to let the crazy show

Sometimes I wonder if I should write in a real journal instead of posting my feelings on the internet.

Part of me is interested in sharing my thoughts, experiences, and insecurities with people who know me, because why hide it? To appear more put-together? And then if I write it down and let others read it, maybe I'll end up composing something interesting (because of the idea that there's an audience involved).

Another part of me wonders whether it's necessary to keep people "updated" by trumpeting my current psychological status or life happenings. If the point of journaling is self reflection, why post it for everyone to see?

What's the point of this thing? I don't think I've ever known, exactly. Today, it's a tool to keep from monologuing Leif to death. Or lying in bed and thinking. I guess I have to talk about myself at something and blogs feel like making thought deposits where journals feel like organized daydreaming.

***

Anyway, I've been having some pretty rough Sunday evenings lately. Yes, they're wonderful on paper, because I just cook, chill out, watch a few shows, chat with Leif, and rest myself before the weekly grind commences. But I've been feeling like a teenager--equal parts vanity and self-loathing. Pinching my squishy thighs, picking anything that resembles the beginnings of a zit, plucking facial hair and never quite getting it all, frowning at my frizzy hair, fantasizing about having a different nose, and thinking about where and how I could adjust the amount of food that I eat. (I go from really liking my eating schedule and habits to thinking I have no objectivity on the matter.) And now I can add the beginnings of wrinkles and grey hairs to the list.

When I was thirteen (or fourteen through seventeen), I thought that having a boyfriend would make these thoughts go away, because logically, how could anyone with a boyfriend think that they were ugly in any way--if there's someone who is willing to be with you, then that proves that all of those insecure thoughts are untrue by default. You can't be unattractive if someone is attracted to you. By definition!

I don't know what is going on with me right now--I mean it's not like I don't go about my daily life and generally like myself. This crap seems to have pretty much been at bay for some years now, and what seems to have started as a little spark of embarrassment, self-judgement, or distaste is gathering steam.

I'm probably just scared that I'm going to get fat now that the triathlon is over. It's true that I can't keep up that level of cardio in my regular life, although I could probably bump up my runs from two to four per week. The problem is that I also need to bump up the amount of dance classes I take from one to three classes per week if I want to feel competent on stage. Having rehearsals helps, but I need to start going to the other studio twice a week. I dislike that I've been saying I'm going to do this for months and months now, and I haven't done it. I go from telling myself "quit thinking that nothing is ever enough" to "start creating the life you say you want."

It's true that my ego is struggling--pretty much always--with the fact that I was a really strong dancer as a little kid (who was also the tiniest person in the class) and now I'm just a mediocre adult dancer. And recently our company has grown in size, and I am imagining myself getting pusher farther and farther into the back corner of the stage and watching more pieces from the wings than dancing in them.

In fact, I feel that way about writing and piano as well. It's like I'm getting worse at everything as I get older. How many years have I been planning to mail off that college story to a literary journal? My life is centered around teaching. Is it possible to cram my other interests into the time when I'm not at work? I feel like I try to do that and then I just do a half-ass job at each thing. I don't want to believe that being a teacher will make me a crappy artist.

***

When I was a teenager, I used to look at pre-pubescent pictures of myself and feel sad because I'd gotten weird looking when I used to be so cute. And then I'd hope that when I became a woman, all the awkwardness would go away and I'd look more like an older version of those baby pictures. It's an embarrassing cliche, but it's true.

And now that I am a woman, I see recent pictures of myself and cringe at most of them. I still stand in my underwear in front of the full length mirror and assess the ways in which I need to fix my body. I still feel like I have nothing good to wear to school or dancing. I'm smart enough to know better and smart enough to know that there are more important things to think about and focus on, but I keep returning to this mindset--this belief that looking better would make me like myself more. This rookie mistake of confusing body image and self image.

But it's not just about body image. It's about achieving in general. Who am I if I'm not achieving anything? If I have the capacity, shouldn't I be achieving? Focusing on the next thing, and the next, or else my life will settle into dust and mortgage payments?

Maybe it's just a typical pitfall of a sheltered kid who got a few trophies in her past. Or the expected coming of age pangs of a middle class American white woman. I'm Eat, Pray, Love without the novel, the travel, or the money.

I need some perspective. Maybe I'll go back to yoga class this week. I need to do something to shake this crazy nothing I do is quite good enough feeling. This victim mentality. People have breast cancer, people have children, people have dying parents, people are broke, people have real issues, and I am somehow simultaneously aware of this and whiny about my vanilla insecurities. But there they are--they're still there, no matter how dumb I think they are. And they just love to come out on a Sunday evening. Maybe I just need my guhs to say "Calm down, Lemon." Maybe that is why I write in this thing.