Madge

There are certain TV ads that stand out as markers in my life (PlopPlop, FizzFizz=watching The Sonny and Cher show with my grandma on a summer saturday night when I was little. Clap on/Clap off=newly moved to NYC watching The Mary Tyler Moore show at 11.30PM after a waitressing shift at Yaffa Cafe... and on and on.) One chestnut that's popped into my brain lately had the tag line "You're soaking in it." The premise was this: a lady's getting her nails done and complaining to her manicurist, the oh-so-wise Madge, about the state of her hands after doing dishes. Madge suggests she switch to Palmolive dishwashing liquid. When the woman looks doubtful, Madge says, "You're soaking in it" at which point the lady recoils and reflexively pulls her hand out of the goo, because soaking in dishwashing liquid is not her idea of what happens during a fancy manicure...naturally. Madge simply rolls her eyes, chuckles and pushes the lady's hand back into the bowl. Nuff said.

Lately I've found myself needing a little touch of Madge in my reality as I agitate around the idea of what life is supposed to look like. My expectations of how job interviews are supposed to go, the way story assignments are meant to unfold, what intimacy in relationships feels like and what communication between friends is meant to be. I've found myself taking a turn down Frustration Avenue and, no surprise, discovered a dead end street there, having stopped breathing in the air of joy that I really do know exists.

Today as I ran around Central Park and really paid attention to how gorgeous the day was and took in some deep deep breaths, I started to find my way back to the realization that things don't often look or feel like you think they should or would, and actually that's rather amazing. That in choosing to go down that particular avenue of F that I was chasing a mirage of how I thought things should go, at the mercy of other people's timing and ideas, forgetting that I can choose to accept things as they are and keep my hand there, or pull my hand out if I'm honestly not feeling it. And inside of all those moments there is real wonder, excellence and joy plus challenge, too, as long as I pay attention and let it come, let it be.

Life, I'm soaking in it. Thanks, Madge.

slip and slide

This is the view from the bedroom window during a particularly steamy summer 2011 sunset. It's gorgeous, eh? (That's New Jersey across the Hudson River.) When this pic was taken it was during a week when the temperature had reached about a million degrees (actually 100-and-something including humidity) and the Hudson was uninhabitable for the regular kayakers, jet-skiers, and even swimmers (oh, yes they do) because a sewage plant had sprung a leak of toxic materials that had yet to be stopped or cleaned up. Yet still, when you look at this picture, it's a beautiful thing to see, shimmering light, heavy-weighted clouds, and hot sun)!

I'm currently having moments that remind me that day-to-day, minute-to-minute, the challenge is how I see things, take them in, trying not to bring enormous amounts of backstory and judgment to the situation. If I take the picture apart, I guarantee I won't let myself just appreciate what's in front of me. For instance, I've always had a picture of myself writing a blog entry at least once a week, that hasn't happened. Of course that's been on my mind for the last few weeks and I painted myself a bit ugly because of it, but at some point I just thought "I'll get to it" and now I'm here.

While that was one I let myself off the hook on fairly quickly, it appears there are other things in my life that I feel I have to root around in, get dirty with, wrestle to the ground, and somehow, er, tame/understand/solve. And, even as I write that the snarky voice in my head says "Right. How's that workin' for ya?" actually, not so well, as I found out this last weekend during class. I thought I needed to revisit a song that carried a lot of history and weight (oh, taskmaster-self, why do you rule me so...when I let you? ). I thought I'd make it my own. The thought process went a little like this: Look at how far I've come, healed, I'm gonna dance it out to that song that floods me with uncomfortable memories and make it my own....

And wow what a weird ride it was. First of all, the notes started and I absolutely froze, paralyzed, couldn't move. I'm lucky enough to have a teacher who recognized this wasn't moving me anywhere anytime soon (in fact she said "It's like foreplay that goes nowhere" which I thought brilliant, since that about sums up why this song is such mindf$%k for me). She switched it to a something similar, but much more cathartic for me. But then I went nuts and suddenly their was anger rising up and spilling out, which was okay except I wasn't really paying attention to myself, taking any care of my body (and, if the ladies there weren't so excellent knowing this room is where it can all roll safely, I'd have sworn that I became very scary). In that moment I was so angry that I couldn't solve this thing. Make myself all better. I raged against it.

And here's the thing that finally came to me as I unpacked it all in the hallway with my teach: there's nothing to solve. I'm fine. It's done and I didn't need to revisit anywhere (hence my paralysis as there was nowhere for me to go). I've moved through this stuff and while some slip and slide happens, there are times I need reminding that a moment in life is just a moment. It won't be wrestled and tamed. Doesn't need to be. Can just exist in its own space, though I may touch-pearls-and-wave at it once in awhile just to know I can. If I take the picture apart, thinking I can put it back together again the way I want it to look, I'm just going to lose a piece here and there and it will come out all cubist. It's fine how it is.

When I was little I had a summertime toy called a Slip'n'Slide that was basically a strip of long, flat plastic, the width of a body, that you ran a hose through so you could, er, slip and slide down the length of plastic, picking up speed&getting soaked as you hurtled toward the end. As I remember it, when I first got it I mistakenly placed it facing the street and if I'd lived on a busy street--instead of one little-traveled--would have ended up being dumped straight into traffic and flattened by a car, instead I ended up with some scrapes and a mouthful of pebbles. But that didn't stop me from loving this toy and using it almost every day during the summer (after unfurling it in the backyard away from traffic). This, to me, becomes a metaphor for the here&now (and beyond) because I will slip and I will slide and I will end up with a mouthful of pebbles and some scrapes and I will end up squealing with joy and getting soaked, too. Even as I go back in time to look at snapshots of my life, and even write stories about them, I'm not going to wrestle with them or try to repaint the picture. My gallery of life.

One of my dance luvuhs sent me this article that ties into soooo perfectly and worth the (very quick&lovely) read! Tiny Wisdom: Letting Go of Painful Memories