Posts Tagged ‘registering for class’

Bless It

April 23, 2015

Or block it.

I heard this tonight and had to reflect that it was indeed true for me.

So much simplicity, so easy, it’s just rolling down the hill, being in God’s will.

It’s a nice thing.

Of course, rejection hurts.

But as another smart woman told me, “rejection is God’s protection.”

Either it will be blessed or it will be blocked.

I can try to maneuver around it, but there it is, being blocked.

Like my scooter.

I think it’s time to let her go.

I don’t seem to have the band width to deal with it.

Poor girl is just gathering dust in the front entry way of my housemates house, I’m sure she’s tired of seeing it there and for me, it’s become this odd symbol of something that I thought would work for me, but has not, not at all.

Ten and a half months since I sprained my ankle trying to start it and I haven’t fully healed.

I haven’t been on many rides since owning it, although I am super grateful I got to learn how to ride it, I keep thinking, man, a car would be nice.

I wouldn’t have to worry about kick starting it, that’s for sure.

I’m not dying for transportation, my bicycle gets me around just fine.

Although the body breakdown is quite in evidence as I did my physical therapy exercise tonight when I got home from work.

I rolled out a yoga mat and the foam back roller and got down on the floor and grunted and groaned and did hip lifts and IT band stretches and some core work, and hip stretches and turned on the music and just took the time to do the deal.

I have to do this every day?

I thought.

Shit.

This sucks.

Then I  thought, it’s just for today.

I just have to do it today.

Don’t worry about tomorrow or the day after that or the weekend or next month or I will go nuts.

It’s like most things in my life, I can think that it’s going to be unbearable, but if I break it down into small manageable chunks, then things get done and I am almost always surprised at how much does indeed get done.

And how serendipitous the Universe can be.

“It sounds like you should do restorative yoga,” my dear friend suggested to me this afternoon as I checked in with her and told  her what was happening with the physical therapy.

“Have you tried Yoga Punx?”

“I have not,” I replied.

I have not tried a lot of yoga even though it does continually get suggested to me.

Then I was riding my bike home and what the hell?

Where did the organic mattress store go?

I was crossing the intersection at 46th and Irving and saw a man putting up a sign in the emptied out store.

“BEACH YOGA”

Well.

Fuck me.

A half block from the house?

Really.

I mean, it couldn’t get much closer unless someone decides to throw a yoga studio in my back yard.

“You could find room in your schedule, one night a week, I bet you could,” my friend said encouragingly, “I think it would really help you.”

She should know, she’s a nurse.

I have to agree with her.

That would be a blessing.

And.

Here’s something funny.

I was able to get registered for classes last night after a day of struggling to figure out why I could not register–turns out there was a glitch in the system and I was not the only student affected, and one of the classes that I have to register for as part of my curriculum, you guessed it.

Yoga and meditation.

It would appear that I am being told something here.

My weekend schedule has changed and this may be just the thing for me.

Another thing I can do in my neighborhood and stay put.

Again, pointing out to me that I don’t currently need another form of transportation, the bicycle is great and letting go of the scooter and the thinking around it may be just what the doctor ordered.

That and some yoga.

I mean I will be taking a class in it for heaven’s sake, might as well pick up some practice before I even head off to the class.

When I think of other things in my life, as I look at a framed photograph of the event from the heavens, that are blessed, I have to smile.

Burning Man.

Heading into my 9th time out to playa and it just seems to be getting better and better.

I know the event has changed a lot, but I don’t think change is a bad thing and when I think about all the art, the yummy, scrumptous, beautiful art, I get excited.

When I think about what my favorite color is, indigo violet, and how it happens to be that mix of sunset at Burning Man that informs that choice, I get happy.

Circumstances have always conspired to get me there and back and as I prepare to go again I get happy, really happy that I get to be a part of the community, one very small part, but one very happy part.

And my happiness, I believe, anyway is infectious.

“You make me happy,” one of the boys told me today.

“You make me happy too,” I told him and gave him a big hug.

And earlier in the day before he had come home from pre-school and his brother was down for a nap, after the laundry had been folded and dinner prepped for the evening, the dishwasher going, the house tidy, I sat and ate my lunch in a big overstuffed chair and watched the light fall rich and golden through the garden into the kitchen and I thought.

“I love my job.”

And I do.

That would be another aspect of my life that is blessed–being a nanny.

Who knew that I would be doing this professionally for this long.

I certainly had not planned on it, but there it is and it’s been a wonderful career.

And the perfect stepping stone to the next part of my life.

So much seems blessed today.

I don’t have any time to even reflect on those things that have been blocked.

I understand why they didn’t work or can’t work or why they are not for me.

I don’t have to dwell on the blocked.

I get to live in the blessed.

And blessed I am indeed.

Stay Calm

April 21, 2015

I repeat.

Stay calm.

I really want to freak out though.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I sounded like I knew what I was doing when I call the Registrar’s office at CIIS this morning while there was a brief pause in the work day.

“So I just go online, and register and I’m all set?” I said.

“Yes, anything else I can help you with?” The woman, Nikki, I think she said her name was.

“Nope, all good, thanks so much for your help.” I replied and got off the phone.

I don’t have any idea what I am doing, I thought as I got off the phone, further, I’m not even sure what the correct questions are to ask.

I received an e-mail a few days ago about the course schedule being up and I poked around on the website looking at things, but it was sort of gobbledy gook to my eyes and I got off it pretty quick.

I was unsure what I was looking at.

My assumption, ah assuming that wonderful thing that makes and ass out of “u” and “me,” was that because I was accepted into the Weekend Integral Counseling Psychology Masters Program, there would be a big sign saying, you do this now and go here now.

Push this button and you are all set.

I mean, maybe not literally, but I just thought, ok, there’s only one program set up, I’m accepted, I paid my deposit, I just show up for the first day of class and they tell me what to do.

Right?

Um.

Wrong.

I do have to register for classes.

Well, fuck.

What classes do I have to register for?

I’m confused.

How come the department head didn’t send out a message to the weekend program detailing which classes are to be registered for?

That’s not helping, self, when I think I know better how to do something and I have never been to graduate school and it’s been a long time since I have been in school period and when I was there was this thing you did where you looked up your classes in a paper book of schedules and then you were assigned a time to call on the phone.

Like a phone with that’s attached to the wall via a cord.

And then you registered by punching in the number of the class followed by the pound key and it would tell you if the class was full or not.

A lot depended on registering as soon as you could, at the exact time you were scheduled.

You snooze, you definitely lose.

Somebody else was going to get that class.

Occasionally the class I would want would be full and I learned that you kept trying, because somewhere someone on campus was trying to get into another class and might be dropping the one that you wanted and if you got it at the right moment, you might be able to snag that spot.

I remember pumping my fist in glee getting into a Comparative Literature Class that I had been trying to get into my class schedule for over a week, randomly calling at odd times of day or night, or whenever I had a spare moment to sit on the phone.

I swear I had that class number memorized for years.

Then there was the last resort, where you could show up for the class and hope that someone found the professor to be an asshole or a taskmaster or the class wasn’t exactly to their liking and they would drop and you could pick it up.

I remember walking out of a class my junior year thinking, no way I could listen to that professor drone on for an entire semester.  I hadn’t even waited until the end of the class, I got up and left after fifteen minutes and never once regretted that.

I believe the system hasn’t changed that much, it appears to be of the same general idea.

Except that I have to register online at 11:35 a.m.

Which is when I’m at work.

I also don’t want to have to do it on my phone.

Even though I have internet access on my phone it seems like it would be far easier to bring my laptop into work with me.

I’m sure the mom and dad won’t have an issue with me taking a few minutes to register.

I went online and logged into my student page and I figured out what I’m suppose to register for, the classes for the fall, 13 credits, my god.

I’m really doing this.

Aside.

I’m fucking going to graduate school.

Holy shit.

This is real.

I’m registering for the fall semester tomorrow at 11:35 a.m.

That just blows my mind.

That I’m going to be a child therapist blows my mind too.

“Breathe,” I told him as he threw an epic temper tantrum in front of the market at 21st and Valencia.

I’m already practicing, have been for some time, it would seem.

I took in a big deep breath and moved him a little further down the street, he was still apoplectic; however, it was going to fade and I knew if I could just get him to the store front of Casa Bonompak on Valencia Street, all would be well.

They have a huge display of pinatas in the window.

It was like a switch had been thrown.

The next thing you know the hurricane of tears and wails and no’s and screams were gone and we were talking about paper mache.

Incredible.

I suspect I was telling myself just as much to breathe as I was my little charge.

I suspect I will tell myself much the same when I get to work tomorrow and talk to the mom and dad and ask for a few minutes out of my schedule to register.

I’m nervous that I will fuck it up.

The truth, however, is, that even if I do make a mistake, it can be corrected.

And I will have another experience under my belt.

I will have registered for my first semester of graduate school.

That, I suspect, will feel pretty damn good.

It already does.


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