Giving Birth to Brain Cells

     Yesterday's post was about fear and this one is about resistance.  They go hand in hand and the combo decorates the room of how we experience change.  

     Which by the way, will happen whether we want it to or not.

Ever since I and the crowd I dance in the same age group with hit 45, grumbling whispers began.

     "Texting is going to take society to hell in a hand basket."

     "These computer phones are ridiculous."

     "Online calendars???  Why would I do that?"

     "What's wrong with calling someone on the phone?"

Nothing, unless they don't call you because they are busy living their life. This resistance to evolution seems to be innately linked with aging.  So, I'm not going to fucking do it.  Yes, my body is going south there is no doubt about that.  I'm actually enjoying finding different aspects of myself that aren't related to how hot I am.  The part I won't stop is how I relate to the world as it evolves.
     There are times to get pissed...seriously pissed.  Pissed enough to do something about some stupid thing humans are doing.  Those situations involve what is happening to the environment or our bodies, like GMO's. Resist the hell out of that one.  Those little buggers are nuking our insides and outsides.  But when change involves how we communicate, that's a different story.

     "Why is that different?"

     Because the way humans communicate is always changing.

First the world was going to hell because of the telephone and then the television, followed by the computer.  These inventions are evolving how we communicate, though admittedly tweeking of any new fangled gift is important.  If the telephone hadn't been created, it would take weeks or months to find out something has happened in the world.  The same with the television or the computer.
     Someone recently told me they wouldn't learn how to text because they wanted everyone to call them on the phone so they could have a nice long conversation.  Those nice long conversations happen infrequently.  While the great thing about texting is you can do it while you're too engaged in something else to talk on the phone.

    Hi Mom I love you.

    Are you watching the game?  Me too.

    OMG the funniest thing happened.

It isn't always about long detailed chats.  Sometimes it's enough to just tell someone you're thinking of them.  As well as the convenience factor.

     Can you pick up tomatoes on the way home?

     Text me when you get in.

     Come pick me up.

The same person with the resistance to text also abhors Facebook.  I have a love-hate relationship with the social network.  It is the only way I'm going to see pictures of friends who live far away or hear how people I see infrequently are doing.  On the other hand the price comes with scrolling through bullshit...so it's a lot like a phone call. 
     Pony up over 40's!  If communication is important to you, if you want to know how your college kid is doing, if it would be nice to get an unexpected I love you from a distant friend then get over the techno aversion.  Not only will your social interaction increase you will also be learning something new and dare I say it?  Give birth to some fresh brain cells.

Ps...Google Calendar ROCKS.  When I told my daughter about my concern that I'd lose everything if the internet went down, her answer helped me to grow the fuck up.

     "For God's sake Mom, if Google goes down the whole frigging world is going to crash anyway so who cares?"

     

The Jump Thing

     Jumping has quite literally elevated my life to a new level.  First of all it's crazy for a larger, 53 year old woman to consider box jumping.  I could hurt myself outlandishly and in public.  Secondly, it scares the crap out of me.  Not so literal but you get the picture.  Each and every time I attempt this, all other plans, ideas and thoughts must be put aside.  

     It is a moment container.

Thinking about random stupid things while elevating 14 inches is dangerous. If I spend seconds on how I must look, my toe will ever so slightly brush the edge of the step, reminding me that I'm not doing this for anyone else.  I've gotten to 14 inches in slow stages over the last 8 weeks, each new riser ramping up the endorphin rush.  Which was an unexpected side benefit.  The high lasts an entire day after the exercise because I have conquered fear...until the next time.
     It has unintentionally become a spectator sport, mainly because my body is larger and older.  In the middle of the work out other gym members will stand in awe, rather obviously I might add, that I'm besting gravity. Routinely one or more will tell me their feelings about my activity.  Which brings me to the reason for this post.

     "You are so brave."

     "I don't think I could do that."

     "I'm terrified for you."

As children we jump from chair to chair, rock to rock, bed to dresser.  I remember a little goose nip of tension, but nothing close to what I experience in front of the step.  I've concluded it's because I'm grossly out of practice.  It is a skill scaring oneself.  Haunted houses, sneezing and walking down dark alleys don't count.  The real tremblers are the things requiring skin in the game, in this case my shins and dignity.  I don't do it to prove I'm not too old or too large, though that has turned out to be the case.  I do it to challenge myself in an attempt to stop the incessant need to make things easy.  For some reason, which will require further research, I bought into the idea life should get easier as we go along.  Which is probably why my ass is the size that it is.
     Easy isn't the point.  For me, it is to experience all there is to experience, whether emotionally, mentally, spiritually or physically.  To actively engage in taking myself to the next step, rather than letting the movement of life shove me down the road.  Jumping is my training ground.
     
     I gather myself tightly and spring with no assurance I can or will make the hurdle.  It is thrilling and overwhelming and insane.  Which for me is the reason to do it in the first place.

The Sandbox

     When I first arrived on planet Earth my sandbox was pristine, the wide expanse uncluttered with hoo-ha.  My feet plunged into the crystalline oatmeal winding in deep, breathing in the open prairie.  The memory was so distant it merely offered a bit of tantalizing perfume from time to time. Today the sandbox is beneath my feet reminding me of the original state of things and the journey that transpired to bring me full circle.

     A sandbox is a place of exploration and play, a house to contain the vehicle of inspiration and wonder. It is where an unleashed soul will sing.  In the logjam of life, items not mine had been deposited in the dunes of granules.  Other peoples stuff, their emotions, ideas, wants and needs littered the landscape.  Hidden deep under all those items were caverns filled with secrets and pain.  All the bits of this and that stifled my voice to a whisper and drained the power of creation down to a nicely decorated cupcake.

     Now, this is not a sad tale, it is a story of discovery and redemption, though not the kind recited in bible school.  The moments added up between then and today don't signify good or bad, they merely express what transpired and how one cluttered sandbox returned to it's original form.  

    The air is dense       as well as boring

Waiting, the overfull sandbox is steadfast

Ugly bits of this and that are scattered all about

Other people's nonsense is nestled in, fermenting

Over time its original state is almost forgotten

One grain of sand lost in drifts of hoo-ha

A cyclone of Mother's raging hatred

Buckets of should and should nots

Old promises and shackles

Dunes of expectation

Fear of death

Fear of life 

Overwhelming pain cascades

Waves push dunes into cluttered oddities

A staggering amount of stuff uses up all the oxygen

On the fortieth year and one day a tender stalk emerges

Her slim green form is overwhelmed by the odds and ends

Looking all about, the sapling questions if this is all there is

The unexpected answer arrives promptly and carry’s a great risk

Barely breathing the sapling considers the choices lying before her

Understanding that by doing something there will be many deaths

The fledging also knows that doing nothing will mean her death

Wilting in a cluttered landscape the sapling waits and ponders

Fortuitously she remembers the sandbox when it all began

With a rolling expanse of warm pristine crystalline oatmeal

Imagination and creation passionately danced barefoot 

In a wonderful place where a heart can beat freely

The sandbox awash in wide open love with teeth

Stretching tall, she hesitantly begins sorting

It is arduous and there are many deaths

The diverse items are overburdened

  Encumbered with fact and fiction

The stalk nearly gives up twice

Gazing up at the sky in tears

Yet the sapling survives

Surrounded by sand

Wonderfully joy

Singing songs

This is all

There is