Tick Tock Goes the Clock

Timing is a funny thing. Ever the skeptic, even I have difficulty denying that the universe steps in at just the right time every now and then. Also the wrong time, but that's another matter all together. I got an e-mail from my dear friend who's been on (another) year-long nomadic adventure, saying he'll be back in Denver before I move. Now that's universal intervention.

I've been madly trying to arrange time with everyone I know and love before my departure to Texas and I'm finding that coordinating this effort, working full time, packing, and attempting sleep are... tough. I wonder how much of my mental energy is being devoted to planning all of it instead of enjoying the moments I can manage. Note to self: Enjoy the time you have instead of worrying about the time you don't.

I am really trying to cherish my last few weeks with my friends and family. My lifelong friend Jane and I ran the Bolder Boulder 10K today on a total whim. In keeping with our long history of ridiculous behavior, we not only managed to finish in the absence of any running skill or training, but we also managed to have a total blast despite rain, cold, and muscle cramping.

Jane and I (Statler and Waldorf) looking back at the finish line

There hasn't been a time in my life I've not lived within an hour's drive of someone I've known most of my life, and I feel so fortunate to even have the ability to say that. Only recently have I've realized how truly rare it is to maintain friendships from grade school into adulthood. Inevitably, between the ages of 8 and 26 people tend to change rather significantly. Sure, I count many people who've come and gone during this period, but I also count a fair number who epitomize the promise "I'll always be there for you." However irrational, I have entertained the worry that in moving more than an hour's drive from these people that somehow I'll lose that. It's made my last few weeks a little bittersweet as I've been enjoying time with people but always with a whisper of "This is the last time you'll..." in my ear.

Speaking of time, five years is more than I can comprehend right now. But that's the thing about trying to "comprehend" time... and by comprehend I mean envision what could possibly happen in a given period of time. I remember being in grade school and feeling like a year was an eternity! Now I feel like an old woman ranting about how quickly time passes and suddenly I'm 26 and still wondering when I get to decorate my Valentine's Day shoebox for the class party.

On the Road Again

Sahoodi here, reporting from the heart of Wacool, Texas (I'm trying on some optimism and I can just about zipper-up if I hold my breath). In today's fluff news, my dream of visiting the Dr. Pepper Museum has now been realized with ridiculous photos to follow. I had a nice conversation with a local old timer and fellow Dr. P aficionado. I told him that since committing to moving to Waco I have been telling all my friends that I must go to the Dr. Pepper Museum (mostly because it's the only notable tourist site in Waco), which he wholeheartedly endorsed. Thankfully it lived up to my lofty expectations.

Dr. P and Me

In more conflicted news, it's finally real. I signed a lease and I'm now truly committed to this adventure. I also had lunch with my lab and practicum supervisor and a current student, both of whom succeeded in making me feel welcomed and at ease. Despite my sadness and reservations about leaving my comfort zone in Colorado, I am truly excited to have my mind fully engaged and be immersed in academics once again. I'm a nerd like that.

I still feel removed from the notion that I will soon sleep under a sky of Texas stars... sandwiched between a church and a cornfield. My father made an excellent point in a message to me the other night. He said, " I suspect you may find Texas somewhat different from Colorado, however I find comfort in the probability that you will come to understand Texans and to appreciate their culture as you would that of any other foreign nation." I find comfort in that too... and have already come to appreciate the friendly and smiling faces I have thus far encountered in Texas.

So, I guess you can't judge a book by it's cover after all. Though I do have flashes of that Dave Chappelle stand-up where he describes being taken to the ghetto: "Gun store, gun store, liquor store... where the hell are you taking me?" For purposes of adapting it to Waco I must remark, "Gun store, pawn shop, enormous church, Bush's Chicken... where the hell are you taking me?" As with any "foreign" culture, there's a certain degree of "What are these people thinking?" But then again, a Waconian coming to Boulder, Colorado would likely feel the same way. "Mountaineering store, organic restaurant, Buddhist temple, overpriced boutique... where the hell are you taking me?" It's all relative.

Gun store, gun store... me looking uncomfortable at Guns R Us

I take comfort in adaptation and appreciation. Maybe I'm just in a hopeful mood as my return to Colorado looms tomorrow. Maybe I'm just developing a healthier and more balanced perspective surrounding this change. Maybe I'm just overthinking this as I do everything else. Maybe, just maybe... everything will be okay.

Weighting to Change

I'm ready to admit that I'm slightly obsessed with sensational weight loss stories. I've even toyed with the idea of telling my story to some glossy rag in the idealized hope that someone will read it and become inspired to make healthier choices in his or her life. I don't know why I believe this to be true, except that for an hour or so after reading one I find myself thinking, "Wow... I could really dedicate myself to eating more kale," or "Gee, if she can climb Mount Kilimanjaro, I don't see why I shouldn't." There's something inherently inspirational in seeing the physical representation of change in the "Before and After" pictures that always accompany such a story.

But changing human behavior is difficult. It takes sustained motivation, determination, and frequently the undertaking of a logistical nightmare. It takes maintenance after that, which a lot of people forget and then follow up with a mint chocolate chip relapse. But despite these barriers, I believe lasting change is possible. I have to believe it, if for no other reason than to maintain my current kale intake.

It's likely too early for me to insist that my change is lasting. I have adopted the approach that those in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction do: you're never recovered, you're in recovery. To be in recovery one must be constantly working, ever-attuned to the potential for slipping back into old patterns of behavior. In fact, this is perhaps the biggest lesson I've learned during my process, and the best lesson anyone could take from a glossy rag re-telling of my story. In the past year I did work on myself. I also white-knuckled it when I forgot that I wasn't done working. No matter how painful, frustrating, or embarrassing the emotion or memory I was trying to suppress, it was always easier to look it straight in the face than to continue gripping the handlebars of denial.

As a member of the addictions field, I am absolutely shocked that obesity is not more universally approached as a function of addiction. The parallels are undeniable, but then again, this approach would ruin a multi-million dollar industry of "lose all the weight you want by doing absolutely nothing difficult." And few people get to the point of losing homes, family and jobs due to obesity, so I doubt the connection between food addiction and traditional substance abuse will be popularly recognized anytime soon.

I'm no expert, but I know what worked for me. More than 100 pounds and nearly 2 years since I started this journey, I find that the basic tenants remain true: I eat primarily healthfully (fruits, veggies, whole grains, lean protein, low-fat dairy, all the stuff your mom and your doctor tell you to eat and all in moderation). I exercise most days (aerobic and/or strength training). I try to be aware of how my emotional states are affecting my appetite (this is the non-logistical aspect, vague, and often the most difficult for me). I try (and fail) to be well rested. I try to keep a positive attitude and laugh as much as I possibly can, which sometimes means making a fool of myself for my own entertainment.

I love the, "Well, I could be dead tomorrow so I'm going to enjoy this [insert delicious treat] today," excuse. Hell, it was one of my favorites. The fact of the matter is, since I dropped the weight I find that I wasn't really enjoying it... I was using it to enjoy a brief moment in the context of the majority of the time being uncomfortable, self-conscious, and miserable. Feeling healthy and strong the majority of the time is SO much more enjoyable than those brief moments of epicurean delight. I only regret it took me 24 years to figure that out.

So, I guess I don't know for sure that change is possible at age 50, or 75, or 100. But if those glossy rags are any indication, change is ALWAYS possible. Even in Waco.

Inappropriate Nudity and Foolish Pride

It just hit me: I am really going to miss my job.

I like talking to people about their work. I like learning what a person enjoys or can tolerate enough to commit 40 or greater hours to each week. In talking to a lot of people about a lot of different positions, I've noticed two very distinct personalities. Some people identify with their work and are fulfilled by the thought of contributing to some "greater good." This is not to say everyone thinks him or herself a Mother Theresa, but rather that their daily efforts are advancing a cause greater than themselves. Other people put in 40 hours to earn enough to support the activities of their other waking hours.

I don't know that one is better than the other, but I am definitely of the "greater good" persuasion. There's something invigorating in taking on that responsibility, even when it's absolutely terrifying. Invigorating. Terrifying. Such is the 40 (or more) hours a week I've spent as an addictions counselor at detox for the past 3 years. I've been privy to my clients' innermost thoughts and struggles, responsible for life and death decisions, laughed my ass off in the company of some of the funniest and most compassionate people I've ever met (clients and staff), and seen more inappropriate nudity than I would have ever predicted.

I've also become myself in the process. In fact, it's terrifying to think of who I might be without the experiences of the last 3 years. I owe so much of my personal development to the staff and clients I work with, and though I was often gripped by fear walking down "the tunnel" into detox, I would never trade it for the predictable comfort of a desk job. Sometimes I reflect on what I missed in my "remaining waking hours," as a result of my work... but then again, my work has helped shape what I do and value in those remaining hours. And I'm back to thinking about the concept of balance. Dammit.

Working in a field that is ever-attending to a capacity for and willingness to change, it's curious that I'm having such difficulty taking the necessary steps for the "big change" in my life. Perhaps that's the source of some of my frustration: I, of all people, should know how to do this. Well, that's what my foolish pride is telling me in any case.

In a month's time I'll be leaving this truly life-altering job and beginning what I assume will be a life-altering doctoral program in clinical psychology at Baylor University. I'm not only changing jobs, I'm moving to Waco, Texas, leaving my entire support system by at least 1,000 miles, and becoming a student again. Capable or not, I'm certainly willing to embark on this change and perhaps that's the key to capacity anyhow. Without a willingness to risk and try, one never knows if he or she is capable of anything. I need to remember this. My foolish pride needs to get this memo.

"Sea of Tranquility? Is this the Sea of Tranquility?"

If I could carry Eddie Izzard around on my shoulder, akin to a pirate's snarky parrot... I think I would. Functionally, Eddie is my alternative to Valium abuse. But it's not just Eddie, it's all the quirky things I see, or do, or appreciate to keep myself from crumbling. And truly, I think most people aren't that far from ruin, rather we do better or worse jobs at fending it off.

I recently finished Victor Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning": a reflection on his experiences as a Jewish prisoner at Auschwitz, followed by his development of logotherapy. Frankl proposes that searching for a collective meaning is unnecessary so long as a person is driven by what gives his or her individual life meaning. He notes that we can find our meaning in three ways: "(1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering." Which naturally leads the reader to question, "What gives my life meaning?"

Sometimes I get stuck in "what does it all mean" mode, especially when I've got Eddie on my shoulder and it seems that enjoying myself isn't purposeful enough. But that's the balance, I suppose. I find meaning through my work and the people I encounter, but its an appreciation for the small and silly things that shapes my attitude (unavoidable suffering or otherwise) toward these things. Maybe that's my rationalization for spending an entire day with my watercolor set and two seasons of Arrested Development, but so be it. If not for these guilty pleasures I don't know how successful I would be counseling alcoholics and drug addicts, or moving to a state I swore I'd never step foot in, or fending off impending crumble.

But won't it make a good story?

I have recently shifted my life's compass to to be guided not by the North Star, but rather the answer to a clear and simple question: "Will it make a good story?" There's an incredible power of perspective in such a seemingly silly question. Not every situation, but many situations can be transformed through their re-telling. Equally powerful is one's, okay my, ability to approach ridiculous situations in a positive way by imagining how I'd retell them at a later date. Truly, how else would a purportedly rational and sane girl agree to move blindly to Waco, Texas?

For weeks now I've wrestled with the decision, or rather the action associated with my decision to pursue my academic goals in a town that boasts a Guns R Us and a Walmart on every block. But ultimately it comes back to gratitude. Someday I'll tell the story of driving past the Guns R Us and how I can't imagine my life's path without such a pivitol and challenging experience. The anticipation is the worst. That, and not knowing in any real way what my daily life is going to look like. But with anticipation comes a giddy excitement in those moments I envision my life as a spankin' new, shrink-wrapped gift waiting to be ripped into on a Christmas morning.

The movers will be pulling up to my driveway in a month's time, and I've done virtually nothing to prepare. I'm hoping that once I've signed a lease and can actually visualize my random collection of belongings in another space, that I'll be motivated to start packing them. Or give them away. Nothing before has made me so acutely aware of the amount of unnecessary "stuff" I've got. Interesting, given I work with people who carry all of their "stuff" in a single backpack with a broken zipper. But more on that later.

There's too much to say... I can't organize it yet. Somehow I know this experience will have story potential, and for now, that's all I need to move forward. Thinking about its life-changing potential is just a bit too overwhelming.

Dear Dr. Pepper Museum,

I sure hope you're Waco-ol (pr: whey-cool), because I'm comin' for you (ahem, ya'll).

Sincerely,

Sahoodi.