Since coming back, I've had a lot of time to sit around and read--that's pretty much all I've been doing if I'm not at dance class or cooking. I've had a lot of time to be alone and think, and a lot of time at night to sleep ten hours or more and dream busy dreams.
Monday night, two fellow dancers and I did circuit training at the big studio. The stations were: plies, lunges, calf raises (releves), flat backs, roll down push ups, handing from uneven bars and doing leg lifts, assisted pull ups on the lower bar, plank position on the mat, tricep exercises, and jogging back and forth. We did one round with one minute in each station and two rounds with thirty seconds in each. Then we did these things where we used our legs to jump up to the bar into a pull-up position--basically a training exercise for people who can't do an actual pull-up. One of them could do a few pull-ups already and the other was very close. I had to jump really hard just to get into position and I could barely do more than three of those. Then we did some more jogging back and forth across the studio and then timed each other doing these little wind sprint things. We cheered each other on and finished with some stretching and ab work. It was a good and intense workout. This is in preparation for possible dancing (or doing tricks) on the silks in the Spring. Supposedly you have to be strong enough to do five pull ups from a "dead hang" (or so says one of the older, very intense dancers who can already do six and is built like a runner).
I'd like to set a goal of even being able to do one pull up (I've never been able to in my whole life) and training at the park down the street. I wonder if this is going to be like everything else where I crap out and never really get into the shape I'd like to be in because I was inconsistent or made too many excuses or didn't put forth the work to do it. I already don't make the effort to go to extra dance classes (ballet, which I'm supposed to be doing). I can feel myself starting to feel sorry for myself. I'm looking at myself and assuming that the rest of the company and the director just sees a short-legged doughy dancer with a big butt and barely any natural turnout. I know these are old insecurities, and I don't actually know what anyone else sees when they look at me. I know they're not really thinking about me and what I look like, and that like most dancers, they're probably just worried about how they're doing. I know it's a waste to spend lots of time thinking about what other people think about you. I know that self-pity is a useless habit.
I also know that dance is a part of me and I am compelled to move to music and learn more and more pieces of choreography. I know that I have a lot to learn, but also a lot to give--I've been dancing and learning technique for almost twenty years now, and artistically, I'm capable of a lot. I hope I get more opportunities to explore this. I hope someone else besides me sees my potential. I hope I can quit calling it "potential" one day.
What I'd like to do is quit analyzing my body and just work harder. Gradually work up to going to more classes. Go back to yoga and doing what feels good. Accomplish strength through nurturing.
***
I'm scared of so many things. I'm scared that I don't like my job enough to justify sticking to it. I'm scared that my job will suck up my youth and energy and I'll regret spending years stressing and grading papers. I'm scared of the thought of getting married, buying a house, and having kids. I'm scared that I'm missing out on something I don't know I'm missing out on. I'm scared that I'm not good at making friends. I'm scared that maybe I'm not doing the things that would make me the most happy, no matter how hard I try. I'm scared that I might feel stuck and then it'll be too hard or too late to change my life. I'm scared that my life will plateau and I'll become a boring homebody, or that I already am one. I'm scared I'll never write a novel. I'm scared that everyone I know will move to exciting places to do exciting things and leave me behind. I'm scared that other people will live my dreams.
If such a thing is possible, I also like many aspects of my life at the very same time that I am afraid of all of these things. I like that I'm in a dance company and that I'm doing well in my job. I like the relationships I have with my students. I like the relationships I have with my family and my boyfriend, and I like the relationships I have with my friends. Every once in a while, I even like the city I live in, even though it doesn't facilitate the kind of lifestyle I want to have (namely, good weather so that I could sit out on a back porch or terrace and have dinner without getting bitten by mosquitos, or go for a jog or bikeride or hike without feeling the urge to throw up).
I feel a little sad that my summer is almost over and very reluctant about entering another school year. It will be a freshman-free year, though, for the first time: I'm teaching two "regular" tenth grade courses and two honors ones. I think this will end up being a very good thing because tenth graders tend to be more mellow and aware of themselves. We'll see. I hope Springboard training is inspiring this year. I'm also considering adding The Chosen and Invisible Man to my curriculum even though I've never read them. I should probably do that before the beginning of the year.
I'm going to Portland next week for a writing workshop. I have no idea how it's going to be. I hope it will inspire me to continue writing--It looks rigorous and like I'll learn a lot. I keep reading novels and thinking damn, I wish I was in the middle of writing something like this, but I've got no ideas. I'm currently reading Bastard Out of Carolina and I can't believe I'm going to meet Dorothy Allison and that she's going to be my teacher. I wonder what she's like in person.
We shall see.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Not too jet-lagged yet
Whew, it's good to be home! I am refreshingly excited to be back in my house, even though it is hot as shit in this city.
Our return trip's total travel time lasted over 24 consecutive hours and I didn't sleep. Between the airport in Toronto suddenly not being able to access our tickets at check-in and Leif's hour-long separation/interrogation about the green card he left at home (he's not a citizen) and a flat tire between Houston and Lafayette at one in the morning, I'd say I've had enough traveling for now.
Besides all that, the end of our trip rounded out nicely and I ending up losing that restless/anxious/not-being-able-to-enjoy-life feeling (which coincidentally coincided with PMS) and returning to a state of happy appreciation for the cities and towns and cultures we visited. And when we were stuck from the weather, gin and tonic and Rummy 500 ended up being good enough. (Jeanne, I need you to reteach me how to play Palace.) Plus, it's good to have my dad back. He really liked living in Sarajevo, though. I predict that he's going to miss it and his Bosnian co-workers a lot.
I had an enjoyable grocery trip just now--I can't remember the last time it felt so smooth and enjoyable to buy groceries. Part of it is that there was barely anyone there when I went, but I think another part of it is that now that I'm home from vacation, I get to have my life back. (I do realize I would not feel this way if I were immediately returning to work.) I get to do and make things and go back to dancing and exercise. I get to hang out with friends and be in my house again with Leif.
It's a nice feeling to remember to appreciate things I was forgetting to appreciate.
The next order of business is reading and editing twelve short stories before I leave for the workshop in Portland. I started one on the drive back here this morning. Let's just say I hope the rest aren't this...tedious. I wonder if it's offensive to use red ink on people's work if those people are not my students. Oh, well--I like my uniballs.
Our return trip's total travel time lasted over 24 consecutive hours and I didn't sleep. Between the airport in Toronto suddenly not being able to access our tickets at check-in and Leif's hour-long separation/interrogation about the green card he left at home (he's not a citizen) and a flat tire between Houston and Lafayette at one in the morning, I'd say I've had enough traveling for now.
Besides all that, the end of our trip rounded out nicely and I ending up losing that restless/anxious/not-being-able-to-enjoy-life feeling (which coincidentally coincided with PMS) and returning to a state of happy appreciation for the cities and towns and cultures we visited. And when we were stuck from the weather, gin and tonic and Rummy 500 ended up being good enough. (Jeanne, I need you to reteach me how to play Palace.) Plus, it's good to have my dad back. He really liked living in Sarajevo, though. I predict that he's going to miss it and his Bosnian co-workers a lot.
I had an enjoyable grocery trip just now--I can't remember the last time it felt so smooth and enjoyable to buy groceries. Part of it is that there was barely anyone there when I went, but I think another part of it is that now that I'm home from vacation, I get to have my life back. (I do realize I would not feel this way if I were immediately returning to work.) I get to do and make things and go back to dancing and exercise. I get to hang out with friends and be in my house again with Leif.
It's a nice feeling to remember to appreciate things I was forgetting to appreciate.
The next order of business is reading and editing twelve short stories before I leave for the workshop in Portland. I started one on the drive back here this morning. Let's just say I hope the rest aren't this...tedious. I wonder if it's offensive to use red ink on people's work if those people are not my students. Oh, well--I like my uniballs.
Friday, June 19, 2009
a letter to Ms. Dee about our trip
I just realized there are tense shifts galore here, but I'm feeling too lazy to change them.
Additionally, Leif and I are considering buying roller blades.
We went white water rafting Sunday. Rode this Greyhound-style bus to a town (Konjic) an hour away. Boznia becomes "Herzegovina," which is (I've been told) a geological change--Boznia is trees and green, Herzegovina is rocks, mountains, cliffs. When we get there, a guy drives us in a van to the rafting place. (People here drive very aggresively but skillfully--everybody's got these tiny old cars that zoom around and screech on the pavement.) We sit at a picnic table and get fed breakfast--Bosnian coffee (strong and funky, but good once cream gets added--it's also described as Turkish), boiled eggs, hot dog weenies, french-style bread, and little Laughing Cow cheese wedges. With us is a girl from New York named Kasey who's here teaching English and a Bosnian guy who she's friends with that speaks perfect English. I think his name was something like Merzat, but it's a difficult accent/language to remember! Anyway, it was me, Reid, Whit, and Leif in a boat and then Mom, Dad, and those other two. The hilarious part of rafting was the difference between Aspen last summer (our guide was more like "don't French Fry when you should Pizza") and this (our guides quietly said "Okay, guys, peddle" ["paddle]) and every time we stopped to float around in lagoon-type areas, they took cigarette breaks). It was very picturesque over all, but the rapids were few and far between. The water was really low, too, so it was more about navigating around rocks then zooming through rapids. I'll show pictures later.
Monday we went to the Embassy to meet my dad's coworkers, then to lunch with Dad at a little funky place that kinda looks like Yvette Marie's cafe in Baton Rouge (I got veggie Risotto which was not so great, but Leif got veal wrapped in dough covered in cream and mushrooms and my dad got traditional "pot," which is a Bosnian beef stew in a little clay pot, which is what I should have ordered), then the fruit stand and the meat place (they ground it fresh!), then home, and that was it. Made dinner and chilled here. It was so effin hot, and a long walk.
Tuesday (the hottest day of the year, at 91 degrees) we rode the rickety tram 5 minutes outside of town to a place called Ilidzah (Eel-ee-jah) where there was a tree-lined walkway on which we rented a five-seater bicycle (think of the Flintstones' car) to this part where there are natural springs (and a couple of swans, to boot). It was very pretty. Then we ate pizza at a cafe after returning the "bike." The pizza is advertised to come with ketchup. It's not really ketchup, but there is a normal red sauce on the pizza and another salsa-type of thing in a gravy boat that comes on the side. Also there was corn on the vegetarian pizza. Italians would die.
Then Tuesday evening after dinner, we went back outside for an evening stroll on the town river (really just like a big "coolie"--concrete) because my dad says it's nice and there are little popcorn stands out there that he stops at when he walks home from work in the evenings. What we saw once we got out there was surprising--it turns out that the street out by the river is blocked off EVERY evening and people of all ages (families, teenagers, groups of guys, groups of girls, old ladies) go out there just to stroll around aimlessly. I couldn't get over it--it was packed like a festival on a Tuesday night with people on bikes, people roller blading, teenagers standing around or walking together, old ladies arm-in-arm, couples making out on benches, and families riding four-seater bikes. Just going nowhere! I guess people go out there instead of watching TV together. Or at least part of the time. It was awesome.
The most surprising thing about Boznia, I guess, is how not-a-third-world country it is. Or at least, not Sarajevo and the surrounding areas. It feels like I'm in California or Colorado, weather-and-landscape-wise, and a lot of the city areas feel like a smaller Prague. The people are ridiculously nice and very quiet. They seem to mumble to each other. The exotic aspects are that most of the buildings are all shot up with bullet holes, and there are little Muslim spires ("minarets") everywhere with speakers through which someone sends out the "call to prayer" five times a day. There are a lot of Muslims here, as well as plenty of white Europeans (men with capri pants and black socks, women with tight pants and heels and scrunchies). Oh, and everybody smokes and eats ice cream cones. But not at the same time. Also, there's a cafe every two feet. And I hear that everybody goes out to techno clubs. We haven't done any nightlife stuff, but I hate me some club music, so I don't know that I'm going to fight my exhaustion to go do that.
Today we are chilling here in the morning and then visiting the prosecutor's office and making our way to the Ottoman part of town again (old town) to shop and hang out at cafes and finish at what's called The Cave Club (on the edge of town, somebody made a bar out of a cave and a bridge, and there are bean bag chairs on the bridge that overlook the river).
Additionally, Leif and I are considering buying roller blades.
We went white water rafting Sunday. Rode this Greyhound-style bus to a town (Konjic) an hour away. Boznia becomes "Herzegovina," which is (I've been told) a geological change--Boznia is trees and green, Herzegovina is rocks, mountains, cliffs. When we get there, a guy drives us in a van to the rafting place. (People here drive very aggresively but skillfully--everybody's got these tiny old cars that zoom around and screech on the pavement.) We sit at a picnic table and get fed breakfast--Bosnian coffee (strong and funky, but good once cream gets added--it's also described as Turkish), boiled eggs, hot dog weenies, french-style bread, and little Laughing Cow cheese wedges. With us is a girl from New York named Kasey who's here teaching English and a Bosnian guy who she's friends with that speaks perfect English. I think his name was something like Merzat, but it's a difficult accent/language to remember! Anyway, it was me, Reid, Whit, and Leif in a boat and then Mom, Dad, and those other two. The hilarious part of rafting was the difference between Aspen last summer (our guide was more like "don't French Fry when you should Pizza") and this (our guides quietly said "Okay, guys, peddle" ["paddle]) and every time we stopped to float around in lagoon-type areas, they took cigarette breaks). It was very picturesque over all, but the rapids were few and far between. The water was really low, too, so it was more about navigating around rocks then zooming through rapids. I'll show pictures later.
Monday we went to the Embassy to meet my dad's coworkers, then to lunch with Dad at a little funky place that kinda looks like Yvette Marie's cafe in Baton Rouge (I got veggie Risotto which was not so great, but Leif got veal wrapped in dough covered in cream and mushrooms and my dad got traditional "pot," which is a Bosnian beef stew in a little clay pot, which is what I should have ordered), then the fruit stand and the meat place (they ground it fresh!), then home, and that was it. Made dinner and chilled here. It was so effin hot, and a long walk.
Tuesday (the hottest day of the year, at 91 degrees) we rode the rickety tram 5 minutes outside of town to a place called Ilidzah (Eel-ee-jah) where there was a tree-lined walkway on which we rented a five-seater bicycle (think of the Flintstones' car) to this part where there are natural springs (and a couple of swans, to boot). It was very pretty. Then we ate pizza at a cafe after returning the "bike." The pizza is advertised to come with ketchup. It's not really ketchup, but there is a normal red sauce on the pizza and another salsa-type of thing in a gravy boat that comes on the side. Also there was corn on the vegetarian pizza. Italians would die.
Then Tuesday evening after dinner, we went back outside for an evening stroll on the town river (really just like a big "coolie"--concrete) because my dad says it's nice and there are little popcorn stands out there that he stops at when he walks home from work in the evenings. What we saw once we got out there was surprising--it turns out that the street out by the river is blocked off EVERY evening and people of all ages (families, teenagers, groups of guys, groups of girls, old ladies) go out there just to stroll around aimlessly. I couldn't get over it--it was packed like a festival on a Tuesday night with people on bikes, people roller blading, teenagers standing around or walking together, old ladies arm-in-arm, couples making out on benches, and families riding four-seater bikes. Just going nowhere! I guess people go out there instead of watching TV together. Or at least part of the time. It was awesome.
The most surprising thing about Boznia, I guess, is how not-a-third-world country it is. Or at least, not Sarajevo and the surrounding areas. It feels like I'm in California or Colorado, weather-and-landscape-wise, and a lot of the city areas feel like a smaller Prague. The people are ridiculously nice and very quiet. They seem to mumble to each other. The exotic aspects are that most of the buildings are all shot up with bullet holes, and there are little Muslim spires ("minarets") everywhere with speakers through which someone sends out the "call to prayer" five times a day. There are a lot of Muslims here, as well as plenty of white Europeans (men with capri pants and black socks, women with tight pants and heels and scrunchies). Oh, and everybody smokes and eats ice cream cones. But not at the same time. Also, there's a cafe every two feet. And I hear that everybody goes out to techno clubs. We haven't done any nightlife stuff, but I hate me some club music, so I don't know that I'm going to fight my exhaustion to go do that.
Today we are chilling here in the morning and then visiting the prosecutor's office and making our way to the Ottoman part of town again (old town) to shop and hang out at cafes and finish at what's called The Cave Club (on the edge of town, somebody made a bar out of a cave and a bridge, and there are bean bag chairs on the bridge that overlook the river).
deep thoughts by jack handy
Sometimes it's hard to live. It's not that it's hard to be alive--it's just hard to live. Let me explain.
My mind does this obnoxious thing when it gets "bored." I notice it when I'm on vacation and not in fulfilling/avoiding-responsibility mode. I think: god, there's nothing to do. But I could do anything I want right now, technically. I could walk down the street of a foreign country and take in the sights (since I'm not at home right now). I could go buy a fizzy water. I could do some pilates on the carpet. I could read a book. I could write a short story. You get the point. But I am completely uninterested in doing anything, and simultaneously yearning for something to do (or for an escape).
I think what's going on is that my mind doesn't want to be in the present moment. It's that little voice that says: oh, I see that pretty building. Yep, there it is. Okay. BOR-ING. Will it DO anything for me?
Perhaps my body wants something to do--maybe it wants to dance or white water raft. But sometimes when I'm doing those things, I think "enh, is this it? I want to stop now." Or: "I wish this was more exciting. When can we do something exciting?"
It's the ugly, ungrateful child in me, or my ego. It finds the dullness in everything, and therefore makes me dull (the thing in me that, when I want to work on a short story or a dance, says: nah, those ideas are boring).
It's the reason I want to eat when I'm not hungry just so I can feel some sensory stimulation. Because then I "doing something" and therefore not doing nothing.
It's the reason I imagine my day (the past or future of my day, of course) and am relieved or frustrated by my perceived activity or lack of activity. My constant judgment and evaluation of everything. It's as silly as giving each passing thing in my life a score from 0 to 10.
I like reading about the mudane details of other people's lives (or watching characters on TV). I always think: huh, they're living. That's how they live. It doesn't sound boring at all. I like the descriptions of activities as simple as having a cup of tea. It's hard to explain: it's like when you're watching a movie or TV show, and the character is sitting on the couch filing their nails and talking to another character in the kitchen, and it's like, the thing they're doing right now (because it'd be a dull scene to show them only watching TV) and I think, oh, they look cozy. Sometimes I visit friends and think about their hobbies and how them seem to enjoy themselves doing these simple things, and it seems so nice. I think about how our whole lives are filled up with doing one simple thing after the next, or sleeping. It's not that's it's a depressing thought--it's just that I seem to spend a lot of time trying to distract myself from this thought.
It's just that sometimes it's hard for me to feel that cozy, pleased feeling when it's just me--when it's my life and my perception. Just to be awake and be happy for that. (Though sometimes it's quite easy, but I'm not sure of the variable that makes the difference yet.) The funny thing is that I know how (I believe we all do) to choose to think a different way. It's something in the brain that's attracted to the nervous energy--it's something that believes in it, or believes life is supposed to be a certain way.
I think my (fiction) writing suffers for this. I think sometimes it's too summarized--too aware of trying to get to the next thing, or to build a thing. If I could be more in the moment, then the reader would, too, and the reader would enjoy that. Perhaps this is something I can practice.
In My Stroke of Insight, Bolte-Taylor says that an emotion/reaction in the limbic system of the brain takes ninety seconds to flow through the body. Then you choose whether you want to "hook into" that feeling or not, based on your habits. I find that to be both interesting and true, whether or not it's related to what I'm talking about. Beh. Now I'm sick of writing.
My mind does this obnoxious thing when it gets "bored." I notice it when I'm on vacation and not in fulfilling/avoiding-responsibility mode. I think: god, there's nothing to do. But I could do anything I want right now, technically. I could walk down the street of a foreign country and take in the sights (since I'm not at home right now). I could go buy a fizzy water. I could do some pilates on the carpet. I could read a book. I could write a short story. You get the point. But I am completely uninterested in doing anything, and simultaneously yearning for something to do (or for an escape).
I think what's going on is that my mind doesn't want to be in the present moment. It's that little voice that says: oh, I see that pretty building. Yep, there it is. Okay. BOR-ING. Will it DO anything for me?
Perhaps my body wants something to do--maybe it wants to dance or white water raft. But sometimes when I'm doing those things, I think "enh, is this it? I want to stop now." Or: "I wish this was more exciting. When can we do something exciting?"
It's the ugly, ungrateful child in me, or my ego. It finds the dullness in everything, and therefore makes me dull (the thing in me that, when I want to work on a short story or a dance, says: nah, those ideas are boring).
It's the reason I want to eat when I'm not hungry just so I can feel some sensory stimulation. Because then I "doing something" and therefore not doing nothing.
It's the reason I imagine my day (the past or future of my day, of course) and am relieved or frustrated by my perceived activity or lack of activity. My constant judgment and evaluation of everything. It's as silly as giving each passing thing in my life a score from 0 to 10.
I like reading about the mudane details of other people's lives (or watching characters on TV). I always think: huh, they're living. That's how they live. It doesn't sound boring at all. I like the descriptions of activities as simple as having a cup of tea. It's hard to explain: it's like when you're watching a movie or TV show, and the character is sitting on the couch filing their nails and talking to another character in the kitchen, and it's like, the thing they're doing right now (because it'd be a dull scene to show them only watching TV) and I think, oh, they look cozy. Sometimes I visit friends and think about their hobbies and how them seem to enjoy themselves doing these simple things, and it seems so nice. I think about how our whole lives are filled up with doing one simple thing after the next, or sleeping. It's not that's it's a depressing thought--it's just that I seem to spend a lot of time trying to distract myself from this thought.
It's just that sometimes it's hard for me to feel that cozy, pleased feeling when it's just me--when it's my life and my perception. Just to be awake and be happy for that. (Though sometimes it's quite easy, but I'm not sure of the variable that makes the difference yet.) The funny thing is that I know how (I believe we all do) to choose to think a different way. It's something in the brain that's attracted to the nervous energy--it's something that believes in it, or believes life is supposed to be a certain way.
I think my (fiction) writing suffers for this. I think sometimes it's too summarized--too aware of trying to get to the next thing, or to build a thing. If I could be more in the moment, then the reader would, too, and the reader would enjoy that. Perhaps this is something I can practice.
In My Stroke of Insight, Bolte-Taylor says that an emotion/reaction in the limbic system of the brain takes ninety seconds to flow through the body. Then you choose whether you want to "hook into" that feeling or not, based on your habits. I find that to be both interesting and true, whether or not it's related to what I'm talking about. Beh. Now I'm sick of writing.
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