Imaginary Schedules

November 27, 2015 by Rieshy

I adore notebooks and pens and calendars and writing up schedules and plans and lists.  It's always better dreaming about how perfect you are going to be and act as opposed to getting off the sofa and actually doing something.  This time I have an excuse, a carte blanche for my dreamering; my training at MMA this year requires me to have a personal training plan written up.

The problem is, will I obey my plan?  Will it be so amazing that it stifles and depresses me?  Will it be so easy that I despise it?  and more importantly when the heck am I going to fit it in?

A plan that doesn't actually conform to the realities of time and space usually doesn't work... I know because I've written a lot of non-confomist plans before.  They are my specialty.  But oh, how I shine in my mind in those plans.  Shine and speak a half dozen foreign languages, do daily science experiments in my homeschool, grow all my own food, and benchpress twice my body weight, all while my family rises up and calls me blessed.  My stretch marks even disappear with adherence to those plans.

Crash.  Reality.

I need a 3 day a week plan for strength.  I need to be going over katas on my own.  I need to run- because running is what keeps me sane, relatively speaking.  I need to be drilling jujitsu moves and Thai-combos because my brain is like cheese cloth and info keeps draining away.

How long can I sit here drinking coffee looking through sites of workout plans?  I really should get up and do something or at least stretch.  But maybe I need new, more motivating stationary to write my plan upon.  Or an app.

That will solve everything.  I just have to spend more time looking...


November 25, 2015 by Rieshy

"How did this happen?!?"

"Who did this?!?"

"Why were you even touching this?!?"

"What is that?!?"

I might as well make these sentences into permanent signs, affixed to foam core,  ready to flash at my younger children as the need arises.  But then I would need to take pictures of blank faces to flash back at myself.

However, as I searched for a non-scavenged package of chocolate chips to bake into cookies I came across this:

Aha, the red stains on my bathmat, in front of the laundry room door and on the driveway make sense.  

In a vague and infuriating sort of way.


Of Fear and Martial Butterflies

November 21, 2015 by Rieshy

At last night's meeting for the 2016 candidates for black belt testing I was taken aback by my emotions.  It was our first meeting- just to go over necessary info and dates for the 39 weeks of testing.

39 weeks.  I'm scared spitless.  I really am.

We were all asked to share what scares us most about the 39 weeks; for me this was the de facto beginning of testing.  Saying publicly what scares you most is pretty.... scary.  I felt a water-buffalo-herd of emotions as I waited my turn.  It was impressive to hear even the youngest testers communicating very insightful fears.  It got harder to breathe.  All my doubts about myself were suddenly almost suffocating.

My main fear was easy to identify.

But later I realized that most of all, even more scary than fears I have about the testing itself is that it's very scary to admit publicly that you really, really, really, want to accomplish something that's a little out of the norm.  No matter what that something is.  The sudden feeling of vulnerability took me right back to middle school, where sharing a heartfelt passion or a dream with classmates was as safe and friendly as swimming off Amity Island.  But, there's no room to pretend that this is a vague, sorta interest; at my age I'm either all in, and by definition totally insane, or I wouldn't be testing.

As I sat there I also realized that this feeling of fear isn't bad.  Doing something, trying for something that you can publicly fail at is exhilarating.  Butterflies in the stomach sort of exhilarating.  An enlivening, falling in love sort of fluttering of richness.

I've since determined to enjoy every second of even the fiercest and most fearful martial butterflies.


Everyday Vacations

by Rieshy

My hands are freezing cold as I type.  I just got in from a day of errand running with my 16 year old daughter. First she did my make-up in the car to artfully hide my jujitsu-errant, elbow-blackened, eye.  Then we went birthday shopping, thanksgiving food shopping, tripping over a shirt the color of a green-blue so gorgeous that I wanted to eat it but after looking at the price was glad that it didn't come in my size kind of shopping.  Such good company.

Teens can be good for the soul.

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Words that Bore

November 15, 2015 by Rieshy

Drilling to add information. Drilling to extract.
Drilling for muscle memory or indoctrination.
Add or subtract?

Cavities and math tables;
Minotaur horns of fables.

Some words bore more than others.


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Magical Commodities

November 8, 2015 by Rieshy

I'm working on school at a coffee shop.
Or, I'm pretending to work on school at a coffee shop.

If only they sold sleep as well as coffee.

My neck is sore from jujitsu.
Or, my neck is sore because I need new pillows.

If only they sold ibuprofen as well as coffee.

My brain is full of transforming, motivational ideas.
Or, I'm full of thinking of ideas in order to postpone actual work.

If only they sold motivation as well as coffee.

Because, I'd take a grande-motivated-americana-with-a-double-shot-of-sleep-topped-with-steamed-full-fat-foaming-anti-inflammatory-and-a-sprinkle-of-inspiration. 
Oh, and I'd have a coupon. And can a masseuse come with that?

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Letters that Split Your Personality

November 5, 2015 by Rieshy

I got a letter Tuesday night.  It's one I'm both excited about and ridiculously nervous about.  It was a letter informing me that I'm on the black belt training team for 2016.  I wanted to run circles around the mat waving my letter in the air and simultaneously I wanted to go hide and take up origami instead.

Part of me is saying: Crap.  I'm  old; I learn slowly; I have arthritis; I'm awkward.  Crap.

Another part of me is saying: Wahoo!, tally ho!, Go team!

Have I mentioned that I'm awkward?


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