I often feel like I am just barely getting by. And, then even when I do everything I am supposed to do or have agreed to do, I still feel like I have barely done enough. I have done the bare minimum. However, I often have people around me surprised (and impressed) that I do so much and that I have so many successes and achievements in life! This reaction I get from people is both flattering and problematic because it tells my brain that this mode of operation (force feeding myself a schedule that is perhaps unreasonable and unsustainable) is a good thing.
I love making people happy. And, I am usually pretty good at it. My high achieving way of life reflects that skill and value. However, it comes at a cost. I feel perpetually behind, guilty when I watch 2 hours of TV and a general malaise of anxiety at most times. This is not the quality of life I want. But, how can I do less?
What I have done is equated my self-worth with the worth of my achievements. If I accomplish a lot, I am fine. If I do not, I am sub-par.
My next step is to untangle my self worth from my ability to achieve. This doesn't mean I stop trying to do what I want to do in my life. It means that I get to make choices about what I want to do and how much I want to do in a given, day, week, month. My worth as a human is the same whether I win a Nobel peace prize or just visit with a lonely friend or sit at home reading.
My student asked me the other day, "How do you do it?!? You always have so much energy!! How do you rehearse til 10pm and then lead a class the next morning at 8am with a smile on your face?!?"
And, I took that moment to respond because I couldn't let this misperception of me continue. I explained, "I don't always do it well. I have to really organize my time and energy to pull off that schedule. I have learned that I can really only do one or two 14 hour days a week. And, after I manage my way through those longs days, I take huge naps on my off days. I don't have super human powers! I can't run on empty forever. No one can!"
My real secret to showing up to work rested and ready to work is a 3 hour nap followed by a nice meal. No magic. No tricks. No energy drinks.
People think I am always sparkly and bouncy. I'm not. I am only occasionally sparkly and bouncy when I am not passed out on my bed or sitting down to enjoy a nourishing meal. My students in the spring musical are burning the candle at both ends. Some may say "They can do it; they are young!" But, I disagree, no one at any age can push through forever. There is a cost to behavior that is forced. So, what do I recommend my students do? They have to complete their school work, likely keep a job, prepare their role for the show, learn their lines and harmonies, recall the dances and be able to focus for 4hrs straight in rehearsals 4x/week.
They really have two options: pull it out at all costs, or make the tough decisions about what behavior really serves them and what doesn't? When are they most authentic to who they are and the person they want to be? What do they really need right now? More flappy birds? or a nap? or a meal? And, are they willing to give themselves that?
I am learning that being exhausted because of overwork is not an achievement. I no longer want to live that life. What I decide to do, I want to do well, with energy and focus and clarity. And, however much that is, however little or grand, is enough.
Beth
Showing posts with label fatigue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fatigue. Show all posts
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Poems from various journals
So, I have a tendency to write little poems in random journals. Basically I will write in whatever journal is at hand. And did I mention I have more than one journal? I have at least three. Don't ask me why. But I do. One my the bed, one in my backpack, one laying around the house or taken on trips or lost and then found at various times.
I decided it was time to type out the poems for one of the journals. These are largely unedited/unrevised, but let me know if any stand out to you.
Thanks for reading!
Beth
Johnny Varble (12-1-11)
Big slick file folders
full of notes that were once important
But now he is gone
and their hieroglyphics are yet to be deciphered
Will they ever?
So, we look through sheet by sheet
saving what we can,
what is discernible,
what reminds us of him without making us cry,
His notes on how to make an excel sheet,
a brochure for last season's performances at the local theater.
It's all gotta go
as he is gone,
but without the surprise of his leaving
over the edge of the road
with his dog in the passenger's seat.
We can't hold on to these papers forever
but we can't help but feel guilt for ripping his memory apart
page by page.
We shred the once valuable stacks of information
one file cabinet at a time.
Keep or throw?
These items with his handwriting scrawled in the margins
old papers worn at the edges and yellowed with years
and accidental stains of morning coffee.
This paper on which I write is his
top sheet of notes and memories already discarded.
I couldn't let the last few pages
go to waste.
Office papers, were not the heart of Johnny.
His heart is outside
with the horses in the barn and the cattle in the fields.
This cowboy forced to fill out the forms
we now hold in our hands
our young hands unwrinkled with time and still warm
from the afternoon coffee.
We make the decisions
paper by paper
memory by memory
making sense of what he left behind
making sense of his lost time
and our days ahead.
11-28-11
Spinning not unlike the earth
Spinning not unlike
the earth off kilter on its axis.
Round with rounded edges
smoothed by years of seasonal rains.
This stone looks more like a button on my nubby, woolen sweater
my favorite, not itchy at all
The shiny buttons of which pull against the the thread bare seams and the
deep pockets, in which I warm my hands
away from this frigid night air.
My palms press deeper into the cloth
closer to the warmth of my skin
I spin.
In time, keeping time
with the seasons as my metronome
each revolution brings me in closer
until I can feel the warmth of my own breath bounce back at me
with each exhale
It reminds me of snuggling up to you from behind
so close that I can breathe in the scent of your neck
then exhale the warm moist air onto the fine hairs at the base of your scalp
tiny droplets forming on each one
Tonight there is a chill and your body heat is a sweet treat.
Along the road
dried tumbleweeds from last summer
scamper across the lanes
the wheel softly turning
I roll, along gentle curves into tomorrow's night
Looking up I swoon
the stars spinning before me
and inside my head
As they shine
I can see the mist of my breath
in an icy fog.
This night will spin and turn to day
just as it did before
and I will wait and watch my steamy breath turn cold.
There is a point
There is a point
when blue turns black
where today becomes tomorrow
and today becomes yesterday.
There is a point
when smiles turn sour
when laughs turn dark
and he begins to turn pale.
There is a point when blood stops flowing
and the heart stops pumping
and the sky yawns
and the stars fall.
There is a point
where I end and universe begins
where hopes turn to lost opportunities
and shame to cancer.
Suddenly (No. 1)
Suddenly
I catch a whiff of my mom's apple pie
a boom of sweet sugar, cinnamon and apple
It's almost time to enjoy, but first
I put my nose back in the book
words whizz by and I evaporate
into the story of magic lands and unlikely characters.
Encountering myself in each chapter of fantasy,
I flip page to page
until it is time and my mom calls me back home
Suddenly (No. 2)
Suddenly
The lights went out and my sister sang
her voice carried through the darkness
accompanied by the click of the grandfather clock
wound to its coil and unnoticing of the dark
I lay in the still-warm bathwater
not sure whether it is safest to stay put
or risk a slip on the tile floor
to find a light.
Her voice soars up the stairs
unharnessed, unknowingly beautiful
She sings melodies
calls out to the shadowed corners and pitch black of the living room.
My mom lights a candle
I see the flames flicker in the bathroom mirror
"Charlotte, are you OK?"
I somehow want to blow bubbles in response
instead I lift my head and call
"Yes"
But, as I resumberge my chest and chin,
I hardly know.
And, my sister still sings
still haunting me with her memory.
Suddenly (No. 3)
I put in another coin
and roll the ski ball
Perfectly timed, angled, released
Lights blink as I win
tickets pour of the machine's mouth
vomit for useless coinage and cruddy "prizes"
neon green sunglasses I will never wear
a coloring set, a squishy ball with no purpose
The bells and dings and rings and beeps
are all beeping and ringing and flashing
obnoxiously
An ADHD fantasy of rushed moments,
forgotten focus and
new beginnings without endings
The hush, then quiet
then suddenly we whisper into the dark
the world stopped around us
We stand and sit with ourselves in the dark
afraid to move
for fear we might break our bones
or our timeless sense of immortality.
Thursday Night
Hushed sounds
whispers out of chapped lips
once painted bright
It could be time to call it quits
or not
I put in another coin and
a fresh tune starts up.
Oven Timer
Gosh darn it! I want to do something
crazy!
Like to sky dive, get drunk or
actually use real profanity!!
Instead I tell my stories in rhyme and stanza
stories of adventures never had
and words never spoken.
Could I bother you to allow me this one,
very small,
momentary,
indulgence?
Fuck You!
Oh, no.
That doesn't make me feel better at all.
Excuse me. I'd better so see if
the casserole top has browned.
Notes on a Nightstand
In a book in the drawer
next to the meds
which hum tough tunes
of reality.
A cage for thoughts,
this journal's pages include the
important details
dates, but no names
sentiments and expletives
circled, underlined and in caps.
The book is sinking, sunken and drowned in thoughts.
Notes hide under the water's reflective surface
mirroring life's day that plays above.
How many journals live in drawers like this?
Notes on a nightstand
trying to explain away the need
for the little, plastic orange container
that lives there too.
Dear Lower Back,
You are so sweet to call me up so regularly.
Well done, I'm listening.
Feeling.
Oh, how you love to talk,
and talk and talk and talk
Which I appreciate,
But, I asked you here today because
I am feeling ready
to let you go.
For us to go our separate ways.
You don't need to check in on my quite so often
I feel ready to forget you.
Is that too harsh to say out loud?
I don't mean to be mean.
Its just that
I could really do
without your constant reminding.
Like a parent you hold me back and
warn me against my instincts
Don't do that! Don't go to far!
Let's be reasonable.
Can't you just let me be?
For a month or so? a week? a day?
I don't think I can handle it much more.
You shouting at me daily as I wake up and when I go to bed.
Each time I want to do anything
you are right there to stop me.
Don't you think it's getting a little old?
Don't you have something better to do?
Because I do.
So, go ahead. and take a long
extended vacation.
and let me be for a while
unconcerned, uninhibited and unrestricted
for once.
Evening Happening at the Oak on Peppertree Lane
A long, blue-green feather on the road
Harrumph! I flutter to the bottom branch
Grip and claw into the rough bark,
pull myself up, through the maze of branches up to the canopy
where the acorns are still green
I settle in to roost for the night.
Eee-ahhl!
Footsteps fall below
Two of them, one stoops to pick up the feather.
How odd, don't they know?
That's no longer good. Shimmering green, gold and blue.
Those feathers were only in good fashion for last spring
Clearly they won't do any good now.
Once a part of a corona
Peacock pride
meant only for one reason
but that is all done
they are now abandoned
Deemed useless.
As it goes with we who are luckless in love
I now have to wait for next spring
To try and find her again
To show off my four foot tail of brand new feathers.
Eee-ahhl! Eee-ahhl!
Don't mistake my warning for a serenade!
They jump and laugh in response
clinging together now holding hands.
It seems this couple must mate in fall.
Being Blue
Stunned Blue in silent thoughts that
have no end
a shade of near gray that washes over my ears, cheeks and chest
blood drained from my cheeks
empty of their glow
Like a match that can not be unstruck
the blue burns out all the kindling it can lays hands on
My worries catch fire with ease and burn
in unforgiving pyres
Being blue is not a mood, nor emotion
nor a feeling
Blue is a way of existing
as mornings wash into afternoons wash into evenings
onto darker nights
Blue is a shadow waiting patiently behind me
a faux friend with a false promise to keep me company
Blue sits on my brow,
making it hard to keep my eyes open,
even when I want them to.
Blue hangs from hooks on my cheeks pulling down,
pulling, pulling down
Blue calls me to close my eyes
close out the world
sit in the blue darkness.
Heavy lids bind this bright afternoon to Blue's gravity
Today's particular shade is steel blue
tomorrow's is not yet announced.
I'm resistant
I am resistant
and the resistance clings to me like an oily residue that won't wash off
knees refuse to bend
Hips stick
full of loud pops
clicks and crackles
But I have to sit
the work is in the staying,
sitting in the thick of it
enduring the winds that threaten to topple my folded origami legs.
I'm resistant
despite myself and my desires.
I'm looped with the lasso of untamed fears
to stay despite it all
despite your leaving, again
after how many years of coming and going?
I stay, cross legged and resolute
despite my want to run
so many "aways" to go to.
Vacancy signs in neon pink and blue
tempt me with their playful blinks
like batting eyelashes.
The backs of my knees and creases of my armpits get sweaty.
The familiar heat rush of anxiety
washing through me in waves.
I feel sweat beading at my temples but
my eyes remain half closed in inner reverie
turned nightmare.
I sit.
Hands folded into each other
against all odds
against the odds that you'll come back
or
be gone forever.
I decided it was time to type out the poems for one of the journals. These are largely unedited/unrevised, but let me know if any stand out to you.
Thanks for reading!
Beth
Johnny Varble (12-1-11)
Big slick file folders
full of notes that were once important
But now he is gone
and their hieroglyphics are yet to be deciphered
Will they ever?
So, we look through sheet by sheet
saving what we can,
what is discernible,
what reminds us of him without making us cry,
His notes on how to make an excel sheet,
a brochure for last season's performances at the local theater.
It's all gotta go
as he is gone,
but without the surprise of his leaving
over the edge of the road
with his dog in the passenger's seat.
We can't hold on to these papers forever
but we can't help but feel guilt for ripping his memory apart
page by page.
We shred the once valuable stacks of information
one file cabinet at a time.
Keep or throw?
These items with his handwriting scrawled in the margins
old papers worn at the edges and yellowed with years
and accidental stains of morning coffee.
This paper on which I write is his
top sheet of notes and memories already discarded.
I couldn't let the last few pages
go to waste.
Office papers, were not the heart of Johnny.
His heart is outside
with the horses in the barn and the cattle in the fields.
This cowboy forced to fill out the forms
we now hold in our hands
our young hands unwrinkled with time and still warm
from the afternoon coffee.
We make the decisions
paper by paper
memory by memory
making sense of what he left behind
making sense of his lost time
and our days ahead.
11-28-11
Spinning not unlike the earth
Spinning not unlike
the earth off kilter on its axis.
Round with rounded edges
smoothed by years of seasonal rains.
This stone looks more like a button on my nubby, woolen sweater
my favorite, not itchy at all
The shiny buttons of which pull against the the thread bare seams and the
deep pockets, in which I warm my hands
away from this frigid night air.
My palms press deeper into the cloth
closer to the warmth of my skin
I spin.
In time, keeping time
with the seasons as my metronome
each revolution brings me in closer
until I can feel the warmth of my own breath bounce back at me
with each exhale
It reminds me of snuggling up to you from behind
so close that I can breathe in the scent of your neck
then exhale the warm moist air onto the fine hairs at the base of your scalp
tiny droplets forming on each one
Tonight there is a chill and your body heat is a sweet treat.
Along the road
dried tumbleweeds from last summer
scamper across the lanes
the wheel softly turning
I roll, along gentle curves into tomorrow's night
Looking up I swoon
the stars spinning before me
and inside my head
As they shine
I can see the mist of my breath
in an icy fog.
This night will spin and turn to day
just as it did before
and I will wait and watch my steamy breath turn cold.
There is a point
There is a point
when blue turns black
where today becomes tomorrow
and today becomes yesterday.
There is a point
when smiles turn sour
when laughs turn dark
and he begins to turn pale.
There is a point when blood stops flowing
and the heart stops pumping
and the sky yawns
and the stars fall.
There is a point
where I end and universe begins
where hopes turn to lost opportunities
and shame to cancer.
Suddenly (No. 1)
Suddenly
I catch a whiff of my mom's apple pie
a boom of sweet sugar, cinnamon and apple
It's almost time to enjoy, but first
I put my nose back in the book
words whizz by and I evaporate
into the story of magic lands and unlikely characters.
Encountering myself in each chapter of fantasy,
I flip page to page
until it is time and my mom calls me back home
Suddenly (No. 2)
Suddenly
The lights went out and my sister sang
her voice carried through the darkness
accompanied by the click of the grandfather clock
wound to its coil and unnoticing of the dark
I lay in the still-warm bathwater
not sure whether it is safest to stay put
or risk a slip on the tile floor
to find a light.
Her voice soars up the stairs
unharnessed, unknowingly beautiful
She sings melodies
calls out to the shadowed corners and pitch black of the living room.
My mom lights a candle
I see the flames flicker in the bathroom mirror
"Charlotte, are you OK?"
I somehow want to blow bubbles in response
instead I lift my head and call
"Yes"
But, as I resumberge my chest and chin,
I hardly know.
And, my sister still sings
still haunting me with her memory.
Suddenly (No. 3)
I put in another coin
and roll the ski ball
Perfectly timed, angled, released
Lights blink as I win
tickets pour of the machine's mouth
vomit for useless coinage and cruddy "prizes"
neon green sunglasses I will never wear
a coloring set, a squishy ball with no purpose
The bells and dings and rings and beeps
are all beeping and ringing and flashing
obnoxiously
An ADHD fantasy of rushed moments,
forgotten focus and
new beginnings without endings
The hush, then quiet
then suddenly we whisper into the dark
the world stopped around us
We stand and sit with ourselves in the dark
afraid to move
for fear we might break our bones
or our timeless sense of immortality.
Thursday Night
Hushed sounds
whispers out of chapped lips
once painted bright
It could be time to call it quits
or not
I put in another coin and
a fresh tune starts up.
Oven Timer
Gosh darn it! I want to do something
crazy!
Like to sky dive, get drunk or
actually use real profanity!!
Instead I tell my stories in rhyme and stanza
stories of adventures never had
and words never spoken.
Could I bother you to allow me this one,
very small,
momentary,
indulgence?
Fuck You!
Oh, no.
That doesn't make me feel better at all.
Excuse me. I'd better so see if
the casserole top has browned.
Notes on a Nightstand
In a book in the drawer
next to the meds
which hum tough tunes
of reality.
A cage for thoughts,
this journal's pages include the
important details
dates, but no names
sentiments and expletives
circled, underlined and in caps.
The book is sinking, sunken and drowned in thoughts.
Notes hide under the water's reflective surface
mirroring life's day that plays above.
How many journals live in drawers like this?
Notes on a nightstand
trying to explain away the need
for the little, plastic orange container
that lives there too.
Dear Lower Back,
You are so sweet to call me up so regularly.
Well done, I'm listening.
Feeling.
Oh, how you love to talk,
and talk and talk and talk
Which I appreciate,
But, I asked you here today because
I am feeling ready
to let you go.
For us to go our separate ways.
You don't need to check in on my quite so often
I feel ready to forget you.
Is that too harsh to say out loud?
I don't mean to be mean.
Its just that
I could really do
without your constant reminding.
Like a parent you hold me back and
warn me against my instincts
Don't do that! Don't go to far!
Let's be reasonable.
Can't you just let me be?
For a month or so? a week? a day?
I don't think I can handle it much more.
You shouting at me daily as I wake up and when I go to bed.
Each time I want to do anything
you are right there to stop me.
Don't you think it's getting a little old?
Don't you have something better to do?
Because I do.
So, go ahead. and take a long
extended vacation.
and let me be for a while
unconcerned, uninhibited and unrestricted
for once.
Evening Happening at the Oak on Peppertree Lane
A long, blue-green feather on the road
Harrumph! I flutter to the bottom branch
Grip and claw into the rough bark,
pull myself up, through the maze of branches up to the canopy
where the acorns are still green
I settle in to roost for the night.
Eee-ahhl!
Footsteps fall below
Two of them, one stoops to pick up the feather.
How odd, don't they know?
That's no longer good. Shimmering green, gold and blue.
Those feathers were only in good fashion for last spring
Clearly they won't do any good now.
Once a part of a corona
Peacock pride
meant only for one reason
but that is all done
they are now abandoned
Deemed useless.
As it goes with we who are luckless in love
I now have to wait for next spring
To try and find her again
To show off my four foot tail of brand new feathers.
Eee-ahhl! Eee-ahhl!
Don't mistake my warning for a serenade!
They jump and laugh in response
clinging together now holding hands.
It seems this couple must mate in fall.
Being Blue
Stunned Blue in silent thoughts that
have no end
a shade of near gray that washes over my ears, cheeks and chest
blood drained from my cheeks
empty of their glow
Like a match that can not be unstruck
the blue burns out all the kindling it can lays hands on
My worries catch fire with ease and burn
in unforgiving pyres
Being blue is not a mood, nor emotion
nor a feeling
Blue is a way of existing
as mornings wash into afternoons wash into evenings
onto darker nights
Blue is a shadow waiting patiently behind me
a faux friend with a false promise to keep me company
Blue sits on my brow,
making it hard to keep my eyes open,
even when I want them to.
Blue hangs from hooks on my cheeks pulling down,
pulling, pulling down
Blue calls me to close my eyes
close out the world
sit in the blue darkness.
Heavy lids bind this bright afternoon to Blue's gravity
Today's particular shade is steel blue
tomorrow's is not yet announced.
I'm resistant
I am resistant
and the resistance clings to me like an oily residue that won't wash off
knees refuse to bend
Hips stick
full of loud pops
clicks and crackles
But I have to sit
the work is in the staying,
sitting in the thick of it
enduring the winds that threaten to topple my folded origami legs.
I'm resistant
despite myself and my desires.
I'm looped with the lasso of untamed fears
to stay despite it all
despite your leaving, again
after how many years of coming and going?
I stay, cross legged and resolute
despite my want to run
so many "aways" to go to.
Vacancy signs in neon pink and blue
tempt me with their playful blinks
like batting eyelashes.
The backs of my knees and creases of my armpits get sweaty.
The familiar heat rush of anxiety
washing through me in waves.
I feel sweat beading at my temples but
my eyes remain half closed in inner reverie
turned nightmare.
I sit.
Hands folded into each other
against all odds
against the odds that you'll come back
or
be gone forever.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Book Review: Women, Food and God
I have recently been sharing with friends the concepts in a book I just finished called, "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth. My mom read the book first and recommended it to me. I then saw the author on Oprah (before the show ended) and put it on my kindle reading list. I then promptly forgot about it for a good 4 months. Turns out, it is a great book and gave me a new perspective about compulsive eating and food addiction.
As a tall dancer, I have often been dissatisfied with my body composition. I have never been seriously overweight, but by dancer standards I carry more general "insulation" than most in my field. I naturally have a long, muscular build, a proportioned torso and nice legs (so I have been told). But, my 5'11" frame always skewed my sense of size. Being taller made me bigger in a world of smaller and thinner.
Im result, I always felt big, being placed in back and selected as the dancer to lift others and rarely the lifted one. I always got the largest leotard and could never squeeze into the cute, vintage outfits we borrowed from the theater department. I abandoned ballet because being partnered by a ballet boy of 5'7" was not an option.
So, needless to say, there has always been a shadow of disapproval of my body shape, a nagging feeling that I shouldn't eat that last roll, second helping or second cookie.
Roth's book was a refreshing take about interacting with food in a way that really made sense to me. She stresses eating what you really want, eating when you are hungry and quieting the body enough to know when you are full.
Sounds overly simple perhaps, but the magic lies in the fact that following these simple "rules", you take away food's power and the the connotations you have tied to it over the years.
By constantly depriving yourself of the heavenly piece of chocolate cake or yummy plate of spaghetti, you have developed a system of guilt associated with food. In other words you begin to believe that eating the cake is "bad" and therefore you are "bad." Likewise, we have learned to reward ourselves with a food "I've been so good. I can't break the rules this ONE time!" Again, this is giving undeserved power to something that is fuel and might be tasty, but certainly doesn't revolutionize the world. Finally, we equate eating with self sabotage or loss of control. We numb our mind and hearts by stuffing our stomachs. But, that just leaves us in no better place. On the other side of the bag of Kettle chips, we feel just as troubled and now additionally guilt ridden.
No food should have power beyond the enjoyment of its taste and the nutritional value it provides. By trusting in Roth's system, you can relearn these basic facts. You step outside of the diet game of chutes and ladders. By taking away the power of the food as a slave to soothe you or a weapon to punish you, food finally loosens its grip on you and (gasp) can even become undesirable when it is not needed.
This was a hard thing for me to relearn. I had become so attached to food that leaving anything on the plate seemed crazy. How could I possibly leave something that tasted soooo good? It turns out, that I can and should. Not to deprive myself, but as a practice of being honest with myself.
I realized that I have been clogging my system with excess and that is part of what has been making me feel bad periodically. Too much food physicality makes me tired and exacerbates my depression.
But all of this is just a precursor to the most insightful thing I learned about myself by reading the book. Roth challenges us to identify when we are physically hungry and when we are hungry for something else (eating for any other reason). In thinking about my own life I realized that I have been eating for two main reasons other than being hungry:
1. Fatigue
2. Fear of future fatigue
I thought eating would help me stay awake and alert, but what I really need to do is rest (or at least let go of the fear of being tired). Strange that just the fear of being tired is enough for me to eat. But all that excess was just dragging me down.
The best part of all of this is that I am getting over the guilt of eating. Eating is becoming more enjoyable because it is no longer forbidden. Now the candy bar sits on the table because I am not forbidden to eat it. It holds less sway over me and doesn't taunt me with its presence. And, when I want to eat it I will and it is no big deal.
It feels good to let go of all the anxiety surrounding this aspect of my life. It frees my mind and energy up for more productive endeavors.
A welcome change and one I thought I should share.
Have you read the book? What did you think?
As a tall dancer, I have often been dissatisfied with my body composition. I have never been seriously overweight, but by dancer standards I carry more general "insulation" than most in my field. I naturally have a long, muscular build, a proportioned torso and nice legs (so I have been told). But, my 5'11" frame always skewed my sense of size. Being taller made me bigger in a world of smaller and thinner.
Im result, I always felt big, being placed in back and selected as the dancer to lift others and rarely the lifted one. I always got the largest leotard and could never squeeze into the cute, vintage outfits we borrowed from the theater department. I abandoned ballet because being partnered by a ballet boy of 5'7" was not an option.
So, needless to say, there has always been a shadow of disapproval of my body shape, a nagging feeling that I shouldn't eat that last roll, second helping or second cookie.
Roth's book was a refreshing take about interacting with food in a way that really made sense to me. She stresses eating what you really want, eating when you are hungry and quieting the body enough to know when you are full.
Sounds overly simple perhaps, but the magic lies in the fact that following these simple "rules", you take away food's power and the the connotations you have tied to it over the years.
By constantly depriving yourself of the heavenly piece of chocolate cake or yummy plate of spaghetti, you have developed a system of guilt associated with food. In other words you begin to believe that eating the cake is "bad" and therefore you are "bad." Likewise, we have learned to reward ourselves with a food "I've been so good. I can't break the rules this ONE time!" Again, this is giving undeserved power to something that is fuel and might be tasty, but certainly doesn't revolutionize the world. Finally, we equate eating with self sabotage or loss of control. We numb our mind and hearts by stuffing our stomachs. But, that just leaves us in no better place. On the other side of the bag of Kettle chips, we feel just as troubled and now additionally guilt ridden.
No food should have power beyond the enjoyment of its taste and the nutritional value it provides. By trusting in Roth's system, you can relearn these basic facts. You step outside of the diet game of chutes and ladders. By taking away the power of the food as a slave to soothe you or a weapon to punish you, food finally loosens its grip on you and (gasp) can even become undesirable when it is not needed.
This was a hard thing for me to relearn. I had become so attached to food that leaving anything on the plate seemed crazy. How could I possibly leave something that tasted soooo good? It turns out, that I can and should. Not to deprive myself, but as a practice of being honest with myself.
I realized that I have been clogging my system with excess and that is part of what has been making me feel bad periodically. Too much food physicality makes me tired and exacerbates my depression.
But all of this is just a precursor to the most insightful thing I learned about myself by reading the book. Roth challenges us to identify when we are physically hungry and when we are hungry for something else (eating for any other reason). In thinking about my own life I realized that I have been eating for two main reasons other than being hungry:
1. Fatigue
2. Fear of future fatigue
I thought eating would help me stay awake and alert, but what I really need to do is rest (or at least let go of the fear of being tired). Strange that just the fear of being tired is enough for me to eat. But all that excess was just dragging me down.
The best part of all of this is that I am getting over the guilt of eating. Eating is becoming more enjoyable because it is no longer forbidden. Now the candy bar sits on the table because I am not forbidden to eat it. It holds less sway over me and doesn't taunt me with its presence. And, when I want to eat it I will and it is no big deal.
It feels good to let go of all the anxiety surrounding this aspect of my life. It frees my mind and energy up for more productive endeavors.
A welcome change and one I thought I should share.
Have you read the book? What did you think?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tech Week Tantrum
Part of my job at Moorpark College is directing the fall dance concert. As with most projects, I love-love-love the creative process. The brainstorming of ideas and excitement of new creative possibilities. I love the promise of potential that fills the air at the inception of a project or concert. I dream big. I like to revolutionize myself and the process each chance I get. I can't help but want to push the envelope, push my limits and try something I have never done before.
But, this stage of the concert process is long gone. And, when I reach this point of no return (7 days before the concert) I can't help but think. "What was I thinking?"
This concert I have choreographed a fun and ridiculously fast tap dance, a physically demanding and powerful modern dance trio and a crazy, large ensemble piece (complete with strange walks, trench coats, boots and screaming).
Did I mention I dream big?
The thing that I am learning is that my creativity is in some ways its own vice. I can't help but get excited about new ideas, creative trains of thought, and potential "awesomeness" in general. I love to generate ideas, ways of working, aesthetic systems, choreographic projects.
But then it comes time to do it and actually make it happen. And, I find myself here in "Tech Week"!
For those of you outside of the performing arts, Tech Week is the time the production uses to move into the theater, set lights, practice with costumes and generally go mad from fatigue at that same time.
Admittedly I write in anticipation. Tech week technically starts tomorrow. But, as always, it promises long hours in a dark theater, after which your butt is numb, and you can't quite remember what day it is, if you need to eat, nor if you went to bathroom in the last 5 hours. It is not all that terrible. It can actually be fun. But it is (or at least has been) always exhausting. Imagine functioning on adrenaline and caffeine for 12 hours straight but not being able to go any where or see the light of day for three days straight.
And, who am I to complain? The technicians do this all day long each and everyday, project and project, production after production. But, I am to a point in my life where I have become more protective of my energy and health. I am less willing to burn myself out the way I used to. I guess I have learned that the production "hang over" just isn't worth it.
Life goes on after a dance concert just as it did before. Yet, the show will not make itself. It takes time and energy, focus and patience. It takes hope, creativity, and diligence. Perseverance perhaps most of all.
I want to find a way that I can enjoy Tech. Am I crazy to think it might actually be possible to put on a dance concert and not lose my mind or sacrifice my physical health? I have reached a point where I no longer want to push through. I don't want to just "make it happen." I don't want to live my life wishing these next two weeks were already over, when this is what I love to do.
I want to love it while I am in it. Not just before and after.
It is time for me to make some changes in how I work. I want to teach the dancers that it feels good to work, create and perform (and it feels best when you don't kill yourself in the process). The reward needs to be in the process. My students run themselves so ragged that I am afraid they miss the entire experience. Sure they always "get through." But they are sleep walking through it all.
I know because I was too.
It is time to wake up.
But, this stage of the concert process is long gone. And, when I reach this point of no return (7 days before the concert) I can't help but think. "What was I thinking?"
This concert I have choreographed a fun and ridiculously fast tap dance, a physically demanding and powerful modern dance trio and a crazy, large ensemble piece (complete with strange walks, trench coats, boots and screaming).
Did I mention I dream big?
The thing that I am learning is that my creativity is in some ways its own vice. I can't help but get excited about new ideas, creative trains of thought, and potential "awesomeness" in general. I love to generate ideas, ways of working, aesthetic systems, choreographic projects.
But then it comes time to do it and actually make it happen. And, I find myself here in "Tech Week"!
For those of you outside of the performing arts, Tech Week is the time the production uses to move into the theater, set lights, practice with costumes and generally go mad from fatigue at that same time.
Admittedly I write in anticipation. Tech week technically starts tomorrow. But, as always, it promises long hours in a dark theater, after which your butt is numb, and you can't quite remember what day it is, if you need to eat, nor if you went to bathroom in the last 5 hours. It is not all that terrible. It can actually be fun. But it is (or at least has been) always exhausting. Imagine functioning on adrenaline and caffeine for 12 hours straight but not being able to go any where or see the light of day for three days straight.
And, who am I to complain? The technicians do this all day long each and everyday, project and project, production after production. But, I am to a point in my life where I have become more protective of my energy and health. I am less willing to burn myself out the way I used to. I guess I have learned that the production "hang over" just isn't worth it.
Life goes on after a dance concert just as it did before. Yet, the show will not make itself. It takes time and energy, focus and patience. It takes hope, creativity, and diligence. Perseverance perhaps most of all.
I want to find a way that I can enjoy Tech. Am I crazy to think it might actually be possible to put on a dance concert and not lose my mind or sacrifice my physical health? I have reached a point where I no longer want to push through. I don't want to just "make it happen." I don't want to live my life wishing these next two weeks were already over, when this is what I love to do.
I want to love it while I am in it. Not just before and after.
It is time for me to make some changes in how I work. I want to teach the dancers that it feels good to work, create and perform (and it feels best when you don't kill yourself in the process). The reward needs to be in the process. My students run themselves so ragged that I am afraid they miss the entire experience. Sure they always "get through." But they are sleep walking through it all.
I know because I was too.
It is time to wake up.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Stress or Depression or Both
I am feeling (to say the least) overwhelmed. Since returning from the National Dance Educator's Organization Conference last week, I feel like I can't catch up. This is the time in the semester when all the "good" ideas are coming to a head, and it is time to pay up.
But even that isn't entirely true. I don't have THAT much to do. I certainly could achieve most of what I have to get done, but the truth is I am feeling spent. I was so careful during the first part of the semester to take care of my time and energy, but this still happened. I still ran out of gas.
I am griping. I guess I am in the mood to gripe. I am bitter because I have so many ideas going around in my head. Creative ideas that are full of potential. Dance ideas. Teaching ideas. Writing ideas. But I don't want to do the work. I don't want to take the time and energy to actually put my pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Even this is feeling awkward. Mostly because I feel like I have some very cool experiences from the NDEO conference which are great blog material, but instead I am caught in this cloudy mess of fatigue, apathy and dejection.
The stress (which apparently snuck up on me without me knowing it) is taking its toll. I am feeling depressed. And, that is the crux of all of this. I have great things to do, great insights to share, ideas to follow, but I am anchored to the typical symptoms: fatigue, sorrow, obsessive thoughts, anxiety dreams, the desire to just sit for hours on end, preferably with a stream of movies going on end to end to end.
In the scheme of things, the symptoms are not terrible and will hopefully go away soon. But it is a reminder that even when things are good, stress takes it toll, and for me stress results in depression. I think it is a chemical thing because there is really nothing wrong. I just feel bad. Sub-par.
Good times and a stable life, and I can still get caught in the cloud. It happens less and less. But it is a reality for me. Chronic depression doesn't just disappear when things are good and you have a good week, or two or three. It is a constant practice.
Side Note: It doesn't help that my office printer is broken. It is throwing of my groove and making everything harder.
Perhaps tomorrow the cloud will lift like coastal fog that finally burns off after you have given up on a sunny day. But at this point I am still hoping for sunny skies.
But even that isn't entirely true. I don't have THAT much to do. I certainly could achieve most of what I have to get done, but the truth is I am feeling spent. I was so careful during the first part of the semester to take care of my time and energy, but this still happened. I still ran out of gas.
I am griping. I guess I am in the mood to gripe. I am bitter because I have so many ideas going around in my head. Creative ideas that are full of potential. Dance ideas. Teaching ideas. Writing ideas. But I don't want to do the work. I don't want to take the time and energy to actually put my pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Even this is feeling awkward. Mostly because I feel like I have some very cool experiences from the NDEO conference which are great blog material, but instead I am caught in this cloudy mess of fatigue, apathy and dejection.
The stress (which apparently snuck up on me without me knowing it) is taking its toll. I am feeling depressed. And, that is the crux of all of this. I have great things to do, great insights to share, ideas to follow, but I am anchored to the typical symptoms: fatigue, sorrow, obsessive thoughts, anxiety dreams, the desire to just sit for hours on end, preferably with a stream of movies going on end to end to end.
In the scheme of things, the symptoms are not terrible and will hopefully go away soon. But it is a reminder that even when things are good, stress takes it toll, and for me stress results in depression. I think it is a chemical thing because there is really nothing wrong. I just feel bad. Sub-par.
Good times and a stable life, and I can still get caught in the cloud. It happens less and less. But it is a reality for me. Chronic depression doesn't just disappear when things are good and you have a good week, or two or three. It is a constant practice.
Side Note: It doesn't help that my office printer is broken. It is throwing of my groove and making everything harder.
Perhaps tomorrow the cloud will lift like coastal fog that finally burns off after you have given up on a sunny day. But at this point I am still hoping for sunny skies.
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