The Power Went Out So There Was No Heat

It's like coming home.

Well, yesterday I managed to get myself to the Y to swim. (When did workouts get so hard to fit into my day? How have I become so lazy?)

The pool is of 25-yard adequate length, but it tastes bad and is way too hot. But...

Sigh.

I love it. I get in the water, and it's like I can do no wrong. I glide through silkily — metronomic rocking from side to side pulses my way from one wall to the next, a flip turn divides the measures of the laps, and the sculling creates a steady current of jet propelled water behind me.

Of course, I'm not as fast or strong as I've been in the past, but it didn't matter. I am meant to be in the water.

I think I've done a decent job of developing my 'land legs' over the past few years, but sheesh - I get in the water and I just feel... finally... home.

Lately

Lately, I only blog when I'm drunk. No, not drunk - tipsy.

Lately, that's way too often.

Everything is good, grand, and happy - but I'm frustrated, silly, and morose. I wish I was part of the gay couple next door. They look so quintessentially... alive.

But, it's okay. I'll just hole myself up with my murder mystery no. 2 and hope to G-d I know what I'm doing.

Can I have more tea, please? It's not quite big enough.

A Glance Out the Window

I've been sounding pretty damn good lately. I've been practicing a lot, so it's deserved, and not accidental. I was ready for this audition.

It's only a summer festival audition; it's not that big of a deal. Breathe, calm down. What the hell is with all this shaking; you'd think you'd never taken an audition before...

It was weird, the sudden onset of out of control nerves. I honestly didn't know if I would be able to play.

But of course, I played. And you know? It wasn't as bad as I'm making it out to be. It was fine. Nothing was embarrassing. Except that damn it all to freaking hell low D that didn't speak in the Mendelssohn for absolutely no reason, nothing was embarrassing.

But what matters more to me, really, is that I just didn't shine. I didn't make myself any different from anyone else. And I know that I can play in a way that shimmers and speaks and makes people sit up and listen.

But today? I was a predictably mediocre flute player, and a jaded one at that.

Okay, breathe. Hear the music; just hear it in your head, smile. Smiling makes them like you, it'll make you feel better... And now, play - don't wait too long - don't show them you're nervous. Who are you kidding? They know you're nervous. You're freaking breathing jaggedly and can't make eye contact. And so just play. See? It's not so bad. You can play this stuff in your sleep. It's a 30 second excerpt, you're almost there. ...

And what the fuck was that? Why didn't that note come out? Seriously? Going on 17 years of this now... there's no excuse for buckling.

When things aren't going well - in an audition, in a lesson, in a relationship - I tend to look away. I want to disappear; I want to escape from who I am and what I'm doing. This can't possibly be me. Oh, but it is - by default - you. I look out the nearest window and watch the sun the clouds and the sky and I think about getting on my bike and riding far away, wishing I was that trite little bird...

Wishing I was anything but the irritable flute player that can only believe in herself when no one is listening, not knowing how to bridge the gap between here and there.

6 days and 6 gray hairs

The problem with being a freelance worker is that any and all spare time... time off... time to do whatever you want...

All that time - is also time without a job... time without money... time with stress.

I think that's why I don't write as often anymore. I'm not reading as much either... and to be honest, I'm also not training enough. I'm sponsored now; I need to get my shit together.

The problem is that... any so-called free time, I don't actually feel free. After-all, living certainly isn't free.

I don't feel at liberty to sit and read a book a newspaper a New Yorker write a blog post spend two hours in the pool. I instead feel — hell, know — I need to be figuring it all out doing anything and everything to get to the next point. [You know... that point where you can pay your rent and your credit card bill without calculating exactly which day the math will work in your favor.]

But life needs to go on, economic downturn or not. I need to keep doing the things that define me... or else those gray hairs? They might just take over my head, inside and out.

So, I joined the YMCA. A-swimming I will go, and the monthly fee? It's okay; I'm saving money by using Geico on my car insurance. Triathlon-season, I'm right there with you.

And besides, how many times can you refresh a website, looking for that perfect job? [You know... that job that will actually consider you, never mind the hope that it will also satisfy, fulfill.]

On the upside, I certainly am practicing a hell of a lot.

I never really thought David Bowie was that cool anyhow.

Normally. When I get bummed out or overwhelmed or in-general-upset, I wind up wandering around a mall and I buy stuff. Bags. Hats. Pillows. Coffee mugs. Sometimes clothes.

Even if it's 100% superficial girl crap, it still somehow makes me feel better.

But the thing is... I don't have the money for it.

So this afternoon, when I felt like I would rather get hit by the oncoming car than step back into place on the right-lighted curb?

I still walked around town. I still ended up at my favorite store. I still tried on clothes I want but do not need.

But.

I did not buy them.

I fingered the leather of the oh-so-perfect purses (and look! this one would fit both my computer and my flute!); I imagined happily carrying them around town. Then, I smiled; I remembered how hard I worked today to earn $165, of which I need every penny for bills and bills and bills, and I left the store.

No purchase necessary to win, right?

I instead went out with a friend, spent $12 on high quality beer and talk, and my bank account thanks me. So this is growing up?

Someday (hopefully soon) there will be an opening...

Meanwhile, I can't help but yearn; both my days and nights are spent trying to figure out which path to take. It's a labyrinth out there.

The Flute

"The flute is the show-off of the wind section, the big shot: Jean-Pierre Rampal, James Galway — both millionaires. (How many millionaire bassoonists can you name real fast?) Well, that's fine. Everybody knows it's the hardest, blowing across a tiny hole with your head tilted all your life: it's like soloing on a pop bottle. The problem with the flute is that it vibrates your brain, and you start wearing big white caftans and smocks and eat roots and berries. You become a pantheist and sit in meadows, and you believe that all is one and God is everything — God is a column of air vibrating — and you know that's not right."

from Garrison Keillor's Lutheran Guide to the Orchestra

I was in quite the mood last night.

But, it was nothing a little sleep and exercise couldn't fix.

(Teaching Spinning at 6am? Always a horrible idea when the alarm goes off at 4:48, but is a sure genius qualifier once back home and showered by 7:30.)

Now: sitting down at my computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to write...

A letter to myself. Kind of.

Procrastination has taken hold and it's so stupid and pathetic. Deadlines are the death of me. Appropriate, yes?

Just sit down and write, just stand up and practice. It's not that hard; both are what you love to do and you're freaking getting PAID to do it, so dammit... stop being a fool.

The blog will be there after the work. So will the sleep.

The blood dripping down your chin from dry air nose bleeds and spinning classes will take care of itself one way or another and does not require a (no health insurance!) doctor's visit and the cat doesn't need her litter changed before bed.

Oh, and those pictures you want to hang? Those clothes you want to wash and then (dammit) finish unpacking?

The 20-odd emails you so desperately need to send?

The triathlon training program and race schedule you want to outline?

That can all wait too.

And yeah, you know how you once told me I had no discipline? (I'm not talking to myself anymore. You know who you are.)

Sigh. You were right. And I'm sorry.

The constant refrain of sun and clouds.

I sit here, in the more than beautiful sun-room that my dad designed built painted with his own two hands, and I wonder how much longer it's acceptable.

Every year it's the health club (one of the country's best!) and eating out and sleeping late and mudslides with fireplaces and talking about how everyone else is doing and are they on the right path or not?

And I remember when we were all so young and oh-so-smart and I wonder when the frustration set in and have we given up?

I AM NOT UNHAPPY.

I am proud of what I've accomplished and I am in love with so much of my life right now. No complaints, ma'am, what could be wrong?

Then —

I play the same gigs year after year and the same people who play alongside don't get older because if they get older then I've gotten older too... and despite the gray hair or 5 that I've found and plucked and denied, I still feel like I'm young. I have to be young, because if I'm not, then I've failed because underneath it all (or maybe, on top of everything else), I have so many unmet and unsatisfied goals.

And so how much longer do I have to wait? How many more years do I come back and repeat this cycle (which I happen to love, by the way), before I have my own life and my own home and a way of living that is comfortable in mind music body bank account?

Sometimes I just want to win the lottery and pay off the bills and then I would be able to have the sanity to work toward what I really want... but now, I exist hand to mouth and try not to look at the interest spent and wasted and do what I can to get to where I want to be as quickly as I can.

—

It's back and forth with happy and sad cloudy freezing rain and screaming down the mountains sun in your eyes glee and perhaps that is what life is about anyhow so I shouldn't feel so tortured and silly in reporting this to you.

I walked to my elementary school and jumped the fence.

iPhone cameras may not be all that great, but they certainly come in handy.

Everything at this school was exactly the same as a remembered it - from the game of 4-square to the cafeteria to the swings...

I realized though, that I must have not climbed enough fences during my childhood because I'm certainly not very good at it - I ended up sitting on top of the 6 foot fence, having to talk myself into jumping down.

But you know, once I got over, I felt all hard core and tough. Or at least, about as hard core and tough as I ever feel.

Regardless of Religion

Merry Christmas. Enjoy the day and the holiday. It's beautiful here in Southern Louisiana, and I hope your day is just as wonderful.

This time I didn't mention it.

I only get my hair cut when I'm home in Louisiana. I've had too many disasters other places, and I really love the salon here. They don't know or remember me (I only go once or twice a year), but still — it's where I feel most comfortable. I never have to be nervous...

So, my annual hair cut usually ends up happening sometime during Christmas week. And of course, when you're sitting in that chair on the day before Christmas, the natural thing to talk about would be your Christmas plans.

As a side note: You know the phenomenon where people will tell their hairstylists almost anything? That there is a certain level of candor you can achieve with them that you can't get anywhere else? Well, not for me. I'm not good at talking to people I don't know, and the whole thing makes me uncomfortable...

But regardless of that, two years ago when I got my hair cut on Christmas Eve, I was attempting to fulfill those small talk requirements —

"So honey, what are your plans for Christmas?"

And usually, if someone asks me something like that, I'll just give a generic answer. Growing up in the South, as one of 2 Jewish kids in a high school class of 500, it's just not worth delving into the whole Jewish thing each and every time.

But for some reason, on that morning two years ago, I told the truth —

"Well, I'm Jewish, so I don't celebrate Christmas. But, I'll probably just go for a run in the morning and then hang out with my parents in the afternoon. I might go dancing with my friends at night, or maybe just to the movies."

And then there was a pause and a nod, before she asked in a quiet and calm voice —

"So what exactly does it mean to be Jewish?"

"Oh. Well, basically, it just means that I don't believe Jesus is God's son."

To that there was more silence and a few cuts of my hair. Then, she put the scissors down, tucked the brush into her smock, and disappeared into the back.

I sat in that chair, staring into the mirror at my half-wet, partly-cut hair for about 5 minutes before someone else came out and finished my hair.

When she was finished, my hair looked good.

But, that morning (for the first time since the 8th grade when someone told me they were praying that I didn't go to hell), I felt ashamed. I was embarrassed about who I was and what I believed.

And you know, at the salon that day two years ago, nothing was ever said. Maybe I was imagining the whole scenario. Maybe that first girl just didn't feel well.

She never came out of the back room, and I didn't see her again, until yesterday —

"Hi, Merry Christmas! How are you doing? What are your plans for the holiday?"

Once more, I didn't lie.

"Well, I'm a flutist so I'm going to play at mass tonight and tomorrow morning and then just spend time with my family and friends. I'll probably go on a walk with my mom or maybe go to the movies. Pretty much a normal Christmas... "

And of course, my hair still looks good.

Beyond Failure

"Life isn't perfect."

Yeah, yeah, we've all heard that one before.

So, we all make choices, right? And who is to ever say whether they're good choices or bad choices or even just so-so choices? You never know what would have been down that other road, and so life is forever a boring cliche of guessing just what that greener grass couldhavewouldhave been.

And you know, these days - things are good. I have a great guy and a good relationship. I have enough work to support myself. I'm not on any medication. I'm recommitting myself to triathlon... I even have a few people I'm confident I can call 'friend'.

But, I can't help but want more.

And what I want doesn't matter — it's irrelevant, really.

Whether referring to career or relationships or even a silly night out, it all boils down to one thing — I want guarantees. I almost can't operate without them. So many times I've been tempted to back out, just because I can't tell the future, and just because I'm scared of failure.

No, I take that back. I'm not scared of failure. Failure and rejection, I know quite intimately, and I'm not afraid of them.

Instead, I'm scared of what that failure will bring, and the lack of options that lay just beyond failure.

But I'm not whining. I'm not unhappy and I'm not complaining.

I'm just saying that, despite knowing exactly to a freaking golf tee what I want in life in career in love, I still don't know how to go about getting it — and that's mostly because no one can promise me I won't just waste my time in pursuit. All my innumerable Type-A charts and outlines and plans can't give me the insurance I so horribly crave, and so?

I'm just figuring this out as I write, so maybe it's nothing all that profound, but maybe — maybe I just have to figure out how to keep persevering without the guarantees.

And yeah, that's obvious, but it's also [to be trite] so much easier said than done. It means practicing hours every day even though you know it's so damn hard to get a job, and god that's the least of it.

But, I guess we all have to start somewhere, and for me? Tonight it starts with going out with my friends after an evening of frustrating debilitating irritating boring but still somehow oddly inspiring practice.

So, despite the fact that I'm tired and don't really feel like moving even an inch off my bed, I'll head out to hear Cajun music, because that's where my friends are — and really, a night out with friends I only see once a year simply has to be more memorable than a night spent otherwise.

And even if the night ends up being less than I hoped, nothing all that bad will happen. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I can easily wash the smoke off of my clothes and out of my hair.

And who knows? Maybe it'll be the best night of my life.

No guarantees either way, but that's okay. As of right now, I'm learning to live without guarantees.

You know, I think our lifestyle of returning anything and everything just because we changed our mind or 'I don't like it anymore' has tempted us to treat non-material items in the same way, and maybe that's the fatal flaw.

But enough rambling; I'm heading out to the bar...

Because I'm told you never forget how to ride a bike.

Well... and also because I love triathlons...

[yup, just a boring schedule post, but those who read to the end will be awarded an awesome discount code, and information about possible additional cool stuff]

So, without further ado, here's my race schedule for this year:

Team Trakkers! Rev3Tri/Knoxville, TN - Oly - May 09

Team Trakkers! Rev3Tri/Middlebury, CT (Quassy) - Half IronMan - June 05

Philly Tri - Oly - June 27

Team Trakkers! Rev3Tri/Cedar Point, OH - IRONMAN - September 12

Austin 70.3 - Half IronMan - October 17

Now, that ends my triathlon season in October... so I'm thinking of giving the Philadelphia Marathon another shot in November. I should be in good shape after the September IronMan to start building some speed into my running.

But for now, I just need to find a pool in Philadelphia, preferably within walking distance of my new! apartment! Yup, I'm moving... this weekend, in fact... as soon as I'm set up, I'll post a bagillion pictures.

And, I will definitely update my sidebar with all of these events asap - I'm going home for 10 days at the end of next week, and since Lafayette always allows me with plenty of sitting-on-my-butt-in-front-of-the-computer time, I'm hoping to have a big makeover of both blog and website unveiled by the the end of the month.

And lastly - triathlon is an expensive sport, a fact I've been kind of sore about lately... so, if any of you are interested in doing one of the Rev3Tri race series I'm happy to give you this code for $10 off: Trakkers131*.

And the cool thing? This race series is already out to to revolutionize triathlon; get ready for lots of interesting, new features...

*In the interest of full disclosure, Team Trakkers is giving a prize to the person who refers the most race entries... so if I actually get the prize (unlikely; there are a lot of hotshot bloggers on the team), I'll make sure everyone who helped out will get a part of it, somehow... I'd give more details, but I don't have them right now - more as they become available, promise.