The Daily Writes

Increasing Font Size

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I type in 12-point font and it seems impossibly small. In the last few days I’ve started to wonder, was it always that small? When did I start blowing up the documents I read to 125% or upping the font size to 14 points?

This isn’t the only thing that I marvel at these days. I look in the mirror sometimes, expecting to see myself as my mental image, only to notice that the bags a little bigger under my eyes. The streaks at my temples, which I like, are not highlights but actual full length gray hair. It used to be that I could indulge in treats or wine and bounce back relatively quickly but now it seems as though a cupcake immediately puffs my belly out and one glass of wine has me up from 2 – 4 am.

I am getting older. At 44 I can no longer deny that fact. I’ve never been bashful about my age, or reluctant to say it, but at least three times in the past six months I’ve fudged and said 43.

Honestly, I am okay with many of the changes. I feel that some of the visible markers are a badge, showing a life well lived and a woman in motion.

But there is the undeniable fact that I still feel young. I watch my nieces, or the young people I see and I feel like I am their age. It is the most bizarre thing, the reverse of an out of body experience. I am very much in my body and my brain thinks I am 35. But when I look out I see that things are changing.

I go boldly into the future and will continue to monitor the progress of time as it marks my body and my endurance. It will also mark my tolerance and my priorities, making me less willing to put up with shit and more resolute about spending time with those I care about most.

 

 

 

What I saw today

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Today I spent quite a bit of time on Muni and walking through the Castro and SOMA. In just a few short hours I ran across so many interesting sights, I was reminded of the reasons I love this city. It is visually stimulating in a very hearty way. Like an awesome, rich and well put together piece of lasagna, it forces you to savor and sit back occasionally.

Here is what I saw and heard today:

The huge PRIDE flag over the Castro muni stop, snapping in the wind as the fog moved out.

A homeless man who had let go of any verbal plea and opted instead for just shoving his hand toward me as I walked by.

A crowded train full of rushed, tense people suddenly overrun at a stop by a band of 10 1st graders who breathed a bit of life into the car with their shenanigans.

A sweet little girl and her mother on a lunch date under the dome at SF Centre.

Dandruff on many of the passengers on the packed-like-sardines train car I took home at rush hour.

A surprising level of humanity and consideration exhibited by those packed in passengers as we jostled about and remained tolerant while more and more people packed in at each stop.

Sadness in the face of a friend while he talked about his frustrating search for a partner.

Joy in the face of another as she shared the early stages of a romance going well.

Glee on the face of my sweaty, active little boy when he saw me after a day away from each other.

 

Keep Kicking The Piñata Girl

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My hairstylist is a gem. He regularly dispenses pearls of wisdom in a way only he can.

Years ago he counseled me to get out there with my writing. He gave me such an inspired pep talk, that I went out and signed up for a writing class with my AWESOME writing coach, The Sexy Grammarian.

I saw him again yesterday and told him I write down some of the genius he spews while creating magic on my head. My favorite is “Keep kicking the piñata girl, candy is going to fall out!”

Yesterday I also shared with him that ever since launching my blog, I’m struggling with writers block. My inner critic is on full alert, wondering with everything I write, “Why would anyone want to read this?” Perhaps I’m trying too hard; blog stage fright. He said, “Honey, listen, if you have to, just close the curtain. Get comfortable behind the scenes and open it back up when you are ready.”

I love his advice, but after considering this I think I’m going to keep the curtain open. Shut up inner critic, you’re old and useless to me now. I have arrived and I’m only interested in going for it.

About Boobs

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I recently stumbled upon some writing from my first few months of pregnancy and will be sharing it occasionally on The Daily Writes. Pregnancy was such a wild ride, and is quite funny from the other side.

Six weeks pregnant….today I write about boobs. Breasts. Two beautiful breasts I used to have. Now, I am in the early stages of pregnancy and I have a bosom. Just one, large heaving bar of bosom trapped in my bra. I have a muffin top look now, over the top of the bra, that pooch that comes out when the bra is too small. And a bosom. I struggle with finding a positive place to live in my head. I struggle to find something to wear that works for me. In reality, it’s not as bad as my head makes it, but then again that’s how it goes with me and my body; the relationship has always been tough and altered. And now I am pregnant, what a ride it will be.  I’m trying to live by a quote I heard recently, “expand beyond the edges”.  Oh, how true that is, in both a figurative and literal sense. I will embrace my bosom, heave it around with pride and attitude.

The Way You Do Anything

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I have wanted to try Soul Cycle for months. The branding intrigues me and I hear raves from people who have tried the class.

Last week I signed up for a class at the new Soul Cycle in The Castro. I am not in great shape and I felt out of my comfort zone, surrounded by what I could swear are teenage kids and very fit 30 something’s. I ignored my fears and wedged my way into the tiny, dark room to bike number 44.

Immediately I understood a few differences. The bikes are crammed together, mere inches from each other. There are candles at the base of the instructor’s bike, which is raised on a platform facing the crowd. The music is loud, which explained the jar of earplugs available at the front desk. The teacher bounces up and down as though on a pogo stick, and there is very little attention to form.

But, there is something about the class. It’s not only the party like/dance club atmosphere. Or the black lights they turn on at key moments. There is an addicting component. While you are sweating, getting your ass kicked, the instructor is calling out more than instructions; they are calling out mental and emotional challenges. “THE WAY YOU DO ANYTHING IS THE WAY YOU DO EVERYTHING.” They are speaking positive words of encouragement; “YOU’VE GOT THIS! CHANGE IS UNCOMFORTABLE, CHANGE IS GOOD.”

I have a lot of voices in my head, many of them nervous or negative. Over the last few days, I’ve noticed myself having more positive thoughts. I attribute this to the massive endorphin rush of good exercise. But I also think that hearing all that encouragement, and being in a room with all that positive energy, gets to you at some level. It may even sink deeper because you are absorbing it while getting your ass kicked.