40x40: Jazz in the Sculpture Garden

Well, folks, I went to Jazz in the Sculpture Garden and it was delightful! We didn't really listen to the Jazz, though it was nice. We had massive amounts of sangria and some sandwiches and picnicked on a blanket under my favorite silver tree sculpture and played games and talked about life. It was a risk, and it was very successful. I think next summer, I will do it again!

40x40 Count: 4/40

Getting to Know Me

These last few weeks after my anger revelation have been fascinating. I have been talking to friends, and thinking, and feeling and really diving into the work that is me, and why I am the way that I am.

I have been realizing how all the big, emotionally tagged memories of my life are connected. Two of the biggest are when my friend broke up with me, and when I asked my mom for a cookie in front of guests and she said "No" and I internalized it as "I shouldn't have asked. It was wrong to want a cookie." I wondered why I was no trouble as a teenager, and only later in my college years started to really feel all the things.

I wondered if it was because I thought I shouldn't want things. I shouldn't rock the boat. If I fail or am turned down, I am a failure or I made a mistake. And then people I love will see who I really am and leave me.

I grew up labeled as the "Nice" one, the "Smart" one. So if I was ever not nice, I was "mean." If I was ever not "smart," I was "dumb."

I grew a coping mechanism of being extremely likable. I discovered that if people thought I was cute and liked me, I could get more things that I wanted, and in a more subtle way that wasn't demanding something and then potentially being rejected.

I have been reading "Women Who Run with the Wolves," an exploration of fairy tales through a psychological and spiritual lens that emphasizes a woman's growth in the modern world. At the beginning, she emphasized how fairy tales have to kill the "Too Nice Mother." I balked at that. Being nice is a good thing! But as I have come to explore myself a bit more, I realized that is true. Being labeled as Nice is a cage. If you are Nice, you are not allowed to be angry, or brave, or take risks, or rock the boat, or express what you need for fear of not being seen as nice anymore. Some might balk at that idea, but I am realizing being Nice is not the same as loving, or being kind or generous or considerate. Those are so much better and richer and more complex than Nice.

This year, we are focusing on a "Growth Mindset" at school. The idea is that you are not the "smart" one or the "dumb" one. You can change over time. If you work hard, you will get better. Some may have aptitudes in one subject or another, but everyone can make progress if you want it badly enough.

I grew up with a fixed mind set. I was "Smart" and "Nice." I had a role to play. When my fellow classmates started to outstrip me in school because they tried harder than I did, and when I would make a mistake or get a bad grade, or even lose a game, I felt it was a reflection on my very self. My smartness. I was failing at who I was.

The truth is, though, I am more than Smart and Nice. I am fierce, and territorial, and loyal to a fault, and and silly, and angry, and glowing, and loving. and stubborn, and creative, and (one that is still hard for me to convince myself of) sexy, and many more things I am just discovering. I am all those things all at once, and sometimes they contradict each other or get me into trouble or sometimes I make the wrong decisions. I am so much more Wild than Smart and Nice.

I am working on dealing with my anger, and I have realized that nothing works better than expelling it with my voice. I can't dance it out, or paint it out, or exercise it out. I have to let it out through my mouth, either with directed speaking, singing, or crying. I am still unpacking what that means about me. But it feels a bit like a howl.

40x40: Hawaii

Well, we did it! We went to Hawaii! It wasn't even planned We were going to go road-tripping down the west coast, but changed last minute.

It had it's ups and downs. Mostly, ups, and a lot of the downs were actually really good things in the end. I kept thinking of the Avatar: The Last Airbender quote about Ember Island:

"Ember Island is a magical place. Keep an open mind.... and it can help you understand yourselves and each other. The beach has a special way of smoothing even the most ragged edges."

Vacations are the only time Lee and I have together where we are not either exhausted or on the go. Therefore, they are the one time when all our issues come to a head and explode. Most of the time, though, it leads to very important, very necessary conversations that lead us in a better direction.

We saw water and fishes and Pele and volcanoes and petroglyphs and we walked on lava and sailed on ships and swam in reefs and had great adventures.

Hopefully we can go back one day and sink deeper into Hawaii.
40x40 Count: 3/40

My Name is Megan Reichelt, and I am Angry.

So I am angry, and I didn't know it. Which explains a lot.

I went to a wellness coach and we talked a lot about my life and emotional states and health, and from that, she determined that, according to Chinese medicine, I am currently ruled by my gall bladder and liver. This means anger.

I have never thought of myself as an angry person. In fact I have actually avoided being an angry person. I hide when there is conflict. But I have this side of me that wants to smash things. I never knew where that side came from, until I realized that a lot of the times I am stressed or frustrated, I am actually angry. I deal with anger in a few ways: I sing, I cry, or I close it off in a little box and never talk about it again.

I think of myself as the nice one, the timid one, the one who is so sure it is her fault. I never actually allow myself to say "I am really angry right now" because anger is for powerful people, people who know they are right.

Last night, though, I got very angry, and I actually acknowledged it as anger. I had to keep it inside because it was not appropriate to express, but I felt it bottling up in my lower left side. My lips were tingling and I had shortness of breath, and I could feel myself vacillating back and forth between fiery rage and ice cold contempt.

Previously to this conversation, I would have said I am stressed and frustrated. Now, I know I am angry. It doesn't mean I am right. It doesn't mean I have permission to blow the subject of my anger out of the water with a fireball. But it does mean that I am properly identifying my emotions now, and I think in the long run, that will help me.

I just have to figure out mature ways to 1) expel and 2) express my anger without letting it eek out like steam vents in inappropriate moments and areas of my life, or to friends who feel the unintentional heat.

I've tried singing, I've tried journaling, I've tried drawing pictures, I've tried sleeping on it, I've tried talking about it with friends other than the one I am mad with. The problem is that I feel like what will really make it better is to talk to the person I am mad at, but there is never an appropriate time.

I am going to lift some heavy things and help my friends, and hope that this will help calm me down for what I am hoping will be a very healing pool party, but it may also make everything worse.

40x40: Short Hair

Well, I did it! After decades of admiring heroines who cut their hair short to go into battle, I have finally done it myself. It took a few tries to get it right, but I am loving it. I feel fiercer, stronger, and I don't have to do anything to it!

I call it the Battle Pixie.

So here's to Alanna of Trebond, Mulan, Brienne of Tarth, Virginia Lewis, Joan of Arc and all my real life lady hero friends. 

40x40 Count: 2/40.

April Update: On the Journey

"Walk without a stick into the darkest woods. Believe the fairy tale is true." 

- Cheryl Strayed

I just wanted to give a quick update with where I am in my New Years resolution for Flow and my journal commitments I gave at the beginning of the year. Strangely enough, I think I am doing ok!

I have been finding opportunities for flow. I haven't been writing too much, but I have been writing more than usual, and I have been finding flow in my stage combat. I have been listening more to myself and to other people. I began to keep a journal of aesthetics and ideas and have begun crafting an idea for a story out of the images and themes that are important to me and that embody my voice. I have been listening to what my body needs and eating and sleeping when important and taking a break when I need to, while still getting things done. Blue Apron has helped me make home-cooked, healthy, balanced, seasonal meals and I have been getting around 7 hours of sleep each night.

I have also reached a place of humility and confidence combined. I know that I am good at what I do, but that there is always more to learn. It is a nice place to be.

In my head, I am doing better at work, introducing programming during Library Week, and changing my perspective on the administration. I have been reading more, though still not as much as I would like. I have a Read-a-Thon coming up. I have taken steps on our shared accounts to be financially responsible, though I still have a ways to go with my personal accounts. I have taken the opportunity to be a storyteller in theater, not just an actor, though I would love time to write more.

In my heart, I love Lee and I feel our relationship is strong, but it has suffered lately due to separation, I think. We had a beautiful night one night where we played and loved and talked in bed and didn't go to our separate night time routines. We were with each other and I loved that. We need more of that. Hopefully when our shows end and we go on the honeymoon, we will dig in deep to the time we spend together. I am accomplishing my resolution to talk with my family once a month, and have a friend date once a month, so that is going well!

In my soul, I am setting aside time for myself and keeping it sacred. I take my headphones off when I feel that I need it, and turn the TV off too when it is time. I bought a great meditation pillow which helps my back, but I have not yet meditated. I did spend a lovely night reading in my chair with a Sacral Chakra candle burning, and I need to do more of that. I have done some yoga and lots of massages, but not enough praying or writing. I feel I am listening a bit better, though.

In my physical world, I think I am getting there. I can feel my core now, and know what it is to engage it. I am doing frequent combat classes and learning. I am singing a bit, and need to focus on my singing and speaking voice more: deepening it and supporting it. I am taking acting lessons, getting better at my craft. I did the KonMari method of cleaning my house a bit, and it has worked in the areas I did it. I need to do it a bit more though. Clothes are getting there. I had a massive clothing swap and I am liking what I have, but there are still a few duds.

Air
I think my anxiety has let go of me, for the most part. It is an amazing feeling. To think I lived in constant fear all that time. It comes back occasionally, but never to the degree that it did. Mostly my fears have a name. I am doing well in putting aside pockets of unscheduled time, though I rarely use that time to write.

Water
I am doing well here. I am taking time for people. I eat and sleep well. I just need more Lee time without the TV, I need to pray more, and I need to write.

Fire
I am incredibly proud of myself in this venue. Every project I take on challenges me in some way. I was finally acknowledged as a respected player in the fight community when Casey asked me to participate in Shakespeare's Birthday Party fight demonstration, even though I couldn't do it that year. I have my asethetic notebook. I follow my impulses. I am about to reach out about archery. But I do not write.

Earth
I have begun to use my anxiety to fuel me, rather than tamp it down. I occasionally, though not consistently, live in my house, and not in my TV. I cook and sing and listen to music. I do want to find a way to center before every day and take more time in nature.

I have engendered a culture of reading at Cardozo, or at least the start of one, and I did blow them away with knife, getting a recommended pass with no notes. We will see about broadsword.

All in all, I think I am doing ok. I need to focus on praying, writing, exercising, and deepening the time I spend with Lee.

Zebras in the Sky

When I was a little girl, I had a best friend. Her hair was made of golden springs and she glowed like a powerful, reckless, sneaker-clad dandelion. She was fierce and inventive, cruel and loyal, and I would have done anything for her.

She broke my heart twice. One break was small and deep, a shard of glass in the heart, and I didn't notice it until many years later. The other break was wide and shallow.

The second break is the easiest to define. I noticed it right away. We had been a duo. We adventured into imaginary worlds of dragons and witches and spies and scientists. Then, in fifth grade, she stood on top of a hill, white against the trees of the school yard, and shouted "Well maybe I don't want to pretend anymore!" It landed with the thunk of an arrow. Pretending was all that I did. It was all that I was. I thought she was there with me too. But she grew up. She found other friends. I moved on, and turned pretending into my job.

The first break I am only now coming to grips with.

The sky was bright and cloud-speckled as her mother drove us from some errand. Perhaps visiting my friend's grandmother. My heart was singing because it was a beautiful day. The window was open and the breeze was blowing light and warm. I looked up in the sky at the clouds and I saw zebras. A herd of zebras loping across the sky. The clouds had formed themselves just right, and I thought it was such a cool idea. Sky Zebras running across a vast plain of blue. So I said "Look! Zebras!" and I pointed at the sky. At first they didn't understand. I stumbled to backtrack and explain. Then, they laughed. Both she and her mom laughed at me. I remember feeling wrong. Crazy. Like things this strange are not meant to be thought, much less spoken.

It is strange how certain stories from your childhood stick with you while others are completely forgotten. What makes a memory so visceral that it feels like yesterday, when others equally as important evaporate?

The most vivid part of that memory was the wrongness I felt. I was obviously crazy for ever having had those thoughts, for thinking that something was other than it was, or imagining the impossible for no reason whatsoever. I tamped down those impulses for a long time. My weird perspective. I even convinced myself that I had no unique voice, nothing to say that other people weren't already saying. I pushed my crazy dreams, and my "what if" scenarios, and my Picasso thinking to the back closet of my brain and put things in front of the door so they wouldn't sneak out at an inopportune moment and show how crazy I was again.

As I am really starting to move in the direction of writing, I realize how important those tools were. All my odd and crazy thoughts are actually exactly what I need to find inspiration and become a writer, along with my obsessive nature, my need for flow, my love of research to learn cool things (not prove facts), my collection of memory and ephemera, my nostalgia, my empathy, my ability to listen, and my delight in choosing the right words.

I have opened up that closet now and have begun dusting off everything. My dreams are coming back (I think thanks to no meds and better sleep), I am listening to the world rather than hiding from it, I have sworn off TV for Lent so I am getting more done, and I am playing games with myself: "What if a bear wandered through the parking lot right now?" "Those leaves look like potato chips. NO! Papery husks! NO! Skeletons!"

Now all I have to do is have the courage to sit down and write.

"'Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."

EDIT: I have been reading Woman Who Runs With the Wolves and recently read the chapter on Bluebeard. It is about how women have Bluebeards of their own, real or internal, that keep them from being curious, from asking the right questions, from listening to their instincts. It often manifests itself in dreams or stories as the scary man. Re-reading this with the metaphor of the closet in my mind, I remembered a meditation we did in voice class that explored our psyche. The teacher said that if we came face to face with a monster, imagine a door and put him behind it. I raised my hand and asked "But what good will that do? The monster is still there, only now you can't see him." The class laughed at my seemingly literal take at this metaphor. When I told the story later to my family, my aunt took it seriously, saying that I should have a knowledgeable guide help me face the monster. This is the aunt who, when I was a child, suggested Woman Who Runs with the Wolves in the first place.

I wonder if the monster all along has been my Bluebeard, this impulse inside me that kept me afraid of listening to myself and my impulses. Well, I am using the key now, opening the closet, and seeing what is inside.