Rube's Musings: Just Add Water and Stir...but Don't

I’ve been asked a question (a few times) through my life in various social/online settings that always confounds me and today I’ve taken the time to really think about it as well as address it. 

Here’s the question:  What do you like to do/What be your hobbies?

I’m lumping these together although I understand the nuanced differences between the two questions.  Laziness is a total disease and should be diagnosed and treated.  I’m willing to be the test dummy for this particular study.  And I’m sure there are other folks about me who would be relieved as well because they too are affected by it, thanks to me.  But moving on to the question…

This is why I become all befuddled when someone asks these particular types of questions.  Sure, as a young’un I could have answered that with some bit of alacrity, such as, “um….I love to bike *pause*…and to read *pause*…and play the flute *pause*…” (wow, seriously though how much of a geek was I?!).  But as an adult, nyet.

I just don’t think life is so interesting, wait, scratch that, I’m not that interesting (life is just fine) anymore.  I’m still a geek and boring as hell.  I like to read…still, and I like to write…more than ever, and while I don’t play the flute anymore…I like listening to it.  But this sorta boring stuff isn’t what makes me interesting to other adults, I don’t think.  It makes me, as I said, boring.  Most are looking for “well I like to go hiking and then kayaking and then maybe run 610 miles in an hour and then maybe wrangle some sort of wild animal and then…etc, etc, etc….” 

Good gracious.  Really?

And how does one staple all this down to just a few interests anyhow?  For instance, if I was truly forced (as in someone holding a gun to my head) to answer this sorta question, it would be more on the lines of something like this:

I like to go on long drives, alone, where I blast my music and ignore the world and indulge in my guilty pleasures of song choices (like Mylie Cyrus).
I like to sit and blog on a sunny patio somewhere listening to my ipod and sipping a cool glass of something.
I like to read a good book, curled up on a piece of comfy furniture and get lost.
I went horseback riding, and liked it.  Does this count?
I once went ATV’ing and was a speed demon.  Does this mean I ‘do’ this?
I like to laze on the beach and feel the wind on my skin.
I love long hikes during the fall when the colors of the world is in the midst of changing and I capture it on my camera.
I love cooking all sorts of foods, when I’m not feeling lazy (really, that study needs to be done already before this becomes an epidemic).
I like to color, paint (which I do badly), doodle, sketch, try anything artsy for the first time.
I like to debate…that’s it…I like to debate.
I like to research random crap so that I feel more enlightened and can hold a conversation.
I like to try on different make up techniques which I use once and then never employ again because I forget them at the time or because of…yes, laziness. 
I like to put on crimson red lipstick when I’m feeling down because it gives me a personal ego boost.
I like to post nonsense on FB that makes others laugh.
I like to go to the Asian grocery store to wander the aisles and discover all sorts of new things.
I like to watch documentaries and cry, alone. 
I love to talk philosophy with just about anyone.
I like to sit and watch people because isn’t that the best thing in the world?
I like to be sarcastic and I’ve honed the art form hence I use it, with relish (and mustard and ketchup).
I like to be in the kitchen with my mom as she cooks and the house is filled with familiar scents of childhood.
I like to go to Dunkin Donuts with my bro and the cousins so we can gossip.
I love to sit with my dad and learn the music of my forefathers.
I like to text/chat with my besties and then when I see them, act as if we haven’t texted/talked in forever. 
I like decorating Christmas trees, putting out Halloween decorations, watching clouds float across the sky, listening to morning birds chirp, laugh while watching kids playing (in a completely non-creepy way), listen to the rain against the roof, gaze at snow falling and blanketing the earth…

You see what I’m getting at here?  I like all sorts of random (and not so random) things and sometimes nothing at all.  All these things and so many other things makes me…me.  I am a complex person who has yet to discover so many “possibilities” I may love to do and won’t know until I try.  So how can I tell you?  Life presents a vast array of options that to pigeonhole myself and say ‘this is what I like and don’t like’ is foolish to me and not giving myself credit.

For instance, I may not ever entertain the idea to go flinging myself off great heights but if someone binds me up and throws me off a plane with a parachute, who knows…(okay but this isn’t an invitation of any sort to do this because I will exact revenge shortly thereafter even if I loved the experience.  Just sayin’).

Here’s my suggestion (because I’m positive that absolutely everyone is waiting for it breathlessly): if you feel so inclined to know someone and ask them what they like to do?  Don’t.  Just don’t.  Make conversation.  Take the time to discover them.  Ask them about life and experiences because through that you will easily find out the rest of it all and it’s not a forced subject where they have to shove everything into a few generic sentences.  Half the fun of meeting anyone new is to discover who/what they are and it’s not in one swift ‘go’.  Watch as their eyes light up, as their posture change, as they lick their lips in anticipation because there is something they’re dying to reveal about themselves and someone who seems legitimately interested and (miraculously) listening.  Treat them like they are a fascinating package, a wonderful surprise, which you slowly open and with great anticipation. 

Stop living in a ‘just add water and stir’ world, basically.  We crave instant gratification and that in the end, isn’t gratifying at all although we’ve convinced ourselves it’s what we want/need. 

Slow the hell down, Folks, it’s as simple as that.

Blog Challenge: Wrestling/MMA

I’m up late all the time, as most know, and often take to watching any sort of documentary which zings my interest that’s available either on Netflix or TV.  These rots the brain much less than “Real Housewives of…” or anything of the same ilk.  Admittedly once in a while I’ll become absolutely captivated by an infomercial where my hand itches to purchase whatever nonsense is being offered but those are few and far in-between.  Otherwise I’ll opt to read or write.  I’m so evolved and mature, aren’t I?  Yea, right. 

And the best thing about watching documentaries?  You learn so bloody much!  Like for instance, last night on CNN, I watched a new show called “This is Life” with Lisa Ling.  She explores and delves into what one would call unconventional lifestyles and explores the inner workings, uncovers dark secrets and gets to the core of the life itself.  The one I caught sometime around 2am was about MMA (Mixed Martial Arts).  Let me preface the rest of this blog with this:  I’m not badass enough to say that I know anything about this sport or even follow it.  I watch it on occasion because I recognize pure skill as opposed to it’s predecessor, Wrestling Mania or the Wide World of Wrestling, which is a joke as we all know now.

Side bar:  I remember when I told P how wrestling was all acting and staged.  He staunchly refused to believe me until I showed him a documentary (see how that works) which basically busted the whole darn thing open and exposed wrestling for the fraud it really was.  That basically shut him up.  I admit I felt bad for like, a second, because the devastation ran so deep and then I thought, ‘suck it up, Buttercup’ and moved it along. 

But back to what I was saying…as I laid there stretched out on the sofa steadfastly ignoring my body screaming for beddy-bye in the wee hours of the morning, my epic laziness won over the need to change channels as I settled into watching the show referenced above.  Surprisingly enough, and hours later as I pretty much dragged myself to bed, I was thoughtfully pondering about what I had watched since initially I hadn’t found the topic all that appealing yet it had me wondering how myopic my world truly was in so many ways. 

This particular show was not simply highlighting the inside world of MMA fighters but specifically female fighters and a part of the segment was dedicated to girl fighters, as in children.  So apparently there are junior female MMA fighters (just to be redundant).  Color me shocked.  Yes, and there is blood and pain and in fact just watching the fight on the tube made me flinch something mad and as Lisa pondered, I too did the same speculating, as to who these parents were that allowed their child to get pummeled in such a brutal fashion.  And really I’m not exaggerating when I say brutal.  With every kick and jab my stomach clenched thinking, “I would never, ever allow my kid…”  First, don’t have a kid so that’s that but if I did…just saying.

But this is where I speak so freely of my myopic vision of the world even though I think I’m broadminded.  I was being so dang judge-y of these parents yet as I watched I realized that I didn’t and don’t know squat. 

There was a little girl who was being interviewed, she was…I don’t remember her age, but young, maybe 12?  She had bushy brown hair and thick glasses with a face full of pimples, awkward and soft spoken with a pretty yet unsure smile.  She reminded me of me when I was that age.  She elaborated about being bullied, about her insecurities and then about her world after it was exposed to MMA.  The transformation of this child was, well…gratifying.  No, this wasn’t some Molly Ringwald sorta moment because she still looked the same but without a doubt she was clearly empowered and confident, finding a passion and love for something that although far outside the norm of a girl her age, probably was teaching her focus and discipline.  Her parents, who stood on the sidelines indeed watching their daughter get thrashed (she lost the match that she was preparing for), spoke bravely of supporting her, worrying for her, fearing for her but still, supporting her regardless of what others thought and sometimes even what they thought.  I found them to be brave, to be honest, unable to imagine the demons they battled within themselves every time she got into the ring.

My take on this was that I have a long way to go in truly being non-judgmental.  And I mean a long way.  There I was, in a snap thinking how horrible these people were, what could possibly possess this kid to do that to herself and yada, yada but in reality, I was so hugely wrong.  If I have to be honest (and I try that every now and then) I was rather enveloped with a sense of awe at the parents’ unflagging support of their kid who was finding her own individual and unique self.  Ironically, I posted a blog earlier about finding just this, one’s true self even against the odds and others opinions but I didn’t make the connection (which shows you yet again how limited my vision can be) and glad that I did via this blog.  Oh, and I have to thank my girl S, once again, because I asked her for a blog topic and she immediately spat out “wrestling” and although this isn’t precisely what I’m writing about (hey, I mentioned it above) it made me recall the documentary from yesterday and started to piece my thoughts together.

And about that young little girl…she’s amazing.  Like I mentioned, she lost the fight but I feel like this little one is going to definitely win the battle in life. 

If you haven’t caught the show, I recommend that you do.  I can only say that it opened my eyes.  Now, I’m onto more enlightenment.  I believe this is gonna be a difficult road. 

*Sigh*

You ARE Beautiful...No Matter What

To the sisters of my heart, to those I know and don’t know, to all the women out there…this is for you…

Embrace your…

Supple flesh, round and abundant or diminutive slim and wispy bodies, for the flesh is a gift to you;
Wrinkles because they bespeak wisdom and experiences;
Blemishes which add character and depth;
Pock marks that tell of stories and struggles;
Big or small ears from which to dangle baubles and bling (or not);
Bulbous or pug nose to smell wonderful smells from which memories are created;
Eyes in all shapes and sizes that observes all the wonders of the world;
Height, Tall or short or in-between because at the end of the day, it’s the one you’re supposed to be;
Bow-legs or knobby knees;
Thick ankles or muscular calves;
Long hair with split ends or short pixie cut or the beautiful bald;
Lips that seem too thin, or equally too thick but which smile either way;
Complexion, so light that one can see the veins running beneath the alabaster of the surface or as dark as the velvety midnight sky or any glorious shade that creates a rainbow of humanity;  
Boobs that are perky or ones that have nurtured and given sustenance;
Shaved to perfection or all natural because either you’re all about your natural self or attentive;
Feminine by instinct or masculine by attitude (and sometimes disposition);
Fashionista side, tomboy unaffectedness or even the non-descripts who prefer to stay under the radar;
Gregariously extroverted self, quietly introverted being or even hanging somewhere halfway;
Bookworm side, social divaocity, closed-off walls-up ways, opened up to every adventure-ness, traveler/nomadic spirit or home is the only hearth kinda human being…
Or everything and anything else in-between…

Embrace yourself.  And believe it or not all these differences, every single last blessed one of them, is what makes YOU beautiful, whoever you are and whatever you look like and wherever you’re from.

Ladies, I’ve gone through a lifetime of self-doubt and self-loathing, comparing myself endlessly to her, or her, or even her.  I’ve been force fed to believe in order to be attractive I had to look a certain way, behave a certain way, speak a certain way and I failed.  The consistency of these failures repulsed me, made me feel weak and worthless.  I deserved to be ignored, overlooked, to be treated as if I were invisible.  I trained myself to look down at the ground, not making eye contact, never engaging because I was afraid of the disgust I would see in the gaze of others as they beheld the embodiment of what a loser truly was and that…sucked. 

I used to stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself, wishing, plotting…I would change everything!  A complete overhaul and it was all focused and centered on everything external.  Maybe liposuction, a jaw lift (if there was such a thing), or could they put in some sort of stilts under my skin to be taller?  I scoured every news outlet and pursued every avenue of information that would lead me to the best way to go about doing this and it never really worked.  I still failed.  And once again a cycle of self-loathing began.

However, and to my credit, aside from my closest friends no one really knew how deep this dislike for myself coursed through my very blood.  I avoided pictures like the plague, as I mentioned before in a previous blog, and would beg people to tear up or cut me out of ones they wanted to display to the world. 

I was exhausted.

So when did things change then?  When did I learn to embrace me?

Funny how one tragedy can lead us out of another and that in essence is what caused me to take a good long hard look at myself. 

I’ve spoken at length about a lot of personal tragedies and pains in my blogs.  It has never been in order to garner pity or sympathy but rather to help anyone else who may be feeling alone and struggling.  So to that degree, I wrote at length about my childlessness.  Those blogs where I’ve referenced it were never ones that I wrote with a bounce to my step.  Rather the opposite, I often found myself in tears as I put thought to paper.  The return though, private messages and emails thanking me for sharing, was worth the price of the tears. 

Just to recap though, after a lot of medical procedures and multiple forays into the world of reproductive therapy, I came out at the end childless and heartbroken, being told in essence that becoming a mother would be unlikely.  I retreated into myself for a long time trying to grapple with this news, blaming myself squarely for the biggest failure of my existence while at the same time knowing intellectually that it wasn’t my fault, it was simple biology.  That didn’t matter.  None of it mattered. 

Through the course of those nightmarish years (and yes, I mean years, not days or months), while I smiled through every bit of that excruciating pain, receiving news of my own friends getting pregnant, watching bouncy babies being born and cuddling them close while wishing for my own, trying to be there for those who needed me, be the person I had been, never thinking my pain was more epic than anyone else’s…I was dying a little inside, manically searching for something that would put balm on my wounded spirit and fill the void in my heart.

I’ll tell you now that never happened, not really.  The void will always be there and I will always, always yearn.   To-date I never willingly speak of this particular topic.  Yea, sure I will reference it when it’s important, to help someone else through it but I personally do not need to discuss it in reference to myself or my own emotions.  It’s terribly closed off of me but that’s okay, this is my coping mechanism.  That’s not to say I’m in denial, it’s simply that I’ve dealt with it and have moved along (somewhat). 

But this comes right back to why I’m even writing this blog.  With the advent of this ultimate failure of my very reason for existing (for some would argue that’s why we, women, exist, on a biological level and that’s for procreation) I had to fall back on something to help me live on and I assure you that was the trick, how to continue to breathe. 

Thus with little other option, I started to begin the journey of self-realization.  Oh god, that sounds so cheesy but it was precisely that.  Now, Folks, everything I’m about to say is no real big secret, nothing you do not know or haven’t heard many times over but it helps to sometimes read it in context as opposed to random inspirational quotes, memes, wooden block etchings…I needed to answer these questions:

What was good about me?
Would I want to know me, if I weren’t me?
Were there any redeeming factors in me even when I did wrong?
Did I have some sense of morals?
Was I selfish or self-centered (beyond what is human and normal)?
Was everything that I saw in the mirror really that bad if I broke it down piece by piece?
Did it truly matter what others thought of my body, looks and what did that say about themselves if they did?
Who was I trying to impress beyond God?
What purpose did outer perfection serve if the inside was ugly?
What was beauty really worth?
Did I need to learn to love myself despite all these flaws?

And there were way more questions but I systematically started to go about seeking out the truths about my own psyche and it was wondrous because I began to shed all these notions about beauty that I had so adamantly clung to throughout my life.  Now that I reflect on it, maybe it was because there was still hope that if I changed enough, improved, beautified myself to the extent where it was socially acceptable, I had something to look forward to and that this…me…wasn’t it.  I would be admired and adored and fawned over and somehow I would attain nirvana, the Holy Grail in a way. 

But because I hadn’t been able to attain that ultimate body that I wanted, or everything else that was supposed to be on the outside, it reflected in my attitude both on the inside and out.  I didn’t like me so there was no way that others would want to get through the barriers/walls I had erected around myself.  I hid my true self away from the world.  Yet, as these questions, one at a time, were being answered I let go.  I laughed a little more freely, I wore what I wished instead of fretting that I was being judged.  I went without make up and let my hair be and stay greasy because I was just too lazy to do anything about it.  More importantly, I started to speak my mind, share my knowledge, wit, smartassary without caring one wit.  In essence, I was slowly releasing myself.  And it was glorious.

Do I still fight these demons?  Yea, of course I do.  I still avoid the mirrors and when someone wants to take a full length picture, I hide.  I post pics of myself on FB and wonder if one day a person won’t meet me in person and say I totally misrepresented myself.  And I can tell you that I often feel like the step-child from fairy tales who is ignored, even at the age of 43.  But here’s the thing, it’s okay to feel this way.  I’m okay with it.  Because I can only be who I am and anyone who wants me in their lives will have to accept me as I am.  That maybe the biggest lesson learned here: self-acceptance.  I can’t, in fact, be her, or her, or even her.  I can be me and that, to you my dearest sisters, is the message here.  Be your authentic self.  Let go of these ideals in which we bind ourselves.  Free the mind first and everything else will follow.  Slay some of your demons, don’t let them control you.  Fix which you can, embrace that which you can’t.  Accept you will have your good, and bad days because you have the right to having them but do not allow anyone else to make them good or bad days.  Take that power away from them and keep it for yourself.  And know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this journey of self-loving is a long and complicated one full of barbs and walls and scary monsters that try to push you off course and have you doubting yourself.  Don’t let anyone/anything win.

I hope this blog helps anyone who is struggling.  Again, you are beautiful, however and whoever you are.

Lots of love going out to all my ladies.