The Whining Vs. Gratitude Paradox

Sometimes I swear all I want to do is come on here and whine.  In my defense, one of the reasons I like the model of the blog is that I have the freedom to do annoying things like that, and I know people are only reading it if they’re interested in reading it.  If people think I’m an annoying twit they can not read.  Like, I would know better than to burden 300 facebook friends with mundane complaints (“Ugh humidity”) because seriously, boring.  Complain about the weather in a way that is thoughtful or funny or at least different in some way.  If it sounds like something you’d say in an awkward elevator encounter, the world probably doesn’t care.  Sorry I’m in a bad mood and being obnoxious.  Please forgive me.

I truly believe that the key to happiness is gratitude.  And I do spend a lot of time being grateful for stuff.  I’m not sure what the, like, average is… but I definitely am aware of my blessings on a daily basis.  And even though I am too ADD and narcoleptic for proper prayer, usually when I’m snuggled in bed at night I do manage to eek out a “Yo God, thanks for this day.  And this snuggly bedding.  And this climate controlled house.”  But by that point 23 seconds have elapsed, and my brain starts descending into sleepyville.  (Blender.  Ostrich.  Feed the dog a motorcycle.  Forty six.  VIOLENT TWITCH.  zzzzzzzzzzzzz).

So, the problem is then I start to loathe myself anytime I get whiney, whether it be over a serious life concern or excessive frustration over something dumb (cough cough people with suitcases who STOP DEAD IN THEIR TRACKS at the bottom of the metro escalator cough cough).  Remember that dumb infographic that was going around Pinterest… basically saying if you have a roof over your head and money in the bank, you are living better than billions of people on the planet? It’s true.  So what right do I have to complain about anything ever?

Even more so, you are living better than billions and billions (trillions?! I don’t know!) people throughout history who lived in truly terrible conditions.  I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I never really appreciated all the people who worked to establish the United States until I watched the John Adams HBO miniseries last year.  Holy crap! You need to watch this stuff! I mean everybody is getting shot, having to spend months on a nasty ship crossing the Atlantic, smallpox, more getting shot at, field amputations, 10 year old kids put to work on the battlefield.  After watching I am convinced that in the eighteenth century LIFE SUCKED FOR EVERY PERSON ON THE PLANET.

At one point the Adams kids got smallpox and Abigail Adams disinfects the entire house on her hands and knees with a bucket and a brush.  And I’m thinking… Phew at least this woman is just cleaning the house and not out bayoneting people.  She is lucky.  WAIT… homegirl is disinfecting every surface of a house with a bucket and a sponge.  No rubbermaid tools.  No lysol.  NARY A PAPER TOWEL.  (I would probably have a nervous breakdown at the thought of this task.)

And then this happened over the weekend.  I had a tour at the zoo, and what happens is we file in and they brief us with some demographics about our assigned group (biology class, donors, girl scouts, family with little kids, family with older kids, etc.)  And they tell me my group is a Make-a-Wish family.  UMM.  1) I need a little more time to emotionally steel myself for that and 2) I need a little more time to read my flashcards if I’m expected to fulfill a sick child’s most important wish! Obviously most of my thoughts were for these sweet little sick kiddie that I was entrusted with.

People, holy crap.  This sweet girl.  I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you all cry the way I’m about to cry recalling this.  But apart from a fuzzy little bald head, she was your usual middle schooler with so much energy, so many questions, so many stories to tell me.  It broke my heart to walk away from this family knowing that I would never see them again, never know the rest of their story.  Our few hours together were memorable enough that it felt weird to just be like…. bye! The zoo thanks you for visiting! I actually dreamt of her last night.

My point is.  It’s about a 15 minute walk from where the tour ends to get back up to our office.  Minutes 1-5 I was so overwhelmed with the experience, was thinking of this girl’s future, was sending up prayers for all the suffering children and their families because REALLY, out of all the crappiness in the world, terminally ill children is probably THE WORST, don’t you think?

But then by minute 12 I am passing the zebras and already back to stressing out over some dumb, minor problem of mine.  I can’t remember what it was, but I caught myself and was like OMFG already you’re back to this?! Ugh! Self loathing!

On the flip side, one of the things we talk about constantly at yoga is being kind to yourself.  It’s so hard, isn’t it!? Do you push yourself to be a better person, or do you forgive and love yourself? So hard.  I guess both, right? Somehow? The determination I’ve ultimately made about the whining/gratitude paradox is that even your dumb problems are always going to be magnified more than a stranger’s because they’re your problems.  You’re living with them 24/7.  If you’re lucky, you and this life will get many years to spend together, just the two of you.  This life that is 98% wonderful and 2% REALLY EFFING IRRITATING.

Another thing that comforts me about this comes from that dumb book Eat Pray Love.  Ugh I really was not wild about that author but this one part stuck with me.  So, she lived in India and of course spent time in some really impoverished communities (this would be the “Pray” component).  Like, she would hang out in these groups of women where they were facing poverty, sleeping on a one-room dirt floor with 20 extended family members, etc.  Again, REAL problems and struggles.  What did these women complain about when they hung out together? Lazy husbands, annoying sisters, friends that talked trash behind their backs.  The same petty crap as all of us first world tycoons.

Deep thoughts.  The end.

I regret to inform you this entire diatribe was only a prequel to free me up to whine about my 99 problems with the new Metro Rush+ system. (Honk if you hate stupid Rush+).  To be continued…

Deep Thoughts

Oy to the vey, ppl.  I am a mess these last few weeks, I swear.  On a scale of mental serenity where one is the Dalai Lama and ten is having to put scotch tape over your thumbs because you ran out of bandaids and you picked your cuticles to bloody pulps, you could say that I am the literal manifestation of the latter.  Or basically, I closed my eyes and ever-so-slightly nodded my head up and down to this…

See, I do have lofty rainbow aspirations for a flawless, well-oiled existence.  No really, I have an actual list of conditions that I feel, if met, would make life close to perfect.  For instance, if I can maintain consistent sleeping patterns and keep up with laundry and eat every piece of fruit in the fridge before it goes bad and go to Mass every week and keep a regular yoga  schedule and stay on top of my email inbox (AHAHAHAHA) and return my library books on time… all my problems will disappear.

I’m embarrassed to write this because PEOPLE HAVE ACTUAL PROBLEMS and I am being a whiney brat over my inability to meet basic standards of adulthood.

The thing is, I used to be on top of life.  When I was a junior in high school, here was my schedule: school till 2:30, gymnastics till 6:30, Dairy Queen till 10:00, AP European History papers on topics such as Religious Wars in the Netherlands (1570-1610) and Their Effect on the Spanish Economy until the middle of the night.  Repeat.  A few short years ago, I had weeks at the White House where I would look at the clock and realize it was 3:51pm on Wednesday and I had already worked 40 hours.

Actually I am more impressed by that history paper.  HONEST TO GOD I wrote that paper.  But then I got a crappy old 3 on the AP exam, meaning for all my efforts I was awarded 0.0 college credits, so don’t go being blown away by my smartz.  They fake.

HOW DID I DO THESE THINGS?! Because lately the overwhelming-ness of blowdrying my hair pushes me close to tears.

So I try to combat my craziness by being a productivity champ and doing productive human things from my list.  Because, ironically, the tasks that stress me the eff out (blowdrying, not a joke) are the same tasks that make me feel WAY BETTER when I do them.  Does that make sense? Is that, like, a documented behavioral thing?

Like, here I am: “Another morning with the bl0wdryer? Srsly? It takes forever.  It’s loud.  I drop it on my foot at least once a week.  Every day I discover new and innovative ways to burn myself with it. Test+reset+test+reset+test+reset.  Auto shut off.  Tediously clean the lint out with a bobby pin.  Blow a fuse.  I just dried it yesterday morning.  And the morning before that.  And that.  That day too.  And that time in 2001.  Every day.  I just… can’t anymore.  JESUS TAKE THE BLOWDRYER.”

But then: “Oh hey look I think it’s dry! I can turn it off!  Now my hair is kinda bouncey and cute! For some reason, it’s much easier to get through the day when your hair isn’t a sloppy wet frizzy misshapen disaster mess that makes you want to hide under a rock every time you pass a reflective surface!”

A confusing and vicious cycle.

The thing is: I can’t do all the productive things simultaneously.  If I manage to find time to do my hair like a person that makes personal care a priority, I probably have nothing to wear because I haven’t dry-cleaned or done laundry in 14 years.  If the plants outside look good and the herb box is well-tended to, the floor inside is probably disgusting and coated in beagle hair.  If I’m finding time to write, I’m probably big as a house from not having exercised in 3 weeks.  If I am doing a great job cooking and eating well, I’m probably behind at work.

It’s like that schtick with the hydraulics.  You plug a leak and it just floods out from another one.  Then you plug that one and out it comes somewhere else.  Et cetera et cetera et cetera ad infinitum.

My other issue remains, as it always has been, over-extension.  The other week my BFF Jordana made the extremely astute observation, which honestly had never occurred to me, that being over-extended with my day job and yoga training and the zoo and everything was sort of the same as when I used to have to work all the time and was stressed to the max over that.  And, actually, it makes sense.  I LOVE doing all these fun things, and it’s nothing like the misery I used to deal with, but I do need to make more quiet time for myself and I have a suspicion it could be my ticket out of the vicious cycle of always being juuust out of reach of life serenity.

Sigh.  It’s hard, because I do know that someday soon, God willing, I will be a mommy and maybe life will slow down a little, and I will have to forget all about my BLOWDRYER COMPLEX and dedicate, devote, sacrifice, prostrate myself at the altar of my little ones’ needs.  Which I am absolutely OK with, and prepared for, and would be honored to do.  But I’ll want to look back on my mid-twenties and know that I always accepted those invitations and said YES I’d love to grab dinner, ABSOLUTELY let’s go to that baseball game tonight, SURE I’ll have another sangria! I don’t want to have squandered these years in elastic pants making sweet love to the DVR.

BUT that is exactly, precisely what I am doing right now and it’s glorious and therapeutic.  I have been home at a reasonable hour, like, 2 of the last 9 weekdays and tonight I made the wise choice to sit at home on the MFing couch, write (obviously, hi), snuggle with Chooch, sip a smoothie, catch up on Idol that I missed yesterday, and generally enjoy a few hours off.  Even though I always go to Thursday night yoga, even though there are any number of things I could have stayed at work late to finish.  All will be tackled tomorrow.

OK.  And now, I go to sleep at a healthy hour! GOLD LIFE ADULT ACCOMPLISHMENT STAR! I feel better having written this manifesto so thanks if you’ve read all the way down to here.  Oh, and I truly apologize to you, and to the universe, for my bit about the blowdryer.  Writing things down helps me put into perspective the ridiculousness of the things I allow myself to get worked up over.  Happy face:

Best 80′s Dance Scene?

I can’t decide… Kevin Bacon’s Footloose solo (1984) or Jennifer Beals’ “She’s a Maniac” workout in Flash Dance (1983)?

Beals…

Pros:

• Probably more appropriate for a female to be seen carrying on like this
• Legwarmers, obviously
• Her apartment is a converted industrial space, so you know she’s cool
• She does a masculine occupation (welder) with feminine sex appeal… INTRIGUE!

Bacon…

Pros:

• It’s forbidden, so automatic points there
• Impromptu gymnastics bit at the end
• Impromptu gymnastics bit by Bacon stunt double (points revoked)
• Light wash jeans

Winner? It’s a draw for me.  Weigh in!

Must Read

I stumbled on this linked somewhere and it was such a good read: Are You With the Right Mate? via Psychology Today.  (Or alternately if you’re in a time crunch, read on for highlights enhanced by my amateur yammerings.)      

What day is more perfect than Valentine’s to talk about the science of relationships!? I love this crap.  I can’t get enough of it.  Self help books are my crack.  I’ve read them all.  All in a valiant effort to make our marriage one billion zillion percent divorce-proof.  Even typing that word was traumatic.  NOT HAPPENING.  Those that know me know this stems from my father having left my mother; those that don’t know me, sorry but that’s the extent of that biographical nugget- twenty years later I’m still a great deal of therapy away from being ready to talk about it in greater detail than that.  #TEAM CRAY CRAY!

Ironically, the pastor who married us told me that my OCD-ness here was actually a bad thing.  A memorable moment from our pre-marital sessions was her looking at me and basically saying “Woman you better chill the eff out and release the death grip on your relationship.”  She reminded me our relationship was already healthy and I needed to trust it and let it have its own natural ebbs and flows and quit being an overbearing psycho.  It’s a work in progress, and I am working hard on not having a five alarm meltdown every time we have a conflict and barking at Jeff to NO, NO SIR, we are not going to sleep before resolving this.  TELL ME YOUR FEELINGS.  All of them.  NOW!  WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM NOT CREATING A WELCOMING ENVIRONMENT!??!!?!  

Anyway.  Backing away from this slight exaggeration…

The gist I took away from the article was that relationships require care and attention and maintenance.  Romance and the idea of the “perfect mate” are crap.  Be mature and put your partner first.  Look at your own behavior before you assume your partner needs to change.  Be humble.  QUALITY crap, you guys.  I’m curious to hear others’ analysis too. 

 After a few post divorce years in the mating wilderness, Katz came to realize that framing a relationship in terms of the right or wrong mate is by itself a blind alley…. “We’re given a binary model,” says New York psychotherapist Ken Page.  “Right or wrong.  Settle or leave.  We are not given the tools to think about relationships.” 

Tools! Tools are good! Tell me more, wise ones…..

Along with many other researchers and clinicians, Meinecke espouses a new marital paradigm- what she calls the “self responsive spouse.”  When you start focusing on what isn’t so great, it’s time to shift focus.  “Rather than look at the other person, you need to look at yourself and ask “Why am I suddenly so unhappy and what do I need to do?” It’s not likely a defect in your partner.  In mature love, says Meinecke, “we do not look to our partner to provide our happiness, and we don’t blame them for our unhappiness.  We take responsibility for the expectations we carry, for our own negative reactions, for our insecurities, and for our own dark moods.”

Love it…

…In a long term relationship, Toronto’s Katz has come to believe that “Marriage is not about finding the right person.  It’s about becoming the right person.”

I love that so much.

In an ongoing marriage, he adds, “incompatibility is never the real reason for a divorce.”  It’s a reason for breakup of a dating relationship.  But when people say “she’s a nice person but we’re just not compatible,” Doherty finds, something happened in which both participants allowed the relationship to deteriorate…. “It’s like your car stopping on the side of the road and you say ‘It just isn’t working anymore’– but you haven’t changed the oil in 10 years.”

Preach it…

Another crucial element of growth in relationships, says Givertz, is a transformation of motivation– away from self-centered preferences toward what is best for the relationship and its future.  There is an intrapsychic change that sustains long term relationships.  Underlying it is a broadening process in which response patterns subtly shift.  Accommodation (as opposed to retaliation) plays a role.  So does sacrifice.  So do willingness and ability to suppress an impulse to respond negatively to a negative provocation, no matter how personally satisfying it might feel in the moment.

So, no cheap shots?  Sound advice!

In the end, says Minnesota’s Doherty, “We’re all difficult.  Everyone who is married is a difficult spouse.  We emphasize that our spouse is difficult and forget how we’re difficult for them.”

YEP…

Boston’s Real reports that he attended an anniversary party for friends who had been together 25 years.  When someone commented on the longevity of the relationship, the husband replied: “Every morning I wake up, splash cold water on my face, and say out loud ‘Well, you’re no prize either.’”  While you’re busy being disillusioned by your partner, Real suggests, you’ll do better with a dose of humility.

 ”There is no such thing as two people meant for each other,” says Givertz.  “It’s a matter of adjusting and adapting.” …Even then, successful couples redefine themselves many times, says Meinecke… “If both parties are willing to tackle the hard and vulnerable work of building love and healing conflict, they have a good chance to survive,” says Page.

 Awesome.  Srsly, good read.  Hit that shiste if you have a chance.  Hopefully this wasn’t too much harsh reality for Valentine’s Day?! Ha! Hope everyone had a lovely day filled with lots of chocolatey nommings.  Hugs and kisses to all!

Air Florida Flight 90 Anniversary

Did you know today is the 30th anniversary of the commercial plane that crashed into DC’s 14th street bridge?

There was a feature in the commuter paper today which I ended up reading… Wow. I mean, this is a well known bit of local history that I was always sort of aware of, generally speaking, but it is actually more of a harrowing story than I even imagined.   The cockpit transcript is absolutely bone chilling, for one- but the crazy thing is that there were miraculously a tiny handful of survivors that treaded water in the iced-over Potomac for twenty nine minutes before helicopters were able to rescue them.

Wikipedia also describes bystanders and emergency responders crowded on the bridge and on the shore of the river just watching these survivors but unable to help them because of the weather and other conditions.  One CBO office assistant was the only one to strip down and jump into the iced water (and the crash site of a Boeing 737, and underneath a structurally compromised bridge) and pull to shore a woman who lost her grip trying to get to the helicopter.  Another one of the crash survivors died in the water after having twice passed the rescue line to others.

Wow.  At first my stupid reaction was “How did people just stand there!!!!!” I guess we’d all like to think that in a disaster, we’d be the sort of person to put aside our own safety to save a stranger, but…? I can’t say for sure I would have.  And not because I would want to protect my personal existence, but because I would feel a responsibility to stay alive for husband and parents and kids if I had them.  I guess my question is… If you make a family, don’t you sort of then have a moral obligation to do your best to stay safe for them?

What would you do? (And God willing may you never have to find out).

And for all those souls, prayers/comforting vibes/whatever this little corner of the internet is capable of doing.