Adaptability

Oops. It's been over a month since my last post! I can legitimately blame it on being busy (excuses, excuses).

For those of you who don't know, I've started school (again). I'm working on an Associates in Accounting so that I can take advanced courses in the future and possibly become an enrolled agent or take the CPA (possibly). I am also taking these classes with the thought of starting my own business (likely animal or publishing-related) one day.

So now I am working full-time, going to school full-time, keeping up with my half-marathon training, conditioning Toby, writing, taking care of my pups, and attempting to be social now and then. So if I don't respond to contacts right away, gently remind me again that you're still around.

And on to the topic at hand...

It amazes me how adaptable we are. Our bodies are constantly adapting to accommodate environmental, physical, and mental changes occurring every day. We adapt without meaning to, often without wanting to. Why are so many of us resistant to change when change is an ongoing process that is inescapable? Perhaps it's the predictability we want to avoid...at least the predictability of change, like knowing you have to go grocery shopping but wanting to avoid it. Of course, then you go hungry.

What do we do when we don't/can't adapt? What does this do to our creativity? Do we have to adapt to everything? Doesn't something constant define us more than something changeable? I'm honestly not sure. I want need must but can't adapt to contentedness in the moment. Not to say I'm never happy, but I get restless in my perpetual state of now.

It's odd when you dread something, only to realize you're used to it, and you wonder when that adaptation occurred. Yes, it was surely a gradual process, but when was that moment when your body and mind unified in thought and breathed out an agreement of change. The body/mind adapt and then make this change (which, at this point, is not longer a change but is now a constant) normal.

I will say that adaptation is the process of making the irregular, regular; turning a change into a constant. Adaptation is a cater-cousin defamiliarization. Though defamiliarization makes the normal appear strange, adaptation finds the strange and studies it to make it ordinary. I don't believe the two to be opposites, though they may seem that way. Both observe oddity to better understand its source.



image courtesy of Flickr and Mr. Cousins

A Few Notes

An interesting personal quiz:

1) Let's start with something typical-what is your favorite color? Why is it your favorite?
Deep blue is my favorite color because it's both soothing and mysterious. Plus, I think it looks nice against my pale skin and eyes.

2) What do you think is your strongest trait?
I suppose that would be my ability to find a solution to almost any problem. If I take the time to think about it, I can always figure it out.

3) What is your greatest fear (that is not a phobia)?
Failure. Having others see me fail. I don't claim to be perfect, but I don't want to be known for what I did wrong.

4) What do you want most out of life right now?
I want the year to pass quickly so that I can start a new "chapter" in my life. I'm ready for another big change and new challenges.

5) What other culture most fascinates you?
Native American culture has always been of interest to me, though I don't know a lot about it. I think it's their spirituality and after death beliefs that most intrigue me.

6) What is your worst vice?
I guess my temper? I can be mean when I'm angry, and I keep anger in until it boils over and I explode.

7) What is something about yourself that you would never change, even if it's been known to get you into trouble?
That would definitely be my tenacity. I don't like to give up, and sometimes it gets me in trouble because I don't know when to quit, but I'm learning...

8) What is something you wish you could change about yourself, but have not been able to?
I wish I could be happy being still more often, but I seem to thrive on running ahead full throttle until I crash. Then I have to recover, and it starts all over again.

9) What is a food you find comforting?
A tall caramel macchiato. The tastes, warmth, and caffeine soothes me. Ahhhh.

10) How do you expel anger or frustration?
Screaming, crying, or running. Ha ha ha.

11) What is one thing you wish to accomplish in the next five years?
Publish something more than just a short story or article. I'd like to say start my own business too, but we'll see!

12) Name one talent you have that people might not be aware of.
Hm. That's tough since I like to make my talents known. I suppose that would be my ability to pick up music and play it by ear rather than by reading music. I'm horrible at reading music!

13) Name one thing you wish you were good at, but are not.
Cooking. I always screw something up. Sigh.

14) What can make you laugh, no matter your mood?
Pumba rolling around on her back. And poufy Pekingese dogs running around. They look like little ottomans!

15) Name a movie, book, and song that brings about happy memories.
In Good Company, The Little Princess, and Perfect (by the Smashing Pumpkins).

Go ahead...you know you want to.



Image courtesy of P.M. Hedén.

Stillness: Art at its Purest

Lately, I've felt the need for more structure in my life (forgetting that I work 8:30 to 5 and follow a strict running and writing schedule). I think I am yearning for creative structure, which might very well only exist outside grippable realms.

I sought structure in art. My hands wanted an occupation that veered away from the constant tapping of the keys. And so, I thought, I'll paint! My mother paints, my bestie paints, J paints, and I have multiple friends who knit, draw, or create things. Not stories, but actual, tangible objects. Perhaps I'm seeking tangibility and not necessarily structure. I want to see success rather than just feel it or logically know it's there.

I didn't know I had these thoughts until I typed them out.

So I tried painting. Socially, it is a fun task. But still a task, not a soothing outlet or creative expression. I gave it another whirl, but it felt like work. While I don't view art as non-work (because it is work! Oh it is!), I find it to be an extraction or release of inner thought, which (in my opinion) should be enjoyable. Especially if the intention is to use the painting as an outlet. My hands are not equipped to glide a paintbrush, and I must strive for imperfection in order to accept that the results will not be perfect. While I have an eye for color and arrangement, I do not possess that talent that translates depth to paper or other medium. It is unfortunate because I can see the difference and know how it should look. It's like searching for a word that you know, but not being able to get it quite right. You know it's wrong, but you don't know how to fix it.

I simply have no patience for hands on creation. I like to work with my hands, but not necessarily to make things. I suppose I prefer to maintain them? I think that's the right word...

What I'm trying to get at here is that art is different for everyone. I think art is when you experience a stillness that causes you to think only about the present. Not even the present, but about the art itself. Art is that which reminds you of nothing else. For example, music is my art, my stillness.

I listen to songs I love, and there is nothing else. My favorite songs do not make me think of other songs or stories or pictures or situations or anything...they simply exist to me as a fragment of stillness.

I can become lost in a song.

It's a different type of stillness than a quiet, early morning on a mountain peak. A great line from a book or essay might have the same effect, but eventually those lines make me think, which leads to other thoughts and soon the stillness is only a gossamer strand of the past.

Music is the stillness that sticks, even if only for the length of the song. I wonder if this is why I feel I need music in my ears while I write. Do I crave the stillness of a song to calm my thoughts? I've always used music to block out worldly noises, but perhaps it triggers a stillness in my thought that I attempt to channel into my writing.

I think I'll experiment: writing w/ music vs. writing w/out.

And no more hands on art for me. It's just not my style.

My Pillow Book

Do you ever mention something that either disturbs you or makes you giddy, and you get that breadbox look (breadbox = the expression a breadbox could make = none)? This happens to me frequently. So, I've come up with my own Pillow Book of oddities.

Taste-bud Joys
*A particularly sweet fuji apple, with a smear of peanut butter.
*Slightly melted M&Ms.
*The first foamy sip of a caramel macchiato.
*The perfect grilled cheese sandwich, just browned, with sourdough, cheddar, tomato, and garlic.
*Red velvet.

Shards of Disturbance
*Squeaky brakes.
*Random wall vibrations.
*An unexpected taste.
*Suddenly expired batteries.

Instant Happiness
*When a driver understands and follows the meaning of a yield sign.
*Smiling and receiving a genuine smile in return.
*The last stretch of a long run.
*Puppies. Puppy smell. Puppy teeth. Puppy paws.
*Kissing the top of a horse's nose.

Things I Didn't Know I Missed Until I Had it Back
*Dirty knuckles from riding a horse.
*My AWP.
*Deep, uninterrupted sleep.
*Sanity.
*Colorado.

I'm sure I will add to this later, but for now, there you go readers. What's in your Pillow Book?



I <3 my "backyard."

Sometimes...

...when I'm putting oranges in a circle, I think of my thoughts, and they make me laugh.

Watch this Celebrity Jeopardy Clip!

If Bjork weren't Bjork, I'd think Winona Ryder was Bjork, at least in the video above. Holy crap.

As for the oranges in a circle, while I don't tend to pow wow with my fruit, I will say my thoughts do make me laugh, even though I'm not a very funny person. True, I tend to make people laugh, but I've come to realize this is more due to my blunt, sarcastic nature as opposed to the actual possession of comedic agility. Apparently I voice my opinion, quite a bit. I really only do this around people I know, but I'm constantly making my co-workers chortle and say, "Is that how you really feel?"

I don't know when I became blunt. I've always been opinionated, true. But when did I begin to say what I mean? And to people I may not have previously voiced my opinion to. I think I've gotten to the point where I don't have the patience to coddle people. If you're a good friend, you've earned some coddling, but most good friends don't want that. By coddle (in regards to a friend), I mean find words that aren't unkind, but still tell the truth. The truth is not always pleasant, and while I could find the words to make it sound better, that's likely not what is needed.

I should really stop writing partial posts and hoping that I will finish them later, because every time I come back to a post, I've lost interest or purpose in what I am say. Thus this post will remain short.

Running/Writing

This morning, after running uphill and trying to steady my breath, I realized that running and writing work in the same way. When I run, my legs move stiffly at first, but slowly loosen up and then push ahead into auto pilot. Meanwhile, my lungs try to get air in as quickly as possible. It's the exhalation that trips me up. I wanted to hold onto my air. I gasped it in, and I became greedy, wanting to keep all of the air in my lungs, not let it go. So I exhaled briefly before sucking in air again. And suddenly, my breath became ragged and my chest contracted faster. Through all of this, my legs just kept moving, not needing an ending or a promise of relief. It's my lungs that argued. So I kept running, forcing myself to breath in deeply, hold it one, two, three, four, five...and out, two, three, four, five. I pushed that old air out, forming an O with my lips. I love to run because I never feel worse at the end, even if the entire run is torture. There is never a time, no matter the distance, when I can't pick up the pace and push myself to the finish, sprinting to a momentary feeling of accomplishment.

Writing is the same way. It's not easy to start a new story. My brain is stiff and my fingers are cramped. But if I force out the first few lines, I slowly begin to warm up. My fingers start tapping the keys faster than my brain knows what to do with. And sentences form, then paragraphs, then chapters, and on and on until I collapse. But it's the exhalation of thought that I struggle with. I don't want to let them go. I want to greedily hang on to them, perhaps letting one or two slip out while I'm busy moving on to another thought. My fingers take over and type, but my brain argues and does not want to let the thoughts out. I want to breath in my thoughts and hold them, savoring their peculiarity. As if exhaling them onto paper might be the last time I'm able to do so. But forcing out the thoughts only makes room for the next fresh batch. There's no room for more air once the lungs are filled, and I can only wrestle with so many words at once before they dissipate and are lost forever. I must strive to exhale my words, to push them out forcibly and know that there will be more.


Exhale Darling

I've taught myself to breath properly while running, but as my mind wanders, my breath quickens and I am struggling again. Recovery training becomes key here; I must learn to recover while maintaining my course. I wonder what the recovery process for writing looks like? Is there a way to stumble on and eventually get back on course, or is there a need to stop, wait, and then proceed? I suppose it depends on the person. What is your greatest strength as a writer (or otherwise for those not-so inclined); what is your greatest hindrance?

Logically Speaking

Why do I believe in some things that many people find illogical or fantastical? It's quite simple really. It makes sense to me.

Example

Reincarnation: Why wouldn't souls get recycled back into other bodies? That makes more sense than souls living in infinite time and space, where possibly time and space no longer exist. I believe in the soul and that souls are recycled, but not as a whole. Meaning, I believe souls exit the body and mingle with other souls before returning to a new body. This explains how a continuous production of "new" identities is maintained. After all, there is nothing "new" in this world, just the commingling of thought, space, and time in an infinite number of arrangements. I think this also explains déjà vu. When you feel like you have been in a particular instance before, you likely have. Only, it was a piece of you in another body, at another time.

I do not believe in this because I have direct experience with recycled souls. Though I often feel that I've lived before, I couldn't say where any more than I could say as whom. However, perhaps this is where unexplained fears arrive. I'm deathly afraid of being confined (both literally and figuratively), and while I can understand my figurate fear, the literal fear has no situation linked to it (that I know of). It is possible that the figurative has manifested itself into physical form, but considering I remember being claustrophobic at a young age (only literally) with no root for such feelings, I'm not entirely sure the two are related.

Back to the original statement of believing in something without direct experience. I believe it because it makes sense. It simply works in my mind and does not have any trouble fitting into my headspace. I don't have to worry about it or fight with the notion, it just is (to me). I think that's all that matters. If I believe it so, it is (for me), and it does not matter if it is "right" or "correct." I don't think you can apply those words to such beliefs at all. It's silly to think you're right and everyone else is wrong when dealing with esoteric principles.

What really fuses my belief is the fluidity in which these thoughts slide around in my brain. I don't tend to believe in anything (fact or not) unless I see it and experience it for myself. If you tell me that 2+2=4, I won't think you are lying, but I need to see (for myself) that it is indeed true. Even if I have the idea that it is or that you would know whether or not it is (true), I still need to witness it for myself in order to be 99% sure. I don't think anything is 100%, or permanent. Perhaps math is, but then again, some math is based on an infinite scale, so I'm not sold there either. There is always possibility for change, even if it's the tiniest wisp. The possibility might be like a door that is locked. Perhaps you can't get through, but it is still a way out. Yes, you can argue that a locked door is not a way out, but a door, by definition, is a movable barrier. Already it is a conundrum, so the possibility (even if it's only a mirage of such) remains, despite its locked state.

So if I'm able to believe something without the need for proof, then I take it seriously and accept it as true (to me). My curious nature adores questioning, arguing, and wondering, but when an idea fits seamlessly into my thoughts, as rare as it is, I can accept it as a logical truth.



*photo credit to the illusions gallery*

I lock my door upon myself,
and throw away the key.
Here I sit in stockinged feet
rimmed by intimité.

Swathed in notes conceding to
the room's vitality,
Ever keeping an ear perked
for my mortality.


*currently I am reading Spook by Mary Roach. It's both whimsical and thought-provoking.