ready to run: how not to panic when everything seems crazy

beachBMW_katespade

photo: Kate Spade

this is me. in my happy place. with my sweet vintage Beemer, a jaunty Kate Spade (i think i actually do have that one) and the freedom of some amazing journey sans any set schedule or responsibility ahead of me. i’ve been going here in my head a lot lately in light of a kind of insane set of circumstances and deadlines at work and a ridiculously full schedule at home, to boot. more and more often, lately i catch myself thinking about how we can sell everything and just move to the beach or wondering how globe-trotting celebrities educate their children, you know, because clearly, we are on the cusp of winning the lottery and will want to follow suit. Continue reading

my first crush

oh, how did you guess this is one of The Daily Post’s prompts?

the first real-person crush i remember must have been in maybe 5th grade? i remember hanging out with my friend Jodie a lot that summer, because she lived across the street from Ricky Whats-His-Name (5th grade was a long time ago, y’all). we all had a crush on him and i’m not entirely sure he ever spoke to any of us. he was a year or 2 older, as i recall. and like many families in Northern Virginia, his didn’t stay more than i think i a year before moving to their next post or . . . whatever.

anyhoo, that was a blip on the radar. between the years of 1977 and 1984, there were other, way more significant crushes on famous hotties.

from Saturday Night Fever to Rio, these were the posters and album covers that made me swoon. the seventies/eightiesness of it all kind of makes me cringe, but i do stand by all these guys as solid good lookers (in their day).

we’ve already had a One Direction moment in our house. i dread to think what Miss Girl will be plastering her walls with. we may have to institute a No Spy Zone for a few years while she works through it. oh, but i guess he will be stationed on the front porch with a shotgun at that point, so paper crushes will be the least of our worries . . .

a plot of earth (and one badass cat)

plotofland(photo: metro.us)

You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please. What’s the plan?

well, nobody ever said it would be a vast or gorgeous piece of land. but i do hope the cat comes with it. that dude don’t play. and he will definitely cut a bitch if you cross him. he’d be real good for a story or 2.

anyway, today’s Daily Post prompt, A Plot of Earth, seems to have a lot of people fantasizing about dream homes, business ventures and creative retreats. me? i’m just seeing green. since we’re fantasizing here, i’m going to imagine i’ve been given a super-valuable plot of land with salivating developers lined up to bid. i’d sell it in a heartbeat and pocket the cash, then get on with my life as a gajillionaire.

i know, boring, right? but here’s the thing. i have a home and neighbors i love. building something new somewhere else would mean leaving all this, which would be a complete drag. i don’t even want a weekend home. Spy and i have talked about it and agree it would feel like an obligation — somewhere we just had to pack up and go to every weekend to “get use out of it” when there are other places to go and regular life to tend to. nobody needs that.

i would love to think i’m the kind of person who would use my gifted land for something totally meaningful like sheltering the homeless, orphans or stray animals. or solving urgent middle-class problems like artists not having anywhere to convene, disconnect from the real world and create. but please. building and running those ventures all sounds overly ambitious. i’m tired just thinking about it.

all i really want to do these days is write, travel and spend time with my family. so show me the money that lets me do those things and don’t tie me down to some piece of land that just becomes another line on my to-do list — even if it does have a spectacular view. or a badass cat.

words of encouragement: proud

FullSizeRender 3it was last Saturday morning. the temperature was hovering around 30° and with Spy leaving for his Europe trip that afternoon, i was in a time crunch. i had to work out before my 10:30 hair appointment. it was the last chance i would have for 2 weeks to go for my morning run on a weekend and i’m really trying with this. really. but it was cold, y’all. and this Southern girl don’t do cold.

trying to catch up on a few things around the house and get him ready for his trip, i was also watching a rapidly closing window of being able to make it to the gym for at least a warmer workout. it would have been so easy to pull an anti-Nike on this sitch and just not do it. but i knew i would be angry at myself the rest of the weekend. and at him for causing this situation in the first place. i mean, damn him for going on a work trip he doesn’t even want to go on and inconveniencing my completely inconsistent and half-hearted workout schedule!

so i put on my big girl pants, a.k.a. running gear. i pitched a fit about not being able to find the awesome gloves i got just for unbearably frigid mornings like this, then pulled my sleeves down over my hands and set out into the cold. the neighborhood streets were still covered in shadows, though the sky gleamed bright blue. i cranked up Buju Banton, hoping a little dancehall would help transport me to a warmer state of mind.

step after step, i hated everything about what i was doing. until somehow, i eventually forgot. outside the neighborhood and into the cemetery, there were no houses to stand in the way of the gorgeous sunshine. and the crisp air slowly became a welcome refresher with each deep breath and passing block. step after step, there eventually was nothing but the next step, the next breath and the next song in my ears.

i made it my 30-ish minutes (it was all the time i really had at that point) and averaged the fastest per-mile pace i have in quite a while. honestly, i think somewhere in my mind i reasoned that if i ran faster, 30 minutes would be over sooner. funny what you can talk yourself into.

by the time i returned home, i was glad i had gone. not just glad, but like overwhelmingly happy. i felt great. invigorated. and i know it’s usually this way. but what felt even more great was that i wasn’t the only person who was a little proud of me. as i raced through the shower and some semblance of sprucing up, Spy looked at me like he does after pretty much every run and told me I’m proud of you for going, sweetheart.

in response to The Daily Post’s prompt today, Proud, that is the last time someone told me they were proud of me.

bone of contention: pants or no pants?

okay, busted. after a 5-day streak of complete athletic awesomeness, i totally admit that i have now not worked out in 4 days. four. so while the consistency of my physical self-improvement kick swirls around in the toilet (oh yeah, the cleanse is kaput, too), i figure the least i can do is not let my writerly self-improvement kick fail miserably, as well. another day must not pass without a post. so really, the least i can do at this point (which is literally the most i can do) is tackle today’s Daily Post Daily Prompt:

Pick a contentious issue about which you care deeply — it could be the same-sex marriage debate, or just a disagreement you’re having with a friend. Write a post defending the opposite position, and then reflect on what it was like to do that.

now i know y’all might be wondering what pants have to do with any of this. pants are not complicated, right? pants certainly are not an issue worthy of debate. oh no, my friends. there, you are wrong. while some circles are hotly debating same-sex marriage, racism, police brutality, freedom of speech, religious extremism and global terrorism, there is another conversation happening that will, no doubt, shape the future of humanity: are leggings pants?

me? i fall firmly on the side of oh hell to the no on this one. no way, no how are leggings pants, nor should they be treated as such. but, for the sake of this exercise, i will imagine that it’s perfectly acceptable . . .

leggingsaspants(photo: trend Soirée)

these ladies say it all, right? leggings don’t need to be kept in the shadows, covered up with a tunic or dress. they can totally leave the gym or a hung-over Saturday sofa sesh and stand proudly on their own as legit pants. they have 2 legs and a crotch just like all your other pants, right? they’re pretty much just the ultimate skinny pants — but more comfortable with more lycra and an elastic waist. also, as evidenced above, they come in lots of different fabrics (including heavier-wright fabrics for more coverage and support) that are appropriate for casual outfits, going out, even work. you’ll even find some these days with fancy stitching and pockets that up both their fashion quotient and wearability. so why discriminate against this ultimate sexy, flexible wardrobe staple?

whew. well that’s done. reflection? i write bullshit for a living, so that sadly didn’t actually feel that weird at all. and it certainly didn’t change my mind. there are too many compelling reasons why leggings should not be treated the same as pants. just Google it. i dare you. but don’t blame me for what you can’t unsee.

in the meantime, in case you are unclear about whether you are wearing pants, check this handy guide. keep your kooch covered and have a fantastic week, y’all!

AM-I-WEARING-PANTS(image: Brooklyn Momma)