Lifting weights = feeling and accepting emotions.

Back at work this morning and before things get underway I want to share something:

Yesterday I had a rough day thinking about big, existential things like life, death, love, family, and vitality. Oddly enough, though I am still sensitive about things today, I am able to keep going and feel almost normal. One of the reasons for that is that I let myself feel my emotions yesterday, and I made decisions based on those emotions, and as a result was able to make connections that needed to be made. I didn't push those feelings or big thoughts away because they were too hard.

I did not set out to do that. Let me tell you what kicked it off: I went to the gym like normal, and I began my workout. It was hard. I was in agony, and I felt like I was dying--except in that moment it came to me that this feeling was a lie. I was not, in fact, dying. I know someone who is dying, and I am most definitely alive. I am full of life. As I did my deadlifts and floor sweeps and struggled, I connected my body and my feelings and accepted that someone I love is dying, that I am alive, and that I need to own my own vitality.

I burst into sweaty tears and kind of agonizingly finished my set, and then collapsed onto the floor, suddenly unable to control the rush of grief. Someone I love is dying, and there is nothing I can do about it. I called my boss and told her I could not come in to work because I needed to let this grief run its course. It won't be the last time I see it, but, for now, it has been put in it's place.

 I am so glad that I work out. I'm so glad I lift weights. If I did not have that as part of my routine, I may have persisted in some kind of disconnected fog of vague unhappiness and distance from the reality of losing a family member. I may not have made the timely decision to buy a plane ticket and go where I need to be this weekend. Challenging my body, as difficult as it is, has become the best way to stay present and grounded, and to make connections from inside of my mind to the world outside.

Love and cancer

The thing that matters is to love in such a way that the object of your love feels as if there is nothing that could change that love. It's not fair or just how that love is allotted--some may want love where it cannot be given or not recognize it when it's there, and miss it altogether.

But in a way, a natural consequence of a love like that is to be entirely taken for granted. You will know that you have loved someone that way when they feel so secure in your love they can go out in the world knowing it will be there when they return without even consciously thinking about it. This is typically expressed as parental and familial love--I would never advocate romantic love that receives no  acknowledgment or reciprocation, though there are definitely moments when you have to love your spouse this way, too.

You will know you have been loved like that when you lose it, or are about to lose it--I guess that's the twist, huh?

Cancer sucks.

Stop the world; I want to get off.

Question 1: When can I stop working on self-improvement?

 Answer 1: Never. Never, never. Never, ever.

  Confession: I am so tired of self-improvement. For the last several years I have been on one self-betterment project after another. Truth is, it has been longer than that. When I was in college, I spent a good deal of time trying to overcome personal obsessions. I tried religion, therapy, friendships, food diaries and exercise plans. I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to stop telling lies--to myself and to others. I wanted to stop hiding behind 100 pounds of excess fat. I wanted to stop stuffing myself with food. I wanted to learn to be kind to others and to encourage people in concrete ways. I wanted to become someone's mate, and a good one, at that. I accomplished some of my goals. More often, I made inroads and realized that I would never quite master my inner demons.

 After that, I embarked on a journey of professional self-improvement. Actually, it was more like adding an additional layer to my established self-betterment goals. I started going to school again. I began working up a perpetually lengthening career ladder. Personal setbacks often hampered my professional progress by giving me excuses to delay taking classes. Often I would procrastinate for months before requesting and submitting the right paperwork to complete my next education step. I took out a $10,000 loan for a Master's program I then let a stupid, selfish man convince me I could not complete. After that, I let an educational "professional" convince me not to try to continue the program because of a perceived opinion that my courses would not transfer to another school. I switched my focus to my current job so that I might at least attain better training in the profession that paid my bills, and discovered that I could not start a new program without extensive pre-requisite training and college credits I didn't get in my bachelor's degree program. So I started taking classes, one at a time.

While this was going on, my personal life saw some dramatic improvements. I saw more flaws come out in the bright light of the desire to love a worthy person, and learned lessons in humility and interdependence. My health began to deteriorate in the shadow of these other great works, and so I again tackled my food and exercise problems. Every time I tried to bring another category of goals into the mix, the others suffered. I could not juggle them all. I forgot things. I obsessed over details. I wore myself out trying to remember everything and went through periods of total stagnancy in all areas. I began programming my life and commitments into my smart phone calendar to keep track of them all, and keeping detailed notes on financial due dates so that I would not forget to pay my bills. I tried to make friends and improve my social skills when I recognized the need for a support system, but consistently failed to remember events I'd committed to and often struggled with apathy towards the people I'd tried to get to know. I realized how much I needed and cherished down-time. I realized how much I wanted to be alone, and how little need I have for social interaction. Even in that realization, I saw a challenge; the world does not tolerate the un-social very well. I would have to keep trying to be better than I was, and it would never, ever stop.

 Question 2: Why the hell not? 

 Answer 2: I don't know.

 I guess it's because stopping means dying that much quicker. Stopping means being passed over for promotions and that means being supervised in my job by people who are less capable and intelligent than I, and that means bitterness and anger when I go to work. Stopping means letting myself be mean to people I love because I won't think hard enough about improving my verbal filter. Stopping means giving up on being worthy of my husband's adoration. Stopping means not being able to get off the couch without grunting, and not being able to walk up the stairs at work or see the wilderness at a state park. Stopping means eventually needing a seat extender on airplanes and not being able to run alongside a child's bike. Stopping means giving up, and I am already so good at that, I don't need any more practice.

 Right now, I want so hard just to curl up with a book and a latte, and just say "fuck off" to the online class I am desperately trying to keep up with. I want to empty out my gym bag for good, pack up all my gear in the spare room and just say "no more" to the massive body aches I have right now from my workout yesterday. I want to forget about eating healthy because I am overwhelmed by even the thought of grocery shopping for good food. I want to forget about pesticides and just buy conventional produce. I want to stop swimming upstream, because I'm just so tired. I'm tired of hurting, failing, and forgetting. I'm tired of emails, notifications, logs and plans. I'm sick of schedules. I won't do any of that, though. No matter how much I want to, I will just keep moving, because I don't want to die. And in the back of my mind, even in my most stagnant and slothful state, I could not enjoy it. I could feel the self-hatred brewing beneath the escapism. I cannot escape my self. I cannot escape my harshest judge, the one who knows that life is only about moving forward, even though that eventually leads to death, too.

 So the only secret to not sucking at life is that even when you suck at it you can't stop. I wish I could say that it is easy. It's not. It is hard to care about being better, and know, without a doubt, that your work toward that goal will never end.