I DESERVE this!

Perhaps it is just me, and not a function of being female. But I see a lot of women, especially single women, accounting for things. We are trackers, counters, adder-uppers. Earners. I am growing weary of the inceessant need to prove myself deserving of X, Y, Z and the other 23 remaining letters signifying anything that I want. Such as, "I deserve to spend extra bit of something at Trader Joes because I didn't get the expensive cheese last time." Goodness! What a mouse-trap. Or, "I haven't bought a new pair of (fill in the blank) for over a (lengthy time span goes here" therefore, getting it now is okay." As if delay of gratification or denial grants my desires validation.
Do you find yourself doing this?
Dare I ask WHY? My bad habits involve overjustification, an obsession with rationalizing this or that, and thus domesticizing of filtering my longing to render them more palatable to myself...
No one will ever ask me to account for these things...but I;d like to be ready should they ever pull me over and demand to know if I should really be indulging in that I Tunes purchase...just in case I downloaded some things a few hours previously, or yesterday....or for the last month. But no one asks, because, overall, I am a sensible woman who makes excellent decisions...I don't need to defend myself against the scrutiny of others, it's just me in here who is intensely analyzing these details.

And I don't see a lot of men saying, "I don't know if I should go see that movie, I already took some me time away from the girlfriend Wednesday when I played basketball." Why do women like to tell ourselves that "we deserve it?"

Okay, you know what? Screw the why...I don't want to think about WHY any longer...I just want to know HOW. HOW do I stop keeping score against myself? Will it become more natural with age? With experience?

Am I in outerspace on this one, does any one do this too?

Task #19 Sing a Song in Public

Task #19
Sing a song in public

Feeling funky, feeling sad & frustrated…that my battle with these negative emotions was futile. I was noticing them, aware of them, but just because you are noticing and aware of the dishes in the sink doesn’t eradicate their existence. Yep, “Ms. Pissy Pants” and I can’t really adequately describe my feelings that would give this state justice, so enough said there…

But the park sparkled, and I noticed that, too. And I SO wanted to be in a positive state, to seize the moment, to feel connected and alive. The thought to enjoy “THIS BEAUTY” right now, flustered me…HOW? HOW? HOW? My mind short circuited, and Ms. Pissy Pants was still winning…awareness and thoughts had little effect, a toothpick shoveling a pile of bricks. I wanted freedom, escape from this funkyness, and despised the dissonance between what I wanted and where I was inside.

AH! Step in the power of the list….

Abandoned the thoughts and just DID. With fullness of my lungs, I belted the song, and in the bottom of my uterus, something clicked away. No matter the stares, the impression I was exuding, I was just ME. Purely ME, not performing, not achieving, just this animal vocalization of something essential…

And out of the blue, POOF! Ms. Pissy Pants deflated….

Here is the last clip of video from the task! Enjoy!

To Read or Not to Read

July 2nd, 2007
Task #83
Visit the biggest bookstore in America: Powells in Portland

My being is like a sailing ship, that is not ready or destined to dock…it is always roaming about the waters. Yet, my being still finds the light from the house on the shore assuring….Books are my lighthouses. They provide groundedness---a stability, in malleable form…always changing, the interpretation so connected to experience of the here and now.

For the past two moves of my life, I go through a process of purging items. I rate my belongings on a scale of 1-5 and only items rated a 4 or 5 come with me. I don’t own much, so it must say something that 50% of the boxes I unpack each time are books of some sort.

And I have a passion for independent bookstores. This is my “Cheers”…my church. My place of worship, where the sacredness in me is honored and I am known as a regular, and often recognizable for pursuing the “pews” but also so unknown as well by the other parishoners, the most essential parts of me hidden or unexplored, and only tapped into when I pick up a book and possibility fumes from the pages below.

God help me should I ever go blind…my heart would hurt so much from the lack of freedom I would experience from the depravity of picking up a book and the surge of empowerment I feel from deciding whether to read or not to read…

For me, books are a pathway to hope. They are the key to transformation, the illumination of evolution. Not an escape, but a compass for sailing in a direction to an undiscovered, yet-to-be-named terrain that waits for me to claim it as my own.

And thus, Powells in Portland was mind-blowingly awesome. So awesome that I hope that it starts a new tradition of seeking out independent bookstores wherever I travel…any suggestions?