Walking Tall (Even Though I’m Not)

/ jane in training / 2 Comments

If you’ve read some of my other posts, you know that I have a fondness for self-deprecating humor. I’ve used it unconsciously and consciously and thought it was quite harmless. I didn’t mind making people laugh at my expense.

Except…I noticed (and it was also pointed out to me) that making fun of what I think are my real deficiencies doesn’t do me or anyone else any favors. Not taking yourself too seriously is a good thing; turn it against yourself too often and you weaken yourself with your own sucker punches.

I’ve made fun of my height, legs, cellulite, age, over thinking…well, I think that’s enough to begin with. We’re all self-critical to varying degrees, but when it plays heavily on our insecurities, enough is enough. Yes, I want to be a lot taller, have different shaped legs, dimple-free skin, be younger, and I want to stop thinking so damn much. But unless I have bone extension surgery, can turn back time, and stop being an INFJ, well, it ain’t gonna happen.   

As I tackle Project Jane and work on my “stuff”, I want to embody this mantra: Own and learn to embrace what you have, who you are, and that you are a work in progress. The stronger you are at your base, the stronger you will be against your inner critic and outside forces. Why not focus on your assets as opposed to highlighting what you think are your weaknesses?

Easier said than done, I know. It’s taken me a long time to even get to this point and even then, I falter. I just want to make sure I don’t falter too far or for too long.

It’s funny, for years I would walk down the hallways at work with my unusually fast, stompy stride, always giving people the impression that wherever I was going, it was important. And I needed to get there immediately. Sometimes it was true, other times, I had no pressing agenda. I’ve found myself morphing that walk into a strong, bouncy, purposeful stride. Like one of my Zumba teachers says, “Don’t know what you’re doing? Fake it!!!”

Didn’t anyone tell you? I may be 4′ 11″, but I can be 6′ 0″ tall inside…

Saying Yes to The Big Easy

/ jane in training / 3 Comments

Traveling is good. It can stretch you out of your comfort zone and as a result, invite change. Transformation.

When I got on the plane for New Orleans, I felt a rush: I’m in an airplane. I’m going somewhere. I’m going to experience something new.

When a friend of mine told me that she was going there for a conference and asked if I wanted to meet her there, I hesitated for a moment. New Orleans? Isn’t that one of the most extroverted cities in the United States? I don’t know…

“Sure! Why not!” I said a moment later.

Who am I to say no to an opportunity like that? Sometimes an introvert has to push her anxiety aside to go meet life. Give it a big hug (and you know how I appreciate a good hug).

Was I transformed? No, not like in past trips I’ve taken. But it’s a fascinating part of the world. The only other southern state I’ve been to is Kentucky and I do so appreciate Southern hospitality, Sugar. Delicious food, sultry (I prefer this word as opposed to soaking, which I was) weather, local architecture…it’s good for the body, mind and soul to be out of your regular routine and shake things up a bit.

However, I could have done without the rowdy crowd mentality and the activity of drinking-likker-in-the-streets: “HELLO LADIES!!! YOU’RE CHINESE, AREN’T YOU!!!” Uh, no, we’re not, but we’re not going to stop and tell you that. We weren’t even on Bourbon Street, which we studiously tried to avoid.

As the plane took off on the connecting flight home, I gazed down at the twinkling city lights below. So pretty… I wanted to turn to a traveling companion and say just that; I wanted to share that experience with someone. And when I looked out and up at the stars, I wanted to have someone to look at those stars with me.

Crap. Now I was sad.

It happens.

Sometimes you just have to accept that your emotions have a life of their own. Respect them, and they’ll respect you. The more you try and fight what you don’t want to feel, the more you betray yourself. Emotions are constantly flowing throughout you in varying degrees. So go with the flow, I say. (But please seek help if you’re feeling entirely overwhelmed.)

Perhaps I was wrong after all. I’ve had a delayed, mini-transformation, because today, I was gloriously happy. But that’s another story.

Sistah From Anothah Mistah

/ jane in training / 9 Comments

Have you ever run into your doppelganger?

When I saw mine, I said out loud, “Is that me?”

I’m sure everyone has experienced someone telling them that they look like someone they know or some actor/actress. And in most cases, you feel like you don’t look like your supposed twin at all. You might even feel a little insulted.

But when I saw mine, I did a double-take. There I was, in Zumba class with some friends, and I saw myself on the other side of the room next to the small stage where the instructor dances.

“I think that’s me!” I said excitedly, nudging one of my friends.

She was Asian, wore rectangular glasses, and had my face. How much more me can you get? Her hair was much shorter than mine, but it looked exactly like mine after it had grown back a few inches.

Biggest difference?

Sistah can dance.

I don’t think my body can move in those directions all at the same time. Or any time. And her personality was much bigger than mine. Turns out that she was one of the assistants, because at one point she got up on stage with the instructor. My friend’s daughter covered her mouth in surprise when she saw her. “She looks just like you, but more gangsta!”

Well said, my little friend, well said.

That was a few weeks ago and I haven’t been back to that particular class. Not because I can’t face my more gangsta twin; the class is crowded and I don’t like it when a lot of bodies and booties are shaking all up in my grill. Do I seem more gangsta now?

I’ll go back though. If anything, I want to go up to sistah and say something like, “MeYou? YouMe? Huh? Wha-?” or something equally as intelligent.

Hopefully, she won’t be insulted.

Wax On, Wax Off

/ jane in training / 4 Comments

Men, you see the title of this post, right? I’m not talking about surfboards or cars or what you are carrying around in your ears. I think you should just move along. There’s nothing of interest for you to read here.

…

Have you left yet?

Why are you still reading this?

Okay, I guess you need a proper scaring off: tampons, ally mcbeal, reverse vasectomies, i love you, menopause, RuPaul (unless you adore him…then you can stay), pms, do i look fat in these pants?, prison on valentine’s day.

Are they gone now?

Wow, some of those things are really frightening. I almost left this post myself.

This is really not that bad. I just felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of men reading about my thoughts on getting waxed. I’ve never done it before. No, not there! I meant my armpits. I suppose I could have just mentioned this in the beginning and the men would have left based on the topic alone, but you know me (or maybe you don’t want to), I’m a little twisted that way.

I’ve been through more painful things, I’m sure. As least, I think I have. But the thought of it makes me cringe. On the other hand, being 5 o’clock shadow-free is an appealing notion.

See, I’m going to be in New Orleans in a few weeks, and I hear it’s incredibly hot and humid in August. In fact, I just checked. The high is 90, the “low” is 79. Anyways, I would like to have hair-free pits so that I can frantically wave down taxis, pound shots of Tequila, hang on monkey bars, wave up to men on their 9th story balconies, and sit back like a lady with my hands folded behind my head. All things I’ve been wanting to do for a long time while wearing a tank top.

I was encouraged to grow the hair out for at least five days. Doing so gives the wax something to hang on to as it rips the hair out of each hair socket.

I feel a little queasy.

I was warned that the first time would hurt a little because the hairs aren’t used to being treated this way. So now my armpit hairs have feelings? What about mine??

Apparently, the next time I have it done, the hairs won’t put up as much of a fight. They start to get conditioned to the harsh treatment and recognize what’s about to happen: “Oh, right…I’m being evicted. No need for violence. I’ll go more willingly this time.” Feelings and logical thinking? I haven’t been giving those hairs enough credit.

And then I was informed that the longer the hair, the less it will hurt.

Ten days of hair, it is.

I’m getting queasy again.

 

A Squishable Man

/ jane in training / 6 Comments

I happened to notice that Joe Manganiello has a very defined, well-formed physique.

I thought having an eight-pack was physically impossible, but according to Google images, it’s not. As much as I appreciate Joe’s physicality, I think hugging him would be like hugging a brick wall. I suppose you have to decide for yourself if the brick burn would be worth it.

That’s why I was doing a Google image search. I wanted to see if he was always made out of bricks.

Yes, sometimes I spend my evenings doing intensive research like this. What of it?

And if I’m such a thorough researcher, where’s the image of him, you ask? Well, I didn’t want to exploit him more than he already has been. The guy is more than his muscles, right…??

Anyways, I discovered that I couldn’t find an everyday, average body on the guy. He wasn’t always so sculpted, but apparently, he has always been…healthy.

I actually prefer a man with a little bit of squish to him.

I’ve talked about the subject of hugging before. Wine Guy was a 9 out of 10. Yes, he disappeared on me, but I still have to give him his props. But he wasn’t a perfect 10. That score goes to a guy I met briefly at a dinner party, years ago. I almost forgot about him. When we hugged goodbye, I discovered that his whole body was made out of memory foam.

Ah…

I have no idea what made him that way. He was deceptively normal looking.

“He was so soft…” I remarked to my then-boyfriend, who strangely enough, had nothing to say in response. Nor did he have anything to say about my hand gestures as I tried to further describe the guy’s squishiness.

The only things Perfect Hug Guy and Wine Guy had in common were their average weight for their height (about 5’7″) and that they probably didn’t work out at all.

Hm.

This may warrant some further intensive research.

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Postscript: It has come to my attention that I have been spending way too much energy wondering about the location and appearance of my future man/men. The fact is, there is no telling when he/they will show up. A gentle nudging from my friend Mae woke me up. It’s a good thing, too – disappointment was beginning to chip away at me.

So I’m redirecting my energy towards the here and now and giving nonexistent men a rest. I have more pressing issues to deal with anyways, like finding a new job, so from now on, my future posts won’t be about me getting impatient for that guy who is running super late.

I guess he’ll just have to catch up to me.