Fantasies Fulfilled

Earlier this week a running friend who lives in another state, and incidentally is a lovely person with a fabulous life, posted a picture from a recent trip. She was swimming with a dolphin.

In addition to learning to swim as an adult because I really do like the water, and because I knew I would need a lower impact cardio exercise option, I learned to swim because I hope to be able to swim with the dolphins myself one day.

I was happy that my friend had gotten to enjoy the experience, and I commented on her post that swimming with dolphins is on my bucket list. She replied that she hopes I get to do it one day.

As I was thinking about my bucket list after seeing her post, I began to realize that I didn’t really remember all of the things that were once on it so I started to think about it in more detail. Some of the things on the list have actually been checked off.

One local thing that was checked off my bucket list several years ago was to attend a football game at The Big House – University of Michigan Stadium. I have been a couple of times, once with one of my best friends since high school and her dad and then once with my husband. I am now content to watch Michigan football from the comfort of my couch rather than on the few inches of cool, metal bleacher allotted to those who attend games in person.

Another thing that had long been on my bucket list was that I used to say that I wanted to “pet a tiger,” but knowing that was neither wise nor realistic I had dismissed that one. However, my husband found Exotic Feline Rescue Center in Center Pointe, Indiana four years ago, and we were able to safely be closer to tigers, lions, cougars, servals, Savannah cats, a Canadian lynx, and a few other breeds of exotic felines than I had ever realized was possible. Many of you know that experiences was one of the highlights of my life. We have been back once since our first visit, and we are looking forward to going again when some of our little family members are older.

Another item that my husband has helped me to check off my bucket list was to attend a real jazz club. While jazz clubs, at least in Michigan, are no longer smoky rooms – which is okay with me, we enjoyed the intimate setting, eating our meal at a table only a few feet from the jazz quintet with a trumpet lead.

Some of the items on the bucket list that are yet to be checked off are really very “simple” things. Though I had learned to roller skate at about five years old, I learned to ice skate in my late teens or early 20s. I took a liking to ice skating, and though I haven’t ice skated in years, I still hope to one day skate on a frozen lake in a beautiful setting. Perhaps the lake would be surrounded by snow tipped pine trees, or even better it would be just before sunset in December and those snow tipped pine trees would be adorned with Christmas lights glistening against the darkening sky and reflecting off of the lake.

Another thing that has been on my bucket list for a long time, that will surprise even some of you who are closest to me, is to go hang gliding. I have never, never wanted to parachute. I just don’t see the need to jump from a plane. But in my mind hang gliding is different. It’s that human fantasy of flying fulfilled. In reality, I’m certain I couldn’t do it at this point in my life, but there have been times throughout my life, and there may be times in the future, when I am in a place where I could actually envision trying it.

Some things have been added to my bucket list as I have grown. One of those things is that I would like to see the New York City Ballet perform at Lincoln Center, and I would especially like to see the George Balanchien ballet Jewels. Jewels consists of three distinct pieces: Emeralds, described as classical and elegant; Rubies, described as fiery and jazzy; and Diamonds, described as romantic and delightful. I have seen excerpts from each of the pieces of the ballet on the NYCB Facebook page. It would be amazing to see it in person.

Another grown up bucket list item is to spend a night in a hotel that I would never be able to afford. The practical reality is that, if I could afford it, I probably wouldn’t spend the money on a room that cost close to $300 per night. Still it’s fun to think about spending a quiet night with my husband at the Hyatt Regency in Indianapolis, enjoying the incredible view of the city I have come to fancy from the lounge atop the hotel. Though it would be expensive, I know it would be wonderful.

In some ways bucket list items are fantasies, but it is kind of amazing when they can become realities.

What is on your bucket list? 

Picture courtesy of the Hyatt Regency, Indianapolis 

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Missing the Magical Moments

At the end of a long Monday, we sat on the couch after dinner with the TV on but with little interest in the content that was displayed in front of us.

My husband was reading the news online, and though I don’t remember exactly what I was doing, I was very likely involved in some kind of Snapchat or PM exchange with one of my family members who lives in another part of the state.

It was 8:00 when I started flipping and found Dancing With the Stars. As many of you know, I am a true fan of dance so I left the show on not really intending to focus much more on it than I had been focused on whatever was on previously.

But then, I saw that it was Disney night.

Though I haven’t watched every single season of Dancing With the Stars, I have actually watched several, and I have always enjoyed Disney night.

It was fun to see the characters appearing in random places in the ballroom, Tinkerbell in cartoon form somewhere in the air, Mickey Mouse in a tux often along side of the host Tom Bergeron, Donald Duck – still one of my favorites – up in the skybox with dancers who were awaiting their scores, and Kermit the Frog – definitely my favorite Muppet – who was sitting at the judges table for one of the performances.

As much fun as it was to see all of the well-loved Disney characters, what really did it for me on that monotonous Monday night was when Lindsey and Mark stepped on to the dance floor.

He was in a black suit with a white shirt and a black bow tie. She was in a lovely sky blue gown that was as fluid as she was as she crossed the floor with her dance partner. The lighting was a soft blue, and the song was “When You Wish Upon a Star.”

It was an instrumental piece that started quietly with only the piano and continued to build with the orchestra rising to the crescendo of the timeless piece of music.

The dance was beautifully performed, and the judges affirmed my amateur opinion, but it was more than that.

And then there was Emma and Drew’s waltz to “Rainbow Connection,” another magical dance with Drew in a white tux complete with tails adorned on the inside with the warmer violets and blues of the rainbow. His partner Emma’s white gown glistened down to the strips of fabric enlivened with each and every color of a rainbow, attached just below the waist yet free from that point to the floor giving movement to the colors as the pair waltzed across the floor. Even the floor itself became aglow with the colors of the rainbow following the dancers’ every pass.

Their waltz too received positive comments from the judges. It was elegant.

Yet despite the lovely quality of each of the dances, it wasn’t just that. No matter how long the day had been or how long the week ahead was destined to be, it was nearly impossible for me to remain ornery and cynical about life after letting myself be swept up in those joyous moments.

It gave me the chance to consider again for a moment, “Why are there so many songs about rainbows, and what’s on the other side?”

It allowed me, if even for a few minutes to be transported back to a time when I would let myself believe that if you wished on a star, your dreams just might come true.

It reminded me that we should find a way to let a little of that magic back into our lives. Maybe we could do something a little crazy, like make a wish on a star, and put aside that rigid, rational adulthood and let ourselves believe again for a rare few minutes that a wish might just come true.

Perhaps, ladies, we could put on something flowy and convince our partners to dance with us to “When You Wish Upon a Star,” and even if it’s not nearly as lovely as was Lindsey and Mark’s interpretation, we could just get lost in the music and the sentiment for a time. Or perhaps, we could put on something flowy without a partner and just spin across the room to a favorite song like we did when we were young, in the privacy of our own space, leaving sour professional personas and our pride at the door to return to a more innocent, and likely more free, time in our lives.

We’re all born with it, and we all seem to lose it. I can certainly think of several reasons why we do. Still it seems to me, after my experience one Monday night, that we adults certainly could benefit from letting a little bit of that magic back into our lives. Sometimes we may need to look for it, but sometimes it’s right there for the taking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Hurt We Hide

“Conceal it; don’t feel it; don’t let it show. Make one wrong move and everyone will know.’

If you’re a Disney fan, or if you have a little one who has watched the movie for the 17th time, you’re familiar with those words from Queen Elsa in the movie Frozen.

Much like Queen Elsa, those of us who live with anxiety disorders and depression often think that we really have to try to conceal it, try not to feel it, and definitely try not to let our struggles show.

If we make a wrong move, and everyone finds out, we’ll be viewed as weird or weak, because we just can’t calm down, stop worrying, or be happy.

If you don’t understand why we can’t, you’re not alone. We don’t either. If you think it’s hard to live with someone who has been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder or depression, you’re right; it is. But as hard as it is to understand or to live with someone who suffers with these diseases, it’s so very much harder to be the one who lives with them.

As I have mentioned, I have recently started a new job. It’s a terrific thing after having waited so long for something, and something in my field in particular.

But months, and even years, of spending most of my time alone set me up for a difficult transition. I knew it was happening; as I would sit in a quiet corner of our family room watching the sunrise, checking emails and doing other computer work, I could sense that I was becoming more comfortable within these four walls, that in so many ways imprisoned me, and less comfortable with everything outside of them.

Knowing what was happening didn’t make it easy to venture out and become a coach for Girls on the Run this past spring. Though I have told many people GOTR is one of my favorite volunteer opportunities; though the school is literally half mile from our house; and though we had a great coaching staff and wonderful group of girls, I struggled nearly every Tuesday and Thursday at about 3:00 to convince myself that this was a good thing.

I have just completed the fourth week of my new job. Week one was predictably rough, new things, new schedule, some long days. It was to be expected. New jobs are tough for “normal” people too. Week two was about as rough, maybe slightly better. Week three started off in a rather unpleasant way, Monday blues maybe, but it got so much better. It was amazing actually. I only took Xanax once. Yes, I take Xanax “as needed,” and I try to make needing it rare.

Then came this week, with all of the hope that I might have actually turned the corner and started to adapt, to the work, the schedule, to being out in public. But Monday was nearly as bad as the previous three had been, and even with some hope because last week had gotten so much better after Monday, this week just didn’t.

If I knew what I had done to make the third week go so right and this week go so wrong, I would have likely found the cure for a disease that sometimes makes no sense at all. But I neither know why last week turned out so well, nor do I know why I failed so miserably this week.

Yes, I feel like a failure when the anxiety “wins.” In years past, before I was able to work with psychologists, gather some coping skills, and even to add Xanax to my figurative tool box, I used to obsess. I work to obsess less now. I understand better living in the moment and not worry about even the next few hours.

I try to adhere to a philosophy that I was taught by one of the psychologists that I saw at CAPS as a student; he said that he does not have bad days, bad hours, bad incidents, but not bad days. I get that; it’s something like the short memory theory in sports where an athlete learns what she can and moves on, leaving the failure in the past.

But even with all of these things, and others, at my disposal – like trying to distract myself by relaxing and watching House Hunters on my phone while I waited for my husband to pick me up after my longest shift, I still found myself a wreck Wednesday night.

As I realized that sitting and relaxing wasn’t working, I thought about walking, but I always have a bunch of stuff. That’s what happens when you have no car to put it in, and you can’t leave right after your shift, So I found as isolated an area as I could on campus.

I tried again to chill and finish the episode I had started, but a feeling of intense isolation passed over me. Rarely do I feel that alone, but it happens during panic attacks.

Though we try to conceal them, we desperately want someone to care. But we know we can’t say anything because strangers, colleagues, and sometimes even friends, will think we’re nuts. It seems to us that, regardless of our accomplishments, our bodies of work, and out talents, the fact that we have panic attacks sometimes will be the one thing for which we would become known should that secret ever get out.

After almost an hour had passed, and with about 30 minutes left to wait for my husband, I knew I needed to talk to someone, to hear a human voice, and I knew it couldn’t be him because he was working. I called my parents’ cell number. My sister answered.

I didn’t say, “Hi, I’m having a panic attack.” It’s so hard to admit, even after all of these years, and having come to terms with it to an extent, it’s embarrassing.

She told me about her recent diagnosis with a rare, hereditary form of narcolepsy, and we talked about a few other things. I was listening to her and pacing in my private, small space behind a large plant, and it was helping. My heart rate had come down a great deal, but I was shaking – literally shaking like someone who was standing out in the cold even though I wasn’t.

The final three hours of my work week loomed before me on Thursday. Even though my panic attacks Monday night and Wednesday night were fairly brief, they are always tiring. Though I knew what I had intended to accomplish in those three hours, and I hoped some people would come for tutoring, because we generally do a lot better when we’re busy, I found the afternoon to be very hard again. Another challenge of living with anxiety is that one can be so very tired yet still have a nervous energy rather than just letting oneself be tired.

I have no rational explanation for any of it. Oh sure, adapting to change is certainly a legitimate cause, but the excessive stress I have lived with all of my life has often made little sense to me, and it has left me feeling alone and ashamed.

People who have a physical disease like asthma or diabetes don’t feel ashamed, or they certainly shouldn’t. They had no control over what their DNA did to them. Why do those of us who live with mental illness feel such shame even in this PC world.

Certainly we need to do our best to live a healthy lifestyle and to seek help from our doctors to attempt to make sure our diseases are under control like those with physical conditions are obligated to do. But at times, we still don’t feel well. We can’t tell you why, at least not in a way that will make any logical sense, but we just don’t.

We don’t need you to fix it, because it’s quite likely that you can’t, but we do need you to accept that at times we too are hurting, so very badly.

 

 

Let It Take You

The red numbers shined in the dark and the sounds of Alan Almond’s Pillow Talk drifted from the clock radio that sat on the little nightstand next to my bed.

Pillow Talk was a nighttime radio show in the metro Detroit area in the 80s and 90s, and though we weren’t the only ones, teenage girls certainly were among the audience of the show listening to the smooth voice of the DJ and the love songs that he played until midnight each weeknight when the show would end with the Kool and the Gang song “Summer Madness.” He had a way of connecting with the callers and with his audiences, and when he said he was playing a song “for you, just for you” you almost felt like he really was.

I never actually had a boyfriend in high school, though if I were to be completely honest, I would have to admit that I had a crush on a tall, athletic guy named Denny for a few years. Even without a boyfriend and all of the drama that came with it, the music made my nights.

Maybe it’s because I’m a moody artist and writer, or maybe it’s because I’m an empath, but I really did feel the meaning of the music. 

The love songs inspired hope and dreams, even though I didn’t really plan on marrying when I was a teenager. Whether it was a “power ballad” like Kenny Loggins “Meet Me Half Way” or a sweet, almost sappy song like Debbie Gibson’s “Lost In Your Eyes,” those songs could take you places you didn’t know existed.

And the sad songs like “I’ll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me’ by Exposé or “I Miss You” by Klymaxx could break your heart a little.

I recently found a playlist of all of those old songs, and interestingly enough, I was listening to them on an early autumn evening as the darkness had crept into the room. I could almost see the red numbers on the old clock radio and feel those same emotions I felt all of those years ago when I turned on the radio waiting for my favorites.

Now I’m in my 40’s, and my life is much different than it was when I was 16 of course. Like most of you, I have responsibilities in the real world. I don’t lie awake at night daydreaming with the radio.

But, then again, if you find me waiting for my husband to pick me up after work, or on the elliptical at the gym you’ll see the earbuds are in my ears because I’ll be listening to Pandora.

My tastes in music have expanded greatly since those early days. Part of the reason I enjoy ballet, beyond the fact that dancers amaze me with the ability to make the truly challenging things that they do look beautiful, is the often classical music to which the ballets are choreographed. My long time friend Rachel and I shared an apartment for a few years in our 20s, and I really came to enjoy listening to her practice her complex and beautiful classical pieces.

Though I had an interest in jazz in my 20s, I have truly come to enjoy jazz, and seeing and hearing it live has made it even more interesting to me.

I even like some good “old,” relatively speaking, country songs. Some great story songs have come from country music, from the true classic “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers to the upbeat and fun Sarah Evans song “Suds in the Bucket” about a teenager who runs away to Vegas to marry her prince who “pulled up in a white pickup truck.”

I have also become very fond of several songs from the Christian contemporary genre. In my teens and early 20s, I was in a church that didn’t consider that music to be Christian at all. Thought it took some time, I began to explore Christian contemporary music after we began to sing some of those songs in the church that I attended after I left the rigid environment that had forbidden them, and some of the songs have really come to mean a great deal to me. I go to them often during difficult days to receive a little love and encouragement from God through the message shared in music.

The kinds of music that speak to each of us are as individual as we are, and no matter where we are, or what has happened during a day, I can drift away from all of it just by putting the earbuds in. 

Whether it’s the energy of Motown, the intricacy of jazz, the beauty of classical music, the romance of a love song, or the hope from a Christian contemporary song, music can create a feeling and a space for us to enjoy that is all our own for just a little while.