Yes, those are hashtags, my friends. Hashtags. Because I have a terrible sense of humor.
I've been thinking about what makes us unhappy. I struggle (everyone but my husband does, I'm pretty sure...) with unhappiness. What makes me feel high? What makes me feel low? How do I avoid the things that incite rage/sadness?
You can't. Impossible = avoiding calamity, whether in the form of a screaming three year old, a dog eating the trash again, an asshole driver, or any other thing that causes discontent. Those things... they come anyway. Sometimes as a trickle. Sometimes as an onslaught. Try to fight them, and you'll get mowed down. Give in too much, and you'll get swept away. Strike a gentle balance where you let it pass over and around you, and that might get you somewhere. Or nowhere, if that's your intent.
So you can't avoid it, but you shouldn't go out and seek unhappiness in your moments. This is what I think we are most guilty of as fellow people on this planet. Instead of taking in where we are in the moment, we fight against it...
What if we all took a moment to look up from what we are doing, and instead of grinding away at our lives, engaging in our lives. Give up the need to drive ahead to tomorrow and choose to, in the words of Garth from Wayne's World, "Live in the now, Wayne, live in the NOW." Instead of using the instagram filter on our lives, enjoy the filter-less version, good-bad-ugly, in the moment, breathing into the world and into your life. Opt to believe the best about those who love us, not the worst. Accept things as they are, knowing they won't always be that way, and that every moment of life and growth is a special moment to be cherished, culminating in the best you. Active in your life, but not forceful.
I challenge you. #nofilter.
22 July, 2014
06 July, 2014
"They're Just Friends You Haven't Met Yet..."
I went on a ridiculous bike ride the other day. Part of this trip was some Dirty Dozen Hill preview fun. "Fun." By fun, I really just mean standing at the bottom of the steepest hill I've ever seen, and crying like a fool for twenty minutes, because I wanted to climb so badly, but my logical mind kept telling me it was a bad idea. I felt like I could walk up and lean my bike on it. Climbing it would nearly defy the laws of physics. And though it seems like an impossible feat, every Saturday after Thanksgiving (and apparently other times throughout the year when the hill is actually open...), people do, in fact, climb it. The other two killer hills we climbed that day were challenging, but I made it up with no trouble.
At some point in the ride, I told Paul this was stupid, and I really didn't want to come do the race anymore. I was serious. As we talked, he said most of the hills were no worse than anything I'd see at home. I told him I felt like those were hills I knew, old friends whom I climbed regularly. I'm a fairly closed person, and I confess I don't always like meeting new people. Situations where I will are stressful. I feel the same way about hills.
Hard hills always feel to me as though I have to let down my guard and be really candid; I don't like that. I thrive on situations where I am in control, and don't like to give that up. Paul pointed out that hills I don't know are, "just friends I haven't met yet." And on some level, that's true. Ravine and Center Street left me hurting, but hungry for more. I'm sure that if I can convince myself to attempt it, Berry Hill Road will do the same.
But I'll be honest... that was the hardest 8-9 miles I've ever ridden. Complaints about challenging rides at home go out the window riding up here. I look at some of these roads and wonder how on earth they ever paved these streets. It's baffling. Berry Hill closes during the winter because it can't be plowed. Cobblestones are aplenty on other hills. Strange riding around these parts. If my cycling days had begun in this town, I'm not sure I'd be riding still. My standard for "hard" has changed. No longer will I say, "Well, I can make it up Alto, I can do x." Henceforth, my standard will state, "I rode up Ravine and didn't die. I can do this."
I need to work on unshrouding myself, being consistently real and taking risk. Meet new people and roads candidly, and allow myself to grow.
At some point in the ride, I told Paul this was stupid, and I really didn't want to come do the race anymore. I was serious. As we talked, he said most of the hills were no worse than anything I'd see at home. I told him I felt like those were hills I knew, old friends whom I climbed regularly. I'm a fairly closed person, and I confess I don't always like meeting new people. Situations where I will are stressful. I feel the same way about hills.
Hard hills always feel to me as though I have to let down my guard and be really candid; I don't like that. I thrive on situations where I am in control, and don't like to give that up. Paul pointed out that hills I don't know are, "just friends I haven't met yet." And on some level, that's true. Ravine and Center Street left me hurting, but hungry for more. I'm sure that if I can convince myself to attempt it, Berry Hill Road will do the same.
But I'll be honest... that was the hardest 8-9 miles I've ever ridden. Complaints about challenging rides at home go out the window riding up here. I look at some of these roads and wonder how on earth they ever paved these streets. It's baffling. Berry Hill closes during the winter because it can't be plowed. Cobblestones are aplenty on other hills. Strange riding around these parts. If my cycling days had begun in this town, I'm not sure I'd be riding still. My standard for "hard" has changed. No longer will I say, "Well, I can make it up Alto, I can do x." Henceforth, my standard will state, "I rode up Ravine and didn't die. I can do this."
I need to work on unshrouding myself, being consistently real and taking risk. Meet new people and roads candidly, and allow myself to grow.
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