ouch

what i have to say about that (the title): Why, i wonder, does some instinctual moment rise up inside me that says in order to smile i must first suffer. Really? what is that about? i'm not even religious (in the traditional way...because i don't think you can count the Cali baptism-by-jacuzzi brand i grew up with as organized fire-and-brimstone religion).

I can't recall as a child being unduly put to the test, and then getting to have all the cupcakes i wanted if i came through it okay. If I remember at least partially correctly, my upbringing was a pretty standard-issue trapeze act between be-naughty-get-grounded and don't-rock-the-boat-get-the-occasional-cookie. And then in teenhood, wham, suddenly there seemed some kind of sweet payoff in the suffering. Or more accurately, i would actually feel as if i deserved the good stuff because i'd gone through the crap. Maybe this change of wiring happened when I felt like i got away with one too many (mis)adventures. The tipping point may have been when I was 15 and my mom thought I was spending the day at a friend's pool, but instead I was at Cal Jam 2 at the Riverside Raceway and my pepsi was spiked unbeknownst to me with some type of hallucinagenic drug (during Heart's performance, naturally). I looked around me, got up and packed all my stuff into my bag, then tried to leave because, C'mon people, this thing is over... I was totally baffled about why I was feeling the way I did until my friend looked in my eyes and said, Man, your pupils are dilated like basketballs. you've been dosed. (I know, he probably didn't say that first sentence using such doctor-like words, but it's my memory.) He gave me a sparkly necklace to stare at, which kept me happy until the guy in front of me threw up on my shoes, at which point I started crying and then soon after that started loving everyone soooo much and then hours later, during Ted Nugent (or maybe it was Montrose), I came down and was just so happy to be alive and not in the hospital and my mom still thought i was at my friend's pool...maybe that was the moment. The edge at which I felt I suffered, then came out the other end and, wow, everything was so much better. The air a little more fragrant, food more tasty, colors a little brighter—or maybe I was still tripping. Anyway.

I wonder if this proclivity for suffering is more the domain of the female? One word: waxing. Anther word: nuns. Or, even better, two words: giving birth. There is certainly no more accurate example of being put to the test physically and mentally and then having a euphoric outcome (then, depending on the circumstances, more testing of physicality and mentality for the next 40 or so years) than the act of bringing a life into this world. Awesome how endorphins work to move us forward, erase bad memories, bring us feelings of joy. I know this is a slightly askew comparison, but running marathons has been compared to giving birth. I don't mean to diminish the experience of any of my friends who've actually had children by comparing a fairly crazy physical endurance test like running to the miracle of life, it's just something that someone mentioned to me once and now i repeat it as if i know it's true. But as far as doing something that seriously flips your lid and makes you feel a little bit insane, i think the two might go hand-in-hand. I thought about this last Sunday as I ran around NYC with a few thousand people. About two hours in, here's where my mind went: I can't feel my knees. Fuck. I'm hungry. Oh, look, a shiny object. Is that money on the ground? If I bend over to pick it up, will i fall over? Hey, why's that man juggling?

And basically it went on from there until i finished. And the funny thing is, when I met my friend right after and she kept saying she didn't deserve the gatorade (because she hadn't run) or the extra pieces of bread at brunch (because she hadn't run) my response was: Of course you do! Just for being you, you should have everything you want. But I did totally get where she was coming from! So it makes me wonder about this whole suffering thing. For instance, another friend just commented on a prominent social networking site about the bruises she's got from her prowess on the pole. The responses she received back mostly leaned to the Celebrate Them variety (along with some tips on body makeup), but one comment in particular pointed out that at some point the bruises would stop being born because the body would acclimate, to which she responded: So [when you] stop learning new stuff, you will totally look normal again. And she seemed to write it with a bit of poignancy. I'm with her, because personally, I think that's a drag. I don't want to stop learning, though I also don't want to continually get bruised. There's something about the pain of learning that is seductive. And do I think there will be a treat waiting for me on the other side of that? Do I run so I can stop? Do I dance so I can sink my aching body into a hot bath (while eating ice cream)? Did I stay in a sexless marriage so I can look forward to the best romps ever? (oh, wait, sorry, that's another more psychologically involved post altogether) All this to prove I'm alive? and to show how much I can take (and therefore must deserve a little something in return)?

I know not...but when someone offers me a cookie, from now on I'm gonna just smile and take it.

In order to go on my first trip to England, i sold this car, but I lived in Orange County where you really need a car, so I took the bus and walked to where I had to go, which is a thing people almost never do in Southern California. But it made me feel as if I deserved to go to Europe!?!? hmmm.
I was in love with this boy. When my best friend at the time slept with him, i was very sad, but somehow I felt I had to suffer for love...hmmm. I suspect I still feel that way.

I was in the music industry and often felt exactly as this expression expresses. At the time I made lots of money and felt that if they paid me that much, then I must feel the pain. Hmmm. I think I still make that equation.