Soft Edges

When you reach

your edge, soften.

Soften until you

slip through the

constraints and

can create a new

rhythm, a new

route, a new

release. Water is

soft yet powerful.

Reach your edge,

and soften.

-Victoria Erickson

So yesterday I left the gym and went right to the local mechanic to drop my son’s Jeep off to get its bells and whistles checked out while he’s away. I was there by 9:00 a.m. on the dot, and I pulled into a great spot right in front. I planned to walk home from the shop after I turned in the key, so I was distracted and thinking about what I needed to grab out of his Jeep.

I walked toward the office and did one last mental check to make sure I had what I needed. Phone, earbuds, hat, extra layer. I took a quick look back at his Jeep when suddenly I stopped in the middle of the street.

I didn’t have his Jeep. I was in my Audi. It was immediately apparent to me that I was trying to drop my son’s Jeep off for servicing without the Jeep actually being in the vicinity (mechanics have told me in confidence that this is a very difficult way to service a vehicle). I backed away slowly, back towards my car, as the stupidity of what I had almost done (well, DID do) sunk in. I hoped that no one in the office had seen me pull up, and I prayed that they were not watching me drive away. I drove home and returned with his Jeep ten minutes later with no one the wiser.

Well, until now.

A couple of weeks ago I was rushing to the Cherry Hill mall to get this one specific thing that I could only get in this one specific store. I had driven over an hour in bad traffic for this one thing, so I wasn’t in the mood to fuck around. Upon arrival I moved quickly and purposefully through the parking lot, and as I stepped towards the electronic door, my brain just assumed it would open for me as quickly as it always did.

As my nose and face met unyielding glass in a rather forceful introduction, it occurred to me that perhaps it was not an electronic door. Perhaps, I thought, it was a manual door. You know, the push-pull kind. Ah, of course, I thought. The young couple behind me who witnessed the spectacle asked me if I was alright, and I thanked them and watched them try very hard to keep straight faces. I felt gratified knowing they would probably be laughing for the rest of the day.

I keep thinking it’s going to show up on Instagram at some point.

I’ve also been having problems with automatic soap dispensers, faucets, and paper towel dispensers. There are so many different rules. Touch them on top, touch them on the bottom, don’t touch them at all. Push lever, pull lever, move lever sideways. Tap it once for cold, tap it twice for hot, tap it in the inverse order. Hold your hands two inches underneath, no, make that three inches, no, closer than that, you dummy.

Then just when you think you have the hang of the automatic kind, the old-fashioned ones appear in restrooms again, the kind that you actually need to physically manipulate. You wave your hands ineffectively in front of it to coax a paper towel out only to have the person in back of you inform you that you have to push the lever. You stand drooling stupidly in front of these contraptions remembering that there was a time in your life that you probably knew how to work them, but that those days are long gone.  

Lately I have found myself standing in front of strange sinks literally frozen with indecision and knowing full well that I lack the curriculum vitae necessary to extricate soap and water from it. When facing an unfamiliar faucet or dispenser, I give myself a pep talk:

You can do this. You’re a grown woman. You’ve borne three children, you possess five post-graduate degrees, you have had a great career. You are independent and successful and capable. You is kind you is smart you is important. Go in with no fear. Never let it see you sweat. Just just just….DO IT!

I take a deep breath and go in slowly. No rush. I even try to hum a little, so that it appears I am so casual with what is about to transpire that no matter the outcome, it will not affect my day. I reach towards the edge of the faucet, and I soften. And the water flows.

Because softening has been working for me.

I definitely had a point to this post when I thought of it last week, but all I know now is I’ve been rushing around too much. Trying too hard. When things are hectic,  my brain gets overloaded. And although they are funny stories (and honestly, it’s really a normal day for me, ask anyone. And let me know if you want to hang out, you’ll never suffer a dull moment), it’s important for me to know that when I forget to soften, things go haywire.

Sometimes we try too hard. When we relax, water flows, doors open. We must take our time in the climb,

So here’s to life and soft edges.

Wishing You a Day

Wishing you a day

of remaining in

the moment. Not the

past or future or

story. Not your

thoughts or

anxieties or lists.

But right here,

right now,

straight into the

center. -Victoria Erickson

I’m blowing off the gym this morning. I’m going to spend it enjoying my Christmas tree, nibbling some cinnamon-raisin toast and watching the blustery weather outside my window. While the entire state of New Jersey prepares for a festive holiday snowstorm, our trusty Atlantic Ocean, the party-pooping winter bitch that she always is, plans to change our snow into an ugly Christmas Nor’easter.

(I loathe south Jersey. There, I said it. I’ve hinted at it, but now you know the real truth. I’m texting a friend in Buffalo, and he has kindly offered his snow to me. “Sixteen inches,” he texted, “is not fun.” Well, speak for yourself, buddy, sounds fun to me. And you can take that anyway you please).

Anyway, today I’m going to allow myself To Just Be. To relax. Yep. Believe It or Not, Ripley.  Because right around December 15th or so, I can feel the Universe temporarily loosening its stranglehold from around my throat. It’s imperceptible at first. Just a feeling, a warmth that rises up from my belly, spreads across my shoulders and leaks into my heart. For a small amount of time, I let myself ignore that loud voice in my head that is always telling me to “Move, Groove and Improve.” I give in to my cravings for comfort and rest, and preparation for the long, gray winter.

It doesn’t last long. January 2 is like a switched flip. What had flown just fine a week earlier simply does not fly with me on January 2. So I enjoy my two weeks of abandonment. The last two weeks of December for me are like the airport: anything goes, and nothing is out of the question. So enjoy my list of:

Five Things That Fly Just Fine With Me in December

Carbs. Eggs and avocado, Greek yogurt, protein shakes, steel-cut oatmeal, almonds, spinach, salads, carrot sticks, poached chicken breast, asparagus and assorted berries and melons are invited to kiss-my-ass and please-just-for-awhile-butt-the-fuck-out-of-my-life in December. So pumpkin pancakes and breakfast potatoes at brunch? Yep! Crumbly coffee cake with morning java? Mmm, o.k! BLT and French fries for a late lunch? Hell ya! Pasta Pomodoro and New York style cheesecake at our favorite little Italian restaurant? Bring it on, baby!! I don’t give carb counts one single solitary thought in the last two weeks of December.

Alcohol. A glass or two of Pinot Noir every night while watching Christmas movies is hardly out of the question. How about a small sherry on a chilly Saturday morning? A warm glass of brandy after a long day of holiday shopping? Some sangria or Moscato at dinner? A martini with lunch? A couple of post-golf Michelob Ultras at the country club bar? Indeed! Yes yes yes yes yes! (That was my re-enactment of the orgasm diner scene from “When Harry Met Sally”).

Movies. News and politics have no home here in December. This is not the time of year for pragmatism. Christmas and feel-good movies only, thank you. And my strict house rule of No Living Room Television on During the Day is happily waived during the last two weeks of December. “Frosty the Snowman” plays at 7:00 a.m., “The Christmas Carol” at 2:00 p.m., “Home Alone” and “Four Christmases” and “The Family Stone” whenever they’re on. No holds barred. Surround me with the holiday spirit.

Sloth. There’s something to be said for a little bit of laziness in December. Not a lot. But a little. I occasionally skip the gym, read all day, cook for hours and hours, enjoy music or binge-watch Netflix, sometimes in the middle of the day. And watching the boys loafing around the living room, holing up in their rooms or vegging in their man cave just doesn’t bother me in December. I find it quaint, and homey, and comforting. All-day video game marathons, late-night Risk tournaments, all-day jammies? Fine with me. Oh, you say didn’t get a shower today, you’re blowing off your haircut, and you forgot to cut your nails? And you want to wear sweatpants and ratty t-shirts? And you have suspended your part-time job search? Okey-dokey. But they don’t even be trying that shit with me in January, or they be catching Holy Hell (that lapse in grammar was on purpose, I thought it made me sound tough).

Hygge. I like my house and my family to feel as cozy as possible as Christmas approaches, so the more hygge the better. Scented candles are always going, the Christmas tree is always lit, and there’s always something delicious cooking or baking. Christmas cookies lie around in tins on the counter to be nibbled with morning coffee, warm banana bread beckons from the sideboard, and bakery boxes appear seemingly out of nowhere, filled with sweet treats. Plush throws are draped over the furniture to use as needed to ward off the chill, flannel sheets are made on the beds, Uggs are taken out of closet storage, and puffy coats stand at the ready. We cozy in, cozy down and cozy up. No such thing as too much cozy for me in December. Hygge starts in the heart and mind.

Then, like a match blowing out, it ends. The three pounds I gained in December are lost in a week. No more bread or donuts or pasta, at least not as much, anyway. And I’m not that person who leaves Christmas lights up well into January. On January 2nd, it just ends. My household is back to discipline, protein, hydration, news, travel and achievement, with gluttony and sloth being an exception instead of the rule. And although I vow every year that I won’t do it, I take down all of my decorations on the 1st. I just can’t bear looking at them anymore. The tree is to the curb by the 2nd.

So today begins my Christmas season. I blew off the gym, ate raisin toast, ordered some Christmas lingerie, watched “Rudolph” and lit some candles. We’re going out to lunch in a bit, then watching Christmas movies later while a casserole bakes in the oven.  

After all, ‘tis the season. Here’s wishing you a day.