That is how my husband greeted me this morning, after he made kissing noises in my general direction, completely missing my cheek. We repeat this dance most weekdays because I am typically leaving the house before he even begins to consider waking up. I have noticed, through very precise testing of course, that his kissing aim improves as the clock hands advance to a more civilized hour.
Beginning on January 3, the "Bye, babe's" and "I love you's" were no longer the last words exchanged during our morning ritual. Instead, my husband has valiantly supported my weight loss efforts with a relevant inquiry into what the scale said to me today. Most mornings over the past month have been very good, netting me a 20 pound loss in a little over 3 weeks time. Needless to say, I am thrilled with my progress.
My methods are my own for now, but I will reveal that I have moved to a different phase of the program involving stabilization. For that, I must maintain my weight within +/- 2 pounds of the last day on the low-cal loss portion of the program. This has proven to be much harder than expected. My first two days on stabilization resulted in tears being shed yesterday morning because I could not identify why I was gaining weight at a somewhat rapid pace (when you only have 2 pounds to play with, you cannot go too many days with a half or three-quarter pound gain). So at 6:30 am, when my husband was not coherent in any other manner of thought, he came up with the gem: "So what is today's tale of the scale?"
Indeed, what is the tale of the scale? Not in its most literal sense, though I am pleased to report that I had -0- gain this morning. But what does the scale tell me, and NOT tell me, regarding much broader trends and themes in my life? Back before I began my latest - hopefully successful - effort at weight loss, these revelations came to light:
1. I had seriously gotten away from telling myself "no" when it came to food. "Do you want..." is not really the relevant question, now is it? The answer to "wanting" is yes, while the answer to "needing" would frequently be quite different. I have to re-train myself to answer "no" to nearly every query, almost without thinking. I find myself forming the words "No, thank you" on my lips practically before the person invites me to partake. That might be my single biggest behavior change contributing to my success... if the food is not specifically permitted, then the answer is ALWAYS NO! No amount of rationalizing can change that answer to yes, which is not how I used to think...
2. I can rationalize over-eating with a multitude of reasons (aka "excuses"), any one of which seems to apply at every given moment - I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I'm celebrating, I'm too picky (to eat the good stuff), I'm bored, I'm simply existing. And the excuses not to exercise came in fast and furious, some of which overlapped with the reasons for over-eating (a double whammy) - I'm busy (celebrating, working), I'm tired, I'm sick, I'm simply existing. After awhile, I'm not even sure I bothered to articulate a reason, even to myself, for my unhealthy behavior. Like a petulant child, I simply refused to do it.
After I started this program, the scale revealed to me that I can find the motivation, the heart, the drive, the stick-to-it-iveness that has been lacking for so many years. I can be healthier, be more active, get more out of life, and not be limited. I am in control of my health...I always was and always will be (except for the stuff that is genetic, of course).
What the scale does not reveal to me, though I often succumb to its siren song, is my own self-worth. My worth as a human being is not tied to my dress size, though it is a battle every day for me to believe it. It is hard to simultaneously accept who I am as a person, flaws and all, while also striving to get healthier. Something must be "bad" to be triggering a desire to rid myself of that offending aspect of my life, right? I am somehow "less" than I could otherwise be, right? Part of the challenge comes into play with the language that is used to describe weight loss... if losing weight is a "success", then isn't being fat a "failure"? Does it matter if it is due to medical reasons or lack of self-control? Similarly, if losing weight tends to increase self-confidence, then doesn't gaining weight decrease self-confidence?
I am not a weight loss expert (imagine that!) or a mental health professional. I do not mean to judge those heavier than me, since I tend to reserve my harshest judgments for myself. Nor am I trying to speak for all those who struggle with obesity, or to generalize an experience which is so deeply personal. I am merely sharing my journey as I go in the way I best know how, through writing.
Even if I am successful at losing weight in 2011 (I suppose I should use "when" instead), I will *always* struggle with this issue. Nearly 10 years ago I lost a significant amount of weight under a different weight loss program. Despite my success, the dietitian delivered the sobering news that I will always continue to suffer from obesity. My condition might be managed, but I would never rid myself of that diagnosis. I'm not sure whether she was clinically correct (in that I can never shed that diagnosis code, no matter how little I weigh), but my eventual weight gain certainly underscored her point. Without constant, some may even say militant, diligence, I will eat myself right back into sizes I swore I would never buy again. I fervently hope that this time will be different, with the love and support of family and friends.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
No Way Out (A Short Story)
Here is a story I wrote several years ago as an assignment for that short-lived correspondence course that I mentioned in an earlier post. I actually rather like this story... I can even envision the next scene switching to the point of view of the officer. Trouble is, I don't know what the next scene is after that! So this is definitely not a plotted, multi-chapter story. Instead, it was just a snippet of a story line. Maybe it can turn into something more, maybe it can't. Regardless of the reason it was written, I do hope you find it interesting. (Please note this short story tackles some themes related to sudden death. Though not graphic in any way, the story line simply might not be for everyone.)
****
I quickly sucked in my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and bit my lip to hold back the tears – and give myself time to think. How exactly should I respond to the investigating officer's seemingly routine question, "I'm sure you know we have to ask, but was there any trouble between you and your husband, ma'am?"
I opened my eyes and from my spot on the couch, noticed the picture of our last family photo.
When was it exactly? Trip to Orlando. Bobby's broken wrist. Oh yes, 2002. Jenna was 10 at the time – a fresh-faced brunette who was the spitting image of me at that age, a whopping 30 years ago. That would make Bobby 6. What did his Aunt Lynn call him? Oh right, the same thing we called our kid brother when we were growing up – the Golden Child. Wasn't Eddie Murphy in that movie?
Though my mind was wandering, my gaze soon settled on Brett, who looked so happy in the photograph.
Surprisingly so . . . because if truth be told, I can't recall Brett ever actually being happy – even the day we got married. But he always had been good at keeping up appearances.
"Ma'am?" The officer's gentle prompting startled me out of my day-dreaming.
How long had it been since he asked the first time – his notebook out, ready to capture my every word?
Even knowing he was waiting for an answer, my mind refused to focus. Instead, it sent me fragments of images of what I had endured this morning.
A locked door. A note. Do you know where he got the pills from, ma'am? Brett's serene face – the bastard! Why does he get to be at peace? Calling my sister to take the kids. Calling 911. Damn him – I hadn't wanted to live with him, but how was I going to live without him? Had I ever really truly considered that possibility? Can someone be angry and relieved at the same time? Obviously it's possible, since that is what I feel! But what will the neighbors think? Why do I care what they think? I wonder if his mother thinks I killed him? She couldn't, could she? He hasn't spoken to her in a decade, so she must know he had problems. But of course, Brett was her very own Golden Child, and they can do no wrong.
"Ma'am?" This time grateful for the distraction, I summoned all of my will power to answer the question. I really wanted to say, "Hell yes, we had trouble!" Instead I replied, "We had our ups and downs, like any married couple." I was hoping that would satisfy him, and was immediately disappointed when the officer asked another question. "Such as?"
What do you mean "such as"? Where to begin and where to end? Do you want the last 30 days, or a summary of our 15 years of married hell? Chronological, by issue, by other parties involved? I mean really, Officer, can't you be more precise in your questioning?
So I started rambling. "Oh, I don’t know – the kids, money, him working too much, that sort of thing." I silently pleaded with God to make the officer believe me.
Can't we just let it be?
"Did your husband have any life insurance?"
His tone was ever-so-slightly less gentle than before, or was that simply my imagination? Was he good cop or bad cop? Was he trying to help me, or put me away for life? Damn it, this feels like a chess game – always trying to stay two moves ahead. The problem is, I am no good at chess.
I proceeded cautiously, answering that of course Brett had life insurance – why wouldn't he, with a family to support?
They have the note, the pill bottle, and other facts that point to suicide. Why does his death have to be my fault? Haven't I suffered enough? They aren't thinking about charging me with murder, are they? Deep breath – relax! I must be reading too many crime novels.
The officer gently touched my arm. "I know this is hard on you and the kids," he said. "I am so sorry for your loss, and to have to ask you these questions." He noticed my trembling. "Do you need me to call another family member? Maybe a priest? You probably shouldn't be alone."
Alone? I'm alone – and lonely – all the time! Doesn't he realize that the worst loneliness is when other people are nearby? Like when Brett and I would climb into bed at night – and not talk, or touch, or even acknowledge each other's existence. And Jenna is always on her cell phone, and Bobby is glued to his computer. This family could go days without really speaking to each other – and whose fault was that? I tried! You can't even begin to imagine how I've tried. I am obviously a failure – as a mother, and as a wife. But doesn't it take two to tango? It can't all be my fault, right? Right?? No, Officer, I don't think you know the first thing about being alone.
"No, thank you. My parents are on their way."
Why won't he just leave?
"Here's my card in case you need to reach me. Someone from the Coroner's Office will call you with the report on the official cause of death. But it certainly does look like an open-and-shut case of suicide to me. If we find out different, we'll be in touch."
I escorted the officer firmly to the door, and stood at the window staring as he drove away. Only after his car had turned the corner out of the development was I able to breathe a sigh of relief.
So the police didn't think I had murdered Brett, after all!
And then ever so slowly, I allowed a smile to creep onto my lips.
I may not be good at chess, but I am a damn good actress! Too bad, such sloppy detective work.
****
I quickly sucked in my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and bit my lip to hold back the tears – and give myself time to think. How exactly should I respond to the investigating officer's seemingly routine question, "I'm sure you know we have to ask, but was there any trouble between you and your husband, ma'am?"
I opened my eyes and from my spot on the couch, noticed the picture of our last family photo.
When was it exactly? Trip to Orlando. Bobby's broken wrist. Oh yes, 2002. Jenna was 10 at the time – a fresh-faced brunette who was the spitting image of me at that age, a whopping 30 years ago. That would make Bobby 6. What did his Aunt Lynn call him? Oh right, the same thing we called our kid brother when we were growing up – the Golden Child. Wasn't Eddie Murphy in that movie?
Though my mind was wandering, my gaze soon settled on Brett, who looked so happy in the photograph.
Surprisingly so . . . because if truth be told, I can't recall Brett ever actually being happy – even the day we got married. But he always had been good at keeping up appearances.
"Ma'am?" The officer's gentle prompting startled me out of my day-dreaming.
How long had it been since he asked the first time – his notebook out, ready to capture my every word?
Even knowing he was waiting for an answer, my mind refused to focus. Instead, it sent me fragments of images of what I had endured this morning.
A locked door. A note. Do you know where he got the pills from, ma'am? Brett's serene face – the bastard! Why does he get to be at peace? Calling my sister to take the kids. Calling 911. Damn him – I hadn't wanted to live with him, but how was I going to live without him? Had I ever really truly considered that possibility? Can someone be angry and relieved at the same time? Obviously it's possible, since that is what I feel! But what will the neighbors think? Why do I care what they think? I wonder if his mother thinks I killed him? She couldn't, could she? He hasn't spoken to her in a decade, so she must know he had problems. But of course, Brett was her very own Golden Child, and they can do no wrong.
"Ma'am?" This time grateful for the distraction, I summoned all of my will power to answer the question. I really wanted to say, "Hell yes, we had trouble!" Instead I replied, "We had our ups and downs, like any married couple." I was hoping that would satisfy him, and was immediately disappointed when the officer asked another question. "Such as?"
What do you mean "such as"? Where to begin and where to end? Do you want the last 30 days, or a summary of our 15 years of married hell? Chronological, by issue, by other parties involved? I mean really, Officer, can't you be more precise in your questioning?
So I started rambling. "Oh, I don’t know – the kids, money, him working too much, that sort of thing." I silently pleaded with God to make the officer believe me.
Can't we just let it be?
"Did your husband have any life insurance?"
His tone was ever-so-slightly less gentle than before, or was that simply my imagination? Was he good cop or bad cop? Was he trying to help me, or put me away for life? Damn it, this feels like a chess game – always trying to stay two moves ahead. The problem is, I am no good at chess.
I proceeded cautiously, answering that of course Brett had life insurance – why wouldn't he, with a family to support?
They have the note, the pill bottle, and other facts that point to suicide. Why does his death have to be my fault? Haven't I suffered enough? They aren't thinking about charging me with murder, are they? Deep breath – relax! I must be reading too many crime novels.
The officer gently touched my arm. "I know this is hard on you and the kids," he said. "I am so sorry for your loss, and to have to ask you these questions." He noticed my trembling. "Do you need me to call another family member? Maybe a priest? You probably shouldn't be alone."
Alone? I'm alone – and lonely – all the time! Doesn't he realize that the worst loneliness is when other people are nearby? Like when Brett and I would climb into bed at night – and not talk, or touch, or even acknowledge each other's existence. And Jenna is always on her cell phone, and Bobby is glued to his computer. This family could go days without really speaking to each other – and whose fault was that? I tried! You can't even begin to imagine how I've tried. I am obviously a failure – as a mother, and as a wife. But doesn't it take two to tango? It can't all be my fault, right? Right?? No, Officer, I don't think you know the first thing about being alone.
"No, thank you. My parents are on their way."
Why won't he just leave?
"Here's my card in case you need to reach me. Someone from the Coroner's Office will call you with the report on the official cause of death. But it certainly does look like an open-and-shut case of suicide to me. If we find out different, we'll be in touch."
I escorted the officer firmly to the door, and stood at the window staring as he drove away. Only after his car had turned the corner out of the development was I able to breathe a sigh of relief.
So the police didn't think I had murdered Brett, after all!
And then ever so slowly, I allowed a smile to creep onto my lips.
I may not be good at chess, but I am a damn good actress! Too bad, such sloppy detective work.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Imposter Syndrome
Simply put, the "imposter syndrome" is the fear of being "found out" - that you really aren't qualified to be doing the job that you are doing; that you are somehow faking it; that one day your boss (or others) will realize that you are incapable and the whole charade will be over.
Do you suffer from imposter syndrome? Here's a handy on-line quiz to help you make that determination, though I think the easy litmus test is whether you were shaking your head in earnest agreeing with me while reading the first paragraph. If yes, you are probably a fellow sufferer.
Interestingly enough, in my experience the more educated and intelligent that you are, the greater the likelihood of imposter syndrome. Of course the opposite is decidedly NOT TRUE... just because you have escaped the self-imposed imposter label does not make you less intelligent or educated. It probably just means you aren't as neurotic as some of us tend to be.
The hard part about imposter syndrome is that from an outsider's perspective, you often tend to look like a self-absorbed person who is whining for attention. Consider the difference between "Look at ME and tell ME how GOOD I AM!" and "Oh please dear God, let me find out that I did okay on this project so I can fool them into thinking I am capable just one more day." Perhaps the words are not as pointed as that, at least in our heads. But the vague sense of uneasiness, the constant fear of failure or making even a simple mistake, and the self-doubt are all very real.
I've also found that the syndrome comes and goes, at least for me. There are certainly tasks that I accomplish that I know I am qualified for. Others feel like luck rather than achievement, and that is an unfortunate way to be going through life, diminishing our skills and successes in our own eyes.
Sometimes the mere act of verbalizing the fear is enough to diminish its hold over me. Other times it takes another person, usually my husband, to kindly point out how ludicrous my assertion might be. Of course I know this in my head, I just don't feel it in my heart - and isn't that where the mightiest battles take place?
Maybe I'll break down and buy the book from the website mentioned above. Or better yet, maybe I'll just recite Daily Affirmations With Stuart Smalley, from back when Saturday Night Live was actually funny. Either way, it is undoubtedly better to go through life not feeling like a fraud, don't you think?
Do you suffer from imposter syndrome? Here's a handy on-line quiz to help you make that determination, though I think the easy litmus test is whether you were shaking your head in earnest agreeing with me while reading the first paragraph. If yes, you are probably a fellow sufferer.
Interestingly enough, in my experience the more educated and intelligent that you are, the greater the likelihood of imposter syndrome. Of course the opposite is decidedly NOT TRUE... just because you have escaped the self-imposed imposter label does not make you less intelligent or educated. It probably just means you aren't as neurotic as some of us tend to be.
The hard part about imposter syndrome is that from an outsider's perspective, you often tend to look like a self-absorbed person who is whining for attention. Consider the difference between "Look at ME and tell ME how GOOD I AM!" and "Oh please dear God, let me find out that I did okay on this project so I can fool them into thinking I am capable just one more day." Perhaps the words are not as pointed as that, at least in our heads. But the vague sense of uneasiness, the constant fear of failure or making even a simple mistake, and the self-doubt are all very real.
I've also found that the syndrome comes and goes, at least for me. There are certainly tasks that I accomplish that I know I am qualified for. Others feel like luck rather than achievement, and that is an unfortunate way to be going through life, diminishing our skills and successes in our own eyes.
Sometimes the mere act of verbalizing the fear is enough to diminish its hold over me. Other times it takes another person, usually my husband, to kindly point out how ludicrous my assertion might be. Of course I know this in my head, I just don't feel it in my heart - and isn't that where the mightiest battles take place?
Maybe I'll break down and buy the book from the website mentioned above. Or better yet, maybe I'll just recite Daily Affirmations With Stuart Smalley, from back when Saturday Night Live was actually funny. Either way, it is undoubtedly better to go through life not feeling like a fraud, don't you think?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Thumper Said It Best
When you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all, right? Very useful advice indeed, I only wish that more people (especially on the internet) put those words into practice.
However, I do wonder if the opposite holds true. If someone who has ample opportunity to comment on my work (e.g., an article or a blog post) fails to say anything at all, am I to infer that the particular reader would rather opt for the second part of Thumper's Maxim? Does my work have no redeeming qualities whatsoever that you couldn't find a single nice thing to say?
This has happened to me before, first when I shared a short non-fiction piece with a colleague in public relations. When we chatted about my interest in writing, she had been quite supportive and indicated a willingness to use her contacts in the magazine industry to get my foot in the door. So I sent her the article (think 1-2 page travel feature in an airline magazine to give you a flavor the writing) and waited. And waited. And waited.
The crickets sent me a message, loud and clear. I did follow up with her at least once, via email so as to simultaneously be both less intrusive (if she had not found the time to review it) and non-confrontational (if she really was avoiding me because she thought my writing amounted to a pile of drivel). I still heard nothing, and a part of me wonders even today (years later) what in the world was so horrible with the piece that she would rather duck me than provide a few quick pointers from a PR perspective. This situation also happened more recently with a different fiction piece I shared with a friend, asking for thoughts. Again with the crickets. I'm beginning to think that perhaps Jiminy and Thumper are distant cousins.
Similarly, this blog opens up a fair bit of questioning on my part. Every time I post, I am grateful for those who take the time to reply. Yet as a literary masochist, I speculate about those who say nothing. Have they not read it? That is by far the most likely scenario. Or have they read it and taken Thumper's words to heart? I know this is possibly also the case, particularly for a chosen few who I have asked to read my blog and comment because I have read theirs and done the same.
Perhaps I can live with the Thumpers of the world, if the alternative would be a soul-crushing critique of my still-novice work. I'm not diminishing the importance of accurate and constructive feedback, of course...that's the only way any of us can improve. I just hope that people will remember that a little kindness goes a long way, especially in a creative endeavor such as writing. Offer suggestions, I implore you. Please just do it with a smiley face.
However, I do wonder if the opposite holds true. If someone who has ample opportunity to comment on my work (e.g., an article or a blog post) fails to say anything at all, am I to infer that the particular reader would rather opt for the second part of Thumper's Maxim? Does my work have no redeeming qualities whatsoever that you couldn't find a single nice thing to say?
This has happened to me before, first when I shared a short non-fiction piece with a colleague in public relations. When we chatted about my interest in writing, she had been quite supportive and indicated a willingness to use her contacts in the magazine industry to get my foot in the door. So I sent her the article (think 1-2 page travel feature in an airline magazine to give you a flavor the writing) and waited. And waited. And waited.
The crickets sent me a message, loud and clear. I did follow up with her at least once, via email so as to simultaneously be both less intrusive (if she had not found the time to review it) and non-confrontational (if she really was avoiding me because she thought my writing amounted to a pile of drivel). I still heard nothing, and a part of me wonders even today (years later) what in the world was so horrible with the piece that she would rather duck me than provide a few quick pointers from a PR perspective. This situation also happened more recently with a different fiction piece I shared with a friend, asking for thoughts. Again with the crickets. I'm beginning to think that perhaps Jiminy and Thumper are distant cousins.
Similarly, this blog opens up a fair bit of questioning on my part. Every time I post, I am grateful for those who take the time to reply. Yet as a literary masochist, I speculate about those who say nothing. Have they not read it? That is by far the most likely scenario. Or have they read it and taken Thumper's words to heart? I know this is possibly also the case, particularly for a chosen few who I have asked to read my blog and comment because I have read theirs and done the same.
Perhaps I can live with the Thumpers of the world, if the alternative would be a soul-crushing critique of my still-novice work. I'm not diminishing the importance of accurate and constructive feedback, of course...that's the only way any of us can improve. I just hope that people will remember that a little kindness goes a long way, especially in a creative endeavor such as writing. Offer suggestions, I implore you. Please just do it with a smiley face.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Hunger vs. Cravings
As some of you might have gathered in the past few weeks, I am making a concerted effort in 2011 to lose weight and get healthier. The details of that journey are currently not important. However, one of the major revelations thus far is the struggle between hunger and cravings.
I'm not sure I can quite call it a revelation, since I've known that I've struggled with cravings for many years. But the low-calorie phase of my regimen has brought the contrast into specific relief and I can't think of a better word to describe the situation. I don't want that baby spinach, but I sure do want anything else but (particularly if it involves sugars or carbs).
At first the craving was physical, as my body literally detoxed from the caloric equivalent of crack. But soon it turned mental, as I longed for those foods while realizing that I was not truly hungry. Partly I think I can resist the cravings - for now - because they are roadblocks on my path to being thin. I know the hard part will come later during maintenance. A blessing in disguise is that my chosen protocol involves cycles of loss and then maintenance, followed by continued loss (to be repeated as necessary, with lengthening periods of maintenance between each round). So choosing the right foods to maintain a certain weight is built into the program. After one reaches their goal weight and finishes the protocol, no food is off-limits. But moderation must win the day as I seek to stabilize into a new weight.
Another mental aspect of the situation is our instant gratification society. A friend recently pointed out that the tendency to satisfy our immediate wants goes beyond consumerism to food consumption. We can have pretty much whatever we want, whenever we want it. Feel like a little sugar pick-me-up around 3 pm? Check out that stash of candy in your desk. Want to munch on a little something during the big game (probably more out of habit than hunger)? Microwave popcorn, at your service. Of course I do not refer to those who truly face hunger, and who just can't run to Giant Eagle or McDonald's at a moment's notice. But isn't that precisely the point? Most of us have absolutely no idea what true hunger feels like. We've gone hours without eating, not more than a day. Certainly I have (or can have) a tad more mastery of my own actions than to give in to my body's whining for sugar, can't I?
Besides, if truth be told, it's my own damn fault for training my body to crave the bad stuff. I'm not sure how much effort is going to be involved in retraining, but I sure am going to try.
I'm not sure I can quite call it a revelation, since I've known that I've struggled with cravings for many years. But the low-calorie phase of my regimen has brought the contrast into specific relief and I can't think of a better word to describe the situation. I don't want that baby spinach, but I sure do want anything else but (particularly if it involves sugars or carbs).
At first the craving was physical, as my body literally detoxed from the caloric equivalent of crack. But soon it turned mental, as I longed for those foods while realizing that I was not truly hungry. Partly I think I can resist the cravings - for now - because they are roadblocks on my path to being thin. I know the hard part will come later during maintenance. A blessing in disguise is that my chosen protocol involves cycles of loss and then maintenance, followed by continued loss (to be repeated as necessary, with lengthening periods of maintenance between each round). So choosing the right foods to maintain a certain weight is built into the program. After one reaches their goal weight and finishes the protocol, no food is off-limits. But moderation must win the day as I seek to stabilize into a new weight.
Another mental aspect of the situation is our instant gratification society. A friend recently pointed out that the tendency to satisfy our immediate wants goes beyond consumerism to food consumption. We can have pretty much whatever we want, whenever we want it. Feel like a little sugar pick-me-up around 3 pm? Check out that stash of candy in your desk. Want to munch on a little something during the big game (probably more out of habit than hunger)? Microwave popcorn, at your service. Of course I do not refer to those who truly face hunger, and who just can't run to Giant Eagle or McDonald's at a moment's notice. But isn't that precisely the point? Most of us have absolutely no idea what true hunger feels like. We've gone hours without eating, not more than a day. Certainly I have (or can have) a tad more mastery of my own actions than to give in to my body's whining for sugar, can't I?
Besides, if truth be told, it's my own damn fault for training my body to crave the bad stuff. I'm not sure how much effort is going to be involved in retraining, but I sure am going to try.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Grief is Personal
In the past few days, I've learned of three friends who each lost loved ones. Their deaths were very different from one another (a grandmother from cancer, a cousin due to a car accident, and a brother whose cause of death is still being determined), and that prompted me to consider how each of my friends was coping with this tearing in the fabric of their families.
Grief certainly has some common factors, but each situation is so individual as to defy the neat boxes which would conveniently lend themselves to predictable responses. Family labels alone set an expectation of how one is "supposed" to feel when someone of a certain perceived intimacy dies ... grandmothers, cousins, and brothers are all within the definition of "immediate family", after all. But one's real emotions are far more complex and colored by decades of family history - whether by accident, chance, or choices made along the way.
My own experience with death has fortunately been rather limited. Those closest to me have thus far died later in life, with time to prepare (a term I use rather loosely) for the eventuality of death due to disease or the mere passage of time. However, I recall being shaken to my core when some sorority sisters from a different campus died in a car accident only hours after I last saw them at a recruiting event. I had only met these young women that very weekend, so we had not formed incredibly deep bonds over a period of months or years. But the bonds were new and fresh, which lent an immediacy to the situation. I was one of the last people to see these women alive. Part of my grief was most certainly due to the horrific nature of the accident and the tender age of my sisters. Part of it was also a dawning realization about the randomness of life's events.
Never was this more evident than when I learned that their positioning in the vehicle, which had just changed during a rest stop on their way home, determined whether they lived or died. I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had they not switched positions in the car (e.g., could a different driver have handled the vehicle better in the rain, or perhaps chosen to drive more slowly?), or perhaps had they not stopped for food, or stopped just a little bit longer (meaning the semi that crashed into them would not have been in that exact position). Would they have cheated death that day?
I realize that playing the "if only" game is rarely, if ever, productive when applied to situations which clearly cannot be changed. Perhaps it provides the illusion of control ... different choices, different outcome (or so the faulty logic goes). Or maybe the mere act of vocalization is a method of processing and coping. Regardless of the reasoning, I could only play that game for so long before I moved to a place of acceptance. I don't remember how long that process took for me, but I do remember a lot of compassionate family, friends, and professors along the way.
I'm a "helping" person by nature, but I must remind myself that I don't know exactly what my friends are feeling right now. Each person must grieve as they see fit and in their own time frame, which is the exact same courtesy I hope will be extended to me the next time the situation presents itself. Until then, my thoughts and prayers are with all of those who have lost loved ones in the recent past.
Grief certainly has some common factors, but each situation is so individual as to defy the neat boxes which would conveniently lend themselves to predictable responses. Family labels alone set an expectation of how one is "supposed" to feel when someone of a certain perceived intimacy dies ... grandmothers, cousins, and brothers are all within the definition of "immediate family", after all. But one's real emotions are far more complex and colored by decades of family history - whether by accident, chance, or choices made along the way.
My own experience with death has fortunately been rather limited. Those closest to me have thus far died later in life, with time to prepare (a term I use rather loosely) for the eventuality of death due to disease or the mere passage of time. However, I recall being shaken to my core when some sorority sisters from a different campus died in a car accident only hours after I last saw them at a recruiting event. I had only met these young women that very weekend, so we had not formed incredibly deep bonds over a period of months or years. But the bonds were new and fresh, which lent an immediacy to the situation. I was one of the last people to see these women alive. Part of my grief was most certainly due to the horrific nature of the accident and the tender age of my sisters. Part of it was also a dawning realization about the randomness of life's events.
Never was this more evident than when I learned that their positioning in the vehicle, which had just changed during a rest stop on their way home, determined whether they lived or died. I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had they not switched positions in the car (e.g., could a different driver have handled the vehicle better in the rain, or perhaps chosen to drive more slowly?), or perhaps had they not stopped for food, or stopped just a little bit longer (meaning the semi that crashed into them would not have been in that exact position). Would they have cheated death that day?
I realize that playing the "if only" game is rarely, if ever, productive when applied to situations which clearly cannot be changed. Perhaps it provides the illusion of control ... different choices, different outcome (or so the faulty logic goes). Or maybe the mere act of vocalization is a method of processing and coping. Regardless of the reasoning, I could only play that game for so long before I moved to a place of acceptance. I don't remember how long that process took for me, but I do remember a lot of compassionate family, friends, and professors along the way.
I'm a "helping" person by nature, but I must remind myself that I don't know exactly what my friends are feeling right now. Each person must grieve as they see fit and in their own time frame, which is the exact same courtesy I hope will be extended to me the next time the situation presents itself. Until then, my thoughts and prayers are with all of those who have lost loved ones in the recent past.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
What in the World is NaNoWriMo?
Very good question. NaNoWriMo is shorthand for NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth. According to the website, "National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1. The goal is to write a 50,000 word, (approximately 175 page) novel by 11:59:59, November 30."
Yes, you read that correctly - a novel written in a month. Can anything but drivel ever come of that? Well, the website has a section dedicated to novels that were eventually published after being written during NaNoWriMo, probably the most famous of which is Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. Though publication by itself does not conclusively prove that the novel is "not drivel" (because we've all read some really bad novels that somehow got published anyway, right?), for the moment I'll buy into the concept that some pretty good stuff can come out of NaNo.
But no matter how you judge the quality of writing, those authors who have grabbed the golden ring of publication are clearly in the upper echelon compared to those of us who are wannabes. Plus, most people who start NaNo never finish a novel in the allotted time period - the "winner" to "participant" ratio ranges between 13-20% (2000-2009). Thus you have a 1-in-5 chance (at best) of finishing NaNo, and an even more minuscule chance of being published. Why would one attempt such an endeavor? The genesis of NaNoWriMo actually provides a bit of insight on that front.
As you might imagine, the creators of NaNo never imagined that their idea would take off and consume nearly 200,000 people (including gluttons for punishment who are repeat participants). In their own words: "The very first NaNoWriMo took place in July, 1999, in the San Francisco Bay Area. That first year there were 21 of us, and our July noveling binge had little to do with any ambitions we might have harbored on the literary front. Nor did it reflect any hopes we had about tapping more fully into our creative selves. No, we wanted to write novels for the same dumb reasons twentysomethings start bands. Because we wanted to make noise. Because we didn't have anything better to do. And because we thought that, as novelists, we would have an easier time getting dates than we did as non-novelists. So sad. But so, so true."
Among the many lessons they learned that first summer (aside from the fact that it's easier to write a novel in the relative gloom of November rather than bright sunshine of July) was the fact that most people never write a novel because they don't put their butt in a chair (also known as the "BIC problem") and JUST WRITE under a DEADLINE.
Ah, it's all starting to come together now, isn't it? My fascination with NaNo stems primarily from the fact that what has stopped me from writing in the past is not desire, but simply forcing myself to sit down and JUST WRITE with a purpose in mind. Not after I watch this TV show (even though its an episode I've seen before) or finish this movie (even though I own the extended version DVD). Not after I run to the grocery store, or or or... you get the picture. I professed that I had this desire to write, so where was it in my list of priorities? Nowhere, as you can probably gather from my lack of prior output.
That all changed in 2011, obviously, when I launched this blog. I don't know if my writing is any good and for now, I (almost) don't care. My goal is more modest... to counteract the BIC problem and JUST WRITE. Maybe you don't like what I have to say (if you are seeking earth-shattering revelations, you may wish to look elsewhere), or perhaps you don't like my style. That's okay, for now. I have time to consider my content and my style as I go. At the end of the day, however, I will have gained something I did not have before... another essay. And that, my friends, is an awfully big hurdle to overcome.
Will I participate in NaNoWriMo this year? That is my intent. I hope to actually sketch out a plot and some characters in advance (that is all permitted under the rules) and then go to town in November. Unfortunately, that is a very busy time at work, but if truth be told, when isn't? Plus the NaNo community forms a support group of sorts, helping each other devise plot points, develop characters, overcome writer's block, and JUST WRITE.
I may write drivel, no doubt. Other than my law review paper (which was in fact published), I have never attempted to write anything of that length and complexity (and creativity, which, I might add, is frowned upon in law school). But I hold out the glimmer of hope that perhaps literary inspiration will be delivered to my typing hands. I think I'll end up somewhere in between the two extremes, with something I'll want only my family and closest friends to read. And that is fine by me.
PS... You can scope out NaNo's website here.
Yes, you read that correctly - a novel written in a month. Can anything but drivel ever come of that? Well, the website has a section dedicated to novels that were eventually published after being written during NaNoWriMo, probably the most famous of which is Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. Though publication by itself does not conclusively prove that the novel is "not drivel" (because we've all read some really bad novels that somehow got published anyway, right?), for the moment I'll buy into the concept that some pretty good stuff can come out of NaNo.
But no matter how you judge the quality of writing, those authors who have grabbed the golden ring of publication are clearly in the upper echelon compared to those of us who are wannabes. Plus, most people who start NaNo never finish a novel in the allotted time period - the "winner" to "participant" ratio ranges between 13-20% (2000-2009). Thus you have a 1-in-5 chance (at best) of finishing NaNo, and an even more minuscule chance of being published. Why would one attempt such an endeavor? The genesis of NaNoWriMo actually provides a bit of insight on that front.
As you might imagine, the creators of NaNo never imagined that their idea would take off and consume nearly 200,000 people (including gluttons for punishment who are repeat participants). In their own words: "The very first NaNoWriMo took place in July, 1999, in the San Francisco Bay Area. That first year there were 21 of us, and our July noveling binge had little to do with any ambitions we might have harbored on the literary front. Nor did it reflect any hopes we had about tapping more fully into our creative selves. No, we wanted to write novels for the same dumb reasons twentysomethings start bands. Because we wanted to make noise. Because we didn't have anything better to do. And because we thought that, as novelists, we would have an easier time getting dates than we did as non-novelists. So sad. But so, so true."
Among the many lessons they learned that first summer (aside from the fact that it's easier to write a novel in the relative gloom of November rather than bright sunshine of July) was the fact that most people never write a novel because they don't put their butt in a chair (also known as the "BIC problem") and JUST WRITE under a DEADLINE.
Ah, it's all starting to come together now, isn't it? My fascination with NaNo stems primarily from the fact that what has stopped me from writing in the past is not desire, but simply forcing myself to sit down and JUST WRITE with a purpose in mind. Not after I watch this TV show (even though its an episode I've seen before) or finish this movie (even though I own the extended version DVD). Not after I run to the grocery store, or or or... you get the picture. I professed that I had this desire to write, so where was it in my list of priorities? Nowhere, as you can probably gather from my lack of prior output.
That all changed in 2011, obviously, when I launched this blog. I don't know if my writing is any good and for now, I (almost) don't care. My goal is more modest... to counteract the BIC problem and JUST WRITE. Maybe you don't like what I have to say (if you are seeking earth-shattering revelations, you may wish to look elsewhere), or perhaps you don't like my style. That's okay, for now. I have time to consider my content and my style as I go. At the end of the day, however, I will have gained something I did not have before... another essay. And that, my friends, is an awfully big hurdle to overcome.
Will I participate in NaNoWriMo this year? That is my intent. I hope to actually sketch out a plot and some characters in advance (that is all permitted under the rules) and then go to town in November. Unfortunately, that is a very busy time at work, but if truth be told, when isn't? Plus the NaNo community forms a support group of sorts, helping each other devise plot points, develop characters, overcome writer's block, and JUST WRITE.
I may write drivel, no doubt. Other than my law review paper (which was in fact published), I have never attempted to write anything of that length and complexity (and creativity, which, I might add, is frowned upon in law school). But I hold out the glimmer of hope that perhaps literary inspiration will be delivered to my typing hands. I think I'll end up somewhere in between the two extremes, with something I'll want only my family and closest friends to read. And that is fine by me.
PS... You can scope out NaNo's website here.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Just Write
It all starts with that first step, right?
I've said for quite some time that I want to write a novel. At one point, I even thought I had the opening lines: "I am Ally McBeal. Well, except for the fact that I'm not a size zero, I don't live in Boston, and I'm not exactly beautiful, but that is beside the point." Or something like that. : )
This dream surfaces every now and then, and occasionally I even do something about it. I buy books about writing (some of which I actually read!). I started a correspondence fiction writing course, but felt stymied because of my (real or perceived) lack of imagination. I spend time on the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) website, energized by the passion of those pursuing the same dream as me, but still somehow intimidated by those same colleagues who seem to all have something to say.
A friend of mine once pointed out that those of us who are struggling writers might be suffering from the success of J.K. Rowling. We feel, whether consciously or not, that if we cannot write the next Harry Potter series (or the next Twilight series, if that is your preference), then somehow we have failed. The concept is laughable on its face, but it plays into the fear of failure that consumes all those in creative endeavors. Far more than athletic or business endeavors, creativity puts so much of our inner self on the line... what if we are found wanting? What if nobody wants to read what I have to say? What if nobody likes it?
I am in awe of Ms. Rowling and other authors who can create a world that I want to live in. I don't care if she borrowed elements from classical literature or not. The fact remains she wove a beautiful tapestry of imagery and characters that made me care very deeply about what happened in that world. I think I've set the bar rather high if I expect seven books, eight movies, and a theme park to emerge because of one idea I might have on my way home from work. Hey, it would be great if it happened, but that is not the litmus test of success or failure.
Instead, I have committed to starting with one single step... just write! Maybe I don't have the spark yet for a novel, but I certainly can find something to say for a short essay every once in a while. My goal, which I have chosen to make public, is to post to this blog at least twice a week. So by the end of 2011, I should have 100 blog posts. By doing that, I hope to get more in the habit of writing, to engage with an audience no matter how small, and to start honing my writing craft. I also hope that at least a few posts will resonate with you along the way, enough to make it worth your while to come back every now and then.
Until my next post, I wish you peace and all that is good in 2011!
I've said for quite some time that I want to write a novel. At one point, I even thought I had the opening lines: "I am Ally McBeal. Well, except for the fact that I'm not a size zero, I don't live in Boston, and I'm not exactly beautiful, but that is beside the point." Or something like that. : )
This dream surfaces every now and then, and occasionally I even do something about it. I buy books about writing (some of which I actually read!). I started a correspondence fiction writing course, but felt stymied because of my (real or perceived) lack of imagination. I spend time on the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) website, energized by the passion of those pursuing the same dream as me, but still somehow intimidated by those same colleagues who seem to all have something to say.
A friend of mine once pointed out that those of us who are struggling writers might be suffering from the success of J.K. Rowling. We feel, whether consciously or not, that if we cannot write the next Harry Potter series (or the next Twilight series, if that is your preference), then somehow we have failed. The concept is laughable on its face, but it plays into the fear of failure that consumes all those in creative endeavors. Far more than athletic or business endeavors, creativity puts so much of our inner self on the line... what if we are found wanting? What if nobody wants to read what I have to say? What if nobody likes it?
I am in awe of Ms. Rowling and other authors who can create a world that I want to live in. I don't care if she borrowed elements from classical literature or not. The fact remains she wove a beautiful tapestry of imagery and characters that made me care very deeply about what happened in that world. I think I've set the bar rather high if I expect seven books, eight movies, and a theme park to emerge because of one idea I might have on my way home from work. Hey, it would be great if it happened, but that is not the litmus test of success or failure.
Instead, I have committed to starting with one single step... just write! Maybe I don't have the spark yet for a novel, but I certainly can find something to say for a short essay every once in a while. My goal, which I have chosen to make public, is to post to this blog at least twice a week. So by the end of 2011, I should have 100 blog posts. By doing that, I hope to get more in the habit of writing, to engage with an audience no matter how small, and to start honing my writing craft. I also hope that at least a few posts will resonate with you along the way, enough to make it worth your while to come back every now and then.
Until my next post, I wish you peace and all that is good in 2011!
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