Read: A Foundational Discovery, Part 1 first. If you want... whatever. no pressure.
I have finally and overwhelmingly embraced the idea of hiring a complimenting landscape architect to help execute our ideas, and a few of their own, into a beautiful space. I was so resistant previously, because as I said in Part 1- I was feeling like some sort of failure for not being able to do it myself. Considering how that original entry was posted seven months ago*, I can't even fathom that versioned mindset now. I realized it had gotten to a point where my time too valuable, my mind too close to the project, and there was just no getting ahead. so help!
Between then and now, we've gone through a lot, both with our ideas and life. But as I posted the other day, our accountant recommended we explore getting a refinance. If everything were to go as planned, it would allow us to drop the
private mortgage insurance (saving hundreds of flowers) and take out a home
equity line of credit. STOKED!! That means (drum roll) WE CAN THEN
HIRE MY TEMPORARY BFF's, THE LANDSCAPE ARCHITECTS! WOOOOOOOOOO!!
capitals...
We recently met with a fantastic landscaping company, who only works in organic materials & electric machines. That's right baby, elec-tri-citee. I found them through the calling of several other companies who no longer were doing landscaping, although their sites were still up. Thank goodness because they had never come up during all my countless searches (people please figure out your online buisnessey presence.) We've had a few walk throughs, gathering this idea and that - it was so stupidly exciting. They also asked we upload photos we like - describing why - through the home site Houzz, using a privately shared look book. It allows them to see our vision come together with theirs, in a much more collaborative way. Kick ass technology! And when the discussion point turned to our desire for lots of dedicated garden bed space, it made my legs went weak. I would finally have all the room needed to grow what we want, in order to be more sustainable. Are you kidding? That AND having a beautiful space to call our own? wipes hands and done. If you're not into gardening, think of whatever your favorite activity is, and having the ability for someone to come in and let you do it right in the comforts of your own home. Everyday, whenever you want. Yes. Please.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, not 15 minutes ago this morning, I saw our loan managers name come through on email, the subject said "Appraisal." I held my breath. Did they need more information, did it came back awful and I'm going to cry, or had all the hard work the other day actually paid off. I clicked read, invisibly holding my hands with flared fingers over my eyes - wanting but not wanting to see what it said. It was short, sweet and to the point. We got a GREAT FUCKING APPRAISAL and will have money for the home equity loan!
PLAY MUSIC!
QUEUE FLASHPOTS!!
DROP TICKER TAPES!!!
CALL UP THE GUYS AND SAY DO IT!!!!
I am so over the moon happy, I cannot believe it. The rise and fall of emotions from opening the email, to seeing the final amount, to having the loan numbers one by one click into place within my brain - it's a triumphant feeling I can't accurately express at 7:58am. It's too soonly real and I don't want to give in an injustice by spinning words.
Just know this bird is happy.
* oh god, 7 months ago! It wasn't my intent to wait so long, but in hindsight, glad I did. That entry would have been very wordy & very different.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Having Reservations
Your honor, I would like to state again for the record "If I am trying to give you money for your service or good, don't blow me off." I don't understand any person who runs a business, that intentionally chooses not to respond. Of course, I get when things come up or if you have a standard response time, like within 24 hours. Super! I am fully aware I am not the only customer you may deal with and I know how the day can get away from you. But seriously - just be upfront, honest, and responsive. That's not too much to ask.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Travis and I were invited to a wedding March 28, in lovely Solvang town, a tiny Danish settlement about 30 minutes outside Santa Barbara. The couple are two sweet kids and the ceremony will be held in the squishy Hans Christian Anderson park! Oh, and did I mention the Ebelskivers. There are many motels in the city, but for trips like these, we prefer to stay at a bed & breakfast or single apartment, even if they are a little further out. The separate units allow us to cook from the market, walk & explore the city, and share between us more local treats!
I originally rented a place 4 miles from town using AirBNB. Unbeknownst to me while booking, they have a mandatory security policy I don't agree with - upload a complete photo of your drivers license/passport, or you can't rent. NOPE! not doing that. So I worked together with the host who understood my concerns and she kindly offered to set up an account through another site. Rad!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Travis and I were invited to a wedding March 28, in lovely Solvang town, a tiny Danish settlement about 30 minutes outside Santa Barbara. The couple are two sweet kids and the ceremony will be held in the squishy Hans Christian Anderson park! Oh, and did I mention the Ebelskivers. There are many motels in the city, but for trips like these, we prefer to stay at a bed & breakfast or single apartment, even if they are a little further out. The separate units allow us to cook from the market, walk & explore the city, and share between us more local treats!
I originally rented a place 4 miles from town using AirBNB. Unbeknownst to me while booking, they have a mandatory security policy I don't agree with - upload a complete photo of your drivers license/passport, or you can't rent. NOPE! not doing that. So I worked together with the host who understood my concerns and she kindly offered to set up an account through another site. Rad!
Then radio silence.
I was cancelled by the site & refunded the money. I gave plenty of time over the course of two weeks, for her to get the listing up and me the ability to confirm. But she never wrote back. Ever. Now we're like 10 days out from the vacation and we have no place to stay. I sent multiple emails kindly asking for some sort of status, but the lady refused. I had one last ditch effort saying please respond by end of business day whatever and we can still make this work. zip. And the only reason I kept pursuing it was because it looked like a nice place and was extra reasonable, but thinking now, maybe it was never theirs and they skipped town!!!
I found a great place on VRBO, in town, close to everything, from a woman who has been nothing but quickly communicative.
Here's what I sent the first wench Sunday morning, because it needed to be said (even to a lady on the lamb:)
USER,
I hope everything is ok, but I need to send this final email to you. I thought we had developed a little rapport & understanding, but stopping our communication was frustrating & unprofessional. As I said in the beginning, the AirBNB security policy was never clearly listed before, during or even right after the booking. It was only days after your confirmation & my payment, was I all of a sudden being forced to put sensitive information into their database. Had that been made upfront & clear, I would have never gone down this rabbit hole and taken your time. Of course I hold them responsible for that, not you.
But at your offer, we had agreed to resolve the rental by using another site. Then poof - nothing. It's like you were, then weren't ok with the agreed resolution - but never told me. I even stated I understand if you're not comfortable with it - I gave an out. I also gave ample time, but you still didn't respond. It then forced our travel dates to get closer with no where to stay. In the end, because of the time I spent chasing an answer, our new space was a lot more money.
When all is said and done, I'm offering you the courtesy to say it's unfortunate you have lost the business of two lovely people, both now and for any future visits.
I found a great place on VRBO, in town, close to everything, from a woman who has been nothing but quickly communicative.
Here's what I sent the first wench Sunday morning, because it needed to be said (even to a lady on the lamb:)
USER,
I hope everything is ok, but I need to send this final email to you. I thought we had developed a little rapport & understanding, but stopping our communication was frustrating & unprofessional. As I said in the beginning, the AirBNB security policy was never clearly listed before, during or even right after the booking. It was only days after your confirmation & my payment, was I all of a sudden being forced to put sensitive information into their database. Had that been made upfront & clear, I would have never gone down this rabbit hole and taken your time. Of course I hold them responsible for that, not you.
But at your offer, we had agreed to resolve the rental by using another site. Then poof - nothing. It's like you were, then weren't ok with the agreed resolution - but never told me. I even stated I understand if you're not comfortable with it - I gave an out. I also gave ample time, but you still didn't respond. It then forced our travel dates to get closer with no where to stay. In the end, because of the time I spent chasing an answer, our new space was a lot more money.
When all is said and done, I'm offering you the courtesy to say it's unfortunate you have lost the business of two lovely people, both now and for any future visits.
Respectfully,
BrandiMonday, March 23, 2015
In Just 5 Weeks, You'll Live A Lifetime
It seems a line has been drawn between people who are using MyFitnessPal and those who aren't. The mighty who praise its benefits and the opposition who chastise it. Or choose to ignore what it has to say. I never thought I'd be a gentle preacher of the Pal, but I've converted. It's an easy, functional App that tracks your daily intake of food & exercise. Calories, fats, sodium, proteins, vitamin A, cardio, etc. You have goals, the app helps you monitor their progress. And if you're listening for the little nutritional health bird to keep you motivated and on track, each day he'll chirp a notation of "You'd Weigh XXX In 5 Weeks."
Once I worked through the curiosities of the program and learned more about the suggestions, it clicked. Like the Griswolds' 25,000 imported Italian twinkle lights, the switch just needed switching. This unexpected outcome means things are finally tinkering into place, after more than 15 years at the gym. Before it was just stats and numbers to obsess over, with no defined plan. Now it's about understanding the cause & effect. A mental P&L statement ran against what I eat, because I am finally empowered to balance the enjoyment of food with the end result.
But this enthusiasm hasn't come cheap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There's been a hugely positive movement with anti-bullying & compassion for people, which is amazing (It Gets Better.) Far too long people have chocked up incessant playground taunting to "It happened to me; that's just life." But that's not an answer and it's not ok. Time on this planet is so limited to not be kind to each other - as humans. And building that foundation from childhood is only going to make society better.
With that said... The following words are my experience, which may or may not be similar to yours. You may have been on the receiving end of your own wretched scene, in which I say you are never alone! Or you may have been the curator, in which I hope you've learned the err and now selflessly help cutesy baby anythings. Torment by peer is a different kind of trauma that sticks to your guts in ways you don't realize, only discovering later the damages they sought. And sought me out they did. These kids ripped my youthful innocence and shredded it like an old newspaper.
I used to say "I am who I am because of it." maybe. Would I recommend it as a path to stewardship? nope. Because living with these memories for over 20 years doesn't mean I did have a problem. It means that for over 20 years I've lived with the pain, unsure how to peel away the calloused layers. And although this journals' focus is about weight, in the days it took me to write this confessional of sorts, I realized it was only one element of my confidence puzzle. That and the overall notion for how I view myself (ahem... low self-esteem,) have been the basis for the entire self-deprecating image I still revisit. I realize now it's silly to let who you were in the past, dictate how you drive into the future. But each of those elements that make up who we are, must all work together in building the most delicate picture.
Through whatever means by which my life developed, today I am a kind, compassionate bird who is only looking to give & receive the same. I mean I'll judge your character hard, because seriously - don't be lame. But talking before you is a person who just wants everyone to find their joy.
Only now, have I been able to write through the bullocks.
*
The game of confidence and I have always danced an elaborate courtship.
The grade school I attended was brilliantly supportive, from both kids & teachers. I got up each morning super excited to eat cereal and rush my mom into the car so we could make the drive to school. She never felt as eager to start her day though, what with the not eating cereal and having a job. Outside the classroom, we would play games, listen to records, create art, spend time together. The only inkling of self-doubt I ever had was with my grades. The desire for that quarterly paper, printed with DOS vertical A's, felt so totally necessary. It was something I imposed upon myself because the bursts of extra praise the grownups lent felt good; but beyond that I was carefree. The kids in my school were beautifully unique, where our differences never mattered; they were celebrated. I looked like every other student - happy.
Then I switched schools towards the end of 3rd grade, which I've mentioned before is the exact moment my world shattered.
Transitioning from an encouraging environment to a school with intentionally cruel kids and a population of teachers who turned a blind eye to it, was distressing. Contentment turned to anxiety and humiliation. I was criticized almost daily about my clothes, my uglyness, my weight (which still baffles me - being a kid who was usually playing outside and whose body type was neither sticks nor stones.) But the relentless jabs around the classroom & playground showed me just how quickly one must learn their place. What 3rd grader should be subjected to such nonsense? She-ra and sleepovers, playing Indiana Jones on the jungle gym, driving R.C. PROam on Nintendo and riding my bike - that was my former life...
I towed years of scattered baggage right on into the 6th grade. The teasing, the arguments, the fights, the lack of focus, the hormones, my parents malnourished bank account. There was no comprehension for what it all meant and there was no one I could turn to. My parents came from a time when you sucked it up and pushed it aside. You didn't talk about that stuff, are you kidding? And although the young, cool, next door neighbor ladies took me under their wings, I wasn't capable of saying help. I didn't realize I needed to. None of them had any idea the pressure I faced; there was no frame of reference when I would mumble how the kids hated me, called me gross & poor. I hated the bus. I hated school. I hated every grownup for not making the situation better. I eventually convinced myself I hated me.
The stress is all reflective now, sure. I could barely express how I felt then, let alone to a few "girlfriends." pfft friends. They were really just bodies floating down jerk river. The only ones allowing me to hop on the cool kids raft. I swear the social blow a kid gets if they don't fit in is so ridiculously everything at that age. yet I wonder whether that's a human development thing or social pressure thing... Anyway, these chicks were best described in school as 'pretty & skinny,' where I was best described as 'not.' I regularly thought it wasn't fair I couldn't be like them, because that would mean one less ridicule. I wanted to peel away my acne-laden skin and reveal a new face. I wanted to take a knife and slice away the extra pounds and reveal a body just like "hers." {writing these words, I mourn for that girl and every other person who has/is/will go through this. so please help spread kindness}
I was alone. I would cry in my room, a stuffed animal in my arms, the others watching silently in the corner. They'd listen as I repeated over and over this had to be normal for everyone. I would stare at them, jealous - I wanted nothing more than to be an inanimate object that could no longer feel. This was my current life...
I distinctly remember one warm day, a few months before summers' alarm went off. Most everyone was in t-shirts and shorts, totally ready to start the dog days. I donned the shorts, but also chose a heavy sweatshirt because my body was doing things I wasn't comfortable with. So naturally, wearing heavy fabric makes with the feel betters. It was our first snack break, a group of us gathering on some tables near the basketball court. For some reason, "how much do you weigh" became the 15 minute game of choice and my stomach recoiled. Except for me and Elizabeth, all the girls proudly stated their number in the mid 70s. Elizabeth walked away as she couldn't face the crowd; I couldn't muster up that courage. I thought if I did, I'd lose the final straw I was grasping at to stay afloat. I knew I was 92 pounds. 92, 9-2, 9. 2. buzzed like an electric sign. I stared at the ground, hoping the conversation would move on, but instead they just grew more curious.
All I remember was them laughing and calling me fat. fucking vicious.
*
Pre-move, I had no idea what body image even was. You mean like when I'm wearing my favorite gold & white sparkly tiger dress and purple L.A. Gears?
Post-move, I desired & developed an unrealistic view for how I should look. I gained elements of body-dysmorphia, which thankfully no longer star in my life, but occasionally are featured extras. Makes me nauseous I still live with this shit. I constantly screamed an inaudible cry for a fix I could never achieve. I still haven't heard of anyone swapping bodies during puberty - have you?
In junior high, I eventually rediscovered and embraced my shell (Friend Dating.) And gloriously more in high school with a bountiful group of beloved misfits. Truly, honest people were now real - instead of figmented whimseys of imagination. They opened their hearts to my inner monologue, proving what being a friend could be. They pinned the question "who am I" to my sleeve and guided me into discovering what that was. We did it together (of course in the most alternatively, beautiful mid-90s thrift store way.} And while they never met my former self, it didn't really matter. I was all they knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I originally sat down to put words to pixels, the idea was to illustrate the app's positive effects and talk about how dumbfounded I was something so simple, actually worked. I had set out to change my way of thinking, my approach, and to transition the outdated mold of number focused to science focused.
But it turned into something more. It no longer became about losing this or eating that... I realized I need to drop those nasty, former little demons that wrecked havoc on my life. I went round after round with the emotions needed to relive them. heartache, anger, sadness... I'm sure there's a chart somewhere referencing them all. I tried avoiding it, I tried pasting the mangled sentences into another draft for another day, hoping other words would find their role. But if I hadn't confronted those lies, this journal wouldn't have been honest. So I faced them and won.
The regimen started last October was working and I was fucking madly over the moon! It's like the vitamins and proteins finally got together and threw a party - and all my muscles were invited. It was a hugely monumental deal for me! It wasn't just a physical goal, it more importantly became a change in attitude. The trepidation I would feel regarding food & the negative views of my body, have been reduced significantly. Which spawns the question - how did I ever live normally before this? For me, I guess I wasn't.
Although not my only focus, lower poundage was a natural side effect of studying, implementing & working really hard towards removing this heavy thorn from my past. I started at my personal highest of 116 and have dropped what I wanted. But it wasn't because I felt I needed to live up to someone else's expectation, it was because I wasn't comfortable with how I felt. I have a small body frame, am mid-30s, and overall just noticed some of the choices I made weren't feeling good. I didn't feel heavy, but my insides did. So I set out to finally understand the why and then implement the fix. I get I'm not not solving the worlds' problems, but I am solving something deeply rooted. I am extremely proud for all my progress and look forward to helping anyone else who may feel lost. Dude, I am finally equipped with the education and desire to continue this well into the rest of my life!
Once I worked through the curiosities of the program and learned more about the suggestions, it clicked. Like the Griswolds' 25,000 imported Italian twinkle lights, the switch just needed switching. This unexpected outcome means things are finally tinkering into place, after more than 15 years at the gym. Before it was just stats and numbers to obsess over, with no defined plan. Now it's about understanding the cause & effect. A mental P&L statement ran against what I eat, because I am finally empowered to balance the enjoyment of food with the end result.
But this enthusiasm hasn't come cheap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There's been a hugely positive movement with anti-bullying & compassion for people, which is amazing (It Gets Better.) Far too long people have chocked up incessant playground taunting to "It happened to me; that's just life." But that's not an answer and it's not ok. Time on this planet is so limited to not be kind to each other - as humans. And building that foundation from childhood is only going to make society better.
With that said... The following words are my experience, which may or may not be similar to yours. You may have been on the receiving end of your own wretched scene, in which I say you are never alone! Or you may have been the curator, in which I hope you've learned the err and now selflessly help cutesy baby anythings. Torment by peer is a different kind of trauma that sticks to your guts in ways you don't realize, only discovering later the damages they sought. And sought me out they did. These kids ripped my youthful innocence and shredded it like an old newspaper.
I used to say "I am who I am because of it." maybe. Would I recommend it as a path to stewardship? nope. Because living with these memories for over 20 years doesn't mean I did have a problem. It means that for over 20 years I've lived with the pain, unsure how to peel away the calloused layers. And although this journals' focus is about weight, in the days it took me to write this confessional of sorts, I realized it was only one element of my confidence puzzle. That and the overall notion for how I view myself (ahem... low self-esteem,) have been the basis for the entire self-deprecating image I still revisit. I realize now it's silly to let who you were in the past, dictate how you drive into the future. But each of those elements that make up who we are, must all work together in building the most delicate picture.
Through whatever means by which my life developed, today I am a kind, compassionate bird who is only looking to give & receive the same. I mean I'll judge your character hard, because seriously - don't be lame. But talking before you is a person who just wants everyone to find their joy.
Only now, have I been able to write through the bullocks.
*
The game of confidence and I have always danced an elaborate courtship.
The grade school I attended was brilliantly supportive, from both kids & teachers. I got up each morning super excited to eat cereal and rush my mom into the car so we could make the drive to school. She never felt as eager to start her day though, what with the not eating cereal and having a job. Outside the classroom, we would play games, listen to records, create art, spend time together. The only inkling of self-doubt I ever had was with my grades. The desire for that quarterly paper, printed with DOS vertical A's, felt so totally necessary. It was something I imposed upon myself because the bursts of extra praise the grownups lent felt good; but beyond that I was carefree. The kids in my school were beautifully unique, where our differences never mattered; they were celebrated. I looked like every other student - happy.
Then I switched schools towards the end of 3rd grade, which I've mentioned before is the exact moment my world shattered.
Transitioning from an encouraging environment to a school with intentionally cruel kids and a population of teachers who turned a blind eye to it, was distressing. Contentment turned to anxiety and humiliation. I was criticized almost daily about my clothes, my uglyness, my weight (which still baffles me - being a kid who was usually playing outside and whose body type was neither sticks nor stones.) But the relentless jabs around the classroom & playground showed me just how quickly one must learn their place. What 3rd grader should be subjected to such nonsense? She-ra and sleepovers, playing Indiana Jones on the jungle gym, driving R.C. PROam on Nintendo and riding my bike - that was my former life...
I towed years of scattered baggage right on into the 6th grade. The teasing, the arguments, the fights, the lack of focus, the hormones, my parents malnourished bank account. There was no comprehension for what it all meant and there was no one I could turn to. My parents came from a time when you sucked it up and pushed it aside. You didn't talk about that stuff, are you kidding? And although the young, cool, next door neighbor ladies took me under their wings, I wasn't capable of saying help. I didn't realize I needed to. None of them had any idea the pressure I faced; there was no frame of reference when I would mumble how the kids hated me, called me gross & poor. I hated the bus. I hated school. I hated every grownup for not making the situation better. I eventually convinced myself I hated me.
The stress is all reflective now, sure. I could barely express how I felt then, let alone to a few "girlfriends." pfft friends. They were really just bodies floating down jerk river. The only ones allowing me to hop on the cool kids raft. I swear the social blow a kid gets if they don't fit in is so ridiculously everything at that age. yet I wonder whether that's a human development thing or social pressure thing... Anyway, these chicks were best described in school as 'pretty & skinny,' where I was best described as 'not.' I regularly thought it wasn't fair I couldn't be like them, because that would mean one less ridicule. I wanted to peel away my acne-laden skin and reveal a new face. I wanted to take a knife and slice away the extra pounds and reveal a body just like "hers." {writing these words, I mourn for that girl and every other person who has/is/will go through this. so please help spread kindness}
I was alone. I would cry in my room, a stuffed animal in my arms, the others watching silently in the corner. They'd listen as I repeated over and over this had to be normal for everyone. I would stare at them, jealous - I wanted nothing more than to be an inanimate object that could no longer feel. This was my current life...
I distinctly remember one warm day, a few months before summers' alarm went off. Most everyone was in t-shirts and shorts, totally ready to start the dog days. I donned the shorts, but also chose a heavy sweatshirt because my body was doing things I wasn't comfortable with. So naturally, wearing heavy fabric makes with the feel betters. It was our first snack break, a group of us gathering on some tables near the basketball court. For some reason, "how much do you weigh" became the 15 minute game of choice and my stomach recoiled. Except for me and Elizabeth, all the girls proudly stated their number in the mid 70s. Elizabeth walked away as she couldn't face the crowd; I couldn't muster up that courage. I thought if I did, I'd lose the final straw I was grasping at to stay afloat. I knew I was 92 pounds. 92, 9-2, 9. 2. buzzed like an electric sign. I stared at the ground, hoping the conversation would move on, but instead they just grew more curious.
All I remember was them laughing and calling me fat. fucking vicious.
*
Pre-move, I had no idea what body image even was. You mean like when I'm wearing my favorite gold & white sparkly tiger dress and purple L.A. Gears?
Post-move, I desired & developed an unrealistic view for how I should look. I gained elements of body-dysmorphia, which thankfully no longer star in my life, but occasionally are featured extras. Makes me nauseous I still live with this shit. I constantly screamed an inaudible cry for a fix I could never achieve. I still haven't heard of anyone swapping bodies during puberty - have you?
In junior high, I eventually rediscovered and embraced my shell (Friend Dating.) And gloriously more in high school with a bountiful group of beloved misfits. Truly, honest people were now real - instead of figmented whimseys of imagination. They opened their hearts to my inner monologue, proving what being a friend could be. They pinned the question "who am I" to my sleeve and guided me into discovering what that was. We did it together (of course in the most alternatively, beautiful mid-90s thrift store way.} And while they never met my former self, it didn't really matter. I was all they knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I originally sat down to put words to pixels, the idea was to illustrate the app's positive effects and talk about how dumbfounded I was something so simple, actually worked. I had set out to change my way of thinking, my approach, and to transition the outdated mold of number focused to science focused.
But it turned into something more. It no longer became about losing this or eating that... I realized I need to drop those nasty, former little demons that wrecked havoc on my life. I went round after round with the emotions needed to relive them. heartache, anger, sadness... I'm sure there's a chart somewhere referencing them all. I tried avoiding it, I tried pasting the mangled sentences into another draft for another day, hoping other words would find their role. But if I hadn't confronted those lies, this journal wouldn't have been honest. So I faced them and won.
The regimen started last October was working and I was fucking madly over the moon! It's like the vitamins and proteins finally got together and threw a party - and all my muscles were invited. It was a hugely monumental deal for me! It wasn't just a physical goal, it more importantly became a change in attitude. The trepidation I would feel regarding food & the negative views of my body, have been reduced significantly. Which spawns the question - how did I ever live normally before this? For me, I guess I wasn't.
Although not my only focus, lower poundage was a natural side effect of studying, implementing & working really hard towards removing this heavy thorn from my past. I started at my personal highest of 116 and have dropped what I wanted. But it wasn't because I felt I needed to live up to someone else's expectation, it was because I wasn't comfortable with how I felt. I have a small body frame, am mid-30s, and overall just noticed some of the choices I made weren't feeling good. I didn't feel heavy, but my insides did. So I set out to finally understand the why and then implement the fix. I get I'm not not solving the worlds' problems, but I am solving something deeply rooted. I am extremely proud for all my progress and look forward to helping anyone else who may feel lost. Dude, I am finally equipped with the education and desire to continue this well into the rest of my life!
Knowledge is positive power,
YO!
So you'll still be getting all the progress notes I saved - the silly realizations, the weird moments over the last several months - but they will live in draft mode for a minute. I need to close this page and take a welcomed breath.
A number is a number, but healthy is forever.
So you'll still be getting all the progress notes I saved - the silly realizations, the weird moments over the last several months - but they will live in draft mode for a minute. I need to close this page and take a welcomed breath.
A number is a number, but healthy is forever.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
The Tax Man Cometh
Get an Accountant. A good accountant. The kind you don't know how you ever lived without. They are one of the best investment's, both financially and personal relationshipy. A trusted expert isn't just there to get you the most money back once a year, although duh, they make you laugh, guide your investments, help make the most of your hard work...
We've been seeing the same feller for several years now; we tell friends about him, just like a friend told me. We've gone to him for advice about several ventures and we're grateful. He's always got a smile, a handshake, and a joke about some randomly anonymous chump. Like a doctor, he's the best at anecdotal conversation, that puts you at ease while you present your dirty money secrets. A good match with a good client, is like magical tiny, sharing cookies.
I usually set our March appointment the day I go back to work in January. His diary fills up fast and we certainly don't want to find ourselves into April, nervously scrolling each of our five fingers over a wooden table. For days leading up to the red X on the calendar, I prep and file and organize and ask Travis questions and write a whole cheat sheet of itemized deductions. It helps me, but it also makes our two-hour window go smoothly.
We saw the tax man Friday and he was very, financially good to us.
~~~~~~~~~~
After the necessary, I usually have some random cross-section of questions to ask. The check we write is for the whole time, not just tax junk. So I inquired whether there was anything to consider, should we want to refinance or withdraw a home equity loan. DING. He mentioned knowing a couple of wonderful people, who happen to work at the place that holds our mortgage, that could help us out! I sat in awe of how the simple act of conversation, shrinks your would of who knows who. We've been under the impression a refi wasn't right for us. We've been under the impression a home equity loan isn't feasible until other things fall into place. And then here I am, witnessing the potential crumbling of the barriers. Without hesitation, he phoned them up, gave some details, and I left 9 digits closer to seeing our homes vision realized.
We saw the tax man Friday and he was very, personally good to us. I will send him those cookies, post-haste.
We've been seeing the same feller for several years now; we tell friends about him, just like a friend told me. We've gone to him for advice about several ventures and we're grateful. He's always got a smile, a handshake, and a joke about some randomly anonymous chump. Like a doctor, he's the best at anecdotal conversation, that puts you at ease while you present your dirty money secrets. A good match with a good client, is like magical tiny, sharing cookies.
I usually set our March appointment the day I go back to work in January. His diary fills up fast and we certainly don't want to find ourselves into April, nervously scrolling each of our five fingers over a wooden table. For days leading up to the red X on the calendar, I prep and file and organize and ask Travis questions and write a whole cheat sheet of itemized deductions. It helps me, but it also makes our two-hour window go smoothly.
We saw the tax man Friday and he was very, financially good to us.
~~~~~~~~~~
After the necessary, I usually have some random cross-section of questions to ask. The check we write is for the whole time, not just tax junk. So I inquired whether there was anything to consider, should we want to refinance or withdraw a home equity loan. DING. He mentioned knowing a couple of wonderful people, who happen to work at the place that holds our mortgage, that could help us out! I sat in awe of how the simple act of conversation, shrinks your would of who knows who. We've been under the impression a refi wasn't right for us. We've been under the impression a home equity loan isn't feasible until other things fall into place. And then here I am, witnessing the potential crumbling of the barriers. Without hesitation, he phoned them up, gave some details, and I left 9 digits closer to seeing our homes vision realized.
We saw the tax man Friday and he was very, personally good to us. I will send him those cookies, post-haste.
Monday, March 2, 2015
The Couple Who Shirts Together, Stays Together
If you're a facebook user, even casually, I'm sure you've noticed ads in both your timeline and off to the side of the page.
Through the grace of their algorithms, you get:
1) Your internet search history, like amazon showing you that thing you forgot you browsed
2) A page your friend liked for the 100th time
3) Blasts reminding you of the glasses your husband mentioned once and bought twice
swell.
A new one for me, however, started near valentine's day and has continued to pop up sporadically. I received information from caring stooges, letting me know there's only one way to show Travis just how much I care {randomly whips out phone / reminds husband of love.} Thanks neo-marketing, but it's extra creeptastic.
...they should arrive Thursday...
Through the grace of their algorithms, you get:
1) Your internet search history, like amazon showing you that thing you forgot you browsed
2) A page your friend liked for the 100th time
3) Blasts reminding you of the glasses your husband mentioned once and bought twice
swell.
A new one for me, however, started near valentine's day and has continued to pop up sporadically. I received information from caring stooges, letting me know there's only one way to show Travis just how much I care {randomly whips out phone / reminds husband of love.} Thanks neo-marketing, but it's extra creeptastic.
...they should arrive Thursday...
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Don't Forget to Breathe
It's 4:39a as I draft this, typing quietly on my phone while I stay thermally cocooned under the covers. I don't want to disturb Travis or Leroy with even the lowest of technology's light, because it's still obnoxious in a desertedly dark room. Travis is hinting at snoring, I hear puppy's small breaths near my left ear; I'm appreciative today for having a few days off. The heavy cotton over my head affords a slight barrier against the stirs of early morning traffic, heard in the distance. I wish the earths rotation matched my own current speed. My head suggests the puppy alarm clock is a more reasonable time to cultivate these unrelenting thoughts onto pixelated paper. Although, it's 8am somewhere... em I write? {ba da dum}
I opened the laptop, hit the downward glowy button to 1, and started the process. A few key punches later and I let out a phew of relief... all is well. Name secured on all the places to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coincidentally, earlier in the evening I read an article on the frequency to which people view their product as unique. And how the often overlooked google search usually proves otherwise. But it goes on to say you should want to find someone doing it, because then you can ask yourself are they doing it better / worse, does yours solve a missed opportunity? Should I invest money, time. I gorge on said information because it helps me make better decisions regarding my interests. So despite its emphasis on patents & trademarks, I thought why not run my thing via this model and see what shakes out.
The most basic of questions needed answering: Did I miss the window of opportunity to be the first? Miss the recognition? Miss my chance to be heard? Miss my chance to make a difference?
My thing.
Written by someone else.
{{{sinking}}}
I saw every opportunity I'd been developing start to run away, laughing, teasing as if to say oh you thought you were the only one?
Air hadn't passed my lungs in several minutes.
I exhaled what little breath was left and forced myself to read the entries before me.
I had to know what I was up against.
[breathe, yo]
It was only similar.
KINDA!
SORTA!!
CARTWHEELS!!!
CUE FLASHPOTS!!!!
The site was ordinary, clunky, no clear definition for why I should be reading... I found my excitement levels rising to a point normally reserved for the daytime. I clicked entry after entry, hoping (not hoping) to see the words I wanted to say; never found them. Occasionally a concept would be related, but overall, the message they were sharing was not my own. Travis & I discussed my perception will be totally different from theirs, and different from the future, and different from the person I ask questions to.
X, Y, Z ≠ X, 2, 3.
Our sites can co-exist together on the information superhighway! And that's swell.
A few months back I bought a website for an idea that felt under-explored. But before chunking down the cash for the domain and private registration, I poked around the internet to confirm suspicions that nobody was catering to what I could provide. And to clarify, it's not a product per se, although I guess it could be someday. Not thinking about that right now - the goal is to bring my offering to others, through writing, in the hopes you are entertained. I know, thanks for stopping by cousin vague.
Around 3am this morning, I woke up alert. Puppy was snuggly asleep by my side on the couch, which is where we snooze if Travis is out. In my mind I sat straight up, sitcom style; in reality, it was eyes closed, pondering for at least 5 minutes before gently rising to pick up my laptop. What popped into my head was that maybe I never created an email or Twitter or any other social media junk for my thing! Holy fuck - taken? Or did I and forgots?
I opened the laptop, hit the downward glowy button to 1, and started the process. A few key punches later and I let out a phew of relief... all is well. Name secured on all the places to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coincidentally, earlier in the evening I read an article on the frequency to which people view their product as unique. And how the often overlooked google search usually proves otherwise. But it goes on to say you should want to find someone doing it, because then you can ask yourself are they doing it better / worse, does yours solve a missed opportunity? Should I invest money, time. I gorge on said information because it helps me make better decisions regarding my interests. So despite its emphasis on patents & trademarks, I thought why not run my thing via this model and see what shakes out.
The most basic of questions needed answering: Did I miss the window of opportunity to be the first? Miss the recognition? Miss my chance to be heard? Miss my chance to make a difference?
Search 1: several pages in - nothing.
Search 2: the suggestions - not even close.
Search 3: this one persons' entry - nada.
Then as I'm deleting some letters leading into Search 4, I see it. almost missing these squinting eyes...
My thing.
Written by someone else.
{{{sinking}}}
I saw every opportunity I'd been developing start to run away, laughing, teasing as if to say oh you thought you were the only one?
Air hadn't passed my lungs in several minutes.
I exhaled what little breath was left and forced myself to read the entries before me.
I had to know what I was up against.
[breathe, yo]
It was only similar.
KINDA!
SORTA!!
CARTWHEELS!!!
CUE FLASHPOTS!!!!
The site was ordinary, clunky, no clear definition for why I should be reading... I found my excitement levels rising to a point normally reserved for the daytime. I clicked entry after entry, hoping (not hoping) to see the words I wanted to say; never found them. Occasionally a concept would be related, but overall, the message they were sharing was not my own. Travis & I discussed my perception will be totally different from theirs, and different from the future, and different from the person I ask questions to.
X, Y, Z ≠ X, 2, 3.
Our sites can co-exist together on the information superhighway! And that's swell.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
In Local Treatment: Step One
I've been working through the idea of therapy for over a year. Not because I was opposed to going, quite contrary. When I close my eyes and vision discussing the necessary with a person whose trust I've accepted, it calms me. The way visiting a garden nursery calms my ocular soul. In retrospect though, I was simply working through the act of saying help. A long overdue recognition that no matter how many times my brain insisted it was my fault, it in fact, was not. Feeling helpless, crying, shuttered in a corner. Pacing alone, oblivious to my surroundings, wanting nothing more than to scream when I couldn't utter a peep. Wondering why my life felt so much more together in high school, than with these extra years of experience.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I originally started this entry January 1, 2015. It was a coincidence and not because it was "New Year, New Me." I loathe over simplified phrases meant to motivate the unmovable. I opened it up the other day because even though I've taken a few steps towards progress, per usual offense found myself wanting to pry open old wounds. Sliced, fileted reminders to display my moments of madness. I ferociously consumed these jumbled thoughts & half sentences, despite knowing what little value they gave. Yet the final, poisonous punch to the chest was reflecting upon all these scattered words I'd classified as defects. The idea that I'd tack them so carelessly to a pole of negativity made me sad, albeit common.
Self perception is obstinately cruel.
I'm aware at just how little inner support I give myself.
Step One: Ready.
But eventually, I understood that silly bird, it was never my fault - I simply didn't have the right tools within reach. I've finally squashed any remaining ego that I could handle it all myself.
Step One: Make the call. {check}
Step One: Make the call. {check}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I originally started this entry January 1, 2015. It was a coincidence and not because it was "New Year, New Me." I loathe over simplified phrases meant to motivate the unmovable. I opened it up the other day because even though I've taken a few steps towards progress, per usual offense found myself wanting to pry open old wounds. Sliced, fileted reminders to display my moments of madness. I ferociously consumed these jumbled thoughts & half sentences, despite knowing what little value they gave. Yet the final, poisonous punch to the chest was reflecting upon all these scattered words I'd classified as defects. The idea that I'd tack them so carelessly to a pole of negativity made me sad, albeit common.
Self perception is obstinately cruel.
I'm aware at just how little inner support I give myself.
Step One: Ready.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)