Admitting it is the First Step

After 30 years, I finally was able to admit something I had never admitted before:

I hate going to the gym.

Well, that's not entirely true - I don't always hate going to the gym. But I do burn out quickly when I think about going to the gym 5 days a week. 2-3 days a week, I can handle, but I was finally able to realize (and admit) that getting on the stair climber and lifting weights cannot be my sole form of exercise, because frankly, it bores me.

Sure, I'm entertained by the individuals who go to the gym. There's one man who has fully committed to living in the 70's. He has the bushy, curly 70's hair, complete with matching mustache. His workout shorts are a bit too short, his tube socks pulled up a bit too high, and his yellow t-shirt is a bit too tight. On their own, each piece of this ensemble is a disaster, but collectively, they are brilliant.

Then there's the South American man with the really long hair, curly, oily, Kenny G hair, who wears a day-glo spandex bodysuit and a sweatband. Again, it's the full commitment to this image that makes it work. The man who talks on his cell phone and manages to eke out no more than 15 reps in a whole hour and the girl who wears full make-up and her long hair down - while they annoy me, they also entertain me. But as entertaining as these individuals are, I quickly lose my attention, only to discover I still have 25 minutes on the stairs to nowhere.

When I get to the gym, I put on my headphones, listen to the same songs, mindlessly watch the same shows (since I typically go at the same time every day I go) and do the same routine. Even when I mix it up, I know burnout it just around the corner, because I'm essentially going from one boring routine to the next. Additionally, since I don't find my gym workouts to be mentally stimulating, rather than providing a great anxiety-attacking physical activity, my mind is free to wander back to work or other problematic situations, which ultimately leaves me an anxious sweaty mess when it's time to go....I'm lucky Daniel wants to let me in the car at that point!

But, I have done this for years....decades, in fact. Why? Because I know working out is good for you and hitting the stair climber or treadmill seemed to be the most efficient (and effective) way to do that - I mean, that's why everyone seems to have a gym membership these days, right? And while it was efficient, at some point, I finally had to recognize that it was not effective - especially when, after only a week or two, I was already coming up with excuses not to go....I'm tired from a long day at work, I feel less than perky, I have other more pressing issues (snuggling with Sampson is high priority in our house!), I don't have any workout clothes to wear, it's Wednesday.....whatever I can come up with.

So, I finally admitted it. But, as I tell my clients, admitting it is only the first step - then you have to do something about it (groan). In lieu of going to the gym, I decided to do something I had always wanted to do for years - take ballroom classes. Now, I have no delusions about what I look like when I'm ballroom dancing - I'm a cocaphony of limbs, all moving, but not necessarily in a coordinated manner. But guess what, I don't really care. I'm having fun and getting in a great workout as well - two birds, one stone. I still go to the gym on the days I'm not dancing, but get this - not only am I enjoying the gym more because I am not trying to force myself to go every day, but I am enjoying the gym more because I see it as a way to help me improve my dancing.

And, as I encourage my clients to do, I'm going to try and use this small victory and life lesson and extend it to other areas of my life. My New Year's resolution is to be fearless in getting rid of what's not working and trying new things. My only regret is that it took me until I was 30 (hey, my birthday's not for another 2 weeks!) to figure it out....but I'm happy that I have the rest of my life to put it to good use.

The Heart of the Issue

I must start off by saying happy birthday to my wonderful fiance, Daniel. Yesterday he officially joined the "30s Club"....it's about time! I have spent 11 months and 1 day (not counting) as a 30-something dating/engaged to a 20-something. But now we're even...until I turn 31 next month.

His birthday was lovely, despite the fact that I had to work and one of my clients wanted me to stay late to finish his note, which had no hope of getting done until the next morning anyway. One public transportation ride later, I was finally at my car, ready to go home, ready to celebrate Daniel's entry into "you can no longer deny we're adults", when I realized that I had a pit stop to make. I needed to go to CVS to get a card (and some Diet Coke....I mean, I figured while I was there, I might as well stock up). I had looked for cards previously at the Hallmark store but walked out empty handed....and all because of one reason:

Hearts.

Try finding a card that is for someone you love (but are not related to...an important (legal) distinction) that does not have a heart on it and you'll quickly find it's an exercise in frustration tolerance. Every single card...heart on the cover, heart on the inside, heart not-so-cleverly disguised as a sun, hearts used to dot lowercase i's...it was ridiculous! The only funny side note on my card shopping experience was that as I was looking in the "Love" section, there was one slot that was labeled "Father" - Awkward! I can't imagine which would be more mortifying, giving your boyfriend/fiance a card that says "Daddy" or giving your dad a romantic card...either way the Freudian implications are astounding!

In my growing frustration, I considered actually just getting a card with a heart on it and calling it a day. Daniel, to the best of my knowledge, has no beef with hearts. He doesn't sit around doodling hearts, but as far as I know, he doesn't abhor them the way I do. For instance, because we registered for a certain amount of items from Lenox for our wedding, they sent us a free gift - toasting flutes. Without opening the box, Daniel was very excited that we received these....having done a lot of looking for wedding-related things, I was more skeptical, suggesting, "Let's take them out and see them. Who knows, they could have hearts on them." And sure enough, a silver heart was attached to each glass. Because, as you know, if you love someone, you must express it through a heart. (and if you're interested in these flutes, they will be on ebay shortly.)

And I guess that's what I hate about hearts - they require no effort at all. And they're cheesey. Great for the second-grade Valentine's Day cards you had to give to everyone in your class....not great for expressing a completely profound emotion that has the power to transform lives. I guess expressing love however you choose to do it is the most important part (let me step down from my judgmental soapbox for a second). But how much more meaningful it is to express it in a way that is truly unique to the person  you are expressing it to. Which is why I LOVE homemade gifts. Making cards or gifts allows us to communicate that not only do we love that person, but that we truly see that person and their unique qualities. For me, one of the best gifts I could ever get would be fuzzy socks. I love fuzzy socks to a degree that I'm almost certain would concern my mental health colleagues. If my feet are cold, I am miserable. I wear them all year around, even through the Texas summers. In addition to keeping my feet nice and toasty, they allow me to get a good running start on our carpet and then go sliding down the front hall into the kitchen. They are wonderful. But this is not something readily known to others. I know that the person who gives me flowers loves me (or at least likes me)...the person who gives me fuzzy socks, knows me.

Eventually, I picked out a card intended for "Husband" and simply inserted a "soon-to-be" before "husband". The card had a dog and a cat on it, meaningful to him as it recognized our intense love for dogs - he loved it. For a birthday gift, I gave him a book called the Texas Football Vault - a history of Longhorn football which includes replicas of old tickets and programs. Again, meaningful to him. Again, he loved it (and I told him to lie if he didn't).

As I get ready to search for a Christmas card for him, I'm certain to run into the same headache - lovey-dovey cards that reduce a powerful emotion to cliche, rhyming lines. So maybe I'll take my own advice and write my own....but what rhymes with barbeque?

Why me? And why now?

I hate spiders....with a passion. I feel the need to get that out of the way at the beginning to clear up any confusion about my choice of blog titles. Spiders are gross. Spider webs are no better because they simply indicate that a spider is in the vacinity, even though I can't see it - which, in actuality, is even worse than seeing the spider itself. A vacant spider web allows my overactive imagination to think about all the places that sneaky spider could be hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash an attack on me - or worse yet, to crawl in my mouth as I sleep (let's all have a collective shudder at that thought). So why the shout out to spiders in my blog's title? It has to do more with the structure of the web itself than the eight-legged object of my fear that creates it. Think of a spider web. It truly is an amazing structure of interconntecting parts, delicately woven together to make a final product on which its owner will live. It takes time to build, with some parts of the web being pruned off when deemed to be detrimental to the overall structure. I like to think of the strands of a spider web as all the different people and events that make up our spider web-like lives - weaving together to create our unique experiences.

I once heard in a psych seminar someone equate life to a flow chart - first this happens and it causes something else to happen, and so on. I guess at some level I understand what the lecturer was getting at, but my first reaction was that this analogy was incredibly not true. Either that, or the lecturer had lived a far more organized and predictable life than I. My life (and the lives of most I kow) have been more like a drunkard's walk home - winding and clumsy, taking wrong turns and making corrections, stopping to rest, and sometimes getting to your final destination and realizing that you have no clue where you are - than a neat and orderly flow chart. And if you've ever watched a spider build its web, it looks like it's hanging on for dear life, as it attempts to create this masterpiece of nature. As much as many of us would like to think that our walk through life resembles John Wayne's supercool, supersecure, saunter, at times we are merely hanging on by the tips of our toes. And let's face it, like the spider web in the corner of the garage, life, too, invokes a tiny cringe of anxiety.

So, for me, there is no better analogy for my life than a spider web - ultimately a painstakingly marvelous wonder, created by the interconnection of the people and events I meet along the way and somewhat anxiety provoking. And I, like the spider, sometimes come close to falling off my labor of love, as I cling to it and continue to create more connections and memories. Additionally, I guess I could have called my blog, "My So-Called Life" but then I would have owed Claire Danes and Jared Leto royalites....and there's no room in the budget for that.

Another confession - I hate blogs. I have always viewed them as self-indulgent musings about things that no one cares about. It's the same beef I have with Twitter - I really could not care less that you are at the grocery store and now you are at Panera, and now you are at the gas station. Really...no one cares. This begs the question of why a self-proclaimed "blog hater" would start her own blog. Why me? My hatred of blogs was rooted in the one thing in which most hatred is rooted - ignorance. True, there are some blogs that are self-indulgent, petty, and just plain obnoxious. But the great thing about a blog is that it is what you make it. I'm not writing because I think that I live an extraordinary life that everyone must know about or that I have the insightful answers everyone is looking for - in fact, I bet I will be able to count on one hand the number of people who actually read my blog (and Sampson, Daniel's dog, does not count). My blog is for me...for my memories....a fossilization of my spider web, so to speak.

Why now? My inspiration to start my own blog came from two sources: 1) a friend of mine (who is a far superior writer than I) has a blog that I have been following for a little time now. Although separated by an ocean, I feel his blog allows me to stay in touch with what's going on in his life and how he is doing. As someone separated from a significant number of my friends, I hope this may be a way to keep those near and dear to me abreast of what's going on down here in the Lonestar State....and in a more meaningful way than the random wall post on facebook. 2) I run a therapy group in whch the members' weekly homework assignment is to jounral. Today we discussed the importance of journaling close to when an event occured, because time has a way of eroding the details of the event and the emotions. Our minds change the specifics of the experience, usually to our benefit. Given enough time, some memories, even those events and people we thought we'd never forget, get washed away like a sandcastle on the beach. This is my way to keep those memories alive.

There are certain things I can promise you about my blog:
1) There will be typos and grammatical errors....they are my pet peeve and yet they always show up sooner or later...my version of literary karmic justice
2) Some days the entry will be insightful....and somedays it won't....some days the deepest insight I have is that Ron Burgundy was right - milk on a hot day is a bad decision.
3) I will forget to write at times - I have one diary that has spanned my teen years and my 20s - and I think I used about 10 pages. I finally admitted that I am far to lazy to keep up with a journal....but a web journal might be within my range of doable endeavors.
4)You probably won't find too many quote-worthy passages...and I mean quote-worthy as in "worthy of stitching on a pillow." The exception being that I tend to make up words and quote other quote-worthy individuals....right now my favorite expression is "mustache eyebrows" to describe bushy eyebrows....it's not my phrase so feel free to use it.
5) I will quote movies....a lot.

When I read the above expectations I realized how self-depracating it sounds! Way to set the bar low! But the point is this - my blog is intended to be my recollections and interpretations of the amusing array of characters who I have the pleasure of interacting with and the wonderfully unique events that we rush by and fail to notice. In my desire for a creative writing outlet, I briefly considered writing a fiction novel, but quickly realized that real life, in all its wonderfully minute human moments, is far more entertaining, funny, heart-wrenching, uplifting, and sobering a story than can ever be imagined. I guess this is why I adore reading biographies. I guarantee there will be entries that make for good insomnia reading. But I also guarantee you will snort with laughter at least once.....yes, snort.

So that's my blog in a nutshell. Love it, hate it, could care less about it - it is what it is. And like the spider web, it will likely be a little spastic and chaotic, but (I hope) that will only enhance its loveliness.