surf guy. He offered nothing but support, encouragement, and enough vibes for both of us.

The two hours were really more than incredible. There was such pure duality in the experience, working hard to sit back and let nature work you. Chaotic power and serenity meeting in the middle give such a feeling of peace and accomplishment.

I am already scheming about how to get back and go again.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Blogolicious Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Take It

The list of things I’m bad at is pretty robust. But before you fling your sympathy my way for today’s topic, know there’s a good chance you’re bad at it too. Often we all are really bad at accepting compliments.

As with any rule, there are exceptions. We all know that guy who’s pretty sure he or she is the shit. Or the misguided person who’s pretty convinced that everyone they meet wants to make babies with them. But in my experience, those folks are rare. Thankfully! Because they are super annoying and frankly a menace.

For the most part, folks just suck at hearing positive things. I’m sure there’s deep seeded reasons for it. Maybe it’s the conditioning about how it’s not okay to be a braggart. Maybe it’s that we’ve spent too much time living the “everyone gets a trophy” life and now we shirk away from recognition. And maybe sometimes it’s that we can’t genuinely believe the compliment.

Whatever the reason, it’s fucked up and we need to stop.

A classic way to ruin a compliment is to offer some reason to dismiss the kind words just said. When we do this, we can accidently be insulting to the kind-word-giver. Say someone tells you they like your hair, and you respond with “It looks bad.”

A takeaway for the giver could be, “okay, guess I’ll just keep my opinion to myself next time.” Is that what we want? No. But what’s the motivation for the person to share kind words if in your attempts to be humble, you essentially tell them they’re wrong? You should say “thank you,” period.

I’m unsure how we can get better at taking compliments. Perhaps a nice support group in is order. We can journal about why we suck at hearing positivity. Or maybe we just all need to give each other the following permission; if I dismiss your compliment, you can deliver a crisp slap to my face or throat punch(because sometimes violence is the answer).

Flatterer: “You’re really good at drawing”

Recipient: “I’m not really that good”

Flatterer: “I SAID, you’re GOOD at DRAWING!” *promptly delivers serpent’s head strike to the throat

Recipient: (after clutching throat and recovering coughs out), “Thank you.”

Change would happen quickly, I’m sure.

We need to do less compliment dodging. Humility has it’s place, but so does confidence. In instances such as job interviews and general daily living; it’s okay to know that you’re good at things and say that out loud. And while it’s important to have our own internal locus of control in our positive opinions, it’s also important to for us see those opinions reflected in others.

Doubt? Okay, have you ever heard or said “do these jeans make my butt look big?”

It’s one of history’s most classic baits used in the practice that is compliment fishing.

Despite how much we need to improve on just fucking taking it, a compliment disclaimer may be still needed. Sometimes accolades really are used as a means of manipulation. Luckily there’s a couple easy responses to that too. If you’re worried that the person giving the positivity isn’t being genuine, you can still just say “thank you” and move on. You aren’t beholden to anyone who says nice things and the “thank you” covers you in case maybe they’re being sincere. You may encounter a creeper driving the van with  “free candy” spray painted where the back windows don’t exist. If he (or she, to be gender neutral) gives you a compliment, you do not owe him (or her) anything. Do not get in the van.

In summary; compliment, good. Creeper in van giving out candy with compliments, bad. So move foraes knowing your hair probably looks great today, and it’s okay to know it.

Thanks for reading!