This is late, and I’ve been quiet lately, but here’s to a serene Yule.
I’m crafting candles in the basement, and an unexpected calm has washed over me. Whatever you believe, if you listen hard enough, I think you can find it too. ❄️
This season’s hush prompts me to reflect, and that is a dangerous business. It gets me hauling the ugly parts and past hurts out of storage—a delicate unraveling of emotions, shaking off the dust to see what to hold onto and what to release.
Pain. There’s been pain this year. A lot of it isn’t mine, but here it is, mixed up in my things. Death. A baby who wasn’t. Injury. Dreams that withered on the vine.
The scent of pine from the candle pot makes these memories a little more tolerable. The universe may be an enigma, but faith, like a trusted companion, remains.
Tears. Frustration. A hint of disappointment. It hasn’t been the best year. Yet a smile comes to me as I hear Jason again in my mind. “I love you. Let’s travel.”
Stir the pot. Release the scent. Take the temperature.
I’ve never really been anywhere. Well, with a mind like mine, I feel as though I’ve traversed vast landscapes, but physically, I’ve been anchored. Something I need to change.
I bundle up when I’m down here.
In the frosty basement, I ponder our human fragility—no fur, just exposed feelings.
Fragile. So easily harmed.
My brother is lucky he walked away from his car accident. And fortunate that he is a stronger person now than he was a few years ago. Committed to doing his best. I like that.
Is there such a thing as powerful peace? That’s what I feel. Like it can eat my worries. One by one. Like I can burn them off like so much steam coming from the pot.
This year ushered in new connections and rekindled old ones. I’m grateful. People to lean on and joke with in times of trouble…it matters. It means so much.
I always need to slow down when I pour candles. Control it. Aim for the center, don’t splash the sides. Check the position of the wick.
The other night, I went out and unexpectedly felt beautiful. I am not always the most confident person, and I wasn’t aiming to feel stunning, but I did. I felt good. I seem to see more of that side of myself as the years go by. As if the small imperfections that once drove me mad mean less-a delicate dance between self-assurance and compassion. I’d like to see even more of that confidence in myself in 2024.
So here’s to Yule, to age and to time. Here’s to these vessels for confidence and conduits for empathy. May the years continue to weave their magic.
I’ve enough candles to weave mine.
Category: wellness
Things About This Year That Weren’t Garbage
**Note: I think this was written in November of 2020. For some reason, my blog is CONVINCED that I just wrote it. Please enjoy this year-end reflection . It works almost as well now as it did in 2020!
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I don’t begrudge anyone who wants to celebrate Christmas early this year. You want two whole months of homey good vibes? After the year this planet has had? Go right ahead. Sing all 13 syllables of a proper “Gloooooooooria” at full belt as you trim your tree, and keep sipping eggnog until 2021 is well and truly in.
I’m cool with that. We all need comfort. We also all need to show ourselves that little bit of seasonal hope. This year will eventually end! Maybe next year will be better!
I don’t remember another time in my life when I heard so many people saying to each other “stay safe.” Heck, those are just normal parting words now! So yeah, I’m on board for optimism. That’s why even though it’s only November, I want to go ahead and highlight some of the actual non-sucky things about this year.
Look, I know I’m on dangerous ground here. In 2020 it is a little uncouth to say, “Wow, I’ve had such a great year! It’s not my goal to gloat, and I feel the stress too. That said, no matter what happens, I still believe in the power of gratitude.
Here are some things about #thisyear that weren’t utter garbage:
- We had a huge snowstorm in January to kick off this crazy year. The most snow I’ve ever seen in my life. Huge snow walls all over the city. It was both insane and awesome. (I mean that it literally filled me with awe.) Somehow, we dug out from it. It was a state of emergency that had nothing to do with Covid. I’m grateful I have my partner, and I am grateful we were able to shovel so much snow together.
- When this whole Covid thing started, I was lucky as heck to have the flexibility to begin working from home. It’s a huge change, but I’m so thankful I was able to do this. I recognize that many were not so lucky.
- Tulips! I don’t know much about gardening, but this year I grew tulips, and I am IN LOVE WITH THEM. I planted a bunch more in September for next spring. I will be so excited to finally see them!
- I found myself better able to cope than anticipated. I am an already-anxious person, and yes, this year has been hard, but because I have already met anxiety and depression before (hey guys, what’s up?), I already had some things in my toolbelt to deal with the new normal. Journaling, exercise, talking to people I trust when I need to, meditation, singing, hot baths with cups of tea…I have a few ways to deal with the suck, and I never have to feel completely lost and alone.
- I got more into essential oils. Hooray for hippie-dippie bullshit! Don’t worry, I haven’t fully gone off the deep end. I don’t believe that essential oils cure illnesses, or that they can magically protect against covid or anything like that. But I do think they smell nice. I have accumulated a little shelf of witchy vials. I love making my office smell like limes. Or peppermint. Or vanilla. Delightful!
- I taught myself to jump rope. I know I already mentioned this. I am still not great at it, but I can at least do it now. Learning something new has been great for my self-esteem. I started in May, I think. I’m still working on stamina! (Although right now I seem to have an ankle issue and I need to take a little break. Not for long, I hope!)
- I got a promotion. It is not a stretch to say that my life has not gone as I imagined! I have a very serious-type grownup job. When I initially took this job, I thought I was a “square peg in a round hole” and that the whole thing was incredibly temporary. Instead, here I am, 3.5 years later and I am feeling like an appreciated part of the team. Not only that, but my creative perspective is valued and respected, and I am trusted to advise my coworkers. (Are you kidding me?? How cool is that!)
- I got to know my bowflex. It’s been sitting in the basement, but because of the lockdown I wound up putting in the time to learn the machine. It’s not bad at all. You really can do a lot with it.
- I spent time hiking and exploring this summer. I got a family pass for the botanical garden too! It’s been beautiful and inspiring. It has lifted my soul. I want to hike more. I am still not running, so this is a decent alternative. (Plus there’s journaling. I have discovered that for me, all hiking requires adequate snacks and journaling.)
- I grew my hair. That’s been happening since March, so it’s finally noticeably different to people who haven’t seen me in a while. As an adult, I have pretty much always had short hair. From age 16 onward. Well, a lot changed with the lockdown, and I thought it might be a nice time to switch up my appearance, too. I can actually put it in a ponytail now. I can’t remember the last time that happened.
- Someone very close to me began taking more serious steps in their transition process. People becoming more fully themselves is a beautiful thing to witness!
- Trivia. In the past few months, some of my University pals and I have been getting together for a weekly online meeting/Trivia night. This has led to me talking to people I haven’t really hung out with in twenty years. It’s fun to have a weekly meeting of friends. I miss being social, so this has helped me. At first I was awkward, but I really, really look forward to Sunday night trivia now.
- Forgiveness. I have been working hard to let a lot of personal baggage go. I have been nerdy and awkward in the past. So what? Sometimes I ramble, and get excited and say the wrong thing. Who cares? Sometimes bad things happen and I gain a little weight in response. Whatever, it just makes me that much more voluptuous. I am not perfect, but I don’t need to rehash the past, or rethink every moment I’ve ever screwed up.
- The truth is, everyone sometimes says something stupid, or does something embarrassing, or feels insecure.
- ADDITIONALLY, everyone has flaws, and no one except me is placing all of these standards on my body. Really, having a bigger butt now that there’s a global pandemic seems like a pathetic concern. I’m fine. This is minor.
- An improved relationship with my sister. Maybe it’s how crazy the year has been. Maybe it’s age. I just find I can relate to her more. (Also, she has a great sense of humour, and this big laugh that makes people turn their heads in public.)
- Deeper thoughts about music. My obsession with music has only grown over the years. (I almost wish I had done music school, but would that have ruined it for me? I don’t know!) However, it is only recently that I have been thinking about: 1) the subjective nature of the concept of “good” singing and, 2) the racism/classism inherent in what is meant by “music theory.”
- With regards to “good” singing, there truly is no measure that applies to all singers in all scenarios. You can’t evaluate a yodeller based on an opera singer. Just because I, or anyone else has an opinion on which styles we like better, is it ever right to judge one as “superior” to the other? On what criteria?
- In addition to that, I have been able to seperate myself from my singing even more. What I mean is, I have increased my understanding of the fact that I can mess up and still be a “good” singer (Whatever the heck that means). People who are regarded as “great” singers still practice, mess up, have bad days and hit sour notes. That is normal. In fact, sometimes it takes hitting a few stinky notes to improve. If you’re not making mistakes, you’re not trying anything new!
- When someone talks about “music theory,” they are really talking about a very white and mostly 18th century European standard. Even if someone in North America studies in music school, chances are that they won’t learn a lot about non-European standards of music. I think this limited view is gradually changing, but we have traditionally evaluated and thought about music according to a very strict set of rules. These rules aren’t “bad” but they aren’t the only ones, and when we talk about “Music Theory” we should either be more specific or more inclusive. My mind was kind of blown by THIS VIDEO
- All of THAT said, I am keen to learn some more about music theory. Honestly, sometimes music is still like mystifying wizard-stuff to me, and I think it’s time I taught myself all of that theory stuff that seemed so terrifying back when I was a teenager.
- A greater understanding of my own perfectionist tendencies. That shit will hold you back. It is so much better to produce something imperfect than nothing at all.
- Renewed interest in the occult. Well…ok…that’s never really changed! But I find myself having more little rituals here and there, doing lots of reading and listening to podcasts like “Occult Confessions.” I don’t have a coven or group anymore, and that was initially hard to deal with, but I am still finding magick in the everyday. Lemme read your cards sometime. 😉
- Jason and I are more solid than ever. Actually, I think I need to work on being a little more loving to him. He is kind and understanding. He makes me laugh. Our late-night chats about everything are the backbone of our relationship. We bicker, but we are faster to get over it now. After 10+ years, I still want to grab his face and kiss it. Not half-bad!
So there you go, something personal but feel-good for these dark times.
Stay safe,
Jennnq
The Complication
Photo by Marcus Ganahl on Unsplash
For the past few days, everything has felt like it’s on pause. It all began on Tuesday, when I had my first appointment with the obstetrician. Initially, everything went as expected. I waited. I was called into an examination room and a nurse checked my vitals. More waiting. The doctor came in, and asked the usual questions about my health history and family background. Have I had surgery before? (Yes!) Was I taking prenatal vitamins prior to conception? (No!)
Then came the moment for the ultrasound. The obstetrician applied that familiar cold jelly to my stomach and began moving the wand over my abdomen. As he scanned, his expression shifted. He measured, frowned, measured again. I read concern on his face. Everything came to a halt.
The embryo was small. Too small. Nearly a week behind the expected size. (In the initial weeks, every cell counts!) I was referred back to the hospital for a more thorough ultrasound. The obstetrician made it clear that he wanted me to be seen ASAP.
I left that appointment and cried in the parking lot. Too small is a big problem.
Wednesday morning was the earliest I could be seen for an ultrasound. Jason and I went to the hospital and waited until I was called in. Once in the examination room (thankfully, this time the gel was warm!), the technician performed the ultrasound, her face betraying nothing. It’s not their job to interpret the results, so they don’t usually say much. I tried to read her face anyway. Was that sadness? Concern? Just how she looks when she’s focused? I searched for clues.
Post-ultrasound, we were given the green light to leave, with the assurance that the obstetrician would be in touch soon. Finally, the wait was almost over. We decided to make a trip to the grocery store, and I returned to work, attempting to distract myself from my growing anxiety. Jason took care of household chores, periodically checking to see that I had my phone nearby. We waited, the minutes stretching into hours.
The phone finally rang around 7:45 PM. After a day of worry, the doctor’s voice began with the dreaded word “unfortunately…”
There was no heartbeat. No more growth. There was death where there was supposed to be life.
I believe our culture needs to open up about experiences like these. It’s scary, but it’s common. A loss happens in 10-20% of known pregnancies, and in countless undiagnosed ones. It’s far more normal than we realise.
That said, while I thought I was prepared for the possibility of miscarriage, the reality hit me harder than expected. My life is still paused. My soul floats in darkness. There is no baby. This collection of cells was never going to be a person in this world.
And that’s alright—or at least, that’s what my logical mind tells me. There are even perks; I no longer need to follow the rules of pregnancy. Espresso is back on the menu. I can feel my energy coming back. My Garmin watch tells me that my energy level is now at a staggering 90% of its maximum capacity. 90 friggin’ percent. A couple of weeks ago, 40% was a struggle. So much goes toward growing a baby, there’s not much left for you!
Energy coming back should be good, but it makes me feel worse. There’s a certain guilt in even momentarily enjoying its pleasure. How could I? How dare I?
Since I have a ‘silent’ miscarriage, there have been no symptoms. No cramps. No blood. This seems a mercy, but it is the opposite. It means that my body isn’t working to expel what is no longer viable. As you can imagine, it still has to come out.
There are three options. Each with drawbacks and benefits:
You wait it out. It’s natural and doesn’t typically require medical intervention. However, you could be waiting weeks for the blood and cramping to start. That’s an uncomfortable thought!
You take medication to bring on a medical miscarriage. This way, you get to control approximately when it happens, but this may not always go to plan. (Sometimes it just doesn’t work.) Also, you have to physically take a pill knowing that it will make you feel very sick. That sucks.
You can also have an operation/ D&C. Dilation and curettage is a procedure where you can be put under anaesthetic and have the contents of your uterus suctioned out. Although it’s a quicker option, there is a potential risk of injury.
Now, while all of these sound like an extremely pleasant weekend, I have chosen the medical route.
So that’s what I’m doing today. I’m not sure how much of an update I’ll give. I can honestly say that I never thought this would happen to me. I was wrong. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive so far. I know that I am surrounded by love and support.
The Geriatric
Somehow, it’s already August, and I’m in the seventh week of pregnancy. This time around, things are different. I have a loving and attentive partner, Jason, by my side. Younger me was in a totally different place than I am now. (No need to dive into the details of my first pregnancy, but let’s just say having a great partner is a true blessing!)
Jason works on rotation, so he wasn’t home when I found out I was pregnant. He had to endure his entire hitch anxious to return. Talk about timing, right?
I think I’ve done remarkably well for someone who has said they were “done with all of that.” I adore my first baby, but since he’s 20 and an adult, we’ve been enjoying a fair amount of freedom in our lives. Let’s be real—it’s nice being an adult with an adult child. We can sleep in and eat lazy croissants on Sundays. I can take a spontaneous 3-hour hike. We can stay awake until 2 AM having intense conversations about everything. I completely understand the appeal of this lifestyle!
Well, let’s brace ourselves, because things are about to change drastically. In fact, they’ve already begun to change! According to my fitness watch, my resting heart rate has gone from 51-53 beats per minute to about 60. I’ve also noticed my mood go up and down and a little extra tiredness. And oh, the hunger! The hunger is huge. I’m talking constant snacking and planning what I’ll eat next while I’m still eating—it’s madness! I must plan ahead to make healthy choices. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck with a carb-heavy diet!
Some of my favourite things so far are curry with rice, giant salads, and tonic water with lime. (Like a gin and tonic without the gin!) The fresh, clean taste of citrus and water is irresistible! (Oh my goodness, where is my glass?)
I saw my family doctor on Monday. She checked my vitals (all great) and is referring me to another doctor since most of her patients are seniors. “Young, pregnant women” aren’t her typical clientele, you see (her words, not mine!). I reminded her that I am, in fact, 40. She frowned and said, “I need to get you in with an obstetrician right away,” as if she had half-forgotten she was looking at a ‘geriatric’ pregnancy. (Speaking of seniors!)
Ah, medicine, with its delightful vocabulary like “mucosal plug,” “mons pubis,” and the ultimate gem, “geriatric pregnancy.” Apparently, anyone pregnant and over the ANCIENT age of 35 earns this charming title. What a self-esteem boost! My “advanced maternal age” makes me feel so incredibly attractive.
Now, I’ll admit I’m half-joking here. I’m a bit vain, perhaps, but not entirely clueless. I know there are added risks at my age, so I’m mentally preparing myself for a battery of tests. At this stage, we still don’t even know if everything is okay!
As I left the appointment, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of adventure lies ahead. I should be hearing from the new doctor soon, I’m expecting an ultrasound appointment shortly, and have a requisition for blood work. The excitement is real!
**I wrote most of this a couple of days ago. We had the ultrasound today! The baby is within the uterus, and there is a detectable heartbeat! So far, everything looks good! I like exclamation points!
The Unexpected News
June 15:
Pregnant. The word ricocheted through my mind, an elusive pinball of emotion bouncing between fear and wonder. I paced around the house. I dazedly picked things up and put them back down again. I tried to listen to part of a podcast and then wandered off and paid no attention at all. Pregnant.
Moments before, I had taken an expired pregnancy test, one I had dug out from the back of the cupboard, and the result had screamed at me from the viewing window. Two pink lines. Brazen as you please.
Reason urged me to dismiss its validity. It was expired, right? I had checked the wrapper, and the best before date was 2019. Four years ago? Come on, it couldn’t possibly be accurate. I only used it because my period was a bit late. (Ok, so it was four days late.)
Well, anyway, I’d just need to buy a new one and get a real answer. Nothing to worry about. Heck, later I’d probably be enjoying a gin and tonic in the sun, laughing at my own silliness. “Pregnant.” Pfft…”Perimenopausal,” more like. Lots of people my age have trouble getting pregnant. I was surely being stupid.
Still, I found myself caught in a frantic dance of restless steps, tracing aimless paths across the familiar terrain of my home. Pregnant… I would try to put it out of my head, only to find the resounding echo bubbling up through my thoughts.
I had to be chill. I was stuck waiting until my son came home. He was borrowing the car for an errand, and I needed him to come back with it. My son. My only other child. My 20-year-old son. The last time I was pregnant.
When he finally came back, I muttered something about needing to buy cat food and jumped into the car with a singular purpose. I tried not to allow myself to follow the pinball clanging around my mind. If you’re pregnant now, the baby would be due in March. I turned the radio up.
Once at the grocery store, I grabbed a big bag of cat food and casually hit the pharmacy aisle. Toothpaste, maxi pads, condoms…dammit, where are they? After far too long (and some less-than casual hunting), I finally found what I was looking for.
Once I was out of the store (the person ahead of me needed a price check, wouldn’t you know it?), I was back in the car and guzzling from my water bottle. Pee was the next important step. There needed to be pee.
Once home, I dropped the cat food on the floor along with my keys and made a beeline to the bathroom. I took the second test. There was no need to wait the full 3 minutes prescribed by the test. The damn lines were back almost instantly.
Oh.
Oh my. This wasn’t part of the plan...
I’m 40, and I’m pregnant.
Time to Refocus on Fitness
I miss the gym.
I’m one of those nerdy kids who discovered fitness late, and then became addicted. I started running, and I got so into it that I eventually ran a marathon. I love weight lifting so much that I once did a bikini competition. I’ve worked at two different (very different) gyms. I’ve read countless books and articles about fitness, and have even written a couple of articles myself! Even now, while I’m not attending any gym, or working toward a particular event, those past fitness experiences inform who I am. They have taught me a tremendous amount about what I’m capable of, and who I want to be.
Fitness changed my life. It’s kinda funny, because for years and years I just wanted to be a skinny girl. (I was also a teenager in the 90’s, when ultra-skinny models were being shown just about everywhere.) My desire was partly fueled by society, and partly by my own warped little mind…don’t we all want what we can’t have? The women in my family are built short and curvy. We’re more inclined to big bums and thick muscles than to having long, lean limbs. So of course I wanted to be long and lean. Imagine having the grace of a ballet dancer! Imagine having the height to be a model! This was frustrating to me as a short, kinda chunky teenager.
I’m not going to tell you a sob story, because Lord knows I’ve already done that plenty of times here. 😉 I’ll just say that my young experiences with dieting were not great. It was always a fight to make my body lose any weight at all. It always left me feeling grumpy and unsatisfied. Worse, even if I barely ate (NOT RECOMMENDED) I still didn’t come close to looking like my ideal. I was always disappointed with the results. I never gained any length in my bones obviously, and if I actually managed to lose weight, it was always off of my top half and not the bottom. Weight loss didn’t make me look long and lean. Instead, it turned me into something like a short, sad triangle. Bony shoulders and a big bum. Not a great look.
As I became more involved with fitness, my confidence grew (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED). I gained a deeper understanding of what my body could accomplish. I began the long, slow process of changing my feelings and ideas toward my “ideal” body. I had never become “skinny” anyway, and the self-abuse wasn’t worth it. (Also “weight loss” without a focus on overall fitness is a horrible idea.) Even if I ran mile after mile I never magically got long slim legs. However, my short, muscular legs could still take me mile after mile, and that was something! I never woke up with a teeny, tiny, tight butt, but I did discover my own natural capacity for strength. These things did a lot to change my mind about what I wanted from my body. I became less fixated on the number on the scale, and more interested in what kind of athlete I could be.
Because we’re all athletes. We just vary in skill, and some of us aren’t currently in training. 😉
Thankfully, logic and some semblance of confidence have taken over. I know now that I’d much rather look like a woman in a fitness magazine, with six-pack abs and killer shoulder definition than just “weigh less.” I’d rather use my thick thighs to help me lift things and lend to my overall physical power than hate on them. (This has been a long time coming, believe me!) I don’t have to force myself into some kind of impossible mold. I can strive for self-improvement, while still appreciating what I have.
So yeah, fitness has helped me heal a lot, and now I feel like I have to ask it to help me again.
Because…I’ve gained a little weight through this whole crazy Covid thing. This is neither surprising nor uncommon. I also know that this is honestly less about the number on the scale, and more about how I feel in my own body. The weight is maybe 6 pounds. Not at all a big deal in the overall scheme of things (in fact it’s embarrassingly minor), but this weight is NOT helping me feel good day-to-day.
Here’s the thing though…. no matter what, I absolutely refuse to go into some kind of self-punishment mode. I’m not doing that anymore. Instead, I am committed to operating from a place of self-love and honesty.
Honestly, feeling this way does not make me happy. My fitness rituals do make me happy, so it’s time to get back to making them non-negotiable. It’s back to 6x a week workouts. It’s back to logging my food on My Fitness Pal. It’s back to making time daily to do the things my physiotherapist tells me I need to do to heal my back. (Because I really really want to be able to run again!)
I matter. My happiness matters. In short, it’s time to give stress the finger, and continue working to be the person I want to be.
Even if I sometimes feel like stress-eating.
Even if I can’t run anymore and have to hike instead.
Even if getting up early to make “me time” is inconvenient.
I need to be my healthy, hard-working self. I need to feel strong. I need to do the things that build my confidence. I need fitness.
Also, shout-out to all of my iron sisters. I know right now it’s hard if you’re used to working out a certain way and you can’t anymore. Let’s keep doing our best to figure it out. You motivated powerful women totally inspire me! 🙂
Let’s come out of this thing stronger than when we went in!
The Upside of Jealousy
No one is proud of being jealous.
It never makes you look any better. It’s not exactly endearing or cute. Because it’s such a negative feeling, it is often assumed that jealousy is to be fully avoided. After all, being jealous does nothing to improve your life, right?
Worse, since it is seen as a “bad” feeling, most of us will do our damndest to pretend it’s not there at all. We’ll shove it aside, ignore it or try to out-think it. I’m not jealous! Of course I applaud my friend’s successes! We assure ourselves that we’re happy for that coworker who just went on her dream vacation. We can’t stop smiling about so-and-so’s fabulous wedding. We’re genuinely excited to see that acquaintance’s impressively-ripped fitness selfies!
Except of course that we’re all human, and watching other people succeed can make you feel like your own life is lacking. That’s ok. Experiencing jealousy is completely normal. Wait, let me say it again, just in case you missed it…
Getting jealous is normal.
It doesn’t make you bad, or immoral. It is not proof that you are a terrible person or a terrible friend. It doesn’t mean that you are weak, or that you have failed. It only means that you’re jealous, which is a thing that happens sometimes, and when it does happen it’s worth exploring.
Why? Because far from being something we should shove aside and deny, jealousy is actually useful. Jealousy shows us what we’re missing and where we can improve. It can illuminate your path for you. What if your jealousy is really a compass, trying to show you which way to go in life?
You may notice that you never get jealous of people doing things you have no interest in. Instead, people tend to develop envy around others with similar backgrounds, experiences and life goals. You’re more likely to be jealous of someone who is a lot like you, but who has accomplished something that you haven’t. .
For instance, there is a much greater chance of my experiencing jealousy over someone’s successful writing career than over how well they play football. I may be able to admire a player’s physical strength, ability and speed, but I can’t imagine watching a football game and feeling envy! But then, it’s not as if I ever dreamed of becoming a football player. It’s not something I have any emotional connection to.
Jealousy, on the other hand, is deeply emotional. It awakens a dissonance within us. It reminds us of the distance between our actual achievements and our dreams. This internal dissonance between reality and our goals is a wonderful clue as to where we should focus our efforts. You don’t need to internally reprimand yourself for being jealous. The important thing is how you deal with it.
Because, yes, there’s definitely a wrong way! There’s a reason why jealousy has a bad reputation. Shoving down your jealousy until you can’t take it anymore, denying it or letting it fester will almost certainly produce disastrous results. Instead, we must strive to hold jealousy up to the light for further examination.
Notice that I am not talking about blaming yourself, I am only saying that you should acknowledge those feelings. Observe them without judgement. Ok, this person has inspired this uncomfortable feeling. Why? What’s this person got that you ain’t got? (Be as specific and detailed with yourself as possible!) What do you feel is lacking in that area of your life? What can you start doing to change that? This type of analysis is insanely valuable. Your jealousy is really motivation in disguise. Use that jealousy to help you uncover what is making these successful people so successful, and then channel that fire into your own efforts.
A funny thing happens when you analyse jealousy, too. It tends to fall apart. Seriously! Typically, once you’ve teased apart your jealousy enough to understand your own motivations, you’ve taken all of the vitriol out of the feeling. After all, YOU got jealous because something is unfulfilled in YOUR life. Now that you’ve acknowledged this (instead of burying it), it’s easy to see that the target of your jealousy is not the problem. If anything, they were just the messenger.
Once we take on the jealousy and work through it, it will lose its power. Then the jealousy becomes a little friendlier. Softer. Much more socially acceptable. Boil jealousy down into its component parts, and I believe that you’ll ultimately be left with inspiration. And feeling inspired to work toward the life of your dreams is something you can be proud of!
Embracing the Night Owl
Goddammit.
I look at my watch and realize I’ve done it again. It’s already 6:30am, not 5am, like I had hoped. I didn’t get up early enough. Again. Now all of my plans are down the tubes, and I know that I’m going to have to rush to make it out the door on time. Ugh. I feel instantly defeated. I’m starting the day behind.
The defeated feeling makes it easier to stay in bed for another couple of minutes. After all, I already know that I don’t have time to write, or to sneak in a workout. I have once again failed at being a zen ninja who gets up at 5 and does ALL THE THINGS. I’ve failed at being someone who doesn’t have to rush, and who actually looks good by the time they get to work. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
I know that disappointed feeling so well. It got there after years of swallowing so many self-help books, blog posts and podcasts from productivity gurus. It’s there from all of those moments when I heard and believed the messaging we get about early risers. They are the accomplished people among us. They are the ones out there getting the proverbial worms. I don’t know about you, but it’s a message I’ve gotten from childhood; like brushing your teeth and getting regular exercise, getting up early is wholesome. Beneficial. Good.
Let’s just face it; it’s how society is geared. I know that I was taught that “sleeping in” meant laziness. “Sleeping in” meant you weren’t out there seizing the day. No one looks down on an early riser. The 9-5 work day has long been the standard. School starts before 9AM. Plus, you early birds have the comfort of knowing that you are following in the footsteps of some truly great people. Ben Franklin? Early riser. Oprah? Crack of dawn. Michelle Obama? On the treadmill by 4:30AM.
I bought into those productivity goals hardcore. I set them for myself. And I tried. I mean, I really tried to make it work.
Until one day, after another frustrating morning, when I was sick of beating myself up as soon as I was awake enough to do so, I realized that I was constantly fighting my natural tendency, and maybe it was wiser to not battle against myself. Like, maybe mornings really aren’t for me. Maybe that’s ok. Maybe there’s another way.
The thought alone was freeing. I’m a night owl. I don’t relish early mornings. Never really have. That’s alright. I’m great at staying up late.
It was one of those unique moments in life when the puzzle piece just fits. It feels like something just goes “click” in your brain, and you’re able to look back on your life with new perspective. (In my case, I realized that the price I’ve been paying for being a night owl is a lot of grumpy, rushed mornings and self-blame.) It helped me realize that I wasn’t just continuously “failing.” It may be that I simply am not designed to perform at my best early in the day. Which explains why I never managed to adjust to early mornings, even after years of trying. Every morning I felt like I was struggling to get things done, and still barely making it out the door.
Realizing that I’ve just swallowed a lot of pro-morning propaganda has brought about a feeling of liberation almost akin to a religious epiphany; it’s given me so much more joy in my dark little heart. I’ve always had more fun at night and been a night person. Squishing myself into that perceived more “wholesome”day-friendly schedule has been nothing short of painful.
Such an obvious thing to overlook in myself and to never have respected properly. Well, I get it now, and I won’t continue to punish myself for my own nature. It might not be what so many gurus recommend, but I have to do what works for me. I already know that letting go of this expectation and changing my schedule a bit is making me happier.
A Large Afternoon…
Today has turned out dandy. ☀️Warmer than expected. I picked up a bunch of litter. 🍃Got some surf rock turned up🌊, and getting to some deck-friendly fitness.🏃♀️🤜 #Gratitude #GettingItDone
Harder to Feel Hopeful
I recently saw the news about Canada warming twice as quickly as expected thanks to climate change.
You’d think this news would be enough to put the environment front and center regardless of political party. But it’s not. Somehow it’s still not.
I also recently read that the Ontario government is canceling a massive tree planting initiative.
I hate to be one of those “think of the children” people, but we aren’t leaving them with much if we can’t even promise them air to breathe.
IT’S SO FRUSTRATING.
Critical Happiness 