Posts Tagged ‘Richmond District’

This Is Change

February 20, 2016

Change is coming.

What’s that they say, the infamous “they,” there’s no change without change.

Yeah.

I think that’s the one.

So.

Change.

I got up and changed into my yoga pants (which really, let me tell the truth, they never were yoga pants before, they played yoga pants on tv, they were pajama pants, no longer, on no, they have officially graduated to prime time) and a tank top and a loose top over that.

Too much clothing in hindsight, but I wore what I felt comfortable with.

I pulled my hair up into a top knot.

I did my morning routine and did my breakfast and coffee and writing.

I outed myself all the fuck over social media.

I was feeling ridiculous with the fear.

Upset bowels and all.

REALLY?

It’s like my tummy can’t take anxiety, there is a reaction.

I was dressed, fed, coffee’d up and I knew it was time to get online and register for the class.

The minute I finished filling out the fields and was about to put my credit card info in to charge for the first class today, my stomach went into knots and I had to fly to the bathroom.

Good gravy.

My body does not tolerate fear.

AT ALL.

Purged and ready to go.

Jesus fuck.

Anyway.

Got that out of the way.

Sat back down, finished the payment and breathed.

I got a supportive text from my person, then a phone call check in and then, ok, I’m doing this.

I grabbed my yoga mat.

Which is not mine, it’s my housemates, I’ll be purchasing one here tomorrow, just up the street at the co-op I’m a member of.

Ah.

Yeah.

Heh.

I’m a California girl.

Want to know the really funny part?

I wanted a kale salad after the work out.

I mean.

I was really craving kale.

I almost trotted up to the market, but the sudden down pour got my ass back to my house and happy with what was in the fridge to eat, which was lovely too (homemade brown rice, turkey with brussels sprouts and asparagus, a super succulent apple, good tea and fabulous company–my best girl came into the city from Castro Valley) and to a hot shower.

I needed it, the shower, and the company and the food.

And.

The yoga.

I had a wash of intense gratitude come over me at one point.

This is where I am supposed to be.

It was such a sure feeling.

So positive and affirming.

And.

I had moments of what the fuck am I doing, I can’t do this, I look like an idiot, I can’t hold that pose, who can hold this fucking pose, holy shit, she can hold this pose, I can’t do this.

And.

Then I would push through and just try again.

Even when I fell on my ass.

Yes.

I fell on my ass trying to do side plank.

And I just “oofed” and then I collapsed in child’s pose and laughed.

I full on belly laughed.

Even the instructor giggled.

It was great.

I don’t have to take myself so damn seriously, nobody else does, why the hell should I?

I learned a lot though, I learned I’m not as bad as I thought and that there is always something new to learn, another place to grow, another place to experience change and movement.

“I think it’s going to crack you wide open,” my friend said tonight after dropping me off at home.

We had the best date ever!

So good to have a girl friend date.

She came over to my place and kept me company while I ate my lunch, we had tea, caught the fuck up, commiserated about work and school and life, then we headed over to a movie at the Balboa Theater.

We saw Hail Cesar, the new Coen Brother movie.

It was great.

The company, of course, was fantastic and it was such a pleasure to hang with my friend.

We had dinner after at House of Shanghai, you know if Patricia Unterman gives it the thumbs up is has to be good.

It was phenomenal.

Then after a latte at the cafe down the block and we headed over to the Outer Sunset to do the deal.

Just such goodness.

It was a cozy, sweet, loving, lovely day.

Oh.

And yes.

I signed up for classes.

I am doing the Frequent “Flow’er” which is unlimited yoga, for $99 a month.

Which is actually $84 a month since they give a student discount and well, I am a student!

I committed to my person that I would work out three times a week and the price was right.  I will go at the three times a week and when I can, if I want to, which I have been told I will, I can go more often.

I signed up for tomorrow’s class at 10:30 a.m.

The class runs an hour and fifteen minutes.

It’s pretty perfect, get into my gear and walk a half block to the studio, come back home, toss my clothes in the laundry, shower, and get on with my day.

The classes that work for me happen on Mondays, Thursdays, Saturday, and Sunday.

I won’t be doing classes on the weekends I am in school, but aside from that I can and will be committing to the three times a week, and I don’t doubt when my body gets more used to it, or my brain relaxes enough to enjoy being in my body, I will go the fourth class.

I reminded myself too, while I was in the class trying to regulate my breathing and keep my hips aligned and my spine straight, and just ease into it all, that it was just for today.

Just today.

This is how it works.

One fucking day at a time.

I show up.

I showed up today and it was a miracle, at least for me, it was, it’s a life changer.

I can tell.

And I can’t foresee the exact change that it will illicit, but I know, it’s time.

I’m in.

You try until you can.

I’m going to try.

I am.

I am.

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Perfection

April 14, 2014

You are not my friend.

“I just realized, I mean, truly, deeply, madly, how insane my need for perfection is,” I said to my friend on the phone today.

I mean I am off my rocker with needing it.

It could just be that I am über aware of it.

I see it’s roots so deep in my psyche and I wonder will I ever extract it.

“Gratitude, you get be grateful about this, and laugh, have fun with it,” she said to me yesterday as I was letting it go and surrendering again.

Surrendering this old, old as the hills, old as the age spots on the back of a bent old man pate, old as the sun, old as the rain, old, old, old, idea that I am unlovable unless I am perfect.

And in the pursuit of that perfection I isolate myself, not the perfect body, not the perfect job, not the perfect outfit, certainly, not the perfect hair, no matter how many different filters I use on Instagram, it’s still just hair, it could use a trim too, and I will continue to be on my own until I let myself get vulnerable enough to not be perfect.

To let go my pride, my vanity, which is ultimately some warped kind of self-loathing, that too, does not serve me.

Whew.

Where did all this come from?

I am not a great scooter rider yet.

Bwahahahahaha.

That’s my brain.

I can’t get it down, I am not smooth off the start,  I am still awkward with the brake, I had to re-start it twice, I had to let people pass me at intersections, I am just so not good enough, why did I ever bother?

Oh.

Good fucking times.

Ha.

I had gone out and practiced today, and it’s a practice, let me remind myself.

Practice, not perfection.

A slow, gradual, sustainable learning.

I don’t need to be whipping across town on my scooter, yet.

I can take it slow.

I have options.

There wasn’t even anywhere for me to go.

I had an idea I might, might try to head over to Stonestown.

I wanted to see how close the YMCA was to me and I am interested in getting a membership there.

They have a pool.

I like to swim.

I made it to Kirkham and knew that I was not going to go to Stonestown.

I live between Irving and Judah.

If you’re not familiar with this part of San Francisco, the streets run alphabetical.

So, ugh, yeah, not even a couple of blocks and that goal shattered.

However, I did get it into gear and I did ride and though I did kill it, I also was out on my longest solo ride to date.

And remember, I have only taken out the scooter, including today, five times.

I was out on my own for an hour.

I did swing back by the house and grab a quick snack and throw a Japanese sweet potato in the oven to roast for lunch while I was out making the neighborhood rounds.

I rode up Lincoln to 41st, turned left, rode past Chain of Lakes in the Golden Gate Park, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, and then wound my way through to the other side, the Richmond side of the park, then dropped down and rode to La Playa and down and back a few more times.

I went around my block a bunch, up the hills a bit on Irving, down to the beach and just around and about.

I got pretty good at the shifting between second and third and a few times dropped into fourth as well.

But, like when I was learning as a kid, the lowest gear, 1st, is my nemesis.

And not an evil bad nemesis, but a kind I don’t quiet understand yet.

That’s all.

I wasn’t sure if I was not letting out the clutch well, or if it was sticky, a couple of times it seemed that I was struggling turning the clutch to 1st gear.

I am actually going to ask my friend to come out and do another ride with me this week.

And I found out I won’t be working this Friday again, so I am going to practice that day as well.

“Before you know it, you will be zooming around town and it will be old hat, and you’ll be a natural,” my friend gave me a little pep talk as I down loaded my experience as well as my insight around my crazy pursuit of perfection.

Which, thankfully, is not so bad that I didn’t go for it, ie, didn’t try to learn how, didn’t bother to get my motorcycle license or try to learn something new because, unless I can do it perfect, why try at all?

This attitude used to stop me.

I wouldn’t even get out the gate.

The old idea is still there, but I can see it.

I am aware of it.

I have to accept it.

Ah, acceptance, there you are again.

Because it’s not about self-improvement, it’s about self-acceptance.

And allowing myself to fail at stuff, get up, try again.

Roll the scooter through the intersection, pull it up on the kickstand and kick-start it again, wait for the old lady to cross the street, roll the throttle, squeeze, slowly let out the clutch, let off the foot brake and scooter on.

I spent an hour practicing.

Then I took a walk to, well, walk it off.

Walk off the attitude, the adrenalin, and to laugh at myself a little.

I came home, had a great lunch, then made some homemade soup.

This weeks flavor?

Split pea soup with brown rice and organic chicken, broccoli, zucchini, carrots, celery, garlic, sea salt, black pepper, Spike, and onion.

It is sooo tasty.

I had some for dinner when I got back from my later afternoon adventures, which included a successful trip to buy a few new things for my wardrobe and going to see a friend who was celebrating a big anniversary in the Mission.

I rode my bike there.

But I can see riding my Vespa there soon.

With a little more practice and a lot less perfection than I might want.

But with the perfect spice.

Humility.

With a dash of acceptance.

And a big pinch of self-love.

Recipe for a successful day, month, year.

Hell, probably my whole life.

 


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