Tag Archives: metaphor

Flaming martinis and other things of non-importance.

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Newark: I had a three hour layover with a seven and a half hour flight ahead of me, so after going to the bathroom twice out of boredom, I decided to get some food and drink that would make my eyes water a bit. So, I bought an overpriced panini and an extra dirty martini; the type of martini I ordered back home on a Friday night with the girls to wash away the agony of a week passed, and the dread of another to come. Only, the bar olives were stuffed with red chilies,  and the waiter cautioned me several times that my drink “wouldn’t taste right”. But I like the idea of a mingling of things that don’t seem quite right together, so my dirty martini became a sweaty, dirty martini. The red chili, a burning flame in the murky shallows of vodka. The taste a symphony of salty, smoky and spicy. Not overly complicated – just an added bite to an off-the-menu sort of drink. And I thought to myself -the way I always do when some form of symbolism strikes me- “There’s a bigger picture here.”

Things started out a bit rough at the airport several hours before. I couldn’t even find my airline – it was an affiliate of United with no mention of United anywhere – and it took over an hour and a half to check in because of countless issues. By the time I finally did, I was charged nearly $500 for two overweight bags. I reluctantly paid, fretting as a I always do, making calculations, thinking about paying what I did for 20 pounds of hairspray and nail polish. Then I literally ran to make my plane; I was the last one to board.  And then I decided to let it all go. Because it was done and was now a thing in the past. The simple past, for anyone who knows much about grammar.

Sitting in the airport in Newark, I was looking around at the people walking by: kids in marshmallow jackets being tugged by their parents, young couples holding hands strolling along kiosks of neck pillows and packs of gum, friends laughing and teasing as they sat lined along their terminals, eating Pizza Hut and sharing headphones with one another. That’s the candid beauty of an airport – the unexpected calm. Everyone is moving and sitting, rushing and waiting. Unknown sounds swarm through a sea of nationalities, humming as they float up through a ceiling of sun-stained glass. I pretend to know what country the words are from and laugh at myself for not having the slightest idea. They are just sounds to me and I can’t distinguish where one ends and another begins. I wonder if English sounds the same way to someone who doesn’t know it. I convince myself that isn’t the case.

I slept a little one my last flight – the only way I know to sleep on a plane: with my head tilted all the way back, mouth wide-open, mouth-breathing, my $20 neck pillow sitting on my lap. Then I heard the wheels, then felt the bump-bump-bump of an amateur landing. Careful as items in the overhead bins may have shifted during flight. Follow the signs to baggage claim.

I can’t completely convey the sinking feeling that takes place in the pit of ones stomach when luggage never makes it to the conveyor belt. Once you realize luggage is no longer coming up, you look around the belt with the conviction that you simply did not see your bag. Then panic slowly sets in, and you scour the area, walking around the entire belt. Then you start giving people dodgy looks, wondering who would take your bags. You make lunges at a few strangers before realizing that isn’t necessarily your black duffle bag they are wheeling behind them. Then there’s a calm sense of purpose as you walk up to the baggage help desk. Then anger as you realize the form you are filling out has been filled out a million times before and your things are no more important that any of those other times. Then the realization that those are your things. Then a returned sense of hope as, surely by now, your bag has been returned. Then more anger. Eventually, apathy takes over as you realize you can live without it all but secretly hope you don’t have to. There is a sense of victory once that bag arrives though.

So it has all been perfectly dramatic. The type of drama we all secretly crave so we have exciting stories to tell, the tools we use to keep our listeners on the edge of their seats. The way we leave 5 minutes after we should, tempting fate and congratulating ourselves when our bets pay off. And there have been more of these dramatic encounters, even in the last day, of tight deadlines, missing money, and getting lost in a city I know nothing about. But, tonight, after sitting on a tram 11 stops too long, getting dropped off somewhere on a bridge in the middle of nowhere, and eventually taking three trams to get back to my apartment, all I could think about was a little red chili that fit so unexpectedly well inside an otherwise ordinary martini.

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Day 41: Sting like a Butterfly

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There’s a theory in communication called the Social Exchange Theory. It’s based on a system of costs and rewards you assign to relationships. Basically, when you feel that the costs outweigh the rewards, you terminate the relationship because you no longer get any pleasure out of it. I’ve certainly terminated a few relationships in my short lifetime. There are people who I used to be extremely close to that I began dreading being around. People who drained the optimism out of me just by being themselves. I never want to turn my back on anyone, but I don’t want to spend the limited time I have surrounded by black holes who suck the happiness out of the room either. That sounds grim, but there are unfortunately people who have that effect on me.

I know fights happen. I know that people get mad about things that don’t always make sense to others. I tend to consider myself a pretty go-with-the-flow sort of person. I tend to care more about resolving a conflict than expending the energy it takes to be upset about it. Afterall, we learn about each other through stepping on toes, hurting feelings, and punching it out. If you’re mad, there’s hope. When you become apathetic is when you should consider if a relationship has any place in your life.

I fight with my mom more than anyone else in the world. We’re finally at this magical place where we can yell and scream and get it all out, then take a breath to cool off and laugh at how ridiculous we are. When you love someone, pride has no place in your relationship – saying sorry is easy because it’s not important who is right or wrong – all that matters is that they know you love them. When you love someone, you get in the ring, take a few swings, then take a shower and buy them a latte. As long as the person gets in the ring with you, the fighting lets you get to know that person even better, it makes you closer, lets you love each other just a little more.

I have that relationship with a lot of people. Today, I realized that I’m glad that I’m the kind of person who will throw off my gloves and take a few hits, but I’m never too proud to apologize, or compromise, or do what I have to for someone I love. In the scheme of life, being right seems to be the least important thing of all.

Day 19: Katie

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This project to find something every day to be thankful for has made me realize how many little things happen in my life that I enjoy so much. Some of them are small, like a good nail polish color or getting a free drink at Starbucks, and some are a lot bigger, like being healthy, having a good family and having everything I need. Because of 140 days of Prague, I remind myself all day, multiple times a day, how many great little things are happening all around me. And the funny thing is, they always have been. Now, I just have my eyes open because I know, at the end of the day, I get to pick the thing that tickled me most and talk about it. Bad things don’t seem so bad, and the little pleasures become larger.

So, everyday, I find myself being thankful for 140 Days to Prague. I’m sure I drive anyone crazy who follows my blog with posting so much, but this is the best therapy I’ve ever had… and I’ve seen professionals.

Back to today. I woke up this morning and talked to my dear friend, Katie for a while. We’ve been trying for weeks to catch each other. With a 13 hour time difference and extremely busy lives, today was the first day we were able to take a full hour and catch up.

Today, I’m thankful to be friends with Katie.

I’m sure many more of these will come because I love so many of my friends so much, but Katie and I had a good chat this morning, so she’s up first. The usual catching up, plus a little bit of politics, a little bit of philosophy, a lot of life.

We haven’t known each other very long – we were no more than acquaintances during college. It wasn’t until after we both graduated and she commented on a facebook post of mine that we even started talking. Although she is on the other side of the world and we haven’t known each other very long, I love that we can sit on the phone and chat about life openly and without judgement. I don’t know many people who I can have meaningful conversation, disagree with on a topic, and still enjoy the discussion so much. If Katie and I would not have become friends, I’m not sure I ever would have taken the leap to Prague. I look up to her courage, her spontaneity, and the joy she gets from life. I know it’s going to be a while until I get to see her again, but I know we will be friends for a long time.

I’m thankful you’re in my life, Katie!

140 Days to Prague

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Somewhere between our situation and our outlook resides our character.

I get that life is complicated. I get that things won’t always go your way. But, sometimes I feel like the universe has a pillow over my face.

This year has been wild. I’ve had a surgery, two car accidents, bought a one-way ticket to Europe and have had more friends get married than I can count. Those are just the big things. In between, I’m dodging calls from boys I want to forget, listening to my mother warn me about “ending up alone”  – including a recent article about how people who live alone die younger – and working behind a desk at a job that I’ve mentally checked out of. And then a million more things like it.

All the stress has been making me a little nuts. Has me seeing a glass half-empty, brown grass sort of world. But yesterday, I was going to get ice-cream with a friend and I put on a pair of jeans that have until recently, been too tight to wear. And I took a good look at my butt and all the rest melted away. I know we are a “big picture” world, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy these little moments of bliss.

Thus, 140 days to Prague is born. A countdown until I leave and start my new life. 140 things in the interim that I find to be thankful for. Just one good thing a day. Suffocated or not, I can find one magical moment every day to be thankful for.

Day 1: The way your bum looks in the perfect-fitting pair of jeans. Hug my legs and cup my cheeks, wash is dark, pockets deep. Thanks, good-ass-jeans.

Broken Heart. The same as a broken anything else.

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The incident.

The initial SNAP.

There’s the slow break. It may happen without you even knowing, causing a dull pain that you deal with, until you finally admit something isn’t right. Wonder how much damage was done by not addressing the dull pain when you first noticed it. Think about what you would have done differently if you would have only been more mindful.

There’s the hard break. Running at dusk, enjoying the fresh cut grass smell of spring, and your leg buckles. Lying on the cement. No warning. Can’t feel the evening sun, the buzzing lawnmowers lose focus, ringing ears. You feel everything and nothing at once.

Symptoms.

Guilt. Remorse. Pain.

The challenging part – admitting that you have a deficiency. You may be the guilty one. Maybe this happened because of your neglect, maybe you could have done something to prevent it.

Wish you could rewind. Go back, stretch, tie your shoes tighter.

Confusion. Betrayal. Hurt.

You did everything you could but the thing you love ruined you. Nothing more to do. Sometimes you can do everything right, yet it still manages to go wrong. You keep telling yourself that. You hope to believe it one day.

The diagnosis.

You see an expert. Obviously broken. You aren’t yourself, you hurt everywhere. You cry and think discouraging things. Every time you move, you are reminded of the pain. You set up a plan for recovery, but you are filled with guilt for now.

Friends tell you not to worry. That this will be a memory soon enough. That you will run again. But you can’t imagine it. The thought of it makes you sick.

The recovery.

Start out slow. Going out, support from friends. Before you’re ready, but you fear you never will be. Wanting to break out in a full run, wanting the instant satisfaction you used to have, missing the momentum, the possibilities. Having to start over from the beginning. Nothing is the same.

Side effects.

Pushing to do more, move forward. But every step reminds you of what you used to be, the gift you used to have. The gift that’s gone. You relapse. You numb yourself however you can. You close your eyes to pretend you aren’t where you are. Wonder if it will ever feel good again.

The prognosis.

You keep stepping, you keep pushing.

Because you have to.

Because you want to believe that everyone else is right and this will all go away.

There will be good days and bad. An entire day will eventually pass where there is no pain. And then a week. Then you will forget that you were ever broken. Eventually, you will be healed. Some evening with overcast clouds and cold rain in the future, you will feel a twinge of pain and be flooded with the old feelings. But you’ll remember getting through it. Remember that you conquered it. And it will be okay.

You will run again. You will be able to see the sunset and smell the spring grass with nothing but feelings of happiness.

You will grow stronger through your healing.

Soulkin – What Love Means to Me

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I don’t believe in a whole lot anymore. The only time I say the words God or Jesus, it is in a fit of profanity. If I had to fill in a bubble on a survey, I’d be some Zen Buddhist, agnostic, atheist, existentialist.  I know that is an offensive contradiction, but I change my mind all the time, and I’m not quite ready to commit to my spiritual status yet. But, despite my lack of spiritual certainty, I’ve become so much more present in my life lately.

I read a short book by Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace is Every Breath, which helps you think about being present in your present. Focusing on what you are doing as you are doing it – centering your mind, narrowing your focus. It’s liberating avoiding multi-tasking. And trust me, I’m a serial multi-tasker. I’ll do squats while blow drying my hair and brushing my teeth and reading a book. That’s no exaggeration. I’m crazy.

So it was a challenge just to read – and only read. To breathe and only breathe, to step and only step. This book, combined with the knowledge of my moving soon makes me appreciate everything I do immensely because I know I won’t be able to see and do and feel these things for much longer. My stimulus is about to change dramatically. So I’ve noticed the world again. The way you imagine a small child sees the world, when everything is new and full of mystery and won’t hurt you. I have been exponentially more happy, far less worried and even more positive towards myself and those around me. Just by being where I am – by doing less – thinking less.

I feel good energy all around me lately, and I’ve noticed it for the first time in a long time.

Again, I’m not sure about some greater power in the universe – we might be functioning off coincidence or self-fulfilling prophecy alone, but every once in a while, the stars line up. I have people in my life who have completely changed the outcome of my life. When I feared a bad relationship would never stop haunting me, it literally packed its bags and moved away. When I was bottoming out in my life, I met a dear friend who challenged me to start a new one. And there are so many of these little happy coincidences to be grateful for. It astonishes me that just when we feel we are at our breaking point, someone comes along to carry some of our burden, and walk beside us. Perhaps someone we never expected to be there in the first place.

I don’t know a whole lot about the Nicholas Sparks, Jane Austen versions of love.  My Pride and Prejudice fantasy ended up being the satirical version with the zombies. But I have so much love for the people in my life – I know people give me those sad expressions when they see my single status, but I just can’t seem to find the feeling that I’m missing out on anything. I’ve had friends sit through sniveling and crying and who have seen my most unshowered, unattractive version of myself, who have stripped me down butt naked and thrown me in a cold shower after a night of binge drinking, who have put up with panic attacks and tantrums and the most irrational and inappropriate behavior you can imagine. The ones who really matter – who have always been there- I know they aren’t going anywhere. The ones that do get away, well, it’s probably the very best thing that they did.

Some people will come and go – some will matter, some won’t. We don’t have time to open our hearts up to everyone, and even if we did, who would want to? The most precious gift you can give someone are your secrets, your time, your trust.  So when you find one of those people – your soulkin – hold on to them as long as they let you. If they want out, be thankful for the time you had together, but let them go. Know that there comes a time when you have to take the gloves off, and have a little trust in whatever it is that you trust. Don’t ever let anyone drag you down on their way out. No matter who it is, they are not worth it. Ever.

Above all, be open to being open. Let in all of the love that you possibly can, and then let in a little more. Accept people who want to be in your life – they see something in you that you may not even see in yourself. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and who will fight beside you. Then be that for someone who needs you. It may make their day, it may give them hope, and it could change you both forever.

Flip a bitch.

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Driving today, enjoying some Lilly Allen, I took a left turn, and ended up about 15 miles south of the right turn I should have made before I noticed. I was on a divided highway and couldn’t turn around. Next exit: 5 miles. Five miles of knowingly driving the wrong way after 15 minutes of unknowingly driving the wrong direction. It made my eye twitch.

Because that’s a frustrating thing, to be driving on a road, going in a direction you don’t want to be headed, and be told you are not allowed to turn around. I did what most people in my situation would have. I examined the height of the median, weighed the consequences, and “flipped a bitch” as the saying goes. Nothing damaged, no cops chasing me, I carried on my merry way.

And I thought,’that was easy’. And it was. I’m sure I broke a few laws, but I saved 5 miles each way. Or rather, didn’t lose it.

So, of course I’m leading to a big, sweeping analogy, because that’s how I make sense of the world and my decisions in it. Here it is:

I drove 15 minutes the wrong direction without even noticing. I was driving. I should have my license revoked at least. But how often do we do this? Keep moving forward with the lowest possible level of consciousness to get us by, a lot of times knowing it isn’t right. Our jobs, relationships, diet, lifestyles, and all of the choices we consistently seem to forget we are actually making. Nothing is just the way it is. We are making the choice every day.

So the next part of that is turning off the radio and tuning in to our lives. Being aware of all of the things happening around us. Making an effort to check in on the people we care about. Making an effort to check in with ourselves. Taking that cooking class, going on that jog, buying that dress that we’ve had our eye on.

We are exposed to countless stimulus constantly throughout our day. We are driven by timeframes and deadlines and the expectations of our bosses, our friends, our lovers, our family and our culture. Often, it feels like we are being pushed by a momentum we can’t control.

But just remember whose foot is on the gas.

If only every decision in life was so simple as flipping a bitch. If only when we felt like we felt like we were going the wrong direction, we took a moment to think about it and then we just turned around. If only people didn’t get hurt in the process, our money was safe and we had insurance on our decisions.

But, we don’t. And that’s scary.

But it might be more scary to wake up behind the wheel one day and not even know that we were the one driving the entire time. So, if the urge strikes you, flip a bitch.