Destination Discipline

When I finished high school, I never imagined I’d go back. The few fragile friendships I’d developed disintegrated, real life happened and time passed. The wounds, however, remained. All the petty grievances I’d experienced via insecurity and careless gossip had done their damage. Needless to say, I remember fleeing the school grounds with a kind of euphoria born from the knowledge that I would never, ever have to see those people again.

I stayed in touch with those who were real friends and forged ahead with my life, trying not to think about the hurt feelings and silly sorrows of my childhood. Still, they clung to my heart like a milky film–not readily visible, but nevertheless, present. I even had a recurring nightmare for years in which I was back in class and feeling the pressure to complete schoolwork–knowing I had already graduated and wondering why on earth I had to go back. My addled brain refused to let go of the people who had made such an impression on me in my younger years and the wounds we had inflicted.

When I heard there was to be a 10 year reunion, I balked. Who in their right mind would go to that? Back then High school reunions struck me as a waste of time. I shrugged off any nostalgic pangs and moved forward, even as I quietly wondered who was there and what they were talking about. So when I heard about the 20 year reunion, I was ecstatic. I had this idea that since I had lost the weight, I wanted to go back and revisit some of those relationships. Initially, I wanted to prove I was worthy of being liked and accepted by those who had rejected me back then. Also, many of the people who circles I frequented were planning to attend and I really wanted to re-connect. Long story short, I went, and I had the time of my life.

I learned that many of the perceptions I had of others were actually my feelings projected onto them. I learned that I was liked, not ugly, and singularly valued. Also, quite astonishingly, I made new friends–people I never knew in school the first time around. I left with such a sense of well-being and peace that I was genuinely excited about the next one.

This past weekend I attended my 25th high school reunion. The organizers planned it so beautifully with a mixer at a local sports bar Friday evening, and a family friendly BBQ potluck on Saturday. The reunion concluded with food and drinks at an up-scale restaurant after the outdoor shindig. We were all exhausted and feeling our age but we talked, laughed and surprisingly–did not reminisce. Maybe I am alone in this regard, but I don’t recall really talking about high school at all. It was quite simply, awesome fun.

As I reflect on the conversations with friends, both new and old, I find myself satisfied in my soul. We shared stories, complained about the current administration, and talked about our children. One jolly fellow said what we were all thinking, “some of us looked like we could be on the cover of GQ magazine but others have not aged as well. I had to laugh at that. Does anyone really age well? If I looked half as bad as I feel most of the time, no one could bear the site of me.

The song “Glory Days” by Bruce Springsteen keeps rumbling through my thoughts even though it doesn’t really apply to me. I don’t feel I have any glory days to recall. I really only remember angst, self-conscious primping, and pimples. Oh, and passing biology class(though I had to go to summer school to do that–thanks Sean!). For many years school was something I merely survived, but now I’m starting to realize the significance of those time-tested relationships. The people who were present while we were young have a different perspective of us than we do of ourselves and its important. If we listen well (as I tried to do this weekend) we will learn that we were not exactly who we thought we were. We will learn that we were liked, and maybe even loved. We will learn that we made an impact. We encouraged and inspired. We even helped people achieve their dreams(like John who pursued soccer simply because Liv asked him to participate). I was amazed by the stories and humble accounts of each person I spoke with. We are all on the journey together experiencing this thing called life. We have all lost our innocence in one way or another, and it was very healing(at least for me) to come together and ruminate on what matters most of all; friendship.

I realize now that when I was younger I mostly mis-characterized many of the other people I attended high school with–not only because I was obtuse(though I was), but because I was more worried about what they thought about me. And maybe this is the best part of maturing… I’ve been given the greatest gift of all; a do-over. Those who were brave enough to come and face their insecurities and fears met on common ground and simply got to know each other again. Somehow in the process of sharing stories both sad and glad, we came to see we are–after all–only human. We may not agree or even sympathize in some respects, but we can acknowledge that regardless of our differences, we all have the capacity to love. I for one find that very cathartic.

Until next time, fellow Hawks!

Today was a busy, busy day. And when I am busy, I generally feel stressed. It’s like this, I’m working along, doing what needs to be done and then suddenly, the Stress Badger jumps on my back, clamps onto my neck and growls. I hate the stress Badger. She’s very annoying.

So I take deep breaths. I put some lavender essential oil on my hands and inhale. I make little “oohm” noises under my breath. And the Stress Badger whispers, “Ice cream.” And then I start the cycle of inward chatter, will I or won’t I? Today I did not. But on the way home I stopped by my least favorite store to pick up sugar free chocolate and they didn’t have any. Now, for some folks this might not be a big deal. For me, it was catastrophic. For 30 minutes I walked back and forth down the aisle trying to find where they might have hidden it, all the while biting my nails and shivering. Evidently the store got the bright idea to re-work the candy aisle and, *gasp* removed all of the sugar free candy.

So I went to customer service to inquire. Maybe someone would see the desperation in my face and have mercy on me and go to the back and find me some. I know it’s sitting on a pallet back there, right? But alas, they told me to come back tomorrow. As if I’m normal and I’ll accept that response. Que the time Sam’s Club ran out of my sugar free gum and I stood crying at the desk about how I will DIE without it. And one of the ladies scrambled to the back and found me some. Bless her. But that was not the case today. My least favorite store snubbed me, and I am forever chaffed.

I drove home slowly as the Stress Badger dug her teeth into my shoulder muscles and growled some more. And I remembered that I recently purchased chocolate to make homemade brownies(to replace those I stole from my children while they stayed with Grandma). Suddenly my brain was lit on fire with the longing for soft and chewy brownies. And I began to salivate and sigh. And then I remembered that I am attending my 25 year high school reunion this weekend and there is no possible way I’m going to start gobbling brownies and gain 10 pounds before I see my old buddies.

So here I sit.

Writing a blog entry.

Not eating brownies.

Or sugar free chocolate.

Or ice cream.

With a Stress Badger chewing on my neck.

It’s times like these where I just want to run up to strangers, give them the Three Stooges Eye Doink of Death, and then run away laughing hysterically. The things I would do for entertainment if they were socially acceptable!

But seriously. Sometimes I have to learn how to function without my comfort snacks. It is in these moments that I (shockingly) realize the world will not end if I don’t satisfy my cravings.

I write all of this to illustrate that living a healthy lifestyle is not for the faint of heart. One must make difficult decisions, face emotional hangups, and find a way to deftly remove the iron jaws of the Stress Badger without food. Tonight I will accomplish this by finishing a book, (Laddie by Gene Stratton Porter) and drinking hot tea, and maybe crying. Because sometimes life is hard and there are no easy answers. And maybe I should write something holy and prayerful but I just don’t have it in me today. I’m tired. And the best thing I can do is keep it simple, and just go to bed.

I love good days. Good days are like rainbows—they refresh and renew, delight and inspire. On good days I can run and laugh and smile and make stupid jokes nobody laughs at. Yesterday was a very good day. And then there was…

Today.

Today I feel like all the Mondays of the whole year joined forces and morphed into the biggest, stinkiest, ugliest Monday there ever was. (It’s Thursday by the way) That’s what dealing with chronic depression/pain is like. Every day has the ability to be a Monday.

The grody Monday Monster isn’t satisfied unless it wallops me completely. Which is how I found myself laying on the floor of my cubicle moaning. (okay, that didn’t actually happen but it felt that way) I realize I should have done something inspiring like read an encouraging scripture passage, pray, or walk the stairs to get my adrenaline pumping. Instead I went to lunch with a friend and complained.

You can’t see me but I’m shaking my head. Epic failure.

Now I know what you’re thinking… (bet you didn’t know I’m a Swami, did you? Wish you could see me wriggling my eyebrows to evoke an air of mystery).

“Margaret, we all need to vent. Just go on and let it all out there. Air those feelings. Feel them and then exhale them. The more you let them out the better you’ll feel.”

That looks good on paper but in practice it’s terrible. Because the moment we start droning on about what’s wrong with our lives, the more we infect others with our misery. Also, complaining elicits bad advice from people who can’t solve your problem—which only compounds the problem and makes you and the person frustrated when you reject their advice. About half-way through my gripe-fest I realized how impossible I was behaving and began talking about things I am grateful for. My friend said, “Look at you! Way to turn it around!” And then I smiled and we parted ways, and I wept.

I wish “venting” helped. It doesn’t. I wish being grateful helped. It doesn’t. Sometimes the big stinky Monday Monster wins and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Now that I’ve spilled the milk and cried over it…

It’s time for ice cream.

And cookies.

And, rats. Wait a minute. If I give in to food lust I’ll be depressed AND fat. If I’m fat I’ll feel even worse because I’ll have to go shopping for new clothes(and I loathe shopping). And if I have to buy new clothes I’ll have to spend money I don’t have, which means going into debt, etc. etc.

Geez. Is there any winning against the Monday Monster of Madness?

These are the thoughts I wrestle with every day I feel like a gutter sludge-sickle.

But guess what? There’s hope!

When the Monday Monster starts slurping and slobbering all over my wimpy resolve, I remember that I still have a few secret weapons in my arsenal. One of them is…

Humor

I was doing crunches the other morning(that’s abdominal work for all you non-workout folks). I like crunches because they make me feel like Jillian Michaels(until I stand up). While I’m on the mat crunching away I’m thinking, “Margaret, you are so rocking this ab workout. You are STRONG. You are MIGHTY. You are too awesome for words.” And then after my workout I was walking through my house and realized my belly was swaying side to side, and not in the most flattering of ways.

When one loses an immense amount of weight, the skin does not return to its smooth and youthful vigor. It sags. It lumps. It curdles like cottage cheese. Which is why I started crunching in the first place. I thought ab work would eliminate the wobbly belly. Nope. Surprise, surprise! The television commercials all lie!

But instead of moping about because of the jiggly belly, I realized that some people will never experience the free flowing gladness of misshapen tummy trembles. Sadly, they will go through life slender and sleek, convinced that the six pack ab look is the penultimate achievement in physical perfection. They will hear the cry of their stomach and endure agony upon torturous hunger pang all the while missing out on the blessed, billowing belly of bliss.

And for some reason that struck me as both sad and incredibly funny. So I began walking around my house trying to perfect what I now call, “The Trendy Tummy Sway”. And my children were dutifully horrified and I was pleasantly proud. Because it takes a special gait and body type to perfect, and I–my friends–am now the ultimate TTS master.

So today when the Monday Monster started snacking on my resolve today, instead of eating ice cream, I decided to demonstrate the Trendy Tummy Sway in public. I strutted down corridors and aisles with the finesse of a runway model. I strolled and strutted. I sexy-pouted and swayed. And you know what I learned? Evidently, nobody really notices the TTS but me. But it was certainly fun to amuse myself and it did snuff out my food cravings completely.

Today if you are above ground,

if you are breathing,

if you are cross-eyed or lacking limbs,

if you are bulbous or bony,

…you are capable of laughter.

And so when I socked the Monday Monster in the eye with laughter, he dissolved into a puddle, just like the Wicked Witch of the West. And then I Trendy Tummy Swayed all over and sighed. Because even when my body is not happy, my heart can be.