Pragmatic Tortured Artist

Apparently I'm pragmatic.

This kind of struck me recently when I was thinking I wasn't tortured enough to be creative. Perhaps I didn't have clear enough concept of what it means to be a writer, specifically.

I'm a jump right in, make a plan do the work, give yourself the title, hang your shingle, and bada bing, there you are what you say you are.

In the past

Once I had someone tell me that she thought I was overstretching when I decided to create scrapbooks for people professionally. Her words, "Wow, I never would never begin to think I could scrap for other people." There was a huge inference where I was suppose to make the jump if she wasn't capable I surely wasn't as well. I actually said, "Nobody is asking you to do it."* And only hours later did the inference connect in my brain.

I'm slow like that.

I also don't know when people are flirting with me.

And there are benefits to being slow, aside from some missed opportunities to get phone numbers or email addresses, it usually means I miss passive aggressive hits made at me. Like, "Oh wait, you were trying to say I shouldn't do it because you don't believe in your own abilities." Which is probably good. It keeps me from saying things like, "You're an idiot" or "your lack of confidence is suppose to translate to my abilities how?"

Then it struck me. There are two things, well many more than two, but two that are meaningful now that I've always said about myself. One is, "I've got more confidence than a fat girl should have." Isn't that loaded? Because fat doesn't equal anything less than regular, but it made people laugh and agree with me. The other thing is, "I don't suffer foolish behavior well." Which is true and let me say foolish and silly are separate things. I do like silly.

So there's pragmatic me, not suffering fools and blissfully ignorant me confidently striding through this life.

Which brings me to writing

Writing a book

Writing a book that will get published

I was telling someone that maybe I'm missing something, not a plot or story line, or audience, but I'm missing the tortured thing. Maybe I should doubt that perhaps don't have the skills or the voice or the interested readers or whatever it is that people torture themselves over. It just never really crossed my mind that it won't happen.

I don't mean to say I don't see there is work involved. There is research to do and skills to hone and time to invest. I don't expect to click my heels together and poof have it done. I don't expect to write the great American novel. I don't even expect to write more than my own story but I think it's a pretty readable story.

So I started to doubt things. I started to think, I'm not creative. I'm not talented. All those personality assessments actually say I suffer in the creative department. I'm pretty linear in my thinking. But I come from creative people. Some of it must have fallen into my Cheerios, right? --Really what I want to write is about creating a life of joy through transformation in a pretty linear way--so it's not that far a stretch.

Shortly after those thoughts came into my head I put the words out there and someone who knows me very well said, "Just because you are not a tortured artist doesn't mean your stuff isn't any less valid. You've got some great insights and unique ways of looking at things. You are too pragmatic for the tortured artist business."

Whew.

It was mighty uncomfortable for those few hours thinking that something was out my reach.

*I've made hundreds of dollars scrapping for people. I quit doing it when I went back to school to get my business degree. I went back to college to get my degrees to better know how to run that business to make it grow.

Foodpiphanies

I was out the other night and was talking about how I used to be a vegetarian. I was with a woman who doesn't eat beef unless it was "Happy Beef". Her words, not mine. Since she can't guarantee that most of the beef she encounters is happy she doesn't eat it often.

Which reminded me of the years I was vegetarian and how I became a non-vegetarian.

I had a talk with a whole dead chicken.

Bear with me. I get funny looks from people when I tell this story. I was told not to share this story once by my ex because it makes me look like a freak. But I think you'll understand me and not think I'm freakish. I've told the story many times since then with a little less sincerity in my voice and a side of self deprecation, so it tends to go over better these days. Or I could just not be caring if I look like a freak, or I could be hanging out with cooler people these days.

You are cooler people.

So I had made the choice to eat meat again. Mostly because there were a bunch of world experiences that were being limited to me by this one choice. I'd go to fun restaurants full of fantastic offerings and scour the menu looking for the one non-meat thing on it I could enjoy. Often times it wasn't enjoyable and I felt like meh, I want more choices.

Then I also felt my not eating meat didn't cause the least bit of difference in the meat packing industry. They didn't get my memo, or if they did, they certainly weren't going to change their processes based on my personal protest. (Spare me the one person at a time creates change thing, I get it. I was looking for excuses to eat meat.) Also, my weight and health wasn't improved by the meatless choice; french fries and chocolate shakes are indeed vegetarian.

So, I thought if I'm going to eat meat, the least I could do is be mindful that I'm eating an animal that had lived and breathed and had feelings. I'm not going to go into animal feelings because unlike my friend I don't think any animals going to slaughter are happy, be it beef or chicken or shrimp. But the point is they are sentient beings. Eating them is okay, but don't sanitize the process and I don't think that beef is red matter in an plastic covered Styrofoam board and that chicken is boneless.

And the story continues.

I held a chicken up, which had been processed, with no feathers or head but a whole chicken by grocery store standards and talked to it. This is where people get freaked out. I was like, "You, oh little chicken represent all the animals that come after you, I know you walked around, had your chicken life and are here now to be my food. I know you were more than a meal* for me. Thanks for your service to my well being." I then put it in pan, covered it olive oil, kosher salt, and herbs and roasted it.

*A whole chicken can be upto 6 or 8 meals depending on what you do with it, I can't help myself.

This happened a decade or more ago, so what's the relevance now you ask?

Well, you see I've been meditating on why food is comfort for me. I mean I know why, but like what is the purpose of having it comfort me. The whys are covered in a yucky childhood. But looking at the purpose of the comfort is big.

You know, I run back to food when I get out of sorts which does something that keeps me from achieving my next level. It keeps me safe from having to process something new that is scary.

There's the foodpiphany, well and here's the connection to the chicken.

If I can thank the chicken for its and all of future chickendom's support for my future well being, can I do the opposite with say "not growing food", which is the how we delineate food for the kiddo, which is not beneficial to one's growing.

Can I have a chat with sugar and butter and tell them that I appreciate the role they played in giving me comfort when it wasn't coming forthwith in my formative years? Can I thank them for their company when I was lonely and sad? Can I ask them to let me go, so I can experience the new stuff out there without having fall back into their embrace? I can.

So I did that.

While talking with S&B I said, "I have the tools to deal with scary and new, you've been sweet, but it's time I do what needs to be done without your support." Then I thought whoa, do you really have the tools?

Is that the truth? So while I'm sitting there a new question popped up, "what are those tools, when, and how are you going to use them?"

I have a list. I'm working on it. I'll be meditating on dealing with scary with other resources, which will be showing up soon. But yeah, I think I'm about ready to say goodbye to my old friends. I've loved them well, as they've held my hand, they've also held me back. I think we need to part ways.

Just being me

I've got a rare moment to breath. I want to send a loud thank you out to my former MIL. She called and asked for a date with her grand daughter. I had a paper to write so low and behold, daughter is with Memaw, swimming no less, my paper is written, my upcoming week is planned out and I'm sitting happily in coffee shop waiting for the drop off.

I've got to get caught up on my rss reads too.

Now is the balancing act between taking a moment and relaxing and taming the internal drive to find something new to do.

This morning I told my GF I need to find ways to be more productive because I wasn't achieving as much as I wanted to and I'm spending far too much time and energy berating myself for operating suboptimally. (I really said those words.)

She proposed that I lower my standards. Gasp!

But you know it's really that simple. I don't need to be producing something, learning something, improving something, or be deeply engaged in something all the time, everyday. I don't need to measure the quality of my sleep when my brain is turned off. I'm pretty tightly wound. Let me illustrate, so I can prove I can laugh at myself at the same time.

I'm taking up yoga. In part because it's healthy. It's also something one should do. I'm bored with my other body work, exercising and strength training. Also, I'm going to have MASSIVE plastic surgery in a few months to remove the loose skin that drapes my body. (There's a later post about that to come). I, being the planner and uber performer think that yoga post surgery, when I can't hit the gym hard, will help me heal more optimally. I question my own motivation.

"Optimally" is a word I use all the time in MBA papers. I wonder if it begin to grate my nerves like utilize. Just freakin use "use". "We can utilize the system blah, blah, blah"...I don't think you are smarter.

Back to me, I suppose I can just be.

Or so I'm told.

Just be, I'll try that for a few hours. I'm sure something will creep up and make me want to do.

Unfocused and Ambiguous

So, let me tell you about my crisis of ambiguity which is causing me to eat too many cookies, ice-cream and yes, pasta.

I've really sat down to work this out, because was sabotaging myself in record ways. I was stunned at how far I had gotten from who I am, and who I want to be.

I want to be someone who has control of how she responds to food in her environment. I want to be proud of myself. I don't want to be flailing on the end of the dog's tail. I want to be closer the the dog's butt. (There's a post in that statement but the gist of it, is the closer a flea is to the butt of the dog, while riding the tail the less out of control the ride will be.)

I really needed to figure out why because the self loathing is just not happy nor productive. I like being happy and productive.

So using my tools of writing and asking "why" questions and meditating and fully expecting insights because of http://shivanata.com/ and Havi said I would if I did the work, I came to some reasonable conclusions.

I am relieved. This is what I think now:

The problem is I don't have a real image of what I'm going to be doing in 8 months. Where will I be working? What will I be doing? I'm pretty scared. I'm a girl who has lived her life according to a strategic plan since 2005. It's not that structured, just the big stuff, so it all gets done. But the plan ends this year and the next one can't be firmed up until some BIG GIANT UNKNOWNS get answered.

I can't answer them right now. So I have to be okay with not knowing.

I'm safe. I'm secure. Not knowing is okay, not knowing is okay, not knowing is okay. That's my mantra.

But there are some things I know will I want to be true in 8 months, and are true today. My work today will impact them later.

I know I want my daughter to be better with her anxiety.
I know I want to be as healthy as possible.
I know I want to be loving the good people in my life.
I know I want to continue learning and exploring my options.

So while I practice not knowing exactly where I'll be working or what I'll be doing for money, I can stay mindful that I'm safe where I am and this is a good launching pad. Also, the new stuff is what all the work since 05 has been about.

Also, I can do things actively that support what I want and need in my life and those are loving and caring and learning.

It's a nice place to be. And yeah, actually going for the bowl of oatmeal with maple syrup instead of the eggs with mayo and believing and knowing full well that choice will make me happier has the maple tasting sweeter.

New Day

I was in the car for 5 hours today listening to the radio; NPR, Tom Joyner, just plain regular stuff in northern Indiana. It's a historic day. MLK today and the inauguration tomorrow, it's hard to miss the significance of it all. I'm just happy to see a new face in the White House.

What's there to say that's not been said over and over again?

I'm also happy to see MLK day become a national day of service. The kiddo and I bought and delivered (well tried to, but they were closed observing the day) food to the local pantry. We'll drop it off tomorrow, but the point was made.

She helped pick out the fruit cups, tuna, soup cans and peanut butter. She asked questions like why not loaves of bread and frozen peas. We got our boots on and schlepped the 300 feet down the alley to the pantry. Really, it's that close, one little block away, and we go so infrequently.

Shame on us.

But yeah to us, too because I see $20 in groceries to be donated as part of our monthly budget. It's easy and important. It's good karma. It will assure that we will always have food. I believe that deep in my heart.

The kiddo talks of "karma". She gets immediate bad for bad, but doesn't see good for good or good now for distant good. Regardless, I'm glad she gets it on her 7 year old level. Beats thinking Jesus is going to get you!

She's been delightful the last couple of months.

Things in general are looking up, the kiddo, my schooling only has 10 weeks left, new adventures for work, getting into some body work, the love of my S.O., and politically change is happening. Hard to be bored.

Buzz, Buzz, Buzz

No I'm not buzzing from too much coffee or like I've been plugged in too long. My mind is swirling with so many ideas that I'm scared I'll lose them if they don't get captured.

And that's a good problem to have.

How sad would it be not to have ideas and options and stuff to occupy your self, your hands, your mind? There's so much I want to do.

People say there are systems out there for capturing your thoughts. I love my Franklin Covey planner, frankly, but I under use it most of the time. I took a day long class once on how to use their system. It must have been the right thing at the right moment because I've continued with my sloppy adaptions for years since.

I'm all a buzz with ideas for what I want to do next, then next and the next after that.

I've got to get through the present before I can really germinate any of them. And well most don't pay. I've got to focus on the getting paid aspect of my life, which dawns on me, I've got to write my resume.

So along with the unpaid buzz, which is learning a few languages, writing a screen play and climbing a wall which sit on top of the tasks to develop which might help me get paid. Which includes writing a few how to book ideas and shopping those around to agents, finishing my next 10.5 weeks of classes, getting in my optimal healthy form for surgery in April, and writing that resume, there are things I just want to do.

The things are all competeing for space in my brain. It's a big brain and I'm the queen of the spread sheet of ideas, but I'm running out of empty corner to stash ideas. I have to get them out and on paper and put somewhere where I won't forget them.

Enter Mr FC Planner.

I have to have a coffee date with my planner. Just to two of us in the noisy Cup O' Joe, my favorite fine tip retractable pilot pen, some odd ball music which is delightful coming out the speakers, stuff I'd never buy but enjoy, a pot of white tea, and my Franklin Covey planner. It's like an intimate date; just me and him.

My planner apparently is male.

Which makes sense. I hate and love men. I hate them for not being female and for being so "other". But I love them for being helpful and willing to cooperate if you ask nicely. I'm always surprised when I find a man I genuinly like. Not that there aren't many, I do have some favortie fellas out there , but I assume I'll just always not like a man when I first meet him.

Oh how unfair, I know. Sue me.

I think I'll scratch out an hour and get that tea tonight. Whew.

I'd been holding my breath for decades

You know there are those things that you do that you don't even know you are doing them until you stop. And you didn't even realize that you stopped until you noticed you're not doing that thing anymore?

Yeah, I had that happen today.

I thought I was going to keep the weight loss stuff mostly off this blog, but that blog is a pain to get to and well the point is to write so here it comes.

I went to a spin-boot camp class today. Most the folks left after 30 minutes of spinning to the go to boot camp in another room but me and two other woman stayed to spin a little longer. We chatted. We talked about kids and school and kids in school. It was just pleasant.

Then the kid and I went to the store(s) and lunch and well, something happened while I was driving home in the rain. I realized I had stopped expecting people to look at me and be biased.

Biased based on my size.

I didn't realize I had that long held expectation all the time. Oh there were certainly peak moments when I knew the bias was going to come, sitting next to people on the bus or walking into a restaurant, but it infiltrated every encounter with every body, all the time. Or so I'm guessing now that I realized I've stopped expecting it at the most obtuse moments.

I mean I've noticed, and it's a sad commentary, that people are friendlier. And no it's not because I'm more confident; I've always been confident. People are friendlier because I'm not fat. I don't know what a smile or holding the door was going to cause them to lose when I was heavy. I wasn't going to snatch food from their hand or heavens gobble up their children. But it is this truly something that happens.

And no, when I was driving today, I didn't see this as a victory, as it woo hoo I've passed the passing for normal size SAT. But I saw it as a Dude, that's kind of sad that I walked around apprehensive more than I ever would have admitted to. And people are bastards, all kind of in one big thought.

And more to the point, I recently hooked up via Face Book with an old friend who is pretty politically astute. She was gentle in asking about the weight and I was eager to reply, but also knowing I wanted to temper my enthusiasm with a real dose of size acceptance. Old friend, comes from back in what I call my Humorless Lesbian Phase, where the label does a bit of a disservice because there was much laughing, but we made sport of who could more politically correct. She always, always won.

Also, it's not something I easily gloss over. While I personally never advocated for size acceptance when I was large in an organized let's rally kind of way, it was something I strived for in my daily exchanges. And more over, while I've been going through this weight loss period my closest friend it the world, (CFITW? naw, G.) is an advocate and we've had to have some pretty intense and exposed conversations on how to negotiate through our relationship while I've lost weight. I'm glad to report we are as close as ever and remain cheering each other on constantly.

So the whole kit and caboodle is in the forefront of my mind when the thought came to me today, and aside from writing about here, I don't know what else to do about it, if anything.

Love Thy Self

There's this thing that I do where I compare before and afters. There's no real saying it when will happen. And I try to keep it to a minimum to the general public but the SO gets to hear it often.

I don't go on about the befores and afters to the public or friends, if you will, because I don't want to sound like I've come to Jesus and they should too. Or maybe I do and I'm delusional, which could be the case and I've got very sweet people who just don't tell me I'm nauseating with my continued contrasting. The SO has taken it as part of what I do.

And what I'm talking about most of the time is the before the massive weight loss and the after. But there's also the before returning to school and the after. I've got confidence in spades now and I don't much need to tell people about it because it shows. Also I don't need to tell people that I can do all kinds of things with my body now that I couldn't do before. It's obvious.

But then there are surprises. Like going toe to toe with my surgeon on things economic and political, then telling him to set that aside and focus on the real reason I was there which of course was me. That comes from schoolin'. Or being exposed to concepts and ideas because one is forced to due to being in school. (One doesn't need an MBA to read the books and know the stuff, but that's another post).

But you're going to get one now and one that pertains to the body thing. Today there was a surprise. While in the dark, in the tub, trying to make my head ache vanish I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, and hugged myself. Maybe I was more bendy because it was warm or I was squeezable because I was wet, but that's a move I've not performed in decades.

It was nice.

Then of course I was like awe, I'm hugging me. That's sweet. And doing that while having a head ache, meaning it must have been super sweet because head aches stink, badly. But then I thought about some of what I've been doing lately, which is mindfully stopping bad choices, and thought yeah, you're doing that because you love yourself.

Which I do.

And the best part is that I didn't get hung up on the part where I go back and count the years that I hadn't been bendy enough or that there was just too much of me to make that move feasible. Those years are marked by indifference to myself or self-hated and it's really an unfun place to go. I haven't let it suck me in recently, but it looms.

Instead I thought yeah, looky, I can hug myself, I want to love myself, I do love myself and I'm doing more to love myself often. I need to remember this at decision time to use to help over the hump of should or shouldn't. That's so useful.

I love useful.

Color me... well brightly

So I joke that blogging is so 2002. That's when I first took it up. That one has been long abandoned, like so many.

Than there was a weight loss blog that wasn't too long for this world and more recently there was one that detailed my progress with weight loss surgery. That's http://www.lapbandaid.blogspot.com/ I'm guessing it too will be lost due to disinterest. Actually I don't want to lose it entirely because there's a some nuggets in there that will become points in a book.

Did I say book?

Yes, yes I did. I'm going to write a book. Get it published even, well because I want to.

Here's the thing. The thing that's going to separate this blog from the others. It's the audience. You reader. I'm actually assuming I'm going to be read. The other ones were for me and any random person who happened across them. But this is so much more, m-o-r-e intentional.

What about that? Me being intentional and all.

So it's the new year and with that comes all kind of promises one makes to oneself and to others and the universe. I just want to say I let myself not do that this year. Well not in the way of resolutions.

This year as in last year I made a plan for the year. A plan to get work done and you know vat? I got my shit done last year. Oh was it glorious like go to distant lands and become a millionaire? Of course not. But I did get closer to the SO, and that was on the plan. I did make giant strides toward the vision.

Oh the vision.

You know the one where I'm a better form of my younger self. It's more than that, but it's as simple as that too.

Life is good when you do what you say you'll do. You don't beat yourself up. The sun shines brighter, birds sing more sweetly, children quit fighting, gray rooms turn Technicolor as you enter.

Well, so I remember. Near the end of the year I got into the rut again. I got into feeling like I could do more, should do more and the fact that I wasn't performing to my own outrageous standards had me feeling just a tad blue about me.

But then something happened. I read about patterns and giving yourself time with them and taking tender loving care of you heart and mind at http://www.fluentself.com/ (which is astonishing and brilliant, BTW) and low, I'm back to my technicolor self.

What's more I came across that there little link from some mainstream something or another while looking for the next job. It was a delight in a rather dull grind of the Internet. What a fun happenstance, but then some people say there are no coincidences or accidents. Everything happens for a reason.

Well you are here for a reason too. Hope it's to find a little something fun for your minutes, or it could be more. Regardless. Welcome.

Back Story

The Lunch Lady to MBA blog is about this whole giant transformation I've been going through and what's going to poop out on the other side.

"poop" nice.

Also, it's about me writing to improve my writing and finding a voice that will help me get my message out to the masses. However many of the masses there may be. But getting the message out is part of the giant master plan to dominate my life and rule the world and by that I mean live the life of MY own design that is fulfilling and brings me joy. I'll be ruling my own world, and by that I mean experiencing it in a way that gives me happiness, brings me peace and expands my learning.

Also it means that I can get the all the gooey good feelings I'm manifesting for myself out in a way that will help others get all that they want from their life.

You see here's a little back story to the whole thing.

I was the last of four kids born to a mom who believes in the power of the universe to create destiny, which is awesome. But it typically takes the universe a few years to make something meaningful out a life and a whole lot shit can go bad while one is waiting for that to happen. Leaving kids to make choices for themselves instead of guiding them under the guise of universal shaping could be called neglect by some. And while no one spent too much time in jail we floundered a bit.

Let's just say I was too busy getting by to grow a career in my twenties. And let's just say for most of my thirties I was too scared once I got my feet beneath me to venture further than working my job that paid my bills and gave me a little money to travel now and again.

But then something happened. We got a baby. Then I got alone with my baby. Then I had bills, a baby to care for and only one income. And being scared just didn't seem like a viable way to get through the hard stuff which was looming. So I thought. And I thought some more.

And I thought the only thing I know to be true and unchanging is that I have a kid. She needs things like shoes, certainly, but also a roof, a life full of traditions, a path laid before her and a momma who is healthy and energetic enough to show her that path. And with that in mind I started to think about change.

What ever was could be different.

When I beat myself up through my 20s and 30s, which surprises most people it didn't happen that often, but the message was always consistent, I was overweight and under educated. And not just a little overweight. I tipped the scales at what I'm best guessing as 350 plus pounds. And I had only a few quarters of college under my belt.

I was working as a cafeteria manager, hence the Lunch Lady thing in the title. And there are times when I think being obese in that environment is like an alcoholic working in a bar, but then I know plenty of obese people who don't work with food. They get their food fix not at work. I just got mine cheaper. Funny I wrote, "was" but truth is "am" is the proper tense. I still work there, I'm still a Lunch Lacy. But I've gone back to school. I got a BS in business management and I'm 12 weeks away from finishing my MBA.

Oh but the weight. Yeah, I've lost close to 175 pounds. A little surgery, gastric banding, has helped get the eating under control and actually getting in tune with my body by exercising all kinds of way has made me blow the statistics out of the water for results. I'm really pretty impressed myself.

Stats are all well and good, but what's freaking incredible about the whole thing is I've done both of these transformational things at the same time, blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back, walking uphill in the snow.

No, no, no. What's incredible about this experience is that I like me better.

No, I like you better. I do. I have to say that I like humanity better as a whole because I am kinder to myself. It feels good. I want to be kinder to you too. It keeps my stress level down. I'm not kidding it's not altruistic at this point. Perhaps later it will become that, but now, here it's about me not wanting to carry around a bunch of anger because of others.

But no, wait there's more. And really, I'm not liking my writing style, well, I am but it's becoming a bit disjointed, the best part about the process of going eh, my life sucks, what can I do to make it better, DOING JUST THAT, and coming to nearly close to very end of that process, is I want to help other people do it too.

Why? Because I can. The MBA gave me access to all kinds of fun business lingo, [there's a post in there somewhere about how business folk see the margin in "groovy process" and the theories are not out of bounds or beyond them] and they are my market, nah audience, the target of my message. Also, it's the community which pays more.

I didn't go back to school at 40 for the educational liberal arts experience. I'd being doing textile design if I did, I went back to get a job. A better paying one at that. Because as well as I do get paid, and the Lunch Lady gig is pretty sweet, that one income is hardly enough to provide for me and my kid. And honestly landing me a mate just to help pay the bills doesn't sound that appealing either. I girl needs to pay her own way.

And by the way , there is a mate but it's a long distance relationship thing. So we each have our own bills to fend for. The conversations of co-buying furniture and other fun things play huge in our hypothetical future lives story making time, but I digress.

So, well there you go. I didn't like where I was. I chose where I wanted to be. I created a path with doable sized pieces, did it and what do you know? The path while ending in the general area I set out upon is vastly different/better than I ever imagined it would be.

And anyone else who wants to change can.