songs i can't stop listening to.

my chicago, end of summer edition.

(This photo taken by Jen.)

on choosing to do good. and be better.

i can't remember what first made me want to lose weight. i wish i did, mostly so i could ask whatever it was, what took you so damn long?  i started the summer i was 21. i walked every night. five miles, around the perimeter of my town. i waited until it was dark and i wore all black.  

i beat the pavement with my sneakers. i wanted something else to hurt as much as i did. i walked with so much anger i could feel it sitting on my chest. it got comfortable and settled in there. some of it remains. the weight melted off in the first few months. i don't know how much: i just wanted it gone so i walked until i was drenched in sweat and my body ached. this was intentional. 

i thought of this yesterday morning when i went for a run. i ate some cheerios and a banana and went outside. i walked again, but not the way i did six years ago. i ran. i walked. i ran. i ran some more. i did this for 35 minutes. my gym was closed most of last week for renovations. not having it as an option made me anxious. and annoyed. it's back now, and my anxiety has decreased. the gym is a comfort to me.

but i thought of the girl i was six years ago and i thought of how much has changed. and how some things haven't. and that is a choice.

i went to church after running. the priest talked about choices: how everyone has the ability to choose, to do good and be good. 

every single thing we do is a choice. we are responsible for all of them.  

this week i'm choosing to do more: more running, more sleeping, more walking through the city after work.  and less. less worrying, less complaining, less fear.

more fun, less fear. i promised this to myself here. and here. we deserve to keep the promises we make to ourselves. i'm setting the tone for the week with this promise to myself: you're getting there, rhi. remember that. all of the answers you're looking for will not appear at one time. you'll get there.

choose to believe this.

on fear, part 3 of 1,000.

you're a pro at fear.

a friend said this to me at work last week. i stood in her office and nodded. 

nodding in agreement doesn't stop tears. if anything, nodding shakes them loose.

yes. yes, you're right. i'm afraid of this thing and that thing and saying them out loud makes them real. 

they are real. they've been real. the days of avoiding are over. the days of numbing are over. 

this is called creating a life of one's own. 

keep doing it.

what do you do when you're afraid?

 

afraid you won't find the amazing job you've been searching for.
afraid you'll gain back every pound you've lost.

afraid you'll never know what it's like to sit down to a meal, look at your plate, and not be flooded with guilt.

afraid you'll never be able to look at your body and not hate what you see, even for two seconds.

afraid you could lose everything and everyone you love. 

afraid you'll never learn to breathe and follow the simple instruction, let it be.

you take a breath. 

you sit. you stand. you run. you do whatever makes you breathe easier. 

you fight. for everything.

you write. you write about everything you want to shake from your bones. write all day and night until you feel lighter. until you actually feel these things leave you. 

you let them leave you.

you apply, email, edit, write, call, pray, scream, swear, apply more, edit more, write more.

you pray more.  

you pray for the strength and grace to create this new life for yourself. you pray for the wisdom to find the things you need. 

you say thank you.

you take your anger and aggression out on the treadmill and the punching bag.

you cry to your best friends.

you get angry again.

you stop feeling sorry for yourself.

you listen to every mary chapin carpenter and bob marley song you love. you listen to the words. you look at them and close your eyes as you listen again and again. what are you trying to find? open those eyes, rhiannon. 

you take the bad days and compare them to the bad days you used to have. you pay attention to the difference.

the voice that tells you not to eat breakfast because you had too much pizza for dinner, do not listen to that voice. the voice that tells you to eat skittles if you crave them, it's okay to listen to that voice. but you don't want a second bag. you know you don't want a second bag. your brain will trick you into thinking you do. 

your brain will betray you more times than you can count.

you can choose to stop betraying yourself. choose to start right now.

you remind yourself as often as you need to do what you need to be doing, which is living, fully, completely. this means feeling your fears, even when you think they could swallow you whole. you feel them, slowly at first, like checking the temperature of bath water. but the slow part has to stop and you have to sit and feel these things. as you do this, you will come to see that these fears are not bigger than you. 

your fear is not bigger than you.

when you feel stuck, in every sense of the word, how do you get unstuck?

you take that anger and exhaustion and do something with it. 

you fight.

tuesday afternoon list of gratitude.

language is a magical thing, and whether it's put to music or not, it takes you places.

today i am grateful for...

sleeping with the windows open
being one day closer to fall 
marking the passage of time with this woman's music 
sitting next to my mom at her concert sunday night
dogs. all kinds.
this. it's next on my "to-read" list. i love so many of these i stopped counting
migraine medication, diet coke, and ice packs
learning to like football, and having a really, really patient instructor

the lemon cupcake part of lunch before the tuna salad part
this. this woman's words are devastating. and empowering.

life, as of late. and working on that summer bucket list.

this is finally seeing a bit more action. 

beautiful, beautiful tree.

on faith.

you sit in a crowded train on a tuesday night. you wanted to be there for someone. so you got on a train.

you get away from the noise of the city and all it entails, if only for one night. 

you sit across the aisle from a woman eating what smells like fried chicken. you think that if you boarded the train at the first station you would've walked past a fried chicken restaurant. this same restaurant sits at the corner of your grandma's old street. you only ate from this restaurant on the fourth of july when you'd sit with your cousins and aunts and uncles and watch the parade from the curb. you'd sit in front of a hardware store that, to this day, makes you think of your grandfather. you think of how much you miss the sight of him in his garage and how it smelled just like that store. you think of the fact that the man you're with reminds you of him: warm, kind, relaxed. someone who loves to fish. 

you look at this woman sitting across from you and you close your eyes. you can smell it. you think, a chicken sandwich. a chicken sandwich will make me feel less anxious right now. a chicken sandwich will make me feel less stressed and worried. eating a chicken sandwich will make me temporarily forget the shame i feel for wanting a chicken sandwich. 

you sometimes still need to distinguish between your reasons for wanting a chicken sandwich. because sometimes the reasons are bad. even still. even now. and that is called a bad day.

that is called a bad moment. 

that is not called undoing the past three years of work. 

you think about the article you're writing about a basketball player. you think of her voice on the phone today when she said, "i want to win." you think about how much you want to run, run and not stop. you think about how much you could accomplish if you didn't think and talk yourself out of things.

you think about how tired all your thinking makes you. 

you sit there and you stop. 

you stop reading the emails that are making you more stressed. you stop thinking about the things that are making you tired and worried. you stop being mad at yourself for taking twenty seconds to think about eating a chicken sandwich because it's something warm. 

the warmth and safety you crave is not wrapped in a piece of foil.

you will find it. you're getting there. have faith that you will carry yourself the rest of the way.

you think of what jim told you, this is your time. wrap yourself in the warmth and joy of everything. let yourself be happy. you deserve to be this happy. it's your time now. let it be.

he shakes his head a lot. you've really got to try and let things be, rhi.

you choose. you can choose to have more faith in things, more faith and less fear. or you can choose the opposite. 

faith in yourself is always the better option.

makes me happy.

dinner in greektown.