Love Me Back

I played in a pickle ball tournament this weekend and I "got my ass handed to me," which is pickle ball parlance for I lost. 

Badly.

In five games, my randomly assigned partner and I scored maybe seven points out of a possible total of 55. We lost two of the five games 0 to 11. It was painful. When we lost, I didn't come of out thinking, "I held my own." Instead, it was like "That was a fresh slice of hell."

As I've mentioned 435 times before, I didn't play competitive team sports as a kid. I danced and danced and danced. I played one season of Cardinal Boosters soccer in 8th grade because I thought it would be fun. Nope. It was horrific. I was playing with girls who played since they were tots. 

This was supposed to be an advanced beginner pickle ball tournament, but people in Seattle do not get the idea of what a beginner is. 

This loss stuck with me longer than it should have. Sunday when I had my regular pickle ball league, I had the shakes. I was freaking out, terrified. Maybe I should quit if it is making me feel like such shit. I talked to another friend at the tournament, whose team was in second to last place. She was an artsy kid, and like me, new to competitive sport as an adult. My god, we should form a pickle ball support group. "I love pickle ball, but it doesn't love me back" could be the theme.

That was how I felt: pickle ball doesn't love me as much as I love it. I am still a beginner and feel left behind. Why do I want something like this to love me back? It is ridiculous. My ex would say he'd wake up and realize his job wouldn't love him back. He sounded like he wanted the job to love him back, but it didn't. It couldn't. I never understood what he meant until now, and the crazy disappointment that rides along with that.

The funny thing is I have a hundred things I'd tell my friends or my kids if they came to me with this problem, starting with "You win some, you lose some." I can't believe I never had to put this into practice until middle-age. I've learned thousands of things in my life except how not to be butt-hurt when I get shellacked. Damn, it is humbling. 

I practice, but I have other stuff in my life, like a new job and my improv class. But the other things in my life are independent of my relationship with pickle ball. Why can't I be competent at more than one thing? Why is losing so fucking hard? My friend Katie says playing pickle ball is a Buddhist exercise in acceptance every time she plays. That is so true.

Then I see the other people playing. I don't know their stories. Maybe pickle ball is all they have. Maybe they lost their job or don't have one or have other stuff going on in their lives that are causing them heart ache and strain. Maybe playing pickle ball is helping them survive.

Maybe pickle ball is helping me to survive: survive my post-divorce rebirth, survive my career new job. Maybe pickle ball is my life raft, and when it sprung a big leak, I freaked out.

Breathing & Partners & Haystacks

I recently improved my improv game by a factor of ten by using a breathing exercise from improv teacher. I told Charles I wanted to work on discovering a scene, not inventing one, as the father of modern improv Keith Johnstone writes. In an improv scene, we are supposed to listen and respond to what the other person is saying and doing instead of making up random shit. If you are in a scene in a grocery store looking at eggplants and a dinosaur walks down the aisle without prompting, someone is making shit up.

This breathing exercise is a game changer in discovering a scene:

1. Breathe in what your scene partner says
2. Breathe out your interpretation
3. Breathe in your feelings
4. Breathe out as you engage

This slows a scene down to a screeching halt--in a good way. I am forced to listen, absorb and respond.

The scene started where I was a Hollywood prima donna on set with a famous director. As I was preening, he was wasn't happy with where things were heading. I interpreted that he was calling me a bitch. My feeling was anger. I was pissed off, but I responded politely through gritted teeth. It was a battle of status, and the prima donna lost. In the end, she ended up wearing a gorilla suit at the director's request.

She was a damn good gorilla, dammit.

This breathing method allows us to move in tandem with our scene partner. 

At pickle ball last weekend, one of guys I played against repeatedly poached the ball from his partner. I hit the ball across court to the woman, and the dude ran across the court, jumped in front of her, and slammed the ball back. This annoyed me, and probably also his partner.

"The goal is to make your partner look good," Ace said.

"Isn't that true in all of life?" I replied. "When is it not true?"

Partnerships are hard, especially for me coming off a divorce. I had thought I was good a partnerships for basically my entire adult life, to now realize I might not be as great I thought I was. Now that I am divorced, I am learning about partnerships through improv and pickle ball.

In pickle ball, I don't want to let my partner down. Most games are mixed doubles, and I don't want to be the weak link, the reason my otherwise good partner lost. The funny thing is that I beat myself up when I lose a point, but I don't pick on my partner for missing one.

Improv is collaborative, not competitive like pickle ball. I still struggle with winning and losing. I feel bad when I get crushed, but at the same time I don't feel amazing when I win. I don't know why. 

This concept of winning and losing is becoming my haystacks. I feel about winning and losing the way Monet looked at haystacks. He painted a series of them in different light and from different angles. There will never be the perfect, definitive haystack. There are a thousand ways to look at a haystack, and each of them gives us an idea of possibilities. Half of my hangup about pickle ball winning and losing isn't as much about me as it is about my views of partnership. Why do I internally carry the blame for a loss?

Maybe I just want someone to want to play with me again.

Today

I wish 

I was 

my dog

so I could 

eat my breakfast

and then

go back

to bed.

Overlook Walk and the Full Glass

Finally!

The new park at the Market is complete! After a decade or so of planning, downtown is done.

First, Seattle built a tunnel for traffic to flow under the city. 

Next, they tore down the Viaduct, an elevated highway with spectacular views of Elliot Bay and downtown.

Once the Viaduct was down, they build a park where the highway used to be, so people could walk around and enjoy the views instead of seeing the view from driving in their cars at 50 miles per hour and trying not to crash.

Sunday morning, I was walking Fox by the new park, and I met a couple from London. They were blown away: "This is incredible, so beautiful!" They were glowing. I have walked my dog through that area many times before, and I never got such a reaction. 

(They were also enamored with Fox. "That is a fine hound you have there," the gentleman said of my lapdog.)

I am hoping Seattleites will be more excited about visiting the Market and downtown. Traffic will be a mess, but now there is a train that can bring people within blocks of the park. Seattleites and members of the PNW are an outdoorsy group, and many don't appreciate a solid urban core. To be fair, the urban core in Seattle could use a little TLC, just like many cities around the U.S.. But this park is more than lipstick on a pig. This is an urban hike for those who want a dose of the mountains and water without leaving town.

Seattleites can also be a grumpy bunch, finding fault instead of looking at what is good. This town--in spite of its beauty and wealth--tends to be a "glass is half empty" kind of place. This new park is a full glass, but I am sure people will find room to complain.

The wonderful thing about cities is they are what we make them. We can make the places we live and love beautiful and magnificent.

Ladder

In order

to climb

a ladder

you must 

first 

let go

of the 

lowest

rung.

I started a new job and I've been thinking about growth. Part of growing is letting go of the old, the safe, the familiar, so we can climb to the next level. We can't do both--climb while staying in place. Think of kids in school. Every year, they change rooms and teachers, sometimes even schools. They can't go to first grade if they stay in kindergarten.

Letting go of the old can be scary, especially if we can't see the rung above, or where it will lead. Are we strong enough to pull ourselves up? We hope we are, and we try.

Some people are happy and content where they are, and this is fine. Other times, we don't have a choice but to move. Maybe the rungs below can no longer hold our weight, or they disappear. We can free fall, or we can reach and hold on.

Vitamin D & the Sunbath

I felt a cold coming on Thursday night. It started with my skin looking pale. I looked bad before I felt bad. Then the throat tickle and the nose tickle and the omg I am so tired and I want to go to bed at 8:00 p.m.

I've felt shitty all weekend, until this afternoon.

I went on my balcony/deck/terrace (depending where you are from, call it what you will) and I sunbathed. I can sit outside in my bathing suit without feeling watched.* I took a bath in Vitamin D, and man did I feel better. It was almost like a miracle cure. 

I thought about how when I was a kid my family would go to Florida for Spring Break. We would come back toasted with a golden glow. Did it fight off bugs and viruses we didn't know about? Remember all of those Victorian novels where people would go to Italy for their health, like "A Room with a View?**"  Did doctor's more than a century ago prescribe a sunshine cure? Did they know something that has been lost in time via modern medicine? What kind of modern doc tells you to head for warmer climates to feel better? They would be considered a kook or a quack.

I was reading an article in The Atlantic about the health benefits of sunshine.

It’s long been known that sun exposure triggers vitamin D production in the skin, and that low levels of vitamin D are associated with increased rates of stroke, heart attack, diabetes, cancer, Alzheimer’s, depression, osteoporosis, and many other diseases. It was natural to assume that vitamin D was responsible for these outcomes. “Imagine a treatment that could build bones, strengthen the immune system and lower the risks of illnesses like diabetes, heart and kidney disease, high blood pressure and cancer,” The New York Times wrote in 2010. “Some research suggests that such a wonder treatment already exists. It’s vitamin D.” 

The article goes on to discuss why manufactured vitamin D isn't as effective, but what about the original source of vitamin D: sunshine?

I remembered this article this afternoon when I was feeling crappy. I laid my beach towel on my couch on my balcony/deck/terrace, and read a book outside for a few hours, no sunscreen. Even if sunshine isn't a miracle cure, there isn't anything better than feeling the sun on my back. I remember going to the beach as a kid, lying there for hours, never bored, just soaking it all in. "A day at the beach" is an expression for something extremely pleasant and relaxing, but isn't it?  What if a lazy day at the beach isn't just fun and chill, but could cure--or at least mitigate--our common ailments? 

I'm in!

* Maybe I am a little afraid of Google earth satellites getting a snapshot of me sunbathing, but I'll take my chances.

** Technically, not a Victorian novel, but close enough.

ZooTunes

My friend K invited me to use her extra ZooTunes ticket this week to see Built to Spill and Yo La Tengo at the Woodland Park Zoo this week. This falls into the MadLibs category of "I can't believe I've lived in Seattle for twenty years and have never _________."

This week's response: Been to ZooTunes at the Woodland Park Zoo.

TBH, that is one of the wonderful things about Seattle. I have lived here for so long and have done so many things and still there are new things to find.

I had never heard of either band, but it was fun. The music was cool but my favorite part of people watching. Now that I live downtown, I see many tourists and I don't see as many Seattleites in the wild as I did when I lived in Northeast Seattle. I was teasing K that we should hand out awards to people. Here are the categories:

• Coolest t-shirt
• Funniest t-shirt
• Best dancing
• Best baseball hat
• Nicest picnic blanket
• Best food spread
• Cutest water bottle
• Most adorable family
• Most interesting/creative visible tattoo

"But then we'd have to bring prizes," said K. I was initially thinking we could give away stickers, but maybe we could bring a bouquet of flowers from the market and let people pick one.

The Moth (again)

Last night, I vacuumed up a giant moth that was hanging out on my wall. The moth was two inches tall--I have no idea its wingspan. The poor creature was sucked up before it had a chance to fly away.

Last September, I wrote about another giant moth in my downstairs bathroom that freaked me out so much that I refused to open the bathroom door for a week, fearing the giant moth would attack me. (Thankfully, my condo has two bathrooms.) 

After a week, I opened the bathroom and it was fine. I never did find the moth or its carcass, which got me thinking: Maybe the moth I saw last night was the same moth from last fall... Maybe it finally ventured out of its hiding spot for the past eleven months.

I felt mildly guilty about killing the moth, being a living thing and all, but mostly I was worried that I would fail to kill it, and the moth would hide, waiting to spring out and terrorize me. I did not want to repeat what happened last year, fearing small spaces my own home because of a large flying insect.

Turning the Page

I started my new job Monday! Woohoo! 

I am exhausted--totally wiped out--and it's only Tuesday.

I dragged myself to Damn the Weather for lunch, my usual Tuesday lunch spot, where the owner asked me how I was doing, and I told him.

"It takes a lot of energy to turn the page," he said.

How true.

I am taking a job in other department in the same company, so the page turned very slowly. I didn't have the usual job change ritual of turning in my old badge and laptop, and then a few days later getting a new ones, like getting a new backpack and notebooks for the first day of school. Due to a massive enterprise-wide project, everyone on my team was booked before I left, so no good-bye lunch or happy hour. I am still in the same cubicle for two more weeks. It is like, "Have fun in 4th grade, but you are going to sit in the 3rd grade until October. The teacher will swing by and give you the lessons. Please ignore everything else." 

WTF?

I am sure I'll feel less tired soon enough.

History

When I was in college, I said one of the funniest things I've ever said. I was talking to a group of women in my sorority, and I was describing where someone was, and ad libbed: "Chrissy in the living room with the lead pipe." Result: uproarious laughter. 

Afterwards, Karen came up to me and said, "You are so funny. You should try out for the Mee-Ow Show."

The Mee-Ow Show was a hilarious and brilliant improv and sketch comedy show. Karen's comment was a major compliment, but I had wildly conflicting thoughts. 

My first thought was "Yes, that would be totally awesome."

My second thought was "Hell no."

I bounced back-and-forth between those two thoughts. I am still bouncing back-and-forth between those two thoughts

Northwestern has one of the most famous drama programs in the country, along with Yale, USC and NYU. There were lots of past, present and future famous alums. Drama students very often filled those roles.

I was not a drama or theatre or radio/television/film major. 

I was a math and history major, which is approximately 36,000 miles from studying acting. I was freakishly intimidated to attempt to try out. In high school, I tried out for the Children's Play, the one that they trouped around to all of the elementary schools. I didn't get a part in that; how on earth would I have gotten cast in anything at NU?

Do I regret not trying out, giving it at least a failed shot? Maybe taking an improv class or two back then? 

Yes.

And then last week at my improv class, the teacher mentioned that the most common college major for improvisors in the past thirty years...

History.

WTF?

Seriously? 

Now I am told this, not when I was twenty?

I fact checked this with one improvisor who I saw at Second City in the 1990's: Steve Carell.

He was a history major at Denison, a small liberal arts college in Ohio.

It is like the time I was at a high school reunion and saw that the cutest guy in the school married a chick who looked just like me. Like a carbon copy. And he came up to me and said hi like we were friends after not like really talking to me much in high school.

Winning versus Getting Better, and the GOAT

I am playing on my summer pickle ball League. I am still a beginner, and, as many of you know, this is the first time I've ever played a competitive sport. I'm still wrapping my head around winning and losing. I get a decent amount of exercise, but I'm not racing my paddle board or bike. Maybe somewhere in the world there is competitive yoga, but I haven't seen it yet.

The pickle ball team I am on has two types of people: people who want to win, and people who want to have fun and socialize. 

At yesterday's game, the competitive people were there. Brian and I were the two chill people out of six.

I struggled.

I felt a silent pressure to win. No one said anything, but the vibe was there. 

I realized yesterday that when I play to win, I play worse, which in some ways is obvious. If I feel pressure to win, I might choke and not play as well. Some people thrive on that competitiveness, and it makes them sharper. I can see that.

This is different. When I play to win, I play it safe. I try to avoid making errors instead of taking risks to try new things. I stick with old skills. I play a safe game. For example: In pickle ball, the idea is to play close to the net and slap the ball so your opponent can't return it. I don't have a lot of confidence (yet) playing at the net. I kind of suck at playing at the net, but if I never play at the net, how will I get better? How will I gain confidence? I won't. Likewise, if I play at the net, I know there is a far greater chance that I will miss more shots and lose. I can practice outside of games to build my confidence--and I do--but using those skills in a game is different. 

With the Olympics on, I think of Simone Biles, the gymnastics GOAT. Is her focus or purpose to win, or is it to get better, to test her own limits? (Full disclosure: I know nothing about gymnastics. I am speculating.)

My guess is her focus is more on improving versus winning. Why do I think this? Because she is the GOAT: her main competitor is herself. It looks like she strives to be better than she was before. 

I suppose something similar could be said for Taylor Swift. Was her goal to have the biggest concert tour ever, or was it to push herself to do something she had never done before in scope and scale? When she has talked about how she came up with the idea for the Eras Tour, her goal was push the limits.

I find this fascinating, the whole idea of better versus winning. I'd rather try to play a whole game at the net and push myself to learn something new and get my clock cleaned than play it safe and come home with a trophy at the end of the season and still play as shitty as I did to start.

Which brings me to another point: I start a new job next week. Same company, lateral move, totally different skill set required. I could coast in my current role, stay there for ages and stagnate. My old job is safe and easy. The person who recommended me for the job was a friend who held the role for four months. 

His assessment: "It was like drinking from a firehose." 

I've drank from the firehose before. I ran for office. That was the steepest learning curve I've ever had. I lost the race but learned so much about myself. I also didn't sell my soul in the process.

I know there are times where we need to focus on winning, to play a strategy, to assess the competition. I am not saying never win. Winning is fun. Winning is cool.

And yet.

Next week, I embark on better.

J'arrive

I was driving past the University of Washington the other day coming back from my haircut and I saw a fraternity party picnic. Coming back from haircut is always a good thing -- I love my hairdresser and I look and feel fabulous. It was early evening, and the fraternity party seemed reasonably civilized. It wasn't a drunken melee (yet.) A woman at the party wearing a sundress with long straight hair was holding a red solo cup.

This young woman stuck in my mind. Would I want to be her? Would I want to go back to college and start over, clean slate and all? 

No. 

When I was in college, I imagined my future life: beautiful, sweet and settled. I'd meet other graduates  from my school, a few years out, and see their steady and stable lives. I looked forward to that day. My roommate Maggie had really cool parents who had met at NU. I admired them and I imagined my life would be like theirs. While I didn't want to fast-forward to being fifty, I imagined that my future would be content and easy and comfortable. I imagined having children who were kind and smart and loved their lives. I imagined that I'd have a caring and attentive husband. I looked forward to my future, and not look back at my past with regret, but with fondness, with kindness and admiration towards my younger self.

Even with the divorce, I am glad I am where I am. I don't want to be the beautiful young student with her life ahead of her. Most of the uncertainty about my life is gone, and that is brings me peace. I have those beautiful, intelligent, curious and kind children, except they are cooler and more fun and thoughtful than I had imagined. I am so grateful to have them in my life. When they were little, I wondered what they would be like, and now I know. There is more to unfold, but I am glad the mystery is mostly revealed. I know the plot and I know the characters. I am ready for the next installment.

Driving past the party, I wondered if that girl wanted to be me, sitting in my car, returning from the hairdresser. Does she want to know her future, to see how it all turns out? Does she know she will be stronger and more curious and more resilient than she could ever imagine? That life will throw her awful and unexpected curveballs, but she will carry those challenges with grace?

The interesting thing about Maggie's parents one of their children died, yet they showed up in full force for Maggie. They were happy, generous, and lived in the present. 

I am like Maggie's mom, more than I imagined. Maybe that is why I liked her, unknowingly. She was a role model for me, that life and love go on, even when life starts out with great promise and then has heart-breaking and tragic parts.