As the snow falls steadily here in East Lansing, Michigan, I am reminded of where I was at this time a year ago. After returning from a particularly cold car ride back from the dance studio, my father and I had pushed all the furniture aside in our basement and set up a cd player to practice our Father-Daughter Dance. We took weekly lessons and practiced most nights to achieve a presentable dance at my wedding, an event I don't think my father had planned to take place so soon, but he was a good sport. We counted out loud and practiced our steps in time, but completing the dance without one of us forgetting a step or moving in the wrong direction was a rarity. From practicing in front of my family to simulate an audience to a dress rehearsal with me in heels and my prom dress (couldn't bring the wedding dress out yet!), we did everything we could to perfect that dance. I won't lie and I am a bit embarassed to say -- I was a control freak at that time. If I could have made a minute-by-minute schedule of exactly everything that would take place at my wedding, I would have.
As most wedding planning and weddings go, there were lots of unexpected things along the way. The Father-Daughter Dance went great, and while we had some mistakes, no one seemed to know. What I hadn't planned on, though, was the weight of my full, heavy beaded, lace dress causing my dress to slowly slide down my body as we stepped and twirled. I said to my dad during the dance, "I feel like my boobs are about to pop out," and he looked down at me with his shocked eyes and answered a simple, "They are." Of course, I fixed that quick. Right there with the spotlight on the dance floor I hiked my dress back up to where it was supposed to be.
The Bride and Groom Dance wasn't much different. We didn't have time to take dance lessons since Darek was in law school, but my mother had helped us choreograph a simple dance to "It Had To Be You." We practiced the week before and since the dance was so simple, we never had a problem. The second we hit the dance floor, though, every twirl was coupled with the motion of my harm dinging Darek in the head. He kept looking at me like, "What are you doing?" I couldn't help it - it just kept happening!
During the ceremony, another unplanned moment took place when Father Rick looked at Darek and I standing up by the alter and whispered, "Who is bringing up the bread and wine?" Darek and I looked at each other with our minds running through the roles we had assigned everyone and trying to remember from the rehearsal the night before. Realizing we had overlooked that detail, we answered, "We don't know." Father Rick smiled and smoothly descended from the alter down to the aisle, asked our parents to stand up, and directed them to the back where the bread and wine could be found as if nothing had ever gone wrong. His calmness was contagious and we smiled at him graciously as he joined us again at the alter.
Prior to the wedding, a curve ball was thrown my way when my dress, which I had been measured for, showed up and was a bit on the long side. Due to the detailed lace on the gown, it could not be altered without changing the very design I had fallen in love with. My only option was to wear heels, an obvious thing on my list of Things Not To Do at my wedding since my soon to be husband measured in at a slightly shorter height than myself. This is not something I care about in our relationship, but I did not want my wedding pictures to reflect myself as a gangly giant. So after purchasing my shoes, we went on a search for "man heels" and to Darek's relief, we were unable to find any. Writing about this makes me laugh. The amount of time I spent during those last few weeks trying to find a way to make Darek taller than me is just purely insane! We even asked our photographer to stand us in a way that made us look the same height. Our final solution? Darek and I made a late night trip to Wal-Mart and bought not one, but two pairs of insoles to place inside his shoes in hopes it would lift him up a bit. The poor guy suffered for hours on our wedding day with his feet smushed into a pair of dress shoes that fit BEFORE we bought the insoles,... but he did it for me without complaining. Did it make a difference in the pictures? Who knows? I actually didn't even notice our height when we got them back. Since then, I have learned that some things really are not that big of a deal.
I have also come to recognize that many times the things unplanned are the things that are most memorable. My mother and I spent months and months shopping for her dress to wear at the wedding. I wanted her to look and feel beautiful walking down the aisle with my father and I. With complete honesty, I can say my mother looked spectacular. What I remember most about her, though, is her walking across the wooden dance floor at the reception hall in her brown leather slippers with the fuzzy fur from the inside that spilled out over the edges. I could not stop laughing. She said something to the effect of, "I came prepared." Immediately, I sent the photographer in my mother's direction to capture that moment in our life.
Lastly, I learned that no matter how much we try to stage the future, we cannot control it. A year ago today, all I knew was that in a year I would be living in an apartment in East Lansing with my husband Darek. I know I had hopes about the type of career I would have, but nothing concrete. I definitely would not have said that I would have just received my admission to Michigan State Law School and that I had been offered a significant scholarship enabling me to attend law school at the same time as Darek. I also would have sadly said that we would not have a dog, since our apartment was not dog-friendly. However, things change, and so did our apartment policy, and we now have our little girl Tula, a black goldendoodle, who has been the best addition to our family so far.
So with the New Year coming and the urge to schedule our activities and whereabouts of each month, I must refrain from making our plans too rigid. I'm learning that only God has control. While I will continue to put forth my best effort to make good things happen, I'm well aware that something even better may take place.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
A Lesson Learned From Proofreading
As a newlywed (6 months in, I can still say that right?) who lives in a new apartment in a new town with a new life, I have found that "extra hours" are few and far between. I'm not complaining, though, I love this life. But as a busy girl, I told myself when I began this blog, that I would not strive for perfection. As a matter of fact, I vowed to only scan the article once for mistakes, post it, and leave it as it is. Writing for me is fun, truly an enjoyable way I like to spend my time. An attempt to correct all the run-on sentences or to make sure each comma is in its proper place would turn the process into more of a hassle than a hobby. Would I like to work as a creative writer? Of course! However, until that day comes, I will leave the proofreading to the professionals.
It is important to note, though, that the choice to not proofread does not carry over to the work I do for my employers and beyond the fact that I always want to put forth my best work, there are now other reasons I have become a proofreading master. Currently, I am a 'Case Readiness Writer' at a law firm that handles a lot of Social Security Disability cases. My job is to delve into the medical records of each client I am assigned and to record my findings in a presentable format to the judge prior to the hearing. The documents I have written have ranged anywhere in length from two to ten pages, with some taking three hours to write and others taking nearly a week to finish. There are so many variables that determine the time it takes to complete a document such as the number of records and the format of records, which sometimes can be difficult to read (You've seen doctors' handwriting!). So, at the end of writing a lengthy document, opting out of seriously proofreading the material can be tempting, especially since the material is proofread again by the attorney, given back to me to make changes again, and then, finally, submitted to the judge. But I have learned in the past few weeks that sucking it up and slowly rereading the document for errors is absolutely necessary.
A few weeks ago I was assigned to prepare a document for a case that had loads, I'm talking LOADS, of records. I had also recently been given a goal for the number of documents I am to achieve by the end of the quarter. When I opened the file, I knew that this document was going to seriously hinder me reaching that goal. After reading hundreds, maybe thousands, of medical records, and summarizing what I felt were the issues most important to winning the client's case, I took a deep breath and exhaled. Then I began to quickly scan the document so I could begin another and get back on track of reaching my goal. I made the changes, saved the document, and began to send the message letting the boss know it was complete, but something in head told me I read it too fast. I sat there a minute and thought, "Dang my conscience!" I scrolled back to the top of the document to carefully reread it again. Only about a minute into rereading, I let out a loud, "Ha!" after noticing a mistake I had missed that could have been very awkward if the document had been given to the attorney. My "s" key has been acting up lately and the part of the sentence that was supposed to read, "as big as" had instead been typed, "a big as*." I laughed and then sighed in relief that I had caught the mistake. Then, I read on. Not less than two paragraphs later I let out an even louder, "Ha!" I could not believe what I was seeing! The part of the sentece that was supposed to read, "performed an examination," read, "performed an sexamination." I thought to myself, "Wow, this document is a lot more entertaining then I had realized!" I am happy to say that was the last of the mistakes, but I was hesitant to send in the document after such surprising discoveries.
The experience quickly reminded me of other times in my life when I had not been lucky enough to prevent sheer embarrassment. When I was in sixth grade, one of the questions on my history tests asked "What ocean is located on the East Coast of the United States?" I wrote, "Atlanting Oceat," which sounds like, "Pacific Oh, Shi*." The teacher circled the answer in red and called me in the hallway during class to ask me if I was trying to be cute. I looked at the word and told her I must have gotten in a hurry and mispelled it. Not until later did I even realized what she was upset about. I clearly was not trying to be cute.
More recently, I almost sent one of the most inappropriate text messages to my mother-in-law without even knowing that I had typed such an inappropriate phrase. My mother-in-law was on vacation and had sent me a text message about the fun activities they had planned for the day. I meant to type, "Lucky duck!" As I pressed SEND, I looked down at my cellphone screen. My eyes widened and my heart pounded out of my chest as I read the words, "Lucky *uck!" I pressed the cancel key as if my life depended on it and after about five seconds of pounding on the key and still reading the words, "Sending Message," I was spared the awkward moment of having to call and explain the text when the words changed to, "Message Canceled." Whew!
Regardless, I am still going to publish this post after scanning it just once. If you do find a mistake that your eyes just can't believe, at least you will know that the stories I tell are true.
It is important to note, though, that the choice to not proofread does not carry over to the work I do for my employers and beyond the fact that I always want to put forth my best work, there are now other reasons I have become a proofreading master. Currently, I am a 'Case Readiness Writer' at a law firm that handles a lot of Social Security Disability cases. My job is to delve into the medical records of each client I am assigned and to record my findings in a presentable format to the judge prior to the hearing. The documents I have written have ranged anywhere in length from two to ten pages, with some taking three hours to write and others taking nearly a week to finish. There are so many variables that determine the time it takes to complete a document such as the number of records and the format of records, which sometimes can be difficult to read (You've seen doctors' handwriting!). So, at the end of writing a lengthy document, opting out of seriously proofreading the material can be tempting, especially since the material is proofread again by the attorney, given back to me to make changes again, and then, finally, submitted to the judge. But I have learned in the past few weeks that sucking it up and slowly rereading the document for errors is absolutely necessary.
A few weeks ago I was assigned to prepare a document for a case that had loads, I'm talking LOADS, of records. I had also recently been given a goal for the number of documents I am to achieve by the end of the quarter. When I opened the file, I knew that this document was going to seriously hinder me reaching that goal. After reading hundreds, maybe thousands, of medical records, and summarizing what I felt were the issues most important to winning the client's case, I took a deep breath and exhaled. Then I began to quickly scan the document so I could begin another and get back on track of reaching my goal. I made the changes, saved the document, and began to send the message letting the boss know it was complete, but something in head told me I read it too fast. I sat there a minute and thought, "Dang my conscience!" I scrolled back to the top of the document to carefully reread it again. Only about a minute into rereading, I let out a loud, "Ha!" after noticing a mistake I had missed that could have been very awkward if the document had been given to the attorney. My "s" key has been acting up lately and the part of the sentence that was supposed to read, "as big as" had instead been typed, "a big as*." I laughed and then sighed in relief that I had caught the mistake. Then, I read on. Not less than two paragraphs later I let out an even louder, "Ha!" I could not believe what I was seeing! The part of the sentece that was supposed to read, "performed an examination," read, "performed an sexamination." I thought to myself, "Wow, this document is a lot more entertaining then I had realized!" I am happy to say that was the last of the mistakes, but I was hesitant to send in the document after such surprising discoveries.
The experience quickly reminded me of other times in my life when I had not been lucky enough to prevent sheer embarrassment. When I was in sixth grade, one of the questions on my history tests asked "What ocean is located on the East Coast of the United States?" I wrote, "Atlanting Oceat," which sounds like, "Pacific Oh, Shi*." The teacher circled the answer in red and called me in the hallway during class to ask me if I was trying to be cute. I looked at the word and told her I must have gotten in a hurry and mispelled it. Not until later did I even realized what she was upset about. I clearly was not trying to be cute.
More recently, I almost sent one of the most inappropriate text messages to my mother-in-law without even knowing that I had typed such an inappropriate phrase. My mother-in-law was on vacation and had sent me a text message about the fun activities they had planned for the day. I meant to type, "Lucky duck!" As I pressed SEND, I looked down at my cellphone screen. My eyes widened and my heart pounded out of my chest as I read the words, "Lucky *uck!" I pressed the cancel key as if my life depended on it and after about five seconds of pounding on the key and still reading the words, "Sending Message," I was spared the awkward moment of having to call and explain the text when the words changed to, "Message Canceled." Whew!
Regardless, I am still going to publish this post after scanning it just once. If you do find a mistake that your eyes just can't believe, at least you will know that the stories I tell are true.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Get Lost
Last Saturday, I did one of the most physically challenging things I have ever done in my nearly twenty-four years of life. I ran in the Hawthorn Half-Day Relay. By just looking at the name, "Half-Day Relay," the event doesn't sound too bad. Maybe three or four hours of running with several people right?..... WRONG. I think the name was what tricked me. Even though I read the description of the race and chose to sign up with my husband, Darek, I don't think I actually comprehended what finishing this day would actually feel like or the effect it would have on me. It was life changing.
So what exactly was the race? Well, it was a twelve-hour relay trail run through the woods, up ridiculous hills, through wetlands, and past a campground. Darek and I signed up for the "ultra team," or a two-person team. Other teams consisted of six individuals, or some people chose to sign up as a "Superman" or "Superwoman" and took the race on by themselves. There weren't many rules for the race. In our category, each runner could only run a total of 2 laps (6.2 miles or 10k) before switching off to the other runner. Our goal was 62 miles, meaning we each had to run 31 miles. We came prepared. We had figured out the number of laps we would run and each change-over was mapped out so that we would finish the race with time to spare. We brought lots of water, G2, electrolytes, and powder to mix with our water to increase our endurance and keep us from cramping and it was all set up under our tent where we rested during our short breaks. What didn't we plan for? The 92 degree weather with a 102 degree heat index and a humidity that was so thick, it seemed we had to decided to go for a jog on another planet. we also thought the short breaks would be a good thing, but we quickly learned otherwise. Warming up, working up a sweat, and then sitting down for 30-60 minutes before doing the same thing over and over again is a tricky thing for the body. I drank, walked, and stretched during each break, but I was always so stiff and never ready to jump back on the course when I saw Darek emerging from the woods and nearing the end of his loop.
How did it go? We each ran 31 miles, a total of 62 miles for our team, in under 11 hours. To be honest, I don't remember much of it. Looking back, I have NO IDEA how I completed that distance in those conditions. The longest run I had completed prior to the run was 12.4 miles. I think that Darek and I were so determined to complete the race and had been told by so many people that we wouldn't finish, we would get sick, or that it would be much more difficult than we were making it out to be, that when we showed up that day, failing wasn't an option. I didn't feel much the whole day. My body was running, but mentally, I was somewhere else. There were moments I would snap back to reality, like when I would enter the wet lands and the air was so thick it choked me, or when I smelled of bacon coming from the campfires at the campgrounds, but for the most part, I was not in my body.
The only explanation for what happened that day and how I was able to make it through without falling down from exhaustion, muscle cramps, or just straight up pain, was that I allowed myself to get lost by being present in the moment in a very different way. For me, "losing myself" is the main reason I enjoy running. It is the only time I let go of everything and allow myself to just "be". I don't think about work, the dishes at home, or my plans for the week. Instead, I experience the surroundings. I feel the warmth of the sun rays dance on my skin as the clouds move quickly past the sun, or listen to the geese talk to one another on the edge of the swamp imagining what they are saying as I move past them through the grassy trail above. For the most part, true thoughts are non-existent, just a flicker of an idea that quickly passes. Through this process of letting go, running becomes a type of meditation for me and I become a part of what I see and what I hear. My awareness of putting one foot in front of another while I swing my arms and move over land begins to fade and I lose myself.
In fact, the week of training before the relay, I allowed myself to become so lost, that I actually was unaware of where I was running and when I snapped back into reality for some reason or another, I was quick to realize I had no idea how to get back to where I had come from. Unfortunately, actually getting lost somewhere meant I had to be very present and aware while I was running for a while so I could find a road I recognized, and fortunately it didn't take me long to figure out where I was.
Getting lost, when you think about it, is a funny idea. We should all allow ourselves to get lost on a consistent basis because it is very freeing, but it is something that we can't necessarily make happen. Getting lost just happens naturally, it is a completely unconscious act. The most we can do, is find an activity that comes so naturally, that we enjoy so much, and that is so repetitious that we don't even have to think about. While for me, it is running, for others it could be a variety of different activities. For instance, while I never spoke with her about it, I believe my grandmother got lost in her housework. She loved presenting a clean beautiful home surrounded on the outside with flowers. She also loved to spend hours outside gardening. For her, I think she knew how to perform those tasks so easily, that doing it was therapeutic. She got lost in her housework. Wouldn't that be something?! If we could all get lost in our work, I think we would be much happier people.
Even a week after the event, I feel like a new person. Achieving a lofty goal I had set for myself may be a part of this "high" I have felt since the race, but I can't help but wonder if a large part of this feeling of peace and confidence is the product of losing myself for 11 hours straight and letting go of "me" for a day.
So what exactly was the race? Well, it was a twelve-hour relay trail run through the woods, up ridiculous hills, through wetlands, and past a campground. Darek and I signed up for the "ultra team," or a two-person team. Other teams consisted of six individuals, or some people chose to sign up as a "Superman" or "Superwoman" and took the race on by themselves. There weren't many rules for the race. In our category, each runner could only run a total of 2 laps (6.2 miles or 10k) before switching off to the other runner. Our goal was 62 miles, meaning we each had to run 31 miles. We came prepared. We had figured out the number of laps we would run and each change-over was mapped out so that we would finish the race with time to spare. We brought lots of water, G2, electrolytes, and powder to mix with our water to increase our endurance and keep us from cramping and it was all set up under our tent where we rested during our short breaks. What didn't we plan for? The 92 degree weather with a 102 degree heat index and a humidity that was so thick, it seemed we had to decided to go for a jog on another planet. we also thought the short breaks would be a good thing, but we quickly learned otherwise. Warming up, working up a sweat, and then sitting down for 30-60 minutes before doing the same thing over and over again is a tricky thing for the body. I drank, walked, and stretched during each break, but I was always so stiff and never ready to jump back on the course when I saw Darek emerging from the woods and nearing the end of his loop.
How did it go? We each ran 31 miles, a total of 62 miles for our team, in under 11 hours. To be honest, I don't remember much of it. Looking back, I have NO IDEA how I completed that distance in those conditions. The longest run I had completed prior to the run was 12.4 miles. I think that Darek and I were so determined to complete the race and had been told by so many people that we wouldn't finish, we would get sick, or that it would be much more difficult than we were making it out to be, that when we showed up that day, failing wasn't an option. I didn't feel much the whole day. My body was running, but mentally, I was somewhere else. There were moments I would snap back to reality, like when I would enter the wet lands and the air was so thick it choked me, or when I smelled of bacon coming from the campfires at the campgrounds, but for the most part, I was not in my body.
The only explanation for what happened that day and how I was able to make it through without falling down from exhaustion, muscle cramps, or just straight up pain, was that I allowed myself to get lost by being present in the moment in a very different way. For me, "losing myself" is the main reason I enjoy running. It is the only time I let go of everything and allow myself to just "be". I don't think about work, the dishes at home, or my plans for the week. Instead, I experience the surroundings. I feel the warmth of the sun rays dance on my skin as the clouds move quickly past the sun, or listen to the geese talk to one another on the edge of the swamp imagining what they are saying as I move past them through the grassy trail above. For the most part, true thoughts are non-existent, just a flicker of an idea that quickly passes. Through this process of letting go, running becomes a type of meditation for me and I become a part of what I see and what I hear. My awareness of putting one foot in front of another while I swing my arms and move over land begins to fade and I lose myself.
In fact, the week of training before the relay, I allowed myself to become so lost, that I actually was unaware of where I was running and when I snapped back into reality for some reason or another, I was quick to realize I had no idea how to get back to where I had come from. Unfortunately, actually getting lost somewhere meant I had to be very present and aware while I was running for a while so I could find a road I recognized, and fortunately it didn't take me long to figure out where I was.
Getting lost, when you think about it, is a funny idea. We should all allow ourselves to get lost on a consistent basis because it is very freeing, but it is something that we can't necessarily make happen. Getting lost just happens naturally, it is a completely unconscious act. The most we can do, is find an activity that comes so naturally, that we enjoy so much, and that is so repetitious that we don't even have to think about. While for me, it is running, for others it could be a variety of different activities. For instance, while I never spoke with her about it, I believe my grandmother got lost in her housework. She loved presenting a clean beautiful home surrounded on the outside with flowers. She also loved to spend hours outside gardening. For her, I think she knew how to perform those tasks so easily, that doing it was therapeutic. She got lost in her housework. Wouldn't that be something?! If we could all get lost in our work, I think we would be much happier people.
Even a week after the event, I feel like a new person. Achieving a lofty goal I had set for myself may be a part of this "high" I have felt since the race, but I can't help but wonder if a large part of this feeling of peace and confidence is the product of losing myself for 11 hours straight and letting go of "me" for a day.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
People-Watching
I admit it. I am a peoplewatcher. Yes, I may have earned the title of the creepy girl who sits in the Barnes and Noble Bookstore coffee lounge and not so discreetly stares every person down who walks through the door, but who cares? People-watching gives me a different perspective and allows my mind to wander.
It can be so difficult to take a break from ourselves. Our experiences, our attitudes, and our relationships guide the decisions that we make and the paths we follow. To do anything that is different from what we normally do or how we do things can be a true challenge. This is the first reason I am a peoplewatcher. When we come in contact with individuals in our day to day lives, we many times judge others without knowing it. We group people into the categories of "like me" or "not like me." When I people-watch, though, I do my best to merely observe and appreciate each individual. From the physical traits of hair color, height, weight, clothing style, facial expression, and gait, to less visible characteristics such a dialect, smell, the types of book individuals read, interactions with family, friends, and the sales clerk, and the type of pastry or drink an individual purchases, it is difficult to group anyone into categories even if I wanted to. We are all so amazingly different and interesting.
Secondly, I enjoy people-watching because it is entertaining. Usually, I am most entertained by interactions and conversations between people. For instance, yesterday, I was at Subway waiting in line to order my Veggie Delight and I had the opportunity to people-watch the family in line ahead of us. The family consisted of three boys and a mother. I could not get over the constant interaction between the oldest son (only about ten) and the mom. It was an intense conversation decorated with hand gestures. Unfortunately for me, they spoke quietly and out of earshot. I didn't even realize how long I had been standing in line behind only this one family when a worker came to me and said, "Sorry. The line is moving slowly because the mother can't speak English and her children are trying to translate everything." I couldn't imagine how the family must feel, especially the mother. How difficult it would be to perform necessary interactions with the world outside of your own family if your only means of communication was through your young sons who also spoke limited English. As the family left Subway, I felt that as young as they were, they had a connection, a bond, that most families never have.
Lastly, I enjoy seeing happy people. As a people-watcher, I do see both the unhappy and happy, but through these experiences, I have recognized that although we may unfortunately allow the unhappy individuals to leave a greater impact on us, there are actually many more happy people than it may seem. These are the individuals I focus on when I people-watch. I love seeing people take joy in the simple happenings of life. I love seeing the two-year-old's little, chunky legs move as fast as they can to get to his dad who raises the child high above his head in laughter. I love watching the elderly couple slowly walk down the sidewalk as they smile and hold hands, telling the world their love has lasted without saying a word. I love seeing a family separated by college and careers come together over dinner as they each narrate their lives and reminesce about their childhood. Most of all, I love taking the time to see these things happen, and I love asking myself, "What do others see when they people-watch me?"
It can be so difficult to take a break from ourselves. Our experiences, our attitudes, and our relationships guide the decisions that we make and the paths we follow. To do anything that is different from what we normally do or how we do things can be a true challenge. This is the first reason I am a peoplewatcher. When we come in contact with individuals in our day to day lives, we many times judge others without knowing it. We group people into the categories of "like me" or "not like me." When I people-watch, though, I do my best to merely observe and appreciate each individual. From the physical traits of hair color, height, weight, clothing style, facial expression, and gait, to less visible characteristics such a dialect, smell, the types of book individuals read, interactions with family, friends, and the sales clerk, and the type of pastry or drink an individual purchases, it is difficult to group anyone into categories even if I wanted to. We are all so amazingly different and interesting.
Secondly, I enjoy people-watching because it is entertaining. Usually, I am most entertained by interactions and conversations between people. For instance, yesterday, I was at Subway waiting in line to order my Veggie Delight and I had the opportunity to people-watch the family in line ahead of us. The family consisted of three boys and a mother. I could not get over the constant interaction between the oldest son (only about ten) and the mom. It was an intense conversation decorated with hand gestures. Unfortunately for me, they spoke quietly and out of earshot. I didn't even realize how long I had been standing in line behind only this one family when a worker came to me and said, "Sorry. The line is moving slowly because the mother can't speak English and her children are trying to translate everything." I couldn't imagine how the family must feel, especially the mother. How difficult it would be to perform necessary interactions with the world outside of your own family if your only means of communication was through your young sons who also spoke limited English. As the family left Subway, I felt that as young as they were, they had a connection, a bond, that most families never have.
Lastly, I enjoy seeing happy people. As a people-watcher, I do see both the unhappy and happy, but through these experiences, I have recognized that although we may unfortunately allow the unhappy individuals to leave a greater impact on us, there are actually many more happy people than it may seem. These are the individuals I focus on when I people-watch. I love seeing people take joy in the simple happenings of life. I love seeing the two-year-old's little, chunky legs move as fast as they can to get to his dad who raises the child high above his head in laughter. I love watching the elderly couple slowly walk down the sidewalk as they smile and hold hands, telling the world their love has lasted without saying a word. I love seeing a family separated by college and careers come together over dinner as they each narrate their lives and reminesce about their childhood. Most of all, I love taking the time to see these things happen, and I love asking myself, "What do others see when they people-watch me?"
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Yummmm.... Chocolate Milk
This blog is going to be short and sweet, with an emphasis on SWEET! If you are a chocolate lover, read on!
Loving chocolate might be just the reason to take up running, cycling, swimming, or even to begin training for your first triathlon. As each week has gone by and I've put my body through the stresses of training for my first triathlon, I have also challenged myself to find the perfect recovery drink. I was tired of waking up every morning with my body feeling exhausted and my muscles burning. I tried drinking LOTS of water, drinking Gatorade, and cutting out all the junk food I eat. Drinking water and Gatorade wasn't so bad, but staying away from the sweets was difficult. Everytime I went back to the junk food, though, I felt so sick during my workouts. Then, I remembered something my father told me about a year ago while he was training for not only his first triathlon, but a full blown Ironman. At the age of 59, he completed the Ironman and will again be competing in June at the age of 60. One day after about a twenty mile run, he went straight to the refrigerator and poured himself a big glass of chocolate milk. I made a funny face as he took a big satisfying gulp of the drink. He told me that a study was performed that found chocolate milk to be better than any recovery drink people spend fortunes on for training.
Craving for chocolate a few weeks ago, I decided to google the chocolate milk study. I am happy to say, from what I found, it is true! There are definitely more studies that need to be done, but compared to Gatorade, water, and Endurox R4, chocolate milk performs just as well or even better for many athletes. It is important to note, though, that chocolate milk should only be used after training for sports that stress high endurance like cycling, running, or swimming. Chocolate milk not only contains almost double the carbs and protein of other recovery drinks, but its water content is enough to replenish the lost fluid through sweat. It also contains the added bonus of calcium and the right amount of sugar and sodium.
So, next time you find yourself craving for deliciously creamy chocolate, go for it. Just remember to run, cycle, or swim first. Sounds like a GREAT plan to me. Now, isn't that a bright spot in your day?
Loving chocolate might be just the reason to take up running, cycling, swimming, or even to begin training for your first triathlon. As each week has gone by and I've put my body through the stresses of training for my first triathlon, I have also challenged myself to find the perfect recovery drink. I was tired of waking up every morning with my body feeling exhausted and my muscles burning. I tried drinking LOTS of water, drinking Gatorade, and cutting out all the junk food I eat. Drinking water and Gatorade wasn't so bad, but staying away from the sweets was difficult. Everytime I went back to the junk food, though, I felt so sick during my workouts. Then, I remembered something my father told me about a year ago while he was training for not only his first triathlon, but a full blown Ironman. At the age of 59, he completed the Ironman and will again be competing in June at the age of 60. One day after about a twenty mile run, he went straight to the refrigerator and poured himself a big glass of chocolate milk. I made a funny face as he took a big satisfying gulp of the drink. He told me that a study was performed that found chocolate milk to be better than any recovery drink people spend fortunes on for training.
Craving for chocolate a few weeks ago, I decided to google the chocolate milk study. I am happy to say, from what I found, it is true! There are definitely more studies that need to be done, but compared to Gatorade, water, and Endurox R4, chocolate milk performs just as well or even better for many athletes. It is important to note, though, that chocolate milk should only be used after training for sports that stress high endurance like cycling, running, or swimming. Chocolate milk not only contains almost double the carbs and protein of other recovery drinks, but its water content is enough to replenish the lost fluid through sweat. It also contains the added bonus of calcium and the right amount of sugar and sodium.
So, next time you find yourself craving for deliciously creamy chocolate, go for it. Just remember to run, cycle, or swim first. Sounds like a GREAT plan to me. Now, isn't that a bright spot in your day?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Live in the Memories
As we age, build new relationships, gain knowledge, and take on new responsibilities, it is easy to forget who we once were. It seems as though we are living life in fast forward with barely enough time to take in the details or to really let ourselves enjoy, absorb, or even dislike anything completely. Our minds are always somewhere else like who we need to call and catch up with, what groceries we need to buy, or what chores need to be done around the house before visitors come. About three years ago, I let all these things begin to overwhelm me. As an undergraduate biology major, college athlete, a girlfriend in a serious relationship, and a girl away from home where two of her dearest family members were suffering from Alzheimer's disease and colon cancer, I began to have severe anxiety that led to panic attacks. I was willing to do anything and everything that could help me escape the anxiety. I tried breathing exercises, going on long runs and lifting weights to expel the stress, getting more sleep, eating healthy food, and even taking medication to help me feel "normal."
Finally, I went to get help from a professional who specialized in generalized anxiety disorder. It took one meeting for me to never have a full blown panic attack again. He taught me the power of the mind. He told me a story about a study of the human mind's ability to raise our own body temperature. Individuals were put in a chilly room, hooked up with sensory probes to their finger tips and their temperatures were recorded as they imagined themselves sitting next to a fire, running in the sun, or laying on a beach - they could think of anything that made them feel warm. Within ten minutes, the majority of individuals had increased their body temperature a significant amount (I don't remember the detailes because it was only a brief conversation years ago). The doctor then went on to tell me how I could use the same method to decrease my anxiety. His recommendation was to think of my favorite place to be and lay and meditate about it for at least fifteen minutes every day. For the first year, I mainly thought about family vacations. I was laying on a big pink beach towel next to my mom in the sand, listening to the waves, absorbing the heat, and feeling the warm breeze on my cheeks. By the end of the fifteen minutes, I always felt relaxed and positive about the rest of the day. No matter what happened - I had that memory to go to.
Over time, I've realized there are millions of memories I have and memories I am still making that take me to that place of peace. I have also learned that I am only one of many (nearly everyone!) who deals with anxiety. Currently, I am in a chapter of my life where anxiety is low. I am accepting, though, that this will continue to change throughout life and I am fully ready to deal with it. Even now, when panic attacks are no where in site, I still take time every week to just lay down and live in memories. Today, when I woke up, I thought as far back as I could to find my first memory. I was three years old riding in our blue Aerostar mini van with my mom as the driver and my sister, who was six or seven years old, and one or two of her friends in the passenger seats. They kept asking me how old I was. I would raise up three of my little fingers, smile, and proudly say, "Free." I could not pronounce the "th" sound. The girls would laugh and giggle and ask me again. I knew they thought it was cute so I did it over and over on command.
Living in our memories is a way to be ourselves in a different stage of our life and to fully appreciate who we have become. It is also a way to find peace in moments of chaos and refuel ourselves to confidently take on the day.
Finally, I went to get help from a professional who specialized in generalized anxiety disorder. It took one meeting for me to never have a full blown panic attack again. He taught me the power of the mind. He told me a story about a study of the human mind's ability to raise our own body temperature. Individuals were put in a chilly room, hooked up with sensory probes to their finger tips and their temperatures were recorded as they imagined themselves sitting next to a fire, running in the sun, or laying on a beach - they could think of anything that made them feel warm. Within ten minutes, the majority of individuals had increased their body temperature a significant amount (I don't remember the detailes because it was only a brief conversation years ago). The doctor then went on to tell me how I could use the same method to decrease my anxiety. His recommendation was to think of my favorite place to be and lay and meditate about it for at least fifteen minutes every day. For the first year, I mainly thought about family vacations. I was laying on a big pink beach towel next to my mom in the sand, listening to the waves, absorbing the heat, and feeling the warm breeze on my cheeks. By the end of the fifteen minutes, I always felt relaxed and positive about the rest of the day. No matter what happened - I had that memory to go to.
Over time, I've realized there are millions of memories I have and memories I am still making that take me to that place of peace. I have also learned that I am only one of many (nearly everyone!) who deals with anxiety. Currently, I am in a chapter of my life where anxiety is low. I am accepting, though, that this will continue to change throughout life and I am fully ready to deal with it. Even now, when panic attacks are no where in site, I still take time every week to just lay down and live in memories. Today, when I woke up, I thought as far back as I could to find my first memory. I was three years old riding in our blue Aerostar mini van with my mom as the driver and my sister, who was six or seven years old, and one or two of her friends in the passenger seats. They kept asking me how old I was. I would raise up three of my little fingers, smile, and proudly say, "Free." I could not pronounce the "th" sound. The girls would laugh and giggle and ask me again. I knew they thought it was cute so I did it over and over on command.
Living in our memories is a way to be ourselves in a different stage of our life and to fully appreciate who we have become. It is also a way to find peace in moments of chaos and refuel ourselves to confidently take on the day.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Go Do It!
With the Spartans making it to the Final Four, Easter, and Darek and I hosting visitors from both sides of the family, the past few weeks here in East Lansing have been packed full of activities. To my dismay, however, I sat down to write today and realized that my blog has been pushed to the curb for the last three weeks. I am happy to say, though, that for now, I am back writing entries full force! Of course with three weeks of fun and exciting things to write about, it is difficult for me to choose my topic for this entry, so I have decided to write on an issue that is not exactly current, but rather always present in one way or another.
To start, I would like to ask two questions, "What are you doing that you WANT to do?" and, "What do you WANT to do, but you are NOT DOING?" For the past six months or so, my goal has been to really focus on figuring out what I want to do and actually doing it. Of course, there is a wide range of things a person can focus on from a career, to relationships, to hobbies, to completing a one time act. So far, there have been three things that I realized I whole heartedly want to do and I have achieved or am in the process of achieving these three things.
First, I chose to chop off my hair. While I had donated 10+ inches to Locks of Love two times in the past, never once had I gone as short as I really truly wanted to. Since I was little (probably 6 or 7), I can remember my brother's AAU team making bets on how far they would make it in a tournament and the loser had to shave his head. I remember jumping in and making a bet, but then being told that even if I lost, I could not shave my head because I was a girl. About a week or so later, I saw an add on television with a beautiful woman who had short, spiked hair and looked fabulous. Though I rarely spoke of it and grew my hair out very long throughout high school, in my heart I wanted short hair. I just wanted to know what it felt like and how I would look. Unfortunately, I knew that hair 'that short' was not eactly accepted for a girl, especially of my age, so I kept it at least at my shoulder and usually much longer. However, about two weeks before my wedding in January, something came over me and I told my husband, "After our honeymoon, I am cutting my hair similar to a boy cut." To my surprise, he was very supportive- which I know now is the reason I was able to find the courage to do it. For the first time in my life, I had a person who honestly loved me for me and knew that regardless of my hair length and my appearance, I was me. I told him that if I didn't cut it off now that for the rest of my life, I would wonder what I would have looked like and how it would have felt. Without a pause, he said, "Go for it!" Then, with a grin he said, "You will look like a sexy model." He made it so easy. He even went with me to the salon when I got it chopped. He didn't freak out when they cut it off, he took pictures of the whole thing, and then when we left he said, "It looks really good. You seem so spunky now!" The whole process was liberating. No more blow drying, straightening, or scrunching my hair. I also, for the first time in many years found out my actual hair color due to it all being chopped off. Something about the whole process made me feel authentic and for the first time, I didn't look to others for approval.
Second, I started drinking eight glasses of water a day. While this does not even compare to the impact the hair cut had on my life, staying hydrated is something I have 'planned' on doing for years. As a person who likes to run and work out, I barely drank enough water to sit on my rear and watch tv all day. I was a hydration failure. So, for Lent, I decided to give up being dehydrated and choke down the water even if I didn't want it. In some ways it was more difficult than the hair cut because it wasn't a one time act. It was something I had to continuously be conscious of day after day in order to insure that I drank eight glasses. Even after Lent, I have continued to drink as much water as possible. While I still sometimes fall short, I am much more hydrated than before and physically feel much healthier.
Third, I am currently training for a triathlon. My whole life I have loved to run and be outside. I love to sweat with the sound of birds in my ears and the breeze on my skin. However, sometimes I found that running day after day became somewhat burdensome and really took a toll on my knees. So, I decided to add in swimming (I am terrible, but LOVE IT), and biking. The mixture of workouts is easier on my joints and keeps me from getting bored of my workouts. My goal is not to finish the triathlon in a certain time or to beat a certain number of people, but rather to finish. I just want to enjoy the process, which I am thoroughly doing. At the same time, my body is not only becoming physically stronger, but I can feel myself gaining a mental and emotional strength that I did not have. I am becoming aware of the many things I am capable of that I once thought were impossible or too difficult to even try. Even if I don't finish the triathlon, I won't be disappointed. The benefits from getting to the point of even standing at the starting line are numerous and if I don't finish it, I will just sign up for another one until I do.
Of course, these things that things that I WANTED TO DO. You, however, may think these things sound awful, or maybe you do them already. What is important is that you find what it is that you want to do - what it is that makes you happy. Don't let others opinions, the time it takes, or the effort it takes hold you back. Along the way, I promise, you will learn a lot about yourself.
To start, I would like to ask two questions, "What are you doing that you WANT to do?" and, "What do you WANT to do, but you are NOT DOING?" For the past six months or so, my goal has been to really focus on figuring out what I want to do and actually doing it. Of course, there is a wide range of things a person can focus on from a career, to relationships, to hobbies, to completing a one time act. So far, there have been three things that I realized I whole heartedly want to do and I have achieved or am in the process of achieving these three things.
First, I chose to chop off my hair. While I had donated 10+ inches to Locks of Love two times in the past, never once had I gone as short as I really truly wanted to. Since I was little (probably 6 or 7), I can remember my brother's AAU team making bets on how far they would make it in a tournament and the loser had to shave his head. I remember jumping in and making a bet, but then being told that even if I lost, I could not shave my head because I was a girl. About a week or so later, I saw an add on television with a beautiful woman who had short, spiked hair and looked fabulous. Though I rarely spoke of it and grew my hair out very long throughout high school, in my heart I wanted short hair. I just wanted to know what it felt like and how I would look. Unfortunately, I knew that hair 'that short' was not eactly accepted for a girl, especially of my age, so I kept it at least at my shoulder and usually much longer. However, about two weeks before my wedding in January, something came over me and I told my husband, "After our honeymoon, I am cutting my hair similar to a boy cut." To my surprise, he was very supportive- which I know now is the reason I was able to find the courage to do it. For the first time in my life, I had a person who honestly loved me for me and knew that regardless of my hair length and my appearance, I was me. I told him that if I didn't cut it off now that for the rest of my life, I would wonder what I would have looked like and how it would have felt. Without a pause, he said, "Go for it!" Then, with a grin he said, "You will look like a sexy model." He made it so easy. He even went with me to the salon when I got it chopped. He didn't freak out when they cut it off, he took pictures of the whole thing, and then when we left he said, "It looks really good. You seem so spunky now!" The whole process was liberating. No more blow drying, straightening, or scrunching my hair. I also, for the first time in many years found out my actual hair color due to it all being chopped off. Something about the whole process made me feel authentic and for the first time, I didn't look to others for approval.
Second, I started drinking eight glasses of water a day. While this does not even compare to the impact the hair cut had on my life, staying hydrated is something I have 'planned' on doing for years. As a person who likes to run and work out, I barely drank enough water to sit on my rear and watch tv all day. I was a hydration failure. So, for Lent, I decided to give up being dehydrated and choke down the water even if I didn't want it. In some ways it was more difficult than the hair cut because it wasn't a one time act. It was something I had to continuously be conscious of day after day in order to insure that I drank eight glasses. Even after Lent, I have continued to drink as much water as possible. While I still sometimes fall short, I am much more hydrated than before and physically feel much healthier.
Third, I am currently training for a triathlon. My whole life I have loved to run and be outside. I love to sweat with the sound of birds in my ears and the breeze on my skin. However, sometimes I found that running day after day became somewhat burdensome and really took a toll on my knees. So, I decided to add in swimming (I am terrible, but LOVE IT), and biking. The mixture of workouts is easier on my joints and keeps me from getting bored of my workouts. My goal is not to finish the triathlon in a certain time or to beat a certain number of people, but rather to finish. I just want to enjoy the process, which I am thoroughly doing. At the same time, my body is not only becoming physically stronger, but I can feel myself gaining a mental and emotional strength that I did not have. I am becoming aware of the many things I am capable of that I once thought were impossible or too difficult to even try. Even if I don't finish the triathlon, I won't be disappointed. The benefits from getting to the point of even standing at the starting line are numerous and if I don't finish it, I will just sign up for another one until I do.
Of course, these things that things that I WANTED TO DO. You, however, may think these things sound awful, or maybe you do them already. What is important is that you find what it is that you want to do - what it is that makes you happy. Don't let others opinions, the time it takes, or the effort it takes hold you back. Along the way, I promise, you will learn a lot about yourself.
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