On the Run

I'm not sure whether the fact that t-shirts keep speaking to me lately is a good thing or not. Have I regressed to adolescence? Perhaps I've simply become very shallow. Or maybe I need psychiatric help (I mean...more than already). Is it possible that there are just a lot of t-shirts out there right now with really great messages on them? I hope that's the case. If not, I could be in trouble. Hmm...more to ponder.

Overly detailed INTJ analysis aside, there was a second shirt I bought at Maurice's on Tuesday, while shopping with Rowena. This one said, "Girl on the Run." Immediately, I loved it. Of course, it immediately conjured thoughts of Katniss Everdeen and her "girl on fire" persona. She was a girl on fire. Though not a natural revolutionary, she led an entire nation to overthrow a corrupt, bloodthirsty, totalitarian government. And that's how she became known. She was Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay, the Girl on Fire.

As I looked at the shirt, I thought, "This is how I want to be known. Kit Reynolds, the Girl on the Run." But let me be clear. I don't want to be known as someone constantly running from something, though of course, I do run from my toxic past and do my best never to look back. Rather, I want to be known as being constantly on the run towards something. Running towards my dreams and goals. Running towards health. Running towards...life. I don't want to be the girl who held back. Who sauntered her way down the road of life. I don't want to be the one who kept going slowly, for fear of tripping or running into things (and if you know anything about me at all, you know that's a legit concern!). I want to be the one who ran the race. Who seized the day.

I think about baseball legend Pete Rose. My dad grew up with him. They played against each other in Little League, they played neighborhood pickup games together, in baseball, basketball, and football. All controversies aside, no one can deny his enthusiasm. My dad talks about how even as kids, Pete gave his all when playing baseball. All of the Little League teams in the area were always referred to by their names, except for Pete's. Even when they were kids, his team was known as "Pete Rose's team." Dad says that Pete's not the most inherently talented baseball player he ever met. But Pete's enthusiasm and determination made up for what talent he lacked. Most baseball fans know that Pete's nickname is "Charlie Hustle." Why? Because the man never ever walked. Even when the pitcher walked him, he ran. As a lifelong baseball enthusiast in my 30s, I have never once seen a baseball player do this. What's the point? Why run to first when you're guaranteed it anyway? But Pete did. And that's how I want to be.

I want to be the girl who ran to first base. The one who kept running. The one who lived fully. The one who was always going somewhere.

So while I'm working on being someone's shot of whiskey, by being entirely myself, I will also be something else: a Girl on the Run.

Sometimes...

Sometimes, life just really, really sucks. Sometimes, we'll hit a bump in the road, and it all just comes crashing down around us. Sometimes, we wake up, and life is just more than we can bear. Sometimes, we just cry our way through the day, and wait impatiently for bedtime to come, so we can finally go to sleep and have a chance at a better day in the morning. Sometimes, we don't know why this is the case. Sometimes, we do. Sometimes a bunch of emotions and circumstances hit us at just the right time, so that we crumble. And when that happens, we just ride it out. We let ourselves cry, and yell at the injustices or the pain. We let ourselves grieve. We give ourselves grace for the shitty days. The days that aren't in keeping with the general upward trend. We don't beat ourselves up. We take them as they come. And then those sometimes will keep getting further and further apart. We're human, so those sometimes are always going to be there- maybe years apart- but still there, nonetheless. But as long as we keep moving forward, and have grace for those sometimes, we'll come out of it just fine, in the end.

Someone's Shot of Whiskey

It's funny, isn't it, when we hear something we've never heard before, and yet immediately, it strikes a chord, and we go, "Yes! That's IT!" I just had one such experience. I was out shopping today with my friend, Rowena, and we stopped in at Maurice's, as we always must, when we're shopping near one. I saw a shirt that said, "I'd rather be someone's shot of whiskey than everyone's cup of tea." As soon as I saw it, I knew I needed it. That's exactly what I've been thinking the last couple years, as I work on becoming more myself. Of not being afraid anymore. Of dying my hair, and piercing my ears, and wearing my black lipstick, etc., etc.

I remember many, many times when I looked in the mirror, and had no idea who it was staring back at me. I knew who it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be me. But it wasn't. I never really matched the part that I played for so long. And after a while, I completely lost who I actually was. As a kid, I was a rather fearless, adventurous tomboy. I often thought about joining the Navy, like my dad had. I was inquisitive, liked to figure out ideas by way of arguing (I deconstruct an idea, and then build it back up- much like an engineer takes apart a clock to understand how it ticks), and I was usually allowed. But after my family joined ATI, that all stopped. I was expected to be the meek and quiet, obedient lady. I was expected to have long hair, dress "modestly" (read..."baggy" and "frumpy"), wear no makeup, accept everything I was told as truth, stay at home until I married, have a dozen children and homeschool them all. That never appealed to me. And yet, it was supposed to. So I told myself it did.

ATI (the fundamentalist cult my family was in for 9 years) basically taught us that we were supposed to be everyone's cup of tea. That with a bright smile, navy and white clothes, and the right attitude, we could win over anyone. Bill Gothard (the cult's founder and leader) loved to tell all of us "apprenticeship students" stories of ATI students boarding planes in their navy and white with a good smile, and being randomly upgraded to first class. About ATI students who worked so hard for an employer, they were given a high paying job that normally required a college degree, without having a college degree. He loved to talk about the very rare exceptions to the rule, and tell us that, with the right attitude and dress and actions, everyone would love us, respect us, and the world would be open to us as we made money and gained the ear of heads of state. It took me years to realize what a complete joke that was. So I tried, so hard, to be everyone's cup of tea. To gain everyone's respect and admiration. I failed miserably, of course. I was labeled a rebel and a temptress at my fundamentalist church. Apparently, mothers actually warned their sons about me. Funny thing was, I really wasn't that interested in guys in general until I was in my twenties. But no matter how hard I tried, I never really fit into their little mold of who I should be. As much as I often functioned as an ISTJ, I was still an INTJ. As much as I tried to function as a neurotypical, I was still Autistic (though I didn't get my diagnosis until the age of 32). As much as I tried to content myself with not going to college and with the idea of being a stay-at-home homeschool mom to goodness knows how many kids, it never worked. It just wasn't who I was. But who I was, was bad. And to be concealed and denied and buried and crucified as much as possible.

And so I forgot. For a very long time, I completely lost sight of who I was. After I got out of ATI,  bits and pieces came back. My INTJ was eventually coaxed out of hiding. I started to wear makeup and clothes that, while still extremely modest by most standards, would be considered scandalous by ATI standards. I listened to secular music (GASP). I lived alone. I got a college degree, and then a graduate degree. I even started teaching college. When I finally read the Divergent trilogy and was reminded of who I was, I immediately started changing how I dressed and did my makeup. I got contacts, later, I got a much edgier haircut and even dyed it black and purple. I got more ear piercings, and planned a nose piercing and tattoos (which have yet to be gotten). As I looked in the mirror, more and more, I saw myself looking back at me. I was coming out of hiding. Sure, some people may look at my hair and makeup and piercings and clothes (which seriously, are still super modest by most standards), and make judgments about my character, based on that. Some may decide they don't like me. And some may look at my departure from Christianity and decide I simply wanted to live my own life my way, and not by God's rules. That I wanted to live my life governed by the "pleasures of this world." They can judge all they like. It's not true, not by a long shot. There's way more to it than that.

But it's okay if some people judge. It's okay if people decide they don't like me anymore. Or decide that I make them sad, or anything else. At the end of the day, I really would rather be someone's shot of whiskey than everyone's cup of tea. Because at least if I'm someone's shot of whiskey, I'm being myself. I'm not watering myself down and forcing myself into a mold, and wearing a mask. I'm not playing a part. I'm being, well, me. Does it hurt to be rejected? Yeah, sometimes. But in the long run, I'll be far more satisfied with my life, and far more at peace, if I'm open and honest. If I quit playing a part. At the end of the day, I can respect who I am. And I have the support of my parents, who know pretty much everything there is to know. While they may not agree with me on everything, they do absolutely respect me, support me, and they're okay with where I am in life. I have many others, too.

People who have known me for a long time have witnessed this transformation. Some have been surprised, some haven't. Most recognize I'm much more at peace with myself than I ever was before. And I am. I'm done being everyone's cup of tea. I'm going to be myself. Sure, it takes courage, but hey. That's what life is all about. Being brave, and not letting fear rule your life. Could I really call myself "Dauntless" if I was letting my fear of others rule my life? Nope. So I'm going to be brave and be myself. Otherwise, life is just a really sad exercise in jumping through hoops, toeing the line, and making sure all the "I's" are dotted and all the "T's" crossed. And that's just a shame. 

Musings on Grief

Sometimes, it just hits me. A wave of sadness. Of grief. Grief for what was, what was supposed to be, what never will be. And it frustrates me. I feel like I should be in a different place. A better one. But grief is what does- and should- happen when love is lost. Moments of grief do not mean that we're not moving on, or moving forward. They don't mean we're not healing. They don't mean that we're not in a good or healthy place. They mean, simply, that we're humans, and the love we lost was real. It's right, and it's good. It feels wretched. But it's as it should be. And perhaps, it even means that we would change what happened, if we could. But that's also part of being human.

I write this on what should be my brother's 42nd birthday. Of course, he died over 20 years ago, at the age of 19. He'll always be a kid in my head. He's been gone most of my life. But I loved him very much. As I go through life, and experience new things, I sometimes go through new phases of grieving. I lost it at my cousin Jason's wedding a year and a half ago, because Matt had been close to Jason and his brother Scott. My brother wasn't there, and he should have been. I looked at the sheer rock face and river in front of me at the reception venue, and wept. My dad teared up as well. We knew that if Matt had lived, he'd be a pilot. And my dad said exactly what I was thinking: That he'd probably have moved to Colorado as well. He would have loved it here. And in the last few months, I've wanted my big brother more than ever before. Sometimes, a girl just needs her brother. And he's not here.

But feeling those waves of grief doesn't mean that I'm crippled by my brother's death. Or that I haven't moved on. It means that I loved, and I lost, and I'm feeling that. The same goes for that other person. The fact that I get hit by random waves of sadness doesn't mean I'm not right where I should be. It means I fully invested, and I'm feeling the loss that results when something bad happens to a relationship in which I was fully invested. It's as it should be. I have a new job, I'm making a new life, I'm meeting new people. I'm looking for someone, should a viable option come around. I'm not just sitting at home under a rock. I'm doing exactly what I should be doing. And the waves of grief are signs of humanity. Of a giving heart. Of a vulnerable heart. Of health. The waves are already getting farther apart, and will continue to get further apart as time goes on, and as I continue to heal. But there's not a timeline when someone should be "over" something. I'm not sure anyone ever fully gets over the death of a loved one, or the betrayal of their beloved. They remain as scars and periodic twinges. And that's probably how it should be. In some cases, the twinges come more from remembering the pain caused by the loss. But it is a sign that we have loved, and we have lost. In some cases, I take issue with Lord Tennyson's verse, "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Sometimes, the pain far outweighs the joy. That's the case for me and my lost relationship. I do still wish it hadn't happened. But Tennyson was also writing about a death, rather than a willful betrayal and abandonment. And in my brother's case, yes. I'm glad I loved him, rather than having never had him. And that's as it should be.

Envisioning 2016

I find that my best days are the days I don't spend a ton of time at home by myself. My apartment still doesn't feel like home to me, it's still very barren and lacking in furniture, and it's just...foreign. I honestly feel more at home in hotel rooms. I'm really not sure why that is. But regardless, I do best when I'm not home alone for hours on end. Today was one of those days.

I'm teaching one class in African American history online through SEMO this semester, and that starts Tuesday. I had tons of work to do to get the class up and running, so I went to Starbucks to work on it. I used to do that because I had crappy internet at home, for years, while living in Cape. This time, I went, because I knew it wouldn't be good for me to stay home and work for hours. I got everything done that I needed to, and headed to Boulder.

Every month, my cousin, Valerie, will be hosting a creative evening for a few friends, at her home in Boulder. Though it'll usually be on Wednesdays,  our first meeting was today.  We were instructed to bring posterboard, and materials for making a 2016 vision board. If I'm going to make something, I'm going to make sure it's pretty. So I got a black poster, some awesome letters and scrapbook paper, brought along some other materials I already had, and set to work when I got there. Everyone else had pictures, as well as words for theirs, but I tend to take things in better if I just have significant words highlighted. As "let it go" is my phrase for this year, I used ginormous die cut letters to make that the central focus of my board. Then, I took some blank index cards, and started artistically writing out phrases and words I want to focus on and be true for the year. I'm such a perfectionist, it took me two hours to glue "let it go" to the board, and write on three index cards: "marketing success," "love," and "freedom." Of course, I have far more to add to the board. Some things, purely conceptual, others, specific, such as visiting Four Corners, losing the last 15lbs I didn't lose from all the trauma, another Whole 30, and more. 

It was so nice to sit and talk to some other women for a while, and be creative with them. I really look forward to our monthly meetings and creativity this year. Sitting down and mindfully envisioning what I want for this year was also incredibly helpful. As I keep my vision clear, as I focus on finding and accomplishing various things this year, I expect that life will continue to improve. Clearly, I'm leaps and bounds ahead of where I was a month ago. I'm on the right path. But I think of the famous lines written by Robert Frost:
                             "...but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep..."
I do have promises to keep. Promises to myself. Promises to keep improving. To make it through. To emerge better and stronger. And I have a hell of a long way to go before I get there. But I'm well on my way. The surviving part is over. It's time to start working on the thriving part. 

Days Like This

It happens to all of us, at one time or another. We have a pretty good day and a nice evening. Maybe we're just in an unusually good mood for whatever reason. Maybe everything went well that day, and we're particularly productive. Maybe we have a great day with friends or people we love. Or maybe we have another good day for any of a thousand different reasons. We go to bed, sleep well, and then we wake up. But instead of waking up happy or content, for some reason, we wake up bummed, depressed, or any of a dozen other not-so-fantastic feelings. And we stare at the ceiling, or out the window, and wonder...why?

This is one of those mornings for me. I keep having this classic song going through my head this morning. It's been there pretty much since I woke up at 7. I have no reason to feel down today. Yesterday was a really good day. I got to sleep in, I went to work for a little while, worked out my schedule, met with my boss, went home and did a fantastic amount of cleaning and organizing, and even did a little coloring. I chatted with friends, ran some errands, and went to The Bluegrass, LLC in Old Towne Arvada to hear my friend Jim's band play. It was fun. I was there with my very old-but-new-again friend Mandi (we were besties for 7 years as teenagers/early twenties, but then mostly lost touch for about 9 years before ending up in the same city as thirty-somethings) and her very lively son, Knightly, and new friends Beth and Stephen. I had a great gluten free pizza, some good conversation, listened to awesome music, and generally had a really good time. Came home, chilled with some Doctor Who, caught up on a couple emails, and then Skyped with my crazy friend CJ. I went to bed feeling like it had been a really great day, and slept all night, for the first time in I don't even know how long- probably since July 1st, without any sleeping aids.

But then I woke up. And I was just sad. Maybe I had sad or disturbing dreams while I was sleeping. I don't remember. All I know is that I woke up, and I just felt...heavy. Sad. Decidedly unhappy. One of the first things I thought was the lyrics to the above linked song. "Mama said there'd be days like this..." We all know it's a fact of life. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, we wake up feeling sad. And we would rather not adult that day. Or hell, we'd sometimes rather not even human that day. But it's just part of being alive. It's part of being a human being. And yeah, it sucks.

At the end of the day though, it all comes down to how we handle it. For me, I got up for a few minutes, turned down the heat (which for some reason was set too high), washed my face, drank some water, let in the sunlight, lit a couple candles on my dresser, and climbed back in bed. Then I grabbed my laptop, and started writing. It's an amazing release and means of processing. I'm never disappointed by the understanding and insight I gain through writing things down- whether I'm writing an academic paper, or a blog post. Somehow, writing helps the world seem less overwhelming. Or, sometimes, more. It depends. But even when it makes things seem overwhelming, it brings to the surface things I had no idea were such a big deal, to the point that I can process them and move on. This time, it's more of the former.

So I lie here in my bed, under my covers, writing about my "day like this." It helps, and I think about how I'll try to nap again in a minute, then get up, pay particular attention to my clothes and makeup today (as I always do on "blah" days...it helps), and go to meet my friends Chilan and Vien for a great day. I know I'll feel better by the time I go to bed. It's just a matter of getting through this feeling for now, and not letting it hold me down all day. It might seem simple, but even the steps I've taken, and plan on taking yet today take courage and strength. It's so easy to just give into the crappy feelings and decide the day is going to suck, and there's nothing we can do about it. And yet, while attitude is not, in fact, everything, it is a HUGE part of things. My dear friend Kelly often says, "I hope you are trying to have a good day." I love that. Attitude is a lot, but as I said, and contrary to what people sometimes like to say, it isn't everything. Sometimes, things just suck, and we can do everything in our power, and they still suck. Other things have to fall into place. But what about when they're there? Or almost there, and all it takes is a little bit of a good attitude? I'm not talking about Pollyana optimism here. Just the good old emotional elbow grease of "Yeah, I feel crappy, but I really have all the makings for a good day, so I'm going to do my darndest to have one." Or, "Yeah, things aren't great, but they're not horrible either, so let's make the best of it." And trying to have a good day can be scary. Because it requires stepping out of the comfortable little cocoon of "Poor me, life sucks." Sometimes it's just easier to retreat into that little, dark oyster shell and bah humbug it all.

But today, I'm not going to. Yesterday was a great day. Today has all the ingredients. I just have to muster up the wherewithal to say, "Yep, there are days like this. This is one of them. So what?" And move on. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. 

A Dauntless Week

This last week has been crazy. Busy. Exhausting. Which is exactly why I haven't posted in so long. I've been too tired. In every way. Don't get me wrong. It's been a good week. But again, a tiring one.

I started training for my new job, which has been both challenging and interesting. I'm not going to talk a lot about my job on this blog, for many reasons, but I will say that by Tuesday, I was ready to quit. It was so completely different from anything I was used to, and I was tired and in a lot of physical pain. I came home that night and sat on my couch crying, because I was so overwhelmed and lonely. But Wednesday, I finally got to sit down and talk to my boss, and got a better look at some things about what my job will look like after the training period. The talk was good. I realized that my knowledge, ideas, and thoughts would very much be valued. Maybe this won't be where I stay forever, and my boss is okay with that. But it's definitely a good start, a good experience, and a good way for me to see what I can do. I got Friday off, which was a welcome reprieve, and I may or may not have slept most of the day!

I'm not going to lie. Getting up and going to work every day has been a huge exercise in bravery. I'm not used to this kind of daily 8-4 (or 7-3!) kind of thing. My body definitely isn't used to it. Additionally, it's totally outside of my academic comfort zone. Meeting so many new people, learning a new trade, being more physically active than I'm used to (which will calm down after training is over), has definitely taken a lot out of me. But I'm determined to see it through, and to do well with it. Regardless of how hard. My whole goal in moving out here and getting a new job in a new field was partly to challenge myself. To get outside of my comfort zone and see what I am capable of. To fly with my own wings.  To make my own way. And that's exactly what I'm doing.

I have also managed to make a new friend, by again, pushing myself outside my comfort zone. It's been challenging to do so, as I don't meet new people easily. But I've been forcing myself to stretch, and it has been good.

Hopefully this next week will be a bit calmer, and I'll be able to post more. But for now, this will have to do, as I am getting sleepy and need to go to work again in the morning. Hopefully, I will soon adjust, and have more energy. But for now, I'm making my way, in a manner I have never done before. As exhausting and difficult as it is, it also feels very, very...good. 

Plunging Into A New Year

So here I am. January 1st, 2016. Last year, I never could have imagined I would be sitting in a new apartment in Denver, about to start a new job, and yet. I moved here to get a new start. To be able to become more myself than I have ever been. To be able to live a Dauntless life. And today, it began.

I remember my cousin Jason talking about the Lyons Polar Bear Club, and their annual New Year's plunge, in years past. It had always sounded like fun, and I wanted to participate, but since I lived 1,000 miles away, it wasn't really realistic. But now that I live all of 65 minutes away, I decided to finally do it. And when it comes to it, jumping off of rocks into a mountain-fed river that has a ton of ice on it, in 30 degree weather, is an entirely Dauntless activity.

I got to Jason's house, ready to take the plunge. Everyone kept asking me if I had PPA: Pre-Plunge Anxiety. I said no, not even close. I was ready. So very ready. Ready to do something I had never done before, and start the year off differently, and in a new place, with new people. We piled into the bus (yes, they have a party bus- for real!), and headed out to Black Bear Hole. I was ready, with my fuzzy robe on, borrowed river shoes, swim suit (which is already too big for me, despite the top being new!), and wool hat.

We arrived at the river, and there were already dozens of people there- both to jump and to watch. The media was there from Lyons, Boulder, and Denver as well. I've been in town 3 weeks, and I've already been interviewed by the news media. John, one of the founding members, climbed up onto some rocks, and along with some other inspiring words, shouted, "Polar Bears, let me hear you ROAR!" And along with who knows how many other people, I answered back with a huge "ROAR!"

Then the jumping began. People started jumping into the river, one or two at a time, with a big jump and a lot of screams and whoops. I followed Jason and Sarah, and with a single leap, plunged myself into the icy river. The water was freezing, and approximately 4.5 feet deep or so. I swam to the bank, and a man with a light saber helped me climb up the rocky embankment, about 5 or 6 feet up. The experience was absolutely exhilarating. I grabbed my phone and took a picture with my cousin, Sarah, to document the post-plunge moment.

I dried myself off, and warmed up in my fuzzy white robe. After a few minutes, we all piled back onto the bus and headed back out to Jason and Sarah's, where way more of us than I thought possible, shoved ourselves into the hot tub. I think we had 14 in there at one point. Jason claimed we could fit 24 in there, but I don't think I believe him. There was a lot of getting up close and personal with a lot of people I don't know very well- or at all. It was definitely a stretching experience...but good. 

I finally extracted myself from the hot tub and jumped in the shower, then headed home. As I drove, I thought about what a big deal it is that I even did any of that. Eleven years ago, though I was 21, I never would have been allowed to do anything like this. It would have been considered "worldly," "unwholesome," "unladylike," and downright "ungodly." But honestly, I think this was one of the best experiences I have ever had. I may have been the undisputed goody-two-shoes of the group I was with, but you know what? It's not about what people like to do in their free time, or what they think about various social or religious issues, and it's not about where they fall on the political spectrum. It's about who they encourage you to be, or to become. They all encouraged me to be brave, and to jump. At the end of the day, we don't grow by sitting around in our safe little insulated cocoons, surrounded by people who share our opinions and "values" and ideas of what people should or shouldn't be. We grow by getting outside of those safe comfort zones, around people with vastly different backgrounds and ideals, who challenge your ideas of how to live. None of them care how similar to or different from them I am. None of them care if I *am* a total goody-two-shoes. None of them care about...well...a LOT of things. What they do care about is how I grow as a person. How I learn to be brave, and free, and live life to the fullest. 

And so, I sit here, and prepare for a new life, and a new year, filled with unknowns and possibilities. I don't know much, but I do know that I will be there again next year, on January 1st, 2017. Maybe I will have someone special there to jump with me, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll have a friend join me, maybe I'll jump alone again. But I do know one thing: come hell or high (or frozen) water, I will be jumping into Black Bear Hole again next year. Maybe I'll be celebrating the beginning of another amazing year, after the conclusion of my best year yet. I hope so. Or maybe I'll be celebrating another year, and another chance. 

We'll see how things pan out in 2016. But I do know that this is the year of my biggest leap ever. Not the jump into the freezing river, but the jump into a totally new life. A new place, a new home, a new state, a totally new job in a new field, new people, new experiences. And I hope, a year filled with friends coming to visit me (Taylor, Cedric, Ryan, Moriah...and others!), and making new friends. 

By the way. If anyone cares to read more about the New Year's Plunge, you can read about it here, here, and on Facebook. I'm happy for friends to join me for the February 13th plunge, too! Come and do it with me! I promise, you'll be glad you did!