Thursday, April 1, 2010


At a certain point in your life, you realize things about yourself. You begin to understand your abilities, and your limitations. You know what you like, what you don't, how much you can tolerate, and I believe, you begin to perfect your God given talents. Maybe perfect is the wrong word. Maybe you begin to use your talents. They almost become something you have confidence in. Something you do well.  I have never really felt that there is anything that I do exceptionally well. I can do certain things OK. Not well. I think I am an OK driver. I think I can cook OK, or at least follow a recipe. I can sing OK, (I think, anyway) I  am an OK, to more than OK friend. I am an OK daughter. I am an OK wife. I am an OK Mom. I keep the house clean enough. I am a little bit funny. I am OK at being patient. Well, maybe not OK, but almost. But really, there seems to be nothing that I do really, really, well. I wish that there were. I am often, envious of people who have such overwhelming abilities, that it seems like they were destined to become what they were great at. Painters, and writers. People who write, and compose music, really make me jealous. What a gift they have. There are other's still that excell at cooking, and become chefs. Athletes really blow me away. They just have such physical ability, that it becomes all consuming. They live and breathe fitness, and good health. What a wonderful drive to have.
I have not had that drive. I feel like I make attempts. What is that saying..."The road to hell is paved with good intentions". That is what I have. Intentions. I believe they are all really good ideas when I am attempting them. I get things into my head. Like for a while, I enjoyed painting. So I did it everyday. I loved it. I painted little botanical watercolors. It was incredibly relaxing. And I was able to decorate my home, and have gifts to give, to boot. It became hard to do with each child taking up more of my time. That, and the fact that I have no space, in which to do it, so to constantly have to set up, find the time to paint, break it down, and put it away, was getting harder and harder, so I stopped. It kind of makes me sad. Like I have failed. Like I have given up.
In 1994, I joined a gym. The New York Sports Club. I was going to get in shape. I checked out the gym first. Looked like a gym. I filled out the paper work, and agreed to have $75.00 debited from my bank account every month. I went to the Athlete's Foot, and purchased myself some gym shoes. I got Nike Air's. I spent over $100.00 for them. They were the newest, fanciest shoe out. I thought that I was going to really need some good footwear, as I was going to be spending a lot of time at the gym. I was going to become lean, muscular, IN SHAPE. I was really psyched. Long story short, I went once. One time. I went on a stair climber machine. It was the most torturous thing I had experienced. I was dying. Red faced, and totally out of breath. I told myself that I was starting slow, and that I would return the next day. Never did. And for two years, my bank account continued to be debited $75.00 a month. I used to joke that I was a patron of the physical arts. I was donating money each month to a place that I had no intention of ever returning to. Another failure. I gave up.
Yesterday, and today, I walked a mile at the track at the University by my house. I have been feeling, and looking quite honestly, really out of shape. I need to be healthier. I have three little girls that I need to be a positive role model for, so I have that pressure too. I thought that maybe, walking would be a good start to better physical health. It was actually really nice to do it. Didn't take long, and it wasn't as torturous as that stair climbing machine. I went with Charlotte yesterday. She and I walked together. She also rode her tricycle. Today, I took Olivia, and I wore the baby in her carrier. Olivia and I had a nice long chat. We both got cramps in our sides. We both got tired, and we both were happy that it was over. We walked to the car, and chugged some water together, and rode home in silence. She was tired, and I was tired, but I felt relaxed. Calm. I was driving up the twisty little road up to our home, and realized that on my feet, were my Nike Air sneakers. 
Baby steps.  

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