Everyone has their kryptonite; be it sugar, fast cars, a sports team, shopping, whatever. A kryptonite is not a hobby, a habit, or an enjoyment. Kryptonite is a compulsion. A crippling power. A power that wastes something within a person; time, money, calories, willpower, etc.
My kryptonite is alcohol. No other dynamic in life justifies itself as falsely, cripples as thoroughly, or clings as closely to my spiritual Achilles heel as drinking does. Why? Yes, it is an escape. Yes, it is a social expectation. But mostly, I'm just good at it.
Other people might live with, and even enjoy, their kryptonite. But I don't have to. I don't have to waste time recovering. I don't have to waste money on something that wastes me. I don't have to waste hard earned muscle, strength paid for in sweat, stress, dollars, diets, sacrifice, dedication, health and tears.
I refuse to be owned by a substance. I refuse to be physically strong, but mentally weak. I refuse to settle for the status quo, or count among my accomplishments any sort of ability to embrace this weakness.
No matter how many times I fall on my face through this battle, I will keep pressing on. Each time, I will stand. Each time I will forgive. Each time I will absorb the blow, and take another step, because I believe in victory.
I am not a superhero, because I refuse to have a kryptonite.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Spiritual Selection
Most days, I feel as though I am in a spiritual black hole. I know that there is something there; it is all around me, and I progress through it, with no guidance, no direct intervention, and no ending. I believe in a being. Whether it is the being of elementary Sunday school, the being of the nation of Israel, the being who calms our spirits during yoga, the being behind all the coincidences and lucky happenings and seemingly unmistakable miracles, or all of the above, it is there. Somewhere.
Sometimes, I go to church. Most times, attendance is out of a sense of obligation, either to my mother, religious friends, deep-rooted inner scripts, or a guilty conscience. Today, I went to church for none of these reasons. I went for me.
I went, because I want to know what I believe. I want to know what I don't believe. If this being is here, I want to know him. I want to know why the only concept that I truly feel grounded in is love. And, if this being, God, is love, how many forms of love he takes on. Is he a selective love, a gender-biased love, a wait till your wedding day love, a temporary love, a passionate love, a gentle yet steady love, a wild love, a love found only in the church pew, or a love found in every plant, star, romantic book, ancient hymn and heathen heart?
Is hell truly a place of brimstone, or simply a place that love has left?
I wonder which is worse.
Sometimes, I go to church. Most times, attendance is out of a sense of obligation, either to my mother, religious friends, deep-rooted inner scripts, or a guilty conscience. Today, I went to church for none of these reasons. I went for me.
I went, because I want to know what I believe. I want to know what I don't believe. If this being is here, I want to know him. I want to know why the only concept that I truly feel grounded in is love. And, if this being, God, is love, how many forms of love he takes on. Is he a selective love, a gender-biased love, a wait till your wedding day love, a temporary love, a passionate love, a gentle yet steady love, a wild love, a love found only in the church pew, or a love found in every plant, star, romantic book, ancient hymn and heathen heart?
Is hell truly a place of brimstone, or simply a place that love has left?
I wonder which is worse.
Friday, November 1, 2013
The War on Wine
My good friend Tia once told me that progress is not constant upward climb, but a series of peaks and valleys, dark places and fresh starts, but continuous, as long as you don't stop. Today is-yet another-of hundreds of fresh starts. I stand once more at the starting line of sobriety.
Why, you might ask. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not dysfunctional. I'm active and fit and healthy and motivated. But, I'm not all I could be. When I ingest alcohol, I break my muscles down. I turn healthy cells into lipase cells, that I then have to fight to turn back into healthy muscle growth. I break down healthy brain function; I invite poor decisions, under utilize the small amount of time given to me on this earth, and deceive those who care about me most.
Here is to the dust I'm brushing off myself once again. Here is to the falling down, the breaking, the mistakes, the heartache, the regret, the resulting motivation, the starting over, and the non-existent finish line.
Why be good, when you can be better?
Why be effective, when you can be exceptional?
Why be drunk, when you can be sober?
Ready, set, run from mediocrity.
Why, you might ask. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not dysfunctional. I'm active and fit and healthy and motivated. But, I'm not all I could be. When I ingest alcohol, I break my muscles down. I turn healthy cells into lipase cells, that I then have to fight to turn back into healthy muscle growth. I break down healthy brain function; I invite poor decisions, under utilize the small amount of time given to me on this earth, and deceive those who care about me most.
Here is to the dust I'm brushing off myself once again. Here is to the falling down, the breaking, the mistakes, the heartache, the regret, the resulting motivation, the starting over, and the non-existent finish line.
Why be good, when you can be better?
Why be effective, when you can be exceptional?
Why be drunk, when you can be sober?
Ready, set, run from mediocrity.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Pumpkin, You're Great
As someone who can comfortably down an entire pumpkin pie in
a day, it has been the product of much mental energy to create such a pie as
would prevent a personal caloric Armageddon. To clarify, I do not eat an entire pumpkin pie in one sitting. However, replacing all three daily meals with pie is not entirely unheard of. Pie with a side of eggs? Sure. Pie with a side of veggie burger? Why not. Pie with a side of salad? Absolutely.
Four or five pies later, I believe
that I have a success. A pie, the entire caloric dent of which is equal to the
dent made by a single slice of traditional pumpkin pie, complete with protein,
fiber, complex carbohydrates, and a healthy dose of beta carotene. Quite
simply: suitable to substitute for any and all meals on an given day for any
number of days in a row. Attention trending health sensations: I have
discovered the new superfood. This beautiful pie is also fantastically free of
unidentifiable "fat free" or "sugar free" substitutions
that are code name for chemical shit-storm.
Being in my own apartment, I have thoroughly enjoyed the freedom to cook and eat and make a mess of anything and everything that I like, and, lately, what I like is pumpkin pie. Today, I purchased Stevia in the Raw to substitute naturally for the sugar, silken tofu to substitute for part of the eggs/condensed milk, and lite coconut milk to add just a hint of creaminess and decadence, while simultaneously hydrating my hair and skin. I also added a tablespoon of cornstarch and two tablespoons of EnerG Egg substitute to take care of the little pool of liquid that I found in the center of my last pie.
And, Voila, success. I shall now consume pumpkin dessert at an unprecedented rate, with minimal guilt. The holiday season may come and go, but the training season never ends. In the spirit of GO BIG OR GO HOME, I will have my pie, and my protein too.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Go now, love.
I pray
That love, like death, will come swiftly
Take my feet from beneath me
And catch me in its arms
So that I shall never have to wonder
That it is love.
I pray
That love, like hate, would make me brave
Erase all contingencies
And cause my soul to leap
My heart to fight, my lips to scream the name
Of this one love.
I pray
That love, like God, will never leave
My heart, though romance fail me
I will not die alone
But know that a lifetime was worth the fall
To be, to love.
That love, like death, will come swiftly
Take my feet from beneath me
And catch me in its arms
So that I shall never have to wonder
That it is love.
I pray
That love, like hate, would make me brave
Erase all contingencies
And cause my soul to leap
My heart to fight, my lips to scream the name
Of this one love.
I pray
That love, like God, will never leave
My heart, though romance fail me
I will not die alone
But know that a lifetime was worth the fall
To be, to love.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Product Perfection
By nature, I am a highly productive person; so productive, in fact, that I tend to render myself ineffective by pursuing perfection in too many directions at once. Perfect runner, perfect bodybuilder, perfect budgeter, perfect student, perfect employee, perfect daughter/sister, perfect friend, perfect ex-girlfriend, perfect homeowner, perfect book reader, perfect chef, perfect drinker, perfect leader, perfect peer, perfect fucking product of fucking perfection.
Some of these things might not even seem as though they can be something perfect. Perfect book reader? Yes; with just the right taste in material, and just the right amount of time set aside to absorb and learn without wasting any time, one can be a perfect book reader.
The funny thing is, my perception of perfection is constantly changing as my world view changes. Therefore, it never really exists, and it just as unattainable. Perfect drinker? Some weeks that's a perfect taste in wine, others, the best martinis, expensive vodkas, local brews, high-end cocktails; most of the time though, sobriety.
Certain things are the kryptonite of my intended productivity, however, and they get me. Every. Single. Time.
Perfect employee? Let one more customer pour half a cow's worth of cream in his coffee and then dare to tell me it's cold.
Perfect runner? Fear of mediocrity, resulting in minimal recovery time and maximum occurrence of injury.
Perfect chef? The skinny obsession.
Perfect student? Throw me some BroScience Life Youtube channel.
Perfect book reader? Thinking about all the other productive things I should be producing while productively reading a book.
Perfect budgeter? Sales. Ironic.
Perfect ex-girlfriend? A heart made of flesh.
Some of these things might not even seem as though they can be something perfect. Perfect book reader? Yes; with just the right taste in material, and just the right amount of time set aside to absorb and learn without wasting any time, one can be a perfect book reader.
The funny thing is, my perception of perfection is constantly changing as my world view changes. Therefore, it never really exists, and it just as unattainable. Perfect drinker? Some weeks that's a perfect taste in wine, others, the best martinis, expensive vodkas, local brews, high-end cocktails; most of the time though, sobriety.
Certain things are the kryptonite of my intended productivity, however, and they get me. Every. Single. Time.
Perfect employee? Let one more customer pour half a cow's worth of cream in his coffee and then dare to tell me it's cold.
Perfect runner? Fear of mediocrity, resulting in minimal recovery time and maximum occurrence of injury.
Perfect chef? The skinny obsession.
Perfect student? Throw me some BroScience Life Youtube channel.
Perfect book reader? Thinking about all the other productive things I should be producing while productively reading a book.
Perfect budgeter? Sales. Ironic.
Perfect ex-girlfriend? A heart made of flesh.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Why is perfection imperfect?
If there is one thing that I could wish for, to accomplish or have gifted to me, in this life, it would be balance. A reassurance that the good counteracts the bad; that the good and bad are clearly defined, and that through the attainment of balance, vision of a clear path would open before me.
The beauty of life is that there is no balance, there is no perfection, but only striving. It is through the constant effort to better myself that I find the most fulfillment, and the most agony.
To starve, or to pour one's creative essence into delicious, life-sustaining food?
To regimen, or freestyle?
To study, or to learn?
To document, or to live and never remember?
To socialize, or to optimize?
To critique, or appreciate oneself in all one's imperfection?
To love, or to refrain from the accompanying pain through logic and stoicism?
Perhaps the most draining, baffling, ever nagging and back and forth question in my mind is this: does love lead to mediocrity?
Self love means that no further attempt at perfection is needed, therefore, why run? Why eat clean? Why get one's nails done or hair refreshed, or pay attention to the fit and color of one's clothing?
Love of others means that there is no changing them; you love them, and you love their flaws as a part of them. Does this mean that the friends you surround yourself with are then no longer motivating? Or one's life partner merely an addition to the monthly food bill?
What perpetrates the illusion of control? That by influencing any one mechanism we can alter the future outcomes of our lives? To an extent, we can. But, so can everyone else, and through the influence of a hundred million varied agendas, life becomes predictably unpredictable, and perfection is sacrificed at the altar of reality.
Where is the balance?
Where does perfection end, and life begin?
The beauty of life is that there is no balance, there is no perfection, but only striving. It is through the constant effort to better myself that I find the most fulfillment, and the most agony.
To starve, or to pour one's creative essence into delicious, life-sustaining food?
To regimen, or freestyle?
To study, or to learn?
To document, or to live and never remember?
To socialize, or to optimize?
To critique, or appreciate oneself in all one's imperfection?
To love, or to refrain from the accompanying pain through logic and stoicism?
Perhaps the most draining, baffling, ever nagging and back and forth question in my mind is this: does love lead to mediocrity?
Self love means that no further attempt at perfection is needed, therefore, why run? Why eat clean? Why get one's nails done or hair refreshed, or pay attention to the fit and color of one's clothing?
Love of others means that there is no changing them; you love them, and you love their flaws as a part of them. Does this mean that the friends you surround yourself with are then no longer motivating? Or one's life partner merely an addition to the monthly food bill?
What perpetrates the illusion of control? That by influencing any one mechanism we can alter the future outcomes of our lives? To an extent, we can. But, so can everyone else, and through the influence of a hundred million varied agendas, life becomes predictably unpredictable, and perfection is sacrificed at the altar of reality.
Where is the balance?
Where does perfection end, and life begin?
Monday, April 15, 2013
Top #15 Reasons Why I Shan't Reproduce (Taken from the perspective of a 21 year old recovering babysitter)
Top fifteen of the bazillion reasons why I will probably never reproduce:
1) Vaginal botox is not currently a thing.
2) I would have to take at least nine months reprieve from drinking wine; possibly repeatedly.
3) Diapers are more expensive than crack. (Thus, cracks are more expensive than crack.)
4) Some people say, "But having kids to do the chores is nice". Do you realize that by the time children are old enough to be remotely useful, you will have done approximately 107,333,499x the amount of chores that they would be able to accomplish before they (hopefully) decide to move out.
5) Calculated by the increasing rate of technology integration in young children, by the time I have kids, they'll want the current version of an Ipad by age 2.
6) There are already plenty to go around. For the record, and to disprove any notions about my being a complete ogre, I love children; as long as they are returnable.
7) I'd catch myself lying about mythical "holiday" creatures, and stealing the spotlight from my own time, effort, money and lack of sleep resulting from preparing for early morning egg hunts and cinnamon bun scented paper shredding disasters.
8) It wouldn't be fair to my siblings, as my offspring would be naturally cuter, smarter, more respectful, more talented, and just generally superior to theirs.
9) If I never actually have kids I won't have to prove the theory stated in #8.
10) Sleep is totally not overrated.
11) Strollers are not beneficial to negative splits.
12) I'm pretty sure that I also never want to be a grandmother; and that seems rather unfair to the desires of my children.
13) If my ankles are swollen, it better be because I ran a damn ultramarathon.
14) There is not an adequate insurance policy to cover my navigating the type of equipment that I have witnessed by mother pilot through Sam's Club in order to feed myself and my siblings.
15) Finally, if my kids are anything like me, which science recommends that they will be, they may very well outrun me and eat all of the chocolate.
1) Vaginal botox is not currently a thing.
2) I would have to take at least nine months reprieve from drinking wine; possibly repeatedly.
3) Diapers are more expensive than crack. (Thus, cracks are more expensive than crack.)
4) Some people say, "But having kids to do the chores is nice". Do you realize that by the time children are old enough to be remotely useful, you will have done approximately 107,333,499x the amount of chores that they would be able to accomplish before they (hopefully) decide to move out.
5) Calculated by the increasing rate of technology integration in young children, by the time I have kids, they'll want the current version of an Ipad by age 2.
6) There are already plenty to go around. For the record, and to disprove any notions about my being a complete ogre, I love children; as long as they are returnable.
7) I'd catch myself lying about mythical "holiday" creatures, and stealing the spotlight from my own time, effort, money and lack of sleep resulting from preparing for early morning egg hunts and cinnamon bun scented paper shredding disasters.
8) It wouldn't be fair to my siblings, as my offspring would be naturally cuter, smarter, more respectful, more talented, and just generally superior to theirs.
9) If I never actually have kids I won't have to prove the theory stated in #8.
10) Sleep is totally not overrated.
11) Strollers are not beneficial to negative splits.
12) I'm pretty sure that I also never want to be a grandmother; and that seems rather unfair to the desires of my children.
13) If my ankles are swollen, it better be because I ran a damn ultramarathon.
14) There is not an adequate insurance policy to cover my navigating the type of equipment that I have witnessed by mother pilot through Sam's Club in order to feed myself and my siblings.
15) Finally, if my kids are anything like me, which science recommends that they will be, they may very well outrun me and eat all of the chocolate.
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