One major omission from my previous post on overreaction is my inclination to be overly sensitive. I would like to say it's a natural by-product of my passionate disposition and attitude. At least that makes it sound more positive.
The man who used to keep me up at night always commented on how sensitive I am, and by comment, I mean get angry/frustrated with. Though it would be completely naive for me to disagree with his assertion entirely, I know that what spurred a lot of my sensitivity was his insensitive nature - his unwillingness to even try to see my perspective, his tendency to blame others first, and his inability to make me a priority in his life. Yes, I know. Shame on me for "excusing" his behavior, but the point of the example is that I might not be so sensitive if you're less insensitive.
A friend of mine jokingly says that I need to be handled with "kid gloves," and depending on the topic, she's absolutely right. Most of the time, it's not what you say, but how you say it. And we could all benefit from keeping that in mind, no matter what we are communicating about.
For this blog, I dedicate Insensitive by Jann Arden.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Sadness
I choreographed my very first dance piece when I was 15 years old. It was a modern interpretive piece to Sadness by Enigma. Total shocker, I know. Not much has changed in 15+ years. Well, maybe it has, depending upon whom you ask.
I have another confession to make. Sometimes, I overreact. Again, shocking, I know. Seriously, though, awareness is the first step to recovery. Unfortunately, I can never seem to get beyond step one. What triggers the overreaction, you ask? A myriad of things, I suppose. A response. A non-response. A situation. A suggestion. A judgment. The problem is that it depends predominantly on 2 things: 1) my current mood and 2) what else is going on in my life at that precise moment in time. If I'm already struggling with something, and another event compounds it, that is typically when I may overreact to something. Interestingly, emergencies and more serious events don't exactly stymie me. Rather, it's typically things that most people might consider mundane. Difficult at best, I know.
Getting worked up over things that should just roll off my back is sometimes a reflection of past experiences, even if that doesn't necessarily seem fair. As I've mentioned previously, we bring everything from our past into our present, even if our intention is different.
I haven't talked about my biggest fears in life very much, though I'm sure I'll get there. It's hard to admit to yourself what you're scared of the most, much more so to shout it out publicly. Well, here goes nothing: I'm scared people will leave me like my father did. Whether physically or emotionally, even if it's for the best, it doesn't matter; I don't like when people leave...me. Abandonment issues, there's always that. How cliche! LOL
So maybe my sadness is a bit much at times, but it makes me who I am, one facet of all of me.
And in honor of this occasion, I'd like to dedicate a song that I think sums up men and women fairly well: Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman. 'Nuff said.
I have another confession to make. Sometimes, I overreact. Again, shocking, I know. Seriously, though, awareness is the first step to recovery. Unfortunately, I can never seem to get beyond step one. What triggers the overreaction, you ask? A myriad of things, I suppose. A response. A non-response. A situation. A suggestion. A judgment. The problem is that it depends predominantly on 2 things: 1) my current mood and 2) what else is going on in my life at that precise moment in time. If I'm already struggling with something, and another event compounds it, that is typically when I may overreact to something. Interestingly, emergencies and more serious events don't exactly stymie me. Rather, it's typically things that most people might consider mundane. Difficult at best, I know.
Getting worked up over things that should just roll off my back is sometimes a reflection of past experiences, even if that doesn't necessarily seem fair. As I've mentioned previously, we bring everything from our past into our present, even if our intention is different.
I haven't talked about my biggest fears in life very much, though I'm sure I'll get there. It's hard to admit to yourself what you're scared of the most, much more so to shout it out publicly. Well, here goes nothing: I'm scared people will leave me like my father did. Whether physically or emotionally, even if it's for the best, it doesn't matter; I don't like when people leave...me. Abandonment issues, there's always that. How cliche! LOL
So maybe my sadness is a bit much at times, but it makes me who I am, one facet of all of me.
And in honor of this occasion, I'd like to dedicate a song that I think sums up men and women fairly well: Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman. 'Nuff said.
Update: In THIS Moment
I have had many, many moments, alone nonetheless, of complete and utter euphoria. I truly don't know what else to call it. A wave of peace and contentment totally envelops me. A feeling of everything being absolutely right with the world. I wish I could capture it - the feeling, that is - and put it in my pocket. So, that I can pull it out and put it on at any time.
What brings these moments of pure happiness on? Well, that's the best part - it's everything and nothing at the same time. It's relishing a conversation I've had, reflecting on a great night out spent with friends, or simply admiring a really creative scrapbook page I've just finished. I appreciate these moments more because they don't happen all the time. If they did happen more often, perhaps I wouldn't appreciate them as much as I do. Nothing, ever, take for granted.
And, in this moment, right NOW, I'm not quite so lonely...alone, at home.
What brings these moments of pure happiness on? Well, that's the best part - it's everything and nothing at the same time. It's relishing a conversation I've had, reflecting on a great night out spent with friends, or simply admiring a really creative scrapbook page I've just finished. I appreciate these moments more because they don't happen all the time. If they did happen more often, perhaps I wouldn't appreciate them as much as I do. Nothing, ever, take for granted.
And, in this moment, right NOW, I'm not quite so lonely...alone, at home.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Alone vs. Lonely
People often confuse the two. They are not to be confused. Being alone does not mean being lonely, and being lonely doesn't mean you're alone. You can be lonely in a room full of people, and you can be alone and be completely satisfied. What I've learned though is that I don't make myself feel lonely, other people do. Or, as my Caribbean boyfriend so eloquently or not so eloquently says, I allow other people to make me feel lonely.
I'm lonely. Not all of the time; not even most of the time. I'd like to believe not even sometimes; hopefully only once in a while. But once in a while, I am. Lonely, that is. What makes me lonely? Nine times out of ten it's broken promises or expectations. Plans that don't pan out. An agreement that's broken. Spoken, or even unspoken, truths falsified. And sorry doesn't right the wrong. It never has.
Some people say I'm strong. Whether or not I agree, I'm not strong enough to not be lonely sometimes. Tonight, I'm lonely. And I know it won't be the last time. More than anything, I'd like someone, anyone, to tell me that I won't ever have to be lonely again. But then we'd have more broken promises, wouldn't we?
I'm lonely. Not all of the time; not even most of the time. I'd like to believe not even sometimes; hopefully only once in a while. But once in a while, I am. Lonely, that is. What makes me lonely? Nine times out of ten it's broken promises or expectations. Plans that don't pan out. An agreement that's broken. Spoken, or even unspoken, truths falsified. And sorry doesn't right the wrong. It never has.
Some people say I'm strong. Whether or not I agree, I'm not strong enough to not be lonely sometimes. Tonight, I'm lonely. And I know it won't be the last time. More than anything, I'd like someone, anyone, to tell me that I won't ever have to be lonely again. But then we'd have more broken promises, wouldn't we?
Colorblind
I've written previously about how my life is punctuated by poignant songs and heart-wrenching movie moments. When I was in college, Cruel Intentions was very popular and is one of my all-time favorite movies. The movie has a terrific soundtrack, and one of the best on the album is Colorblind by Counting Crows.
This song has always held a lot of meaning and purpose for me. How many people in our lives get to see who we really and truly are...not just on the outside or in bits and spurts, but who we are at our core? And more importantly, who gets to help us uncover the layers, revealing our inner beauty and substance? Who gets to be with us at that very moment when we're ready to shed those skins and lay down those defenses?
A few months ago, I posted a blog about double standards. This topic came up again recently as I had a terrific conversation with a colleague about judging. We all do it. It's ingrained in our chemical make-up to compare ourselves to others and through scrutinization of someone else, we in turn elevate ourselves. What baffles me, though, are the people who believe they are right to judge because of some higher authority or established belief system. It's like scoffing at the homeless man sitting next to you in church because he smells bad and his clothes are tattered. He's in church...just like you. So, perhaps he's judging you too because your shoes are brown and you're wearing black pants...in your infinite wisdom, you forgot that when you point your finger at someone else, you have three pointing right back at you.
What if we were all colorblind? Not literally, but figuratively. Blind to the differences that separate us. Blind to the fears that keep us from pursuing our dreams. Blind to the social parameters that dictate what we should and shouldn't do. Blind to the criticism and judgment that present barriers to our happiness. Wouldn't it be great if we were all colorblind? I certainly think so.
This song has always held a lot of meaning and purpose for me. How many people in our lives get to see who we really and truly are...not just on the outside or in bits and spurts, but who we are at our core? And more importantly, who gets to help us uncover the layers, revealing our inner beauty and substance? Who gets to be with us at that very moment when we're ready to shed those skins and lay down those defenses?
A few months ago, I posted a blog about double standards. This topic came up again recently as I had a terrific conversation with a colleague about judging. We all do it. It's ingrained in our chemical make-up to compare ourselves to others and through scrutinization of someone else, we in turn elevate ourselves. What baffles me, though, are the people who believe they are right to judge because of some higher authority or established belief system. It's like scoffing at the homeless man sitting next to you in church because he smells bad and his clothes are tattered. He's in church...just like you. So, perhaps he's judging you too because your shoes are brown and you're wearing black pants...in your infinite wisdom, you forgot that when you point your finger at someone else, you have three pointing right back at you.
What if we were all colorblind? Not literally, but figuratively. Blind to the differences that separate us. Blind to the fears that keep us from pursuing our dreams. Blind to the social parameters that dictate what we should and shouldn't do. Blind to the criticism and judgment that present barriers to our happiness. Wouldn't it be great if we were all colorblind? I certainly think so.
DTR
The DTR. Whether it's welcome, dreaded, unexpected, or uneventful, it's vastly important. It is the moment where two lives converge or diverge, the moment of clarification, the moment of direction. It is the chosen path toward the future.
The DTR. The laying out of one's expectations, hopes, and innermost thoughts. It may start with the often-dreaded "We need to talk." Or it can result in the aftermath of an intense situation. Occasionally, it emerges from a simple, daily conversation.
The DTR. Often the DTR is outright shunned, whether in an effort to avoid pain or maintain ambiguity. Sometimes it's anxiously anticipated, the conclusion of time spent wondering, waiting, and wishing. All too often, as was the case with my ex, the DTR never happens.
The DTR. Sometimes it's a win-win, sometimes it's a lose-lose, and sometimes it's simply a compromise. Regardless of the outcome, the fates have spoken and been chosen. The path has been forged.
The DTR. Define.The.Relationship.
The DTR. The laying out of one's expectations, hopes, and innermost thoughts. It may start with the often-dreaded "We need to talk." Or it can result in the aftermath of an intense situation. Occasionally, it emerges from a simple, daily conversation.
The DTR. Often the DTR is outright shunned, whether in an effort to avoid pain or maintain ambiguity. Sometimes it's anxiously anticipated, the conclusion of time spent wondering, waiting, and wishing. All too often, as was the case with my ex, the DTR never happens.
The DTR. Sometimes it's a win-win, sometimes it's a lose-lose, and sometimes it's simply a compromise. Regardless of the outcome, the fates have spoken and been chosen. The path has been forged.
The DTR. Define.The.Relationship.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Larkadaisical
One of my very first blogs, and one of the topics that inspired me to start blogging publicly in the first place, focused on evolving friendships. I've also mentioned previously how some people in my life think I've changed a lot as I've gotten older (and wiser in my personal opinion). At my core, I think I'm every bit as complex and complicated as I ever was! But perhaps with age and maturity, I've also decided to explore new ideas and conceptualize new possibilities that challenge even the best of those complexities. I am also much more confident in the expression of said ideas and have few qualms about sharing those beliefs with others.
Recently, some of my friends have struggled internally with decisions that I have made in my life. As difficult as it may be for my heart, and as much as I will always value the times we've shared and relationships we've nurtured, there comes a point where they need to decide if they can still love me and live with me "changed."
My attitude is not as lackadaisical as it may seem; it's just that sometimes you realize that some people are in your life because they always have been, which doesn't dilute their importance, but rather makes you cognizant that they would not necessarily be your friends if you were to meet them on the street today. New larks aren't always met with seals of approval from those who mean the most to you, but that doesn't mean they aren't worthwhile, precious, and fun. Building the bridges is where I'm intrinsically struggling and falling short, but I know that it takes only one block at a time to eventually move a mountain.
Recently, some of my friends have struggled internally with decisions that I have made in my life. As difficult as it may be for my heart, and as much as I will always value the times we've shared and relationships we've nurtured, there comes a point where they need to decide if they can still love me and live with me "changed."
My attitude is not as lackadaisical as it may seem; it's just that sometimes you realize that some people are in your life because they always have been, which doesn't dilute their importance, but rather makes you cognizant that they would not necessarily be your friends if you were to meet them on the street today. New larks aren't always met with seals of approval from those who mean the most to you, but that doesn't mean they aren't worthwhile, precious, and fun. Building the bridges is where I'm intrinsically struggling and falling short, but I know that it takes only one block at a time to eventually move a mountain.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Adventure #16: Dinner Party
Over the weekend, I became an adult. Simply stated. I was invited by a dear friend of mine to a dinner party at his home. The company was daring and dynamic, the food comforting and delicious, and the conversation, well, the conversation was off-beat and colorful, while maintaining a large degree of sagacity and cleverness. I left the evening feeling a part of something larger than myself, and really, what's better when most days I feel so small and inconsequential in this rapidly changing world in which we live.
Tats
Ok, I admit it. I love tats. Again, not in keeping with the whole Southern girl prissy thing, but then we know I've never been like that anyway. My Caribbean boyfriend has much of his upper body covered - a tiger face on his chest, wings on his back, and sleeves to his elbows. Designs he created himself, and they're stunning. There's just something sexy about a man with nicely-designed tattoos. Meow! LOL
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Introversion
I just finished reading a wonderful article in one of my favorite publications, Time magazine. This may come as a shock to some of you, but my closest friends know that despite my loud laugh and boisterous personality, I am actually a closet introvert. To be exact, an ambivert, since my personality actually lies closer to the middle of the extrovert-introvert spectrum. This is fundamental because it clarifies what some may misconstrue as moodiness or indifference.
Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm angry. "Research suggests that extroverted leaders are more likely to make quick and sometimes rash decisions, while introverted leaders tend to gather more evidence and are slower to judgment."
Just because I'm not wanting to go out for a night on the town doesn't mean I'm lame. "Introverts shun social situations because...they simply want to be alone."
I know I recently talked about being fake in a recent blog, but full disclosure reveals that I am also a faker. "Faking it is exactly what a lot of introverts learn to do from an early age."
I started running in college to get out of a very busy house full of roommates and their live-in boyfriends. Seriously. I needed time to decompress, and I affectionately called it "me time." I've always known that I needed time to re-charge, to get away from the noise and madness of everyday life. Don't get me wrong - I love my job, which involves a LOT of interaction and a LOT of teamwork, but I am secretly glad that it also involves a LOT of work to be completed alone and individually at a desk, away from everyone and everything. "Introvert - prefers to be alone or in small groups; is quickly exhausted by parties and other large social situations."
But I don't let my aversion to extroversion make me a hermit or an agoraphobe like my neighbor (yes, literally). "Am I just going to let things wash over me, or am I going to strike out and change and grow and challenge? The answer depends on what you want out of life." I want MUCH more out of life, so I MAKE myself mingle, which I absolutely abhor, and meet other people, maybe even other introverts.
But in case you were wondering the real reason I don't like to talk when I dance...it's not only because I can't HEAR you; it's also because I don't WANT to hear you.
And like a good friend of mine says, no one can do me better than me. "I'm happy to be an introvert, but that's not all I am."
Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm angry. "Research suggests that extroverted leaders are more likely to make quick and sometimes rash decisions, while introverted leaders tend to gather more evidence and are slower to judgment."
Just because I'm not wanting to go out for a night on the town doesn't mean I'm lame. "Introverts shun social situations because...they simply want to be alone."
I know I recently talked about being fake in a recent blog, but full disclosure reveals that I am also a faker. "Faking it is exactly what a lot of introverts learn to do from an early age."
I started running in college to get out of a very busy house full of roommates and their live-in boyfriends. Seriously. I needed time to decompress, and I affectionately called it "me time." I've always known that I needed time to re-charge, to get away from the noise and madness of everyday life. Don't get me wrong - I love my job, which involves a LOT of interaction and a LOT of teamwork, but I am secretly glad that it also involves a LOT of work to be completed alone and individually at a desk, away from everyone and everything. "Introvert - prefers to be alone or in small groups; is quickly exhausted by parties and other large social situations."
But I don't let my aversion to extroversion make me a hermit or an agoraphobe like my neighbor (yes, literally). "Am I just going to let things wash over me, or am I going to strike out and change and grow and challenge? The answer depends on what you want out of life." I want MUCH more out of life, so I MAKE myself mingle, which I absolutely abhor, and meet other people, maybe even other introverts.
But in case you were wondering the real reason I don't like to talk when I dance...it's not only because I can't HEAR you; it's also because I don't WANT to hear you.
And like a good friend of mine says, no one can do me better than me. "I'm happy to be an introvert, but that's not all I am."
Adventure #15: Singles Party
Who says Valentine's Day is just for lovers? I recommend throwing a Singles Only Un-Valentine's Day Party...you just might make some new friends and some wonderful memories.
Update: Drama-Less Cargo
As a follow-up to my most recent post about cargo, I had a conversation with a dear friend of mine about how some relationships can quickly become nothing short of a drama-filled cesspool of anguish and tears. We all bring every relationship we've ever had, not to mention every life experience, into our current relationship. That's understandable and to be expected. What's not comprehensible to me is how we, including myself, can sometimes allow ourselves to wallow in the mire, knowing we need to simply let the vultures go.
Well, that brings me to my BIG NEWS! I did it. I fed the man who keeps me up at night for the last time. I am choosing a different life for myself. I may lose out on something great in the future, but the future is not going to keep me from the present any longer. I may be giving up a piece of my heart, but I'm no longer giving up my soul, too. My Caribbean boyfriend would be so proud of me. I wish and hope for the same for my dear friend.
So, in conclusion, cargo isn't always necessarily bad. In actuality, it may contribute greatly to the person standing in front of you, the one you've become quite smitten with, or at least interested in getting to know better, on a more intimate level. The cargo may not be drama-free, but the relationship can be.
And in memory of all those sleepless nights, I dedicate The Scientist by Coldplay, a band that has always seen the passion behind the tears.
Well, that brings me to my BIG NEWS! I did it. I fed the man who keeps me up at night for the last time. I am choosing a different life for myself. I may lose out on something great in the future, but the future is not going to keep me from the present any longer. I may be giving up a piece of my heart, but I'm no longer giving up my soul, too. My Caribbean boyfriend would be so proud of me. I wish and hope for the same for my dear friend.
So, in conclusion, cargo isn't always necessarily bad. In actuality, it may contribute greatly to the person standing in front of you, the one you've become quite smitten with, or at least interested in getting to know better, on a more intimate level. The cargo may not be drama-free, but the relationship can be.
And in memory of all those sleepless nights, I dedicate The Scientist by Coldplay, a band that has always seen the passion behind the tears.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Cargo
When baggage becomes so heavy and immense, it becomes cargo. My mother would not be considered the world's wittiest person, but this depiction of the man who keeps me up at night (but much less so recently, I must add) was profoundly accurate, not to mention humorous. However, the humor wanes when the difficulties arise. And second fiddle never makes the band.
Well, a new lark in my life brings his own cargo to the port. Comparing cargo - who would have thought it could be so thought-provoking? The crucial contrast isn't that one cargo is more or less than another, but it's rather what's been done with it, how it's been handled, and most importantly, how it's been communicated. Honesty and authenticity go a LONG way with me, and why wouldn't they? Aren't they integral to a solid and healthy relationship...of any kind?
I had a few co-workers comment on my "unique" personality this morning, and in particular, how much they appreciate my genuineness. I thought "fake" was left back in high school, but apparently I'm wrong...how very unfortunate that what you see or what you think isn't always what you get.
Well, a new lark in my life brings his own cargo to the port. Comparing cargo - who would have thought it could be so thought-provoking? The crucial contrast isn't that one cargo is more or less than another, but it's rather what's been done with it, how it's been handled, and most importantly, how it's been communicated. Honesty and authenticity go a LONG way with me, and why wouldn't they? Aren't they integral to a solid and healthy relationship...of any kind?
I had a few co-workers comment on my "unique" personality this morning, and in particular, how much they appreciate my genuineness. I thought "fake" was left back in high school, but apparently I'm wrong...how very unfortunate that what you see or what you think isn't always what you get.
Adventure #14: Painting and Pinot
I am NOT an artist. But I certainly can pretend well!
Last night, I created a painting alongside 12 other amazing women, while enjoying several glasses of delicious wine. No better way to spend an evening that I can think of!
And I must admit that I'm pretty happy with my creative output.
Last night, I created a painting alongside 12 other amazing women, while enjoying several glasses of delicious wine. No better way to spend an evening that I can think of!
And I must admit that I'm pretty happy with my creative output.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Yogis and Bears
I would like to consider myself a fairly active person. In addition to my passion for dancing, I also thoroughly enjoy a number of other individual sports and activities, including yoga. Yoga entwines the flexibility of dance with the discipline of ritual. It facilitates an awareness of and appreciation for being completely centered and grounded in your inner being in an increasingly outer world. If dancing is where I get to be crazy and wild, yoga is where I get to bring it back in.
Another favorite hobby of mine is cuddling. My ex and I used to "cuddle like bunnies and snuggle like bears." I once read that humans crave hugs about 20 times a day. Why do we hesitate to stretch out our arms to give someone a reasurring embrace, a congratulatory squeeze, or an affectionate caress? Why does it seem we have forgotten the power of touch? Being held isn't a sign of weakness; rather, it's an opportunity to share your heart with someone else, and there's rarely a greater feeling in this world than waking up in the arms of one for which your heart aches. My wish for you on this Valentine's Day is that you give and receive hugs freely, for at least this one day of the year.
Another favorite hobby of mine is cuddling. My ex and I used to "cuddle like bunnies and snuggle like bears." I once read that humans crave hugs about 20 times a day. Why do we hesitate to stretch out our arms to give someone a reasurring embrace, a congratulatory squeeze, or an affectionate caress? Why does it seem we have forgotten the power of touch? Being held isn't a sign of weakness; rather, it's an opportunity to share your heart with someone else, and there's rarely a greater feeling in this world than waking up in the arms of one for which your heart aches. My wish for you on this Valentine's Day is that you give and receive hugs freely, for at least this one day of the year.
Update: Vultures
I had a few further revelations about a topic I recently spoke about in a post.
Unless you've been living under a rock or camping out in a tree (see Hunger Games, a truly amazing read that I just started and finished), you know that I've had a few "vultures" in my life recently...popping in and out of my life almost simultaneously, quietly circling, waiting to feed off their prey. Seems a bit morbid, I know, especially since in this particularly ghastly analogy I've conjured up, I am essentially dead meat. However, I think it's a fairly accurate one in that I often feel unable to control the outcome of these relationships (much like an unwilling target in this game of cat and mouse), but desire nothing more than to do so.
The real problem wherein lies in the truth, as it virtually always does. I know that I continue to feed these predators that which they feed upon the most - weakness. Instead of blood or physical sustenance, I feed them with acknowledgement and response. I have ultimately become that which I supremely hate - an enabler. By simply allowing these men to continue their games, I no longer value myself as the smart, independent, deserving woman that I know I am. My idealistic notions of emergent friendships or at least affable connections are naive and foolish at best.
In an attempt to make one of these relationships logically sound, I am particularly befuddled at his inconsistent communication, our numerous bizarre conversations, and his almost bipolar attitude with me at times. But then again...you can't rationalize stupid or explain crazy. A lesson I just can't ever seem to learn.
Unless you've been living under a rock or camping out in a tree (see Hunger Games, a truly amazing read that I just started and finished), you know that I've had a few "vultures" in my life recently...popping in and out of my life almost simultaneously, quietly circling, waiting to feed off their prey. Seems a bit morbid, I know, especially since in this particularly ghastly analogy I've conjured up, I am essentially dead meat. However, I think it's a fairly accurate one in that I often feel unable to control the outcome of these relationships (much like an unwilling target in this game of cat and mouse), but desire nothing more than to do so.
The real problem wherein lies in the truth, as it virtually always does. I know that I continue to feed these predators that which they feed upon the most - weakness. Instead of blood or physical sustenance, I feed them with acknowledgement and response. I have ultimately become that which I supremely hate - an enabler. By simply allowing these men to continue their games, I no longer value myself as the smart, independent, deserving woman that I know I am. My idealistic notions of emergent friendships or at least affable connections are naive and foolish at best.
In an attempt to make one of these relationships logically sound, I am particularly befuddled at his inconsistent communication, our numerous bizarre conversations, and his almost bipolar attitude with me at times. But then again...you can't rationalize stupid or explain crazy. A lesson I just can't ever seem to learn.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Adventure #13: Snowshoeing and Sledding
I know it's been awhile since you've heard from me, but I have very good reason for why that is...I have been out of town at the wedding of one of my best friends. And what a beautiful and unforgettable celebration of love and commitment it was!
Snow for a Southern girl is like a restaurant without sweet iced tea...it doesn't exist, and if it does, no one wants to go there! [By the way, in keeping with my different philosophy, I actually don't like sweet tea. I also absolutely adore snow.]
This past weekend, I had the thrilling opportunity to play in the snow, more snow than I have EVER seen. And. It. Was. Beautiful.
Snowshoeing was quite the adventure. Sadly, snowshoes are no longer the racket-looking things of yesteryear, but have rather improved with age and technological advancement. Rental snowshoes are not as attractive or aerodynamic as their purchased counterparts, but they still get the job done. In case you're like me and have never even seen a pair of snowshoes before, their purpose is solely to help you walk on snow, instead of falling through it, which I also did on several occasions over the course of the weekend. Added benefit to looking SO cool: hiking uphill in clodhoppers is terrific exercise for your gluteal muscles. Score!
Sledding also proved to be a remarkable experience. I think everyone in the entire valley could hear my laughter coming down the hill and across the plain as I shot across the snow! No matter how old you become, you're never too old to feel the wind on your face and the ice on your bum. Ha ha ha!
Snow for a Southern girl is like a restaurant without sweet iced tea...it doesn't exist, and if it does, no one wants to go there! [By the way, in keeping with my different philosophy, I actually don't like sweet tea. I also absolutely adore snow.]
This past weekend, I had the thrilling opportunity to play in the snow, more snow than I have EVER seen. And. It. Was. Beautiful.
Snowshoeing was quite the adventure. Sadly, snowshoes are no longer the racket-looking things of yesteryear, but have rather improved with age and technological advancement. Rental snowshoes are not as attractive or aerodynamic as their purchased counterparts, but they still get the job done. In case you're like me and have never even seen a pair of snowshoes before, their purpose is solely to help you walk on snow, instead of falling through it, which I also did on several occasions over the course of the weekend. Added benefit to looking SO cool: hiking uphill in clodhoppers is terrific exercise for your gluteal muscles. Score!
Sledding also proved to be a remarkable experience. I think everyone in the entire valley could hear my laughter coming down the hill and across the plain as I shot across the snow! No matter how old you become, you're never too old to feel the wind on your face and the ice on your bum. Ha ha ha!
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