Getting back in the saddle

I like to think I’m a pretty strong woman, mentally and physically. I’ve been through some tough times in my life and manage to emerge unscathed and only slightly scarred on the other side. But there have been times when some things absolutely terrify me.

Last year I bought a mountain bike and embraced it with a passion I didn’t know I had in me for a sport. I love the sound of fat tires thumping over needle covered trails. The whoop of satisfaction after conquering a particularly technical section of narrow tree lined single track or rocky terrain. In my first (and thus far my only) mountain bike race, and only the 5^th time I’d ever ridden, I came in second female. So I was beginning to feel fairly confident with my skills.

Then we went to ride in the mountains...

The first day of riding we encountered a downhill trail that sloped quite steeply to one side, had tall trees on the other, and lots of gravel and boulders on the way down. My boyfriend and riding partner headed enthusiastically down the slope with a smile on his face. As he disappeared around a corner I decided that it didn’t look that bad. I began my descent slowly using my brakes as I’d been taught – heavier on the back, lightly feathering the front. Then my front tire slid sideways when I went over a large boulder that had come loose - I panicked. Not thinking I gripped my handlebars bike tightly which also immediately and firmly applied both brakes and the next thing I knew I was lying on the gravel facing up the hill with my bike partly on me, saddle askew and many scrapes all over my left side. I lay there for a while, testing my limbs to make sure nothing was broken or bleeding profusely, and then gingerly rose, checked the bike to make sure everything was working and then proceeded to walk the bike the rest of the way down the hill to my waiting partner who was starting to worry about me.

Because we were quite a ways from the car, there was no option other than ride the bike back. He was able to refit the saddle for me and I tentatively got back on and rode. The rest of the trip though I found myself balking immediately whenever I was faced with a steep decline or anything that appeared to be remotely technical.

Each time I encountered one my physical self told me that I was fully capable as I’d ridden much of this stuff before, but at the last minute the mental held me at a full stop, remembering the terror of flying over the handlebars earlier in the week.

I was angry and frustrated at myself for the rest of the summer. I rode cautiously - and I didn’t crash once. Frankly, it was boring.

Because we had a wonderfully late fall, we were able to ride well into November. I felt like I was starting over again, but I slowly regained my confidence and was beginning to ride aggressively again by October. Crashing, although it hurt, didn’t worry me as much and I’d get up, dust myself off and laugh. Though I spent my fair share of time on the ground, I knew that it was because I had the courage to try. As Samuel Beckett once wrote: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” I fail spectacularly some days, but I have a blast doing it.

That being said, I would rather crash 100 times on my mountain bike than once on my road bike…Oh wait...I already have ;0)

When to Quit…

The act of quitting conjures up images of failure and defeat, but I’ve come to the realization that sometimes not quitting can be the more pusillanimous decision.

There are many opportunities in our lives to abandon things; music lessons that have grown old, sports activities, an unsatisfactory job that doesn’t challenge us. I have had all of these opportunities (and more) and have experienced quitting and not-quitting.

The Obligatory Children’s Music Lessons

I started taking piano lessons when I was in grade five even though my family didn’t own a piano. We arranged with my grade five teacher that I would stay in for both morning and afternoon recess each day and practice on the piano in the classroom. This earned me the distinction of “Teacher’s Pet Extraordinaire” even though I explained that I was practicing piano during that time (or supposed to be – I often gazed out the 2^nd storey window and watched the other kids playing outside because I quickly learned that practicing the piano was really not all that fun), not helping the teacher clean chalkboards or collate geography handouts. My family finally broke down and purchased an apartment piano when I moved to a new school for grade seven and there were no recesses or pianos to be readily found. I continued to struggle with balancing time for practice (Did I mention I really hated practicing?) with time for hanging out with friends in High School. When we moved to a small town and piano teachers were scarce my mother finally relented and let me quit. A part of me wishes I’d had the perseverance to hang in there, but I just didn’t have it in me.

Mandatory Phys-Ed

In high school you were required to take phys-ed in grades 9 and 10. After that it became an elective. Once it was optional I dropped it like a hot potato. I’d never been overly athletic as a teenager, was always picked last for sports teams (which is why I have never belonged to a sports team since) and I found that physical activity always hurt. (in hindsight it was probably because I was out of shape and every time we were required to do something for gym class, like cross-country running, I would tackle it gung-ho and then pay the price the next day.) So I quit gym.

Two jobs – Two very different stories

Job One

I had just graduated from University with a Bachelor of Arts (the most useful of all degrees /s) and had spent my summer working in the bush on a tree plant earning oodles of money to pay off my student loans. Once summer was over I began the search for a permanent job with which to showcase my talents. A small town newspaper offered me a job as reporter. Although I had no journalism experience aside from being a correspondent for a year or two with a slightly larger but more removed paper, I decided to take the job. After the first week I realized that reporting wasn’t in my blood. I lacked the straightforwardness and outgoing personality one needs to sniff out and attack the stories making the news, especially in such a thriving metropolis like Sioux Lookout Ontario. During my five seemingly endless tortuous months there a friend of mine called me numerous times telling me he was planning a trip to Europe the following spring and that he’d love for me to come along. I repeatedly refused, citing that I should give this job a fair shot, knowing in my heart that I already had, yet still unable to admit failure and quit my only source of income. Christmas came and my parents could see my joylessness. They urged me to quit, telling me that this opportunity to travel to Europe may never come again, and offered to lend me the money for the trip. After mulling this over for 100,000^th of a sec I finally agreed, and returned to work after my long weekend off to give my two weeks’ notice.

I have never once regretted this decision. Quitting that job was the best decision I could have made. I had an amazing five weeks in Europe and returned to find a 6-month contract job opening up in the Forestry department of the local paper mill which I applied for and got.

Job Two

After graduating from college years later (My ‘useful’ BA had outlived its usefulness) I landed a job with a national company, programming applications in their shipping and payables department. It was the best paying job I’d ever had, and my most despised. It was not despisable enough however to persuade me to leave the salary and benefits and I stuck with the job, eventually being pigeonholed into a support area that was mundane and boring and provided me with no challenges whatsoever. I started a job search with the hope that I could find something more to my liking along similar pay scales. Since nothing came up, as much as I longed to, I couldn’t just up and quit without a safety net, especially since I had recently separated from my husband and was supporting myself and my two children half time. Just when I began to settle into a boring groove, the company was taken over and 70% of the employees were to be let go at varying times over the next 12 months. My time was in six months. And the job I wanted to quit, but couldn’t, didn’t exist anymore and I had to move on. (As with Job One, this was the best thing that could have happened to me as I had four months of severance to burn through while I took my time looking for another job, while spending quality time volunteering at my children’s school and spending much of my free time hanging out with them. I landed my current job after those four months and have been very happy both with the job itself and the pay).

Quitting Friends

“Friendships are a tangled web from which escape can be very tricky.” DNTO’s Sook-Yin Lee said during a podcast I listened to recently. I had to whole-heartedly agree. It is much harder to break up with a friend than it is to break-up with a boyfriend. But I have found myself on both sides of the quit-zone. Some friendships simply outlive their usefulness. In this case both parties just eventually mutually drift apart. This is by far the easiest, and the one that is least likely to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Other “break-ups” are not so easy. How do you tell someone who has been your friend for years that you don’t want to be their friend anymore without sounding like you are in Grade Two? There is no diplomatic way of quitting a friendship without it sounding like a personal affront. When it gets difficult to put energy into a friendship, it’s time to give it up. When it’s one-sided it’s time to give it up. When your interests or values or outlooks on life change, it’s time to give it up. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been angry when someone decides that I’m not important enough to remain in their close circle of friends, but I get over it. I am an adult, and when I sit back and honestly think about it, I can usually see why the friendship failed and understand the reasons for dissolving it. I have also been on the receiving end of the wrath, and I think it hurts even more when you cause that kind of hurt to another person. So I’ll say it again, “There is no easy way to quit a friendship.” All I can hope is that others sit back like I did and try to understand the motivation behind the decision. A good friend of mine quoted the poem A Reason, a Season or a Lifetime, in her blog back in April. It seemed to fit here since it deals with friendships gracefully ending or moving on. It is succinct and the points it makes would be well taken by anyone who wants to be a friend.

Quitting, for me, has never been an entirely negative experience. I’ve always been able to look on the bright side and find good in decisions I’ve made. I’ve stayed true to more things than I’ve quit. I’ve become an athlete, something that I would never have believed way back in high school. I’ve developed and nurtured many wonderful and fulfilling friendships over the years. So in a sense, I’m not a quitter, but I know when to quit.

Living up to Expectations

I think everyone has felt at one point or another in their lifetimes that they had to live up to someone else’s expectations.

In the beginning it’s your parents. We feel the continual need to please and be praised when we are younger. It starts early when you are a child. The first time you smile or laugh or stand or begin to walk you get an exciting reaction from your parents. They smile, they laugh, they cheer and they encourage you and you decide that you like that. So you keep doing these things to elicit that response from them again. (This is what makes potty training easy for parents of eager-to-please children) Each time you get that desired reaction you know that you have done something worthy in their eyes and it makes you feel good. And each time you don’t, the look of disappointment you see hurts you and you are motivated to change, to redeem yourself – after all, they are your parents, the two most important people in your life.

Then you leave them and go to school, and your teachers begin to take the place of your parents and you start trying to please your teachers by doing well on tests, in sports, volunteering in the classroom. In Grade Six I was the ultimate teacher’s pet. I thought the world of my teacher (back then and still to this day), and when he showed approval for the things I did around the class it made me feel special. All for that smile, the validation that I was doing something right and something valuable in his eyes. (I admit I was a keener back then.)

As you get older, friends become your important circle. Peer pressure emerges and suddenly you are doing things that you may not feel comfortable doing, but you do them because you don’t want to lose the respect (or what you perceive to be respect) of your friends, again, trying to live up to expectations. On and on this goes throughout your life, and you start to wonder why you are living your life for other people instead of yourself. There was one time back in high school when I had two close girlfriends. All three of us were ‘dating’ boys and had all ended up at one of the friends houses when parents were out. The other two friends disappeared into bedrooms leaving me and my boyfriend alone in the living room. I could tell that he wanted me to go into the other empty bedroom with him. A part of me inside screamed “No!,” but I went along because I didn’t want my friends to think me a prude or a tease. We were the last to emerge from the bedroom later and although nothing happened - other than some innocent making out - my friends smiled knowingly at me. I suppose at the time I figured that being thought a tease was much worse than being thought easy.

There seems to be a double standard with friends that some people seem to expect more from some friends than others. In high school’s “the cool group” many things were completely forgiven depending on who it was. Not ever being in “the cool group” I remember being frowned upon for insignificant things, and I got to the point where I second-guessed everything I did. Even as adults those cool-groups persist, and I am still not one of them. (See ‘On the Periphery’).

As humans we crave acceptance. We want to be loved and appreciated. No one likes to disappoint. I’ve always been super-sensitive to what other people think of me. My aim had always been to please other people. To do things that I knew would be expected of me. It ended up being my curse, and I am trying to rid myself of it. I have realized that I cannot please everyone, and live up to everyone else’s expectations. Much of my married life was spent doing that, and I ended up harboring a lot of resentment. It is much more difficult when it comes from those who are closest to you. I think you try harder and harder to please them. I also think they begin to withhold certain things because they see they have the upper-hand. I have seen inklings of this in my children, and there were nights I spent talking to them for hours, reassuring them that they didn’t need to do something because they thought I wanted them to do it. But they should do it because they wanted to. I won’t have them fall into the same pattern.

In the process of shedding this curse, I have been able to open up my circle. I have discovered a new world out there. I am teaching my children not to fall into the same trap. And I have found someone who accepts me unconditionally, and puts no demands or expectations on me. It is refreshing and feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I will end off with a prayer, well actually a quote from a Gestalt prayer that sums up this post beautifully: " I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, then it is beautiful. If not, it can't be helped."

The Men in My Life

As I make my journey through life I need to stop every now and then to think about and thank those people who helped shape my passage and bring me joy. I love each and every one of these men.

L – My Father. He has influenced many things I’ve done. He has guided me through tough times and given me a small portion of his vast wealth of knowledge. I learn from him every single day I spend with him. His calm and quiet demeanor is noteworthy and enviable. He sees things that many people miss. He is spiritual in ways most people will never experience. He has a peculiar ability to talk non-stop both in person and on the phone and make everyday events more exciting and humorous. He can talk to anyone anywhere and does. He is proud of his “little girl”, and I see that in his eyes.

S – My Brother. Very much like our father he is quiet and pensive. Yet he makes me laugh on a continual basis. He appears to be extremely unpredictable yet it is evident that things he does that may seem unpredictable to others have been in his thoughts for some time. I think he likes to surprise people. He is thoughtful and funny and amazingly generous. He is also modest about his abilities. He is an incredible athlete, a remarkable scholar and will be a brilliant and unforgettable teacher to his future students. Even though he is younger, I look up to him, and not just because he is taller than me.

T & S – My Sons. When I speak of two people who bring me joy these two come instantly to mind. I love them unconditionally. And as much as they may frustrate me at times, I cannot remain angry with them for long. They are part of me, and I see myself in both of them, in different manners. Through them I have learned to see and experience the world differently. I am amazed at S’s ability to pick up song lyrics after only a couple of listens, and I grin when he sings along to the radio, gazing sideways at me to see if I am watching. I try to sing along, and revel in his mock embarrassment. T has always been introspective and some of the thought-provoking questions he poses reassures me that he has an amazing future ahead of him. His sometimes annoying stubbornness to stand his ground will serve him well when defending himself. He is considerate and kind and never forgets to thank me with a hug and a kiss for doing things a mother just does. They will always own a large part of my heart. They are my little men.

C – My Soul-mate, Life partner & Best friend. After my divorce I didn’t think I would ever find someone who I’d be willing to open up my life to. I was guarded and cynical. When C initially came into my life what seems now like many years ago I was instantly attracted to his easy-going personality, unstoppable energy and uncanny ability to bring calm to a room. And unconsciously, that was what I began to look for in a companion. I never thought that we would come back full-circle and reconnect like we did. He doesn’t judge me, or expect me to live up to unreal expectations. He accepts and embraces the person I am. He loves me and tells me that every single day we are together. My heart smiles when I hear his voice on the phone or when he walks into the room. I am thankful for each and every day I have with him.

Communicating?…give me time

The old adage goes that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, so when it came to re-learn how to function in a new relationship this old dog found herself somewhat challenged. In my past I had spent so many of my years holding things back that it was just natural to not talk about things that bothered me, and to bury them for fear they would upset or disappoint others. It turned out that the most important person it ended up bothering was me, because I held everything inside, let it fester and boil until I was feeling upset for what would have been a pretty minor thing. Still, I kept it inside until it had boiled dry and I was emotionally ready to go on.

I know deep down, that this is not how you conduct a relationship, but it was my way of coping and existing so as not to rattle the cage. I don’t know how I got to the point where I was scared of communicating, but I remember always being apprehensive about sharing my feelings, especially, and this is the crux of it all, if they were in the least bit controversial.

The first time I distinctly remember being hesitant was the time I had taken a job with a small newspaper in a remote North Western Ontario town. The editor of the paper had been kind enough to find me accommodation in the town, with a local nurse, Mary, who frequently rented out furnished rooms in her house for people who needed immediate lodging. Mary was the town social butterfly. She knew everyone and was constantly introducing me to people in town. She had a party once and I think half the townsfolk turned up. There was a parole officer living in the basement room of the house and she had also invited a bunch of her co-workers. I met one of them, we chatted a bit and he asked me out for dinner. Seizing an opportunity to get to know him better, and actually go on a date with someone who seemed kind of nice, appeared to be a good way to ease myself into the community.

The day came and we went out for dinner (which, oddly I don’t remember at all) and then drinks back at the house. It was one of those rare evenings when there was no one else home so we grabbed some wine and curled up on opposite ends of the couch to talk. That’s when things started going south. He began to ask me intensely personal and probing questions that made me feel uneasy. As I look back and in his defense, I assume he just wanted to get to know me better, but I wasn’t ready for this type of investigative assault and the wall instantly went up. The conversation fizzled and the evening was basically over at that point. I never saw him again. I can’t remember if it was because I turned him down for subsequent dates, or if he decided that I was too much work and never called me again. Regardless, opening up was difficult.

I used to open up to my diaries all the time. They were the window to my soul, and when I lost them all in a house fire I felt like my emotional past had somehow been erased. I started one journal after the fire, and it never filled up. I couldn’t bring myself to throw the same kind of emotion into it as I’d done in the past. So instead of recording it all, I kept it all inside.

Relationships followed. Again I never felt comfortable enough to really open up to many of the guys I dated. Not surprisingly, those relationships were relatively short-lived. When you cannot share your passions and dreams and worries then what can you share? As wonderful as a warm bed and a bottle of wine are shared between two people, it isn’t enough.

I think when I look back, I was never encouraged, or perhaps never really had the opportunity to challenge others’ viewpoints. As mentioned earlier throughout my married life I took the easy path, always deferring to others. During one family dinner I stepped outside my box and had an interesting “discussion” debating rural vs. urban upbringing with my brother-in-law. The discourse left me nervous and shaking inside, probably due to the exhilaration of finally being able to express myself. I’ve always underestimated my worth, and my intelligence. I think the main reason I hesitated in speaking up was an ill-founded fear of looking stupid.

As with many things in my life, the self-esteem I gained once I started running helped me begin to open up the channels I’d previously locked-down. I saw and embraced a new world outside. When I realized I wasn’t going to be shut down for expressing my views it became easier to articulate them. But I’m no means communicator-extraordinaire. It has continued to be a slow road. And I am still uneasy voicing my opinion, or even accepting that my opinion really matters in the long run. I need time to mull things over inside and formulate a response and sometimes it may take a few minutes or hours or even days. But I am getting better. This ‘old dog’ is slowly learning how to open up.

Selfless to Settling to Selfish

I knew that my life was about to change when there came an “Aha” moment and I realized that I didn’t want to settle anymore. At the time, I didn’t think I had a choice, and, because I thought that way, I didn’t. But let me backtrack…

Selflessà As a new wife, of course I focused on my husband, our home. As a mother, the shift was even more pronounced and somewhere along the way I just began to give it all away – keeping nothing for myself. Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do? Views shift as you mature, and you begin to focus on the external, doing for others because it just feels good. I always took the burnt steak or toast. If there wasn’t enough bacon for everyone, I just went without. The kids and my husband always came first. After a while it felt normal, and just what everyone expected of me so I didn’t notice it anymore. I began to settle.

Settling à Life seemed to be about everyone but me. I had actually convinced myself that this was just the way it was. I don’t remember when the shift back actually began but sometimes I had frighteningly brief glimpses of my future. I remember lying awake some nights and wondering how much more I could give? How would I muster the energy to do this for the rest of my life? I was draining my very life essence away – and I couldn’t say anything, Because of the nature of who I was at the time, I wouldn’t say anything. I must have recognized at one point that if I continued thusly I would start to resent the very people I professed to love, and I could not let that happen.

Selfish à Everyone is selfish as a child – egocentric – the world revolves around and exists only for you. As you mature you realize that there are others in the world, and that being selfish is not so nice. As an adult the brief moments when I considered taking something for myself, I remember feeling a horrible guilt, “I should not be doing this!” It went on like that for a long time. My inner make-up was solidly built and not an easy barrier to break down. I think the turning point came shortly after I ran my first marathon. I realized that I loved running, how it made me feel on the inside and the outside. It stripped away the stresses of everyday life, and calmed me to the point where I knew that, “AHA! I had found my panacea”. This was going to help me. And I knew that by doing this, I was being completely selfish, probably for the first time in my adult life. In time I learned that it is completely acceptable to be selfish now and then if it means that you are going to be a better person for those around you. Taking time for yourself doing things that contribute to your well-being will go far when it comes time for you to give back.

Unfortunately not everyone saw things the way I did. But that’s another story. For the most part, being sometimes selfish has been a positive in my life. My kids see it, and understand it, and have their own selfish moments too. I let them, because I don’t want them to settle like I did.

Me? A Clothes Horse...Not bloody likely!

My significant other and I were having breakfast one morning not too long ago…I had showered and dressed for work and he looked at me and said, “You don’t buy clothes very often do you?”. At first I thought it was a reflection on my wardrobe choice, perhaps he thought it outdated or something, but he continued on with, “I was just thinking that I can’t remember you ever buying clothes other than running stuff.” (We’ve been together for over a year now). And I thought to myself for a moment and could not remember the last time I had gone into a store to purchase an article of casual clothing aside from the bathing suit I bought when we went to Jamaica in February.

This simple statement started gears turning inside my head. I thought about the times I’ve been to Winners or other larger clothing stores, discount or otherwise. I seem to glide blindly through the racks, fingering fabric, looking at random pieces but seeing rows upon rows of nothing. I usually get frustrated and impatient and end up leaving empty-handed. Then there are other times (fewer and much farther between) when I go into smaller stores, head straight to the clearance rack and find something in less than a minute.

At most stores the racks are usually organized by S-M-L etc. so I can head straight to my size. The difference being the larger stores have what seems like an unremitting selection. I get completely overwhelmed with so many choices and almost panic. I have come to the realization that if I have to choose from a store carrying 30+ shirts or one carrying 5 shirts, I will almost always find something I like in the store with only 5 shirts. When there are fewer choices to make the easier it is for me. (I have the same issues at ice-cream parlors where there are a multitude of flavors...I find it easier to choose between vanilla and chocolate than 45 different flavours.) I envy those women who can spend hours in these stores and emerge with fashionable wardrobes that they have put together from the endless racks.

It may be because I still have insecurities when it comes to choosing clothes that look good on me. I always find flaws. For some reason I seem to do better when I don’t actually try the clothes on first (perhaps internally it is easier for me to like the piece if I get it home and try it on because returning it becomes a huge chore -- keeping it seems less complicated). And I do best when someone else buys the clothes for me as a gift (again, the “not having a choice” comes into play). So I suppose my SO is a lucky man, living with a woman who is afraid to shop for clothes.

Anyone want to be my personal shopper?