500 Miles @500miles-blog - Tumblr Blog

Playing with graphics this morning for Umoja University 2014 correspondence.

I love my job.

Who, What, When, Where, Why.

I am Caryn. I am a daughter, a sister, a partner, a friend (and probably, to some people, an enemy). I am toppling tree, starfish, happy baby. I am a creative collector. I am not really a morning person, but I try every morning. I believe trying is an essential daily exercise. I am the energy of the daily commute. I am 3 days from turning 30. I am in Lawndale. I am at the Green Tomato Cafe. I am sitting at a long table with a bench, my body pirched on one corner. I am the lingering last look at a favorite work of art. I am the screaming in the corner. I am the details lost in the mix.

why year 4 is already the best one yet.

October 23 marked our 3 year anniversary.

Our lucky number.

Our third year together was lucky indeed. A year marked by great transformation and patience and determination and struggle and pure, sweet, unapologetic LOVE. Our third year was HARD. It was painful and trying and downright HONEST. It was messy. It was exactly what it was meant to be.

Our anniversary came to a close and we nestled into our bed (Bee snuggled between the folds of the comforter, pressed closely to Aubrie). I felt something in me shift. It all felt so good. We were about to start our year 4.

We celebrated our anniversary in the best way (great food and taste pairings; a chef battle). Those who know us know we LOVE a good cooking competition and that we love, love, love to eat. Our anniversary celebration felt very us. Prior to living together, we traveled to our respective cities (Chicago or Savannah) to be with one another during our anniversary. Everything was so big and purposeful and planned. We had such limited time together (actually, physically together) that every weekend spent together was (and rightfully so) a BFD. It is now that we enjoy the balance of time we have together (that equal richness in quality, both big moments and small) and something about this anniversary felt no different.

We woke up the next morning and went about our day just like any other day. We both got ready for work. We fed the cat. We planned out our schedules and who was cooking what for dinner. But as I walked out the apartment to greet the 50 bus to work, my feet felt different. My legs grounded below me. In that moment I felt both solid and stable on the earth AND light as air. I was hovering above and looking up from below. I had completely surrounded myself.

It was as if my body finally felt whole.

And today, well, crap. TODAY. I woke up today in a state that approves same-sex marriage. I watched the live stream from my tiny cubicle in downtown Chicago. I watched the Yes votes go from 59 (which was the projected amount of Yes votes in the test vote earlier in the day) to 60 to 61. I lost it. I could hear the crowd react through my headphones. I heard applause and cheering and screaming and outward sighs of relief. I started to cry. I allowed a complete release of emotion. I felt my feet below. I felt my legs and my arms sink into my seat. I hovered above and looked up from below.

I felt a rush of familiarity and warmth. I felt solid and secure and safe (even in an all grey cubicle on the 18th floor). I felt bigger than my surroundings. Every emotion in me was rushing out. It overflowed and rushed into the office and out the doors and down to the streets below. It swept up the people and cradled them. It suspended the day into a sea of purpose and pride and love.

I am convinced that those who marched for marriage equality in Springfield on October 22 did so with a river of love. They came in with that rushing water. And as promised, they came back to Chicago, tracing tracks of wet feet behind them. May their efforts never go unappreciated. May they realize the river that flows wildly throughout Chicago. May all those who support equality for ALL PEOPLE realize the water that surrounds us. It cradles us.

For those still stalled by fear or hate or doubt or worry or disbelief or indifference, it's only a matter of time before the water fills up around you. You may start to notice it now and you may disregard it. Perhaps it is only a little puddle forming around your feet. Who cares, right?

Just you wait.

You're going to need a bigger boat.

#love #marriageequality #hrc #illinois

Some thoughts on drinking...and why I stopped.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was hungover on a Friday morning after a night of free drinks and dancing. What started as an innocent evening with friends and great music turned into a muddled collection of thought. I did not know what the hell happened. I did not know how many drinks I actually had. I did not know how I was really feeling. I did now know who I really was.

What a mess. What a scary freakin' mess.

I spent the bulk of Friday just trying to piece myself back together. That weekend, I listened to my body. I hurt. I ached. I questioned. I looked back. When did I let it get to this point? A point of no self-control, no awareness, no responsibility? How did I get from one beer to six in under 4 hours?!?! Did I drink 6? Didn't I just have 2? Why can't I remember? What's more scary, why did this happen again? Why did I let it happen again?

As of late, a couple of drinks turned into several drinks turned me into a self-loathing, constantly questioning, low self-esteem individual. I let myself turn into this victim. I didn't have steady work. I didn't have a steady purpose. Wah wah wah. I just lost myself over and over again. And, for a little while at least, alcohol made that all go away.

Eventually, it did the exact opposite. Instead of hiding them away (tucking them somewhere so I didn't have to worry or deal), alcohol turned my shame and fear on their ugly heads and inflated them, making them scream for attention in my ears. My mind's mirrors reflected back on me and all the things I hated about myself and my current situation tripled in size. They just never went away.

I have wrestled with sharing this, just as I have struggled with sharing other aspects of my life on an online forum. I like to do it, however, because it holds me accountable. It allows me to get it all out. It allows me to connect with just how real it is and how much it has influenced my life and my decisions.

In addition to the heavy reflection of that one evening, other aspects of my life came into focus when making the decision to stop drinking.

In comes my yoga practice. I have said it before and I will gladly say it again. Yoga has swept in like a force and changed my life. I am continually learning how proper wellness practices can shift motivations within me in order to take better care of myself. Yoga has made these habits stick. It has taught me so many great lessons about myself. It has quieted shame and fear. The mirrors still reflect back on me, but they shine with purpose, growth, and compassion. Yoga encourages me to look inward. I am only me on my mat. I have only my breath. I am tuning in to ebb and flow of my body and I am listening with such intent that I acknowledge when my body responds to the yogis around me.

It is during my practice that I reflect on all the other stuff. What outside forces are challenging me? What habits work for me and which ones do I need to change? What aspects of my personality should I focus on in this moment?

I think about my family a lot. I think about our habits and our behaviors. I think about our diets and our addictions. I think about where I am in all that and it is a rude awakening. I know for a fact that I am susceptible to addiction. I latch on to things. I knew it was only a matter of time before my drinking fully engulfed my entire being. I knew drinking would be a problem because it already was one.

So, I don't drink anymore.

It no longer seems fun to me, something I could actually enjoy when with family or my friends. It also no longer seems necessary. I do not need a glass of wine at dinner. I do not need a beer while watching a basketball game. I do not need a drink to make myself feel included in social situations.

I do need, however, to be patient. I need to work on myself. I need to look below the surface. I need to dig a little deeper. I need to take care of my body and more importantly, my mind and my spirit.

Drinking does not contribute anything uplifting or positive or real to my life. Particularly now when so many other things do.

I must now pay attention to them.

Opening Up...An Ode to my Sacral Chakra.

Ah, yes. The Sacral Chakra. The root of all sexuality, zest for life, and creative expression. In a word, me.

I should have seen this coming. I should have always known to put the pieces together and realize that this particular chakra would serve as clarity to my life's dirty messes.

Back in high school, my chemistry teacher told me that my aura was orange. Everyone thought he was a nut, but he fascinated me. Our class would need to get through the most grueling 11 weeks of our lives for our privilege to learn more about the "unknown" when discussing the human psyche. Somehow, Mr. Backus knew everything about everything. I can remember the final week of my junior year. Mr. Backus explained to the class that he can see and read auras. The class broke out in immediate laughter. He went on to tell us that he read our auras from day 1 of class and kept note of each aura in his class register. It wasn't until the final week that he invited us up to his lab table to show us the color; our auras bestowed to us through the scribbling of an elderly man's #2 pencil. I can remember walking up to him and his smile widening.

"Orange," it read.

My name was sandwich between two opaque piece of white paper. He didn't want the class to see any other student's auras beside our own. That wasn't our business (of course, everyone told everyone else what color they had).

"You exude energy. You are happy and positive and love life."

What the hell is the 17-year-old me supposed to do with that? At the time, that was obvious. I loved my life. I did a million things at once. I always wanted to know what was going on. I was a social butterfly.

"You probably always had this aura and you probably always will."

Did Mr. Backus prep me for what would ultimately become the color I connect with? Did he know I would start to practice yoga regularly and that my sacral chakra would prove to be the most difficult and equally incredible force to deal with? Did he see it in 17-year-old me?

Fast forward to last year: I am deep in thought mid Pigeon pose. I'm taking a yoga class alongside my fellow lululemon team members and my instructor, Jenny Wixon, is reading out of her notebook. Her voice lulls my muscles and invites my hips to open wider. This is the extreme key-in to the sacral chakra. If Half-Pigeon/Pigeon can't open that baby up, it is rare to me to find anything else that will.

Jenny continues reading and she's speaking softly. She shares quotes and mantras and visions of self-love, belonging, worth, shame, hurt, need, perseverance. I am crying my eyes out. The TRUE SIGN of a sacral chakra awakening. Considering the sacral chakra is directly connected to your hormones, this shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did.

WHY AM I CRYING SO HARD?

Perhaps this chakra needed opening all along? Perhaps Mr. Backus had it pegged that the color orange (color associated with the sacral chakra) would find its way to present itself in my adult life? Perhaps I should have been paying attention to orange and my hips and my reproductive everything since the very beginning?

As my yoga practice continues to expand, I am more aware of the chakras and how they work with me. Similarly, how they don't. The Sacral Chakra, or the "I want" and "I feel" chakra, couldn't quite possible resonate with me on any other level better than that. I feel, I feel, I feel. I guess the other big part of me is the "I love," or the Heart Chakra. But, it's this hip opening thing. When I find myself emotional as I reflect and listen to my breath in Half-Pigeon OR when I am suddenly elated with positivity as I float over my mat in Half Moon.

It baffles me. Is the core of my mental well-being in my hips? Suddenly, I can't do anything but research the Sacral Chakra. The more I read about it, the more I begin to tune in and understand exactly who the hell I am and who the hell I am supposed to become. A fine tuned Sacral Chakra is the beginning of everything. It is the ultimate womanly force to reckon with. It is calming and reflective. It is power. It is an emotional, mental, spiritual release of one's true self. That reallyuglywhenIcry true self. When that chakra is open, I am everything I want to be. I feel grounded (it helps that it's second in line after the Root Chakra) and I feel important. I feel like my life matters.

Anyone out there reading this that doesn't practice yoga, I'm sorry. I am probably rambling. However, the chakras are pretty interesting and perhaps worthy of your time to read about and learn more. I'm hoping that I continue exploring this relationship with the Sacral and with the color orange. As a person of great creativity, keeping that chakra open, alive, and breathing is the lifeline to who I am.

It also helps that our sunroom (the room in which I write and express and create and explore on the daily) just happens to be painted orange.

Proud.

Turgeon pride, y'all.

on transitions and timing...

my mother proposed this idea (a while back) of buying me a plane ticket home. i was at my wit's end with this whole job search process and it was evolving into so much more than just a job search. it was becoming a me search. and i was going up empty handed.

my mother could hear the level of anxiety, worry, and stress in my voice. perhaps i needed the vermont air? after my family visited me in chicago in april, i proposed visiting my parents in savannah in june. i knew and i know i need a break. i just wasn't sure i wanted to take that break in vermont. my hometown really doesn't feel like my hometown anymore. i long for the salty air of savannah. furthermore, my extended family are all of my friends in savannah. i have struggled with missing them. so, with that, i land in savannah next tuesday morning and i'll spend four days there. home. surrounded by so much of what is familiar to me.

when i think about my timing here in chicago, i left savannah to move here. i was very aware of why i moved. i wanted to make my place here (after solidifying quite the place for myself in savannah) and i knew there was one, i just had no idea where to start looking for it. as always, a secure job seemed like the best place to start, but what about everything after that? what about my relationship with aubrie? what about friendships? what about my creativity? what about connections? what about my long term goals? did all of that just lose purpose bc i lacked a job?

i have had the opportunities to interview for some really great jobs. ones i know i would learn so much from and contribute so much to. none of them (so far) have really panned out. i have been extremely fortunate to secure a contractual job working for a nonprofit and i am sublimely happy in this role. it is utilizing my brain in ways i never thought possible. all the others just didn't work out. am i surprised? with some, yes. with others, not at all. there is something in me that just clicks or it doesn't. and at this very moment i remember something so vital. a while ago, before i started working for the telfair, i applied for an admissions job at scad. i didn't get it. one of my current part-time employers put it very simply. "it only means something greater is coming to you." that fall i interviewed with the telfair and got the job. the telfair became my career.

i hear that woman in my head now. all of these opportunities that didn't work out only led me in a different direction. something great is coming. that's what god does, right? god is super funny about timing and transitions. first, a total shit storm. second, the very bottom of the depths of sanity. and then, out of nowhere, this small sliver of possibility.

i feel like i'm finally in that third place. that small sliver of possibility, of something. this contract job excites me. it's not a ton of hours, but it's purposeful and that is something i want when i think about the kind of work i'll do here in chicago. purposeful. real. tangible. active. but, even more than that, the tiny sliver of possibility is turning into big connections and real relationships. while the friendships i have here are still new, they are the kind of friendships i know are the real deal in the making. they exude the exact same emotions within me that my friends in savannah did and more importantly, the friendships i made in college.

it's that idea of transitioning, isn't it? what happens to us when we move, shift, change course. we adapt. we may lose a limb here or there, but we always grow it back. i think what's so fascinating about us all is that we never grow it back the same way. we all have to make the most of what we get, what is presented to us in that moment. so, here i am. losing limbs in bouts of frustration. losing limbs in fear. losing limbs in what i think is lost opportunity. losing limbs in anxiety. losing limbs, losing limbs. i wake up every single morning trying to piece together who i am and what i want and what i will make of this day and i am consistently floored by my ability to get up and get out there.

that's what every single one of us is trying to do. we may not get everything we want or everything we think we deserve, but we get something. regardless of where we are in the transition (the shit storm, the bottom of our sanity, the sliver of opportunity), it's not like we are lost. it's not like we will just float out into the abyss and be forgotten forever. if anything, we are of the utmost importance during that shift. it is when and where we mean the most to the great picture.

so, when i think about it like that, i've been pretty lucky, haven't i?

we all have.

Raising our hands...

"I didn't set out to be the first openly gay athlete playing in a major American team sport. But since I am, I'm happy to start the conversation. I wish I wasn't the kid in the classroom raising his hand and saying, "I'm different." If I had my way, someone else would have already done this. Nobody has, which is why I'm raising my hand." - Jason Collins

The Jason Collins interview with Sports Illustrated hit hard yesterday. What an enormous amount of courage it takes for an active professional athlete to come out, something never done until now in the NBA, NFL, MBA, and NHL. It is also disheartening, at least a little bit. Jason's story is all too familiar, coming out later on in life. His reference to "baking," in which he baked in a proverbial oven for 33 years until he felt ready, resonates with me quite profoundly.

I came out to my parents in May 2010. I fell madly in love with a woman (Aubrie) and I can remember feeling absolutely mortified to come clean and tell them.

We all have our closets.

I would call my parents almost every single day wanting to tell them and I never would, resulting in crying my eyes out the moment I hung up the phone.

My "closet" was my own guilt.

My younger brother is gay and I felt and guilted myself to feel that my parents experienced enough with "coming out" in our family. However, as my feelings for Aubrie grew stronger, it became apparently clear that I needed to tell them.

My coming out story is unique to me, as it is to Jason Collins and every other person out there. I identify as bisexual, but I am not quick to correct those who identify me as gay. I am in love with a woman. We are in a committed relationship. I want to marry her and have children with her. Along those lines of definition and (as I see it) stereotype, I guess you could consider me gay, but I know I am so much more than that.

We all are.

For me, it doesn't matter whether you are gay, bi, transgender, queer, indifferent or straight. What matters is that we all raise our hands and we all contribute to this conversation. That is why I fight so damn hard for LGBTQ rights in this country and world. You are all of my brothers and sisters. We are all family.

Jason Collins felt such an overwhelming outpour of support from his NBA and professional sport family, as well as his country. That is his family and we are one another's. Let's support one another through all life brings our way and all life may reveal and let us not be quick to judge those who have fought the hardest battle of all....the one against themselves.

Let us welcome one another as we TRULY are and be kind to those that may take a little longer in figuring it all out.

#loveislove #jason collins #hrc #coming out #lgbtqia

When it rains, it pours...

Today? There's water everywhere.

Aubrie and I woke up multiple times this (very early) morning due to the extremely intense thunderstorms happening right outside our bedroom window. Unless you've been living under a rock for the last couple of weeks (and maybe that's better), the weather in Chicago hasn't been, well, great. It hasn't been bad, just not what I like to call "spring spectacular."

I spent the bulk of yesterday inside because of the weather (and probably my general mood about it/day 2 of a juice cleanse and STARVING) and I hated it. Talk about cabin fever. After traveling to Louisville for the weekend and experiencing 75+ degree weather, the last thing my body wanted was grey and rain and juice for food.

To make myself feel better, I scheduled a hot yoga session (my go-to for everything) for this morning, 8:30am. You know, right in the middle of all this severe weather. Needless to say, I wasn't going anywhere and opted to stay indoors until the crazy lightning and thunder stopped. Being a commuter, you choose your battles wisely. Wind and downpours just didn't feel like my cup of tea at 7am.

So, I waited it out. The rain let up and the wind calmed down. Andersonville almost had this haze about it and although it looked grey and cold, it wasn't. At all. In fact, it felt like spring! I threw on a light coat and some rain boots and immediately made my way out of my apartment.

I started to walk. I walked to Starbucks (helllllo soy latte). I walked to Jewel. I started to walk back home, but as I met Summerdale Ave. square in the face, I just kept walking.

I did this for an hour. I walked the entire perimeter of my neighborhood.

Last week was a week of opportunity for me. A glimpse at just how good life can be when I remind myself to stop trying so hard. It felt so good to see friends, volunteer, have TWO job interviews, and travel back to Aubrie's home in Louisville for the weekend. Truly "when it rains, it pours" in the most positive and affirming way imaginable.

But, the Boston Marathon bombings on Monday catapulted me back to the very dark reality of our present times in our country and world. As we drove back to Chicago, I saw a flood of responses via Facebook and Twitter regarding Boston. I thought something happened to a runner or that people were praying for Boston because so many people were running and they wanted to keep their thoughts with them. I didn't think for one second that something terrible happened. I started to check sources online and sure enough, "Two Bombs Go Off at Finish Line, Multiple Injuries." I'm sorry, but WHAT THE F*CK?!

I didn't believe it. Something else? More fear? More hurt? More potential death? More violence? WHY?!?! Haven't we all endured enough? I'm not just talking about Americans. I'm talking about this entire planet. Enough is enough.

As the day unfolded and we finally made it home, we turned on the TV. Three dead (including an 8 year old boy from Dorchester, MA). Over 100 injured. The bombs were made of pressure cookers. PRESSURE COOKERS.

Of course, my mind floods with thoughts of 9/11. Some of the photographs released from Monday remind me of those shot at Ground Zero. I still have a hard time processing 9/11 and here we are, more mass chaos coming out of quite possibly one of my most favorite cities, Boston.

Monday's events prove that we live in a time where we really can't assure our safety, anywhere. But, isn't that the reality for all of us? 9/11 didn't just affect Americans. The World Trade Center was a beacon of international business/commerce/communication/freedom. Americans don't just run the Boston Marathon. Numerous countries are represented and it's somewhat of a sacred race, prestigious to the point that you need to qualify in order to run. So, really, these kinds of attacks don't just harm American values (if anything, Americans get stronger), they wreak havoc on our humanity and I think that's the hardest of all.

What saddens me the most is that the attacks in Boston come after a long stream of violence and inhumanity in this world. Shockingly, most of it seen during my lifetime (something I thought as a child would NEVER happen). With that, I have somewhat lost my idealism when I think about the promise of what's the come for all of us. I have hardened with some sense of reality that these kinds of things happen and happen when we least expect them and happen to really, really, really good people.

Then again, I still sit in my apartment and look out the window with wide eyes and wonderment. I still embrace the sunshine. I still daydream about what's to come and what kind of impact my generation will have on the bigger picture. It turns out, our faith in each other has not wavered. If anything, we hold on together, we cry together, we fight together stronger than ever and with much deeper purpose.

So far, it's been one of those weeks where "when it rains, it pours." What matters now is that we do not coop ourselves up in our apartments and our homes and our jobs. We get outside and we walk.

We walk in it and we walk through it.

#musings #boston #writing

Why I practice yoga...

1. I practice to find clarity.

2. I practice to ground myself.

3. I practice to quiet my mind and thrill my heart.

4. I practice to deepen my breath.

5. I practice to hear deep within myself.

6. I practice to build strength.

7. I practice to tune in and tune out.

8. I practice to be kind.

9. I practice to calm down.

10. I practice to let go.

11. I practice to let in.

12. I practice to be quiet.

13. I practice to be loud.

14. I practice to be present.

15. I practice to be me.

16. I practice to test myself.

17. I practice to find appreciation.

18. I practice to embrace myself.

19. I practice to embrace the now.

20. I practice to exude gratitude.

Yoga crept in quietly while I was living in Savannah. It found me when my hips and knees and shoulders and back just couldn't take sitting at a desk any longer. It soothed my heart and relaxed my blood. It made me feel so strong. Then I moved to Chicago and let yoga lose me for awhile.

Yoga found me again through a team of 30+ rockstars working at lululemon (my team for the 2012 holiday season). It crept in again, but rushed through my veins like wildfire. It was here to stay. Yoga became a repeated and intentional practice. My integrity, my grounding force, my calming and strengthening, my time just for myself. In addition to my other workouts, yoga became my glue. It was and still is the binding force of me.

I wrote about my OCD and anxiety over a week ago. Needless to say, I received an overwhelming (both positive and negative) response from all of you, my readers. I am so grateful for that. I am not alone in this and my increased yoga practice (as of late) has helped me get through such a wide, deep, ever-changing sea of emotions. I continue to write in order to acknowledge why these feelings come up and from where they originate. It is my yoga practice, however, that takes the acknowledgment to understanding and true acceptance.

On the mat, I'm just me. I'm totally turned into myself and I am only listening to my heart and focusing on the ebb and flow of my breath. I have no other worry. I am not thinking of the little or litter things. In a time where I am constantly on the computer, applying for jobs and editing cover letters, my increased yoga practice has given me the time each day to just STOP. I center back to my breath. I turn my focus to my mind's eye. I become very, very heavy.

I find myself nicer, too. More accepting, loving, willing to help, ready to make a difference, listen deeper, and judge less. It truly starts within. Having this deep appreciation for myself...my body, my ability, my mind, my intelligence, my opinion, my balance and flexibility, my humility...it all starts here. How am I supposed to do or be anything else for anyone else if I continue to deny myself the love, respect, and acceptance from within?

My yoga practice teaches me and I am far better because of it.

Now, to the mat....

#musings #yoga #intention #lululemon

THIS IS IT (for all of us)

i am head over heels in love. i want to get married. i want to have children. i want to spend holidays and weekends with our families. i want us all to travel together and send each other birthday cards and beam with pride as we watch one another conquer their goals in life. i want to buy a house. i want a big backyard where i can host cookouts and parties. i want my kids to have a lot of friends and i want those friends to spend time with us.

nothing about what i want makes me different. i just happen to love a woman. does that make me different than you? no.

prop. 8 is not just a "gay thing."

DOMA is not just a "gay thing."

the issues at the forefront of the supreme court today and tomorrow must matter to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US because they already do.

this is the time. THIS IS IT.

#marriageequality #hrc #loveislove

it's the little things and it's the litter things...

being unemployed has its perks. flexible weekly schedule, plenty of time to socialize, you can sit in coffee shops all day, you can even enjoy an afternoon workout with absolutely no one else in the gym with you. it's the little things, really.

however, it's also f'in annoying. if i don't get myself out of our home, i find myself looking at and into and over everything. for instance, our cat's litter box. i probably clean that thing out twice a day. our cat isn't a clean bathroom-goer either. no, no. she kicks up that stuff everywhere and with our brand new carpet tiles installed in that space (read: her space), those little pine bits pile up. it's the litter things, i suppose.

since moving to chicago, i have come to terms with a few things. 1) winter is long and brutal, 2) the cta is your best friend AND your worst enemy, 3) you want to buy everything and everything is expensive, 4) i have OCD, and 5) i get seriously anxious about it. i don't know if it's the "bigger city" dynamic or the busier pace of life (life did not, by any stretch of the imagination, move quickly in the south), but i am becoming more and more aware of my freak-outs over the last two points.

i started journaling (well, documenting) when, where, why, what, and how these feelings come up. more often than not, i have a very hard time leaving the house or doing anything else (something for me) if the house isn't clean (i.e. bed made, dishes put away/cleaned, general tidiness). if those general requirements don't happen, i will sit on the 50 damen bus in a panic as i clutch my yoga mat (how the hell am i supposed to enjoy a 75 minute vinyasa flow if there are DIRTY SPOONS IN THE SINK?!) in shame and embarrassment. trust me, i know i sound crazy, but, trust me, i'm only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to OCD and anxiety issues.

i believe i have always had these issues. i can remember being a little girl and wanting all of my story books lined up by height. my younger brother was overly protective of his teddy bear collection (all with names and backstories). my mother always liked her home (particularly the kitchen) a certain way. i can't remember being like this in college. i actually don't remember an incessant need to clean, organize, COLOR CODE until i got to graduate school and then it was pretty much downhill from there. my notebooks impeccable, my books color coded like an academic rainbow library, my makeup bag and medicine cabinet properly distributed with my most coveted products. the list goes on and on.

i made a new friend not too long ago and it turns out i'm not alone. i don't know if it's a 20something personality trait, but i'm finding more and more of "me" out there. some of the most successful people i know suffer from some of the most severe forms of anxiety and OCD. i haven't found myself getting to the point of thinking i need any form of medication to keep this shit in check, but i have thought about talking to someone. for now, the journaling (documenting) is working.

i can pretty much pinpoint my triggers (TJMaxx, Marshall's, Whole Foods on a Sunday...pretty much anywhere storing complete chaos). what baffles me is that i'm completely a-okay on a packed train or bus. i just sort of stand/sit there completely tuned out. i mind my own business. i even make small talk. i think it's because everyone else around me is doing or trying to do the same thing. when i'm in a marshall's, everyone is ripping to shreds the jeans rack or shoe wall, trying to score that last pair of 5-year-old Betsey Johnson flats.

i need to have control and (i'm shocked as i type that) because i never, ever saw myself (particularly as i grew up) as someone that would need to have "control." cue janet jackson.

when i am at home, i have control over my living space. i can clean the dishes. i can vacuum the piles of cat litter. i can make the bed and rearrange photo frames on the wall. once i'm out in public, i can't really do any of that. i cannot even begin to tell you how many times i wanted to start reorganizing a marshall's. it's probably why i liked working in a lululemon so much. i mean, have you seen their merchandising? PERFECTLY FOLDED EVERYTHING.

this is a big step for me. i've only really talked about this with my partner, aubrie and my friend, justin. i've never admitted to any of it publicly, let alone on a blog. it feels good to write about it. however, i know a large part of that is due to the fact that i swept the kitchen and vacuumed the cat litter before sitting down to write. i still have dishes to finish.

it's the little things and it's the litter things...

#OCD #anxietyissues #personal #mustcleanallthethings

Out like a lion, in like a lamb?

While the temperatures in Chicago are still chilly, I have learned to appreciate and to never, ever (nope, never) take advantage of a bright, blue sky ever again. After living in the South for over five years, a clear, sunny sky was the norm and even with my time in Savannah dwindling before the big move back north, I never stopped myself to really soak in the weather and the beauty and the serenity that came with a vibrant sky.

I won't let myself do that here.

Today is that day. Bright blue, vibrant, and pulsating sky. Aubrie told me that it is usually on the clear days during winter that feel the most cold, but you can't deny the sensation of the sun on your face when it shines your way just right. Perhaps it is my severe craving for vitamin D, but I'll bet you just about any time you see me outside when the sun shines bright, I'm walking straight into its path. With such bone-chilling weather here during the winter (and not really experiencing that AT ALL while living in Savannah), I long for spring. It also makes me think about all the times in Savannah where I so very missed the arrival of different seasons. The renewal of spring, in particular. Winters in Savannah are more like mini spring/summers. It is an odd time of year. Some winters were brutal (much colder temps than normal after the most blazing hot summer you can think of) and some were mild and even warm (I can't even begin to explain to you the feeling of sitting at the beach in the middle of January).

While I miss it (can you tell?), I am so excited about spring and the arrival of it to Chicago. For my first winter up here, I don't think I did all that bad (Aubrie may argue otherwise), but you have to give a girl credit where credit is due. I no longer own a car, so all of my treks to the outside world (when Aubrie was not available to drive me and trust me, she did offer rides) were made possible because of the CTA. Let me just clue you in...CTA is not always on time, but I think I have my CTA tracker app on my phone down to a science now. Ah, the lessons I've learned.

All of this is so trite, I know, but now that that bright, blue sky is out and it's shining and fighting with ALL OF ITS MIGHT to break into spring, I don't mind the extra minutes spent underneath. It gives me the time to look up, feel the sun on my face, breathe deep, and know I survived the Chicago winter (which no one down south thought I would). I welcome the weeks ahead and the longer hours of light. I welcome the popping buds and slivers of bright green on the trees. They, too, survived the winter (as they survive every winter) to make new again.

So, with that, get out and enjoy that big sky today (wherever you are). Spring is right around the corner and she's got some big plans for us and our world to start over, budding into something new and improved again.

#creativecollective #writing #musings

inspiration station. #getupandGO (at Next Door Chicago)

#getupandgo

amen. (at Next Door Chicago)

umoja spring fling in full effect. #studentsmatter #schoolmatters (at Galleria Marchetti)

#studentsmatter #schoolmatters

carlosbaila-deactivated20200503

500miles-blog

One of my most prized moments in art. I saw her speak at defineART in Savannah while attending graduate school at SCAD. She is coveted as one of the greatest performance artists of all time. This moment between her and Ulay is proof that performance art is alive and well--breathing, pulsating, expressive, human.

carlosbaila:

Marina Abramovic meets Ulay Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course, they decided to walk the Great Wall of China, each from one end, meeting for one last big hug in the middle and never seeing each other again. At her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is Present’ as part of the show, a minute of silence with each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing it and this is what happened.

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