If you can't say something nice

“You are drawing quite a lot of attention to yourself.” A voice hissed from the side of the skyway. I glanced in the direction of the words and saw an older man in his seventies or so with a creepy glint in his eye. I picked up my pace and continued walking toward my credit union. My mind reeled. Before the rude and unwanted interruption, I was serenely enjoying an escape from work without the lunch crowd. It was only 10:30 in the morning and the skyway was nearly vacant. The man, up until the moment he spoke, had been completely unassuming. I perhaps would have even thought to myself, if I noticed him, a gentleman. Or no label at all. Because, what is a gentleman, after all? But instead of just being two humans passing in the skyway, he now became a creep in my mind.

Unfortunately, only after several years of his voice haunting me was I able to admit I was disgusted and disappointed. My initial feeling was creeped out, followed by panic. But not because I thought this guy would “get” me. Instead I thought, “Oh god, why I am drawing attention to myself?” and the only conclusion I could come to was because of what I was wearing. How else does one draw attention to oneself while walking through the skyway unless you are say… playing a guitar, or have incredible B.O., or are running like Phoebe through the hallways of the business folks? I was just walking to the bank. Minding my own business.

Upon my return to the office, I told my friend about it. We laugh about it. And use it as a line every now and then. Because we are goofballs. But the truth is, it is scary. I still think about it when I wear the skirt I was wearing. Or the boots I was wearing. Or the combination of them together again. His voice, his words, crawl over my skin and slither along the back of my neck. And that is the unfortunate thing.

I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I just was wearing what I thought was a nice outfit, appropriate for a fall day in the office. I did not think, “Well, let’s put on this skirt and see what kind of attention I get.” I don’t want that kind of attention. If my girl friends tell me they like my outfit, that is ok. Even my guy friends can say, in a normal tone, “Hey Coley, cool dress!” And I will tell my guy friends, I love that tie! Or that color shirt looks really awesome on you. But not “Nice pants.” While leering at his backside and projecting a tone that indicates I love the way the pants hug his curves. Ew. Right? Women get that a lot.

Comments from strangers? They don’t feel good. No, that’s not true. I love when a female admires my dress. Because it is not sexual. It is an acknowledgment of style and class. And I reciprocate when I appreciate an outfit or dress, because it is like receiving a warm fuzzy. But a male stranger commenting on my appearance? No, thank you. It makes me uncomfortable.

Sure, it could be an innocent remark, but it is all in the delivery and when paired with a sinister oogle it strips any innocence and leaves a person feeling violated and uncomfortable.

Next time you choose to comment on someone’s appearance think of how it sounds. Is it a warm-fuzzy, friendly “cool kicks!” or is it an objectifying, sexualized remark? Who does this benefit?

Bottom line is: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.   ~Thumper

Cyrano De’Bergerac

Once upon a time, I played Cyrano De’Bergerac, kind of. I was 9 going on 10. At Vacation Bible School. I had a crush on a boy. We’ll call him Brian. Brian had a crush on Liz. Brian and I became pals in our four days together and I learned about his crush. I was saddened, but did not give up our friendship. Ever the wordsmith, I offered to write her a love note for him to send to her. In exchange, he would do my weaving project.  And I secretly hoped my letters would help him realize that he had a crush on me and not Liz.

 

It is funny to think as a 9 year old I had such a romantic notions and that I was brave enough to hide behind the curtain of friendship pining away while pouring my heart on paper. For someone else.

 

It also makes me wonder why, when it was just four days together, did this moment become so engrained in my memory that I am able to recall the weather, the dress, and my shoes from a summer 24 years ago.

 

Brian certainly wasn't my first crush, which surprises me a little... why did I want to be in love so much? Was I so swayed by Disney princess? Probably. And the few "adult" movies I was allowed to watch - Splash, Roxanne, and Princess Bride (Cary Elwes & Fred Savage!!).

 

I am quite sure Brian was the last boy I "actively" (technically passively) pursued. Insert mom's voice here "Nice girls don't call boys." Until I was in college.

 

Who was your first crush? Do boys have crushes that young or is it just girls?

Winning pieces read at the Winter Words Festival 2014

http://youtu.be/UMiDUpWI6x8

Optimism Always

Some days or weeks after her funeral, I don’t remember which, we went to her apartment to help clear out her items. Her mother insisted we must take her clothes. Her things. They couldn’t go to waste at Good Will. We took heaps of clothing and tossed them in boxes and bags. Whether we wanted them or not, we were removing them from her condo and we would determine, without her mother’s teary eyes watching our 20 year old opinions judging the clothing of a 50 year old woman, what we would want. Extremely petite woman, I might add.

When we were younger, we loved her hand-me-downs. My first pair of jeans at age 12 were from her. (Petite. Right?) But fashions changed and tastes vary and while we understood her need for us to carry on her memory, it wouldn’t be through her clothes.

How bizarre it was to be in her condo. We knew she lived in Eagan though we’d never been there. How do you fit 10 other adults in a two bedroom condo and entertain them. There really wasn’t a need when we could rotate through our regular triangle of meeting places. Bloomington, Richfield, and Lakeville. Then Bloomington, Richfield, and Ramsey. And later, Richfield and Ramsey. Of course, as the kids turned into adults we could add our homes into the rotation, but now we were at the Bloomington, Richfield and Ramsey phase.

Her modest life. All that was left. In an echoing condo in Eagan. Her furniture. Beautiful. But less lived in than most. She walked to Japan for work. Traveled lots. Didn’t have pets. Didn’t marry. Didn’t have kids.

She was vibrant, kind, and sweet. She was more like a big sister than a mother, though she was our mothers age. It was funny, to flip through her CDs. I didn’t even know the music she liked was the same as what I liked.

In a box, where I tossed an coat, (which was quite huge and I don’t know how this petite lady even wore it) I found a tightly folded note. I opened it. I was sure it was a sign. Something for me to find.

It was dated a year after she found out she had cancer – five years before she passed away. It was like a cheerleader on paper. Her hopes and dreams for the life she wanted to live. Parts of it, I would say, she was successful in achieving and other dreams had escaped her grasp as she got sicker. And weaker.

Nine years ago I read this note. It was written on Radisson paper. From a notepad in Japan. I still have it. Physically and in my heart. A phrase she wrote, that jumped off the page and invited tears from my eyes when I read it (and every time I think about it) was: Optimism Always.

She was in her 50s, with cancer eating away at her body, so much life and love left to give, and so many dreams unfinished -unrealized, but she kept her head up and lived her last breaths with optimism. Always.

Reflections on a quarter life crisis

When I was 25, I experienced a quarter life crisis. That’s right. Laugh. Many of my co-workers at the time did. I bought a couple books on the topic. Yes. Books exist. But then I didn’t read them; mostly because I was relentlessly teased by people who were probably experiencing their mid-life crisis. The books have since been given away – unread.

But it doesn’t make the experience any less real. And people still experience it.  See YouTube clip below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoGa9JXfA7I

The quarter life crisis is a result of truly feeling adult and then realizing it’s not all you thought it would be. In my family, 25 was a magical number. All the women in my family turned 25. Over and over again. So I idolized 25. I imagined having a walk-in closet with clothes and never having the feeling of nothing to wear. I would get married at 25. I would have a successful career at 25. Money wouldn’t be an issue. Maybe I would even get pregnant at 25. I would certainly have a dog at 25. One vivid memory of 25 was when I was in my Scottish Terrier stage. (Now I am in a Kromfohrlander phase. I am pretty sure this one will stick.)

It took me a few years to fully shed my quarter-life crisis skin. During that time I was able to release that constant nagging jealously that came about when something significant happened to my friends or siblings i.e. engagement, house purchase, marriage, pregnancy, etc.

And also that feeling that life hadn’t started yet. That one was a harder one to shake. I think it might be more challenging for people who don’t go to school for a specific career. Wandering from job to job until you find a career can be somewhat deflating. How do you find meaning in life when your job is not satisfying your desire and ambitions? So I took control of it. I made sure I felt content outside of work by studying and then teaching yoga. I started my life.

As I enter my 7^th year of teaching yoga and near the end of my trainings to earn my 200-RYT certificate, I feel amazed that my journey will have been 8 years in the making. I signed up for three trainings this year and then I will have three trainings to complete next year. It has been a long and winding path, but I am so thankful that I have been able to teach at the YMCA throughout my education and evolution as a leader in yoga. Yoga helped me find peace of mind and probably helped me leave the quarter-life crisis in the dust.

To be continued…