My Love Affair with Keanu Reeves

(For those of us who have ever failed.)
  
   "I know that for my shattered plans, God has better plans.”

My mom sent me that today after I found out my plans (and what felt like my heart) were shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Yes, my mom is amazing.  And don't act like you didn't know I was a drama queen.

I’ve loved Keanu Reeves since 8th grade. Maybe earlier. I learned to kiss by making out with my forearm during his movies. Trust me, Keanu was a very good teacher. In fact, many important life lessons can be learned from this heart throb; well, through his movies anyway.

Point Break
Adrenaline junkie: good. Jumping out of airplanes sans parachute: bad - especially for those with prior knee injuries. I suffer from chronic knee pain, so I find this bit of information particularly impactful.
Lesson: Everything in moderation.

Speed
Relationships based on intense experiences or sex never work. (See Speed 2, where our favorite former FBI Agent is conspicuously absent.)
Lesson: Avoid being taken hostage on a speeding bus in Los Angeles. Even in the HOV lane, you’ll never get above 50. And also, relationships should be based on common values. Of course, this is just conjecture as I have never actually entered into a successful relationship.

The Day the Earth Stood Still
If we don’t take care of our planet, aliens will suck the earth into a black hole.
Lesson: Take a few extra seconds and put your plastic bottles into the recycling bin. Or die. But I’m serious.

The Lake House
Do not fall in love with someone who does not exist on the same time plane as you.
Lesson: I mean, think about it. It’s just not gonna work out.

Dangerous Liaisons
Don’t even get me started…
Okay, FINE! I’ve never actually seen this movie. Let’s not make a capital case about it, okay?

Look, the list goes on and on. Keanu knows his shit. And obviously, he and I would make beautiful babies together. I have a few photo-shopped pictures of said babies in a secret album under my bed, but that is hardly the point of this entry. Let us instead focus on The Matrix, whose lesson is from where today’s entry is derived.

Nobody makes their first jump.
Lesson: Just because you don't make the jump your first time does not mean that all of your worst fears are real:
     You're not good enough. You're not smart enough. You're not going to make it. 
(Not that any of those fears have ever crept into my mind. Obviously.)

I took a serious hit to my ego today. It was more than being passed over for First Class after a few failed attempts at batting my lashes. I tried for something, gave it my all, left everything on the table and it still wasn’t good enough. My best simply was not good enough.

How is this possible? I mean, a bird took a gigantic shit all over me  last week. If that wasn’t a sign, then Lord, you’re going to have to start sending me text messages if you want me to follow Your will.    #findmeonfacebook #andoninstagram

Sigh. Deep, deep sigh. Deep sigh and a few tears and maybe a lump in my throat with a few more tears on top.

If we are to live life to its fullest, we are lucky to know the pain of failure.  This was not my first disappointment. I hope with all of my strength that it will not be my last. I’m not sadistic. I want to live a life that means that I’m always pushing my boundaries and trying for more. Underneath the layers of self doubt, in my heart I know the truth is that I am good enough. I am smart enough. I continue to endeavor to be the Man in the Arena. But for tonight, I’ll lick my wounds and maybe my forearm. Because practice makes perfect. And I know that’s what Keanu would want.

About the time when a bird shat on me.

A bird took a shit on me today.  Two birds, I think.  Explosive shit, like they flew in from the nearby Chipotle.  It landed on my bare arm.  It hit the back of my favorite blouse - emerald green silk that complements my skin like it was crafted from samples of my DNA.  It seeped through the blouse, moisturizing my back like a mud bath on a humid New York City's day in August.  Lastly, it managed to hit three different spots of my black skirt.  Green and white and brown shit; this is what I wore all afternoon.

And I worked three hours later than I planned.

And I felt the weight of -

• all of my anxiety and anticipation, and the stress and the excitement of every detail of every minute of life I have ever lived and every change that will ever come to pass

• biology, working like a tiny dissolving pill in the champagne glass of a model meeting Bill Cosby for a nightcap, seducing my uterus into a rest it will later come to regret

• the laws of physics weighing against my body and making "bra-less" a much less viable option

• the emails I have yet to send

• the TPS reports I need to run

• the life I need to live

• the anxiety... the stress

- pushing down into my shoulders and creeping up the sides of my neck meeting in the soft curve at the base of my skull.

Wine.

Cold, dry wine.

The rowing machine and cold, dry wine.

The rowing machine.  Cold, dry wine.  A spoonful of almond butter for dinner.  My favorite sports bra and Nike tank packed away for tomorrow's workout.  A crisply made bed of cold sateen sheets waiting to be broken.

The anticipation... the excitement.

Multiple birds took a shit all over me today - while I was talking about something real.  I don't know about you, but Nina and I are (jazz scat) feeling good.

On how I lost 12 pounds in two and a half months

I'm not a nutritionist.

I'm not a personal trainer.

But this is my story.  And I'm sticking to it.

I'm not one of those people who loses weight when I'm depressed or lonely. I just eat a lot and stay bundled on my couch. It's a great couch. And I'm my favorite company.

I went through a break up in the middle of May. It was a long time coming so I got over it pretty quickly.  But I'm not an asshole and I wasn't about to stay on my couch (as fabulous as it is) and cry about it. I started filling my time at the gym.  It wasn't crazy; three spin classes a week.

Two weeks later I was dating. Two weeks later I went online for a distraction.  I ended up getting cat phished. If you don't know what that means, look it up. It's actually a great story for another time.  Look for it in, "The Great American Novel, by Lonelli Gonzalez."

I deleted my online dating profile. I don't have time for all that.  I added "walking" to my workout routine instead.

At this point, reader, we are three weeks into a ten & 1/2 week process.

I could say that boys didn't have anything to do with getting me to the gym, but you wouldn't believe me. And that's fair since it would be a lie.  But I'm here for you, dear reader.  To shout from the mountaintop to share ten tips on how I lost 12 pounds in 2.5 months.  The boy stuff is just ancillary.    

1. Go through a break up

This strategy has always been tried and true for me.  So you might be thinking, But I don't want to leave my boyfriend/husband/partner/lover. Well, I question your commitment, but fine. Maybe there's another area of your life that needs some spring/late summer cleaning. A friend of mine packed her life up and moved to LA just to get a fresh start.  It was the bravest thing I've witnessed all year.  What part of your life could use some "tweaking?"

2. Become a morning person

I get my work outs done first thing in the morning.  Whatever comes up for the rest of the day - work, drinks, spontaneous dates with a boy you ran into while walking your imaginary dog in front of his apartment - you've got your work out in already.  Sure, sure. I was in the military and I had to get up at all hours of the morning and night. But it doesn't mean I was born that way. It's a decision that leads to a lifestyle.  You'll notice it also changes the way you choose to eat throughout the course of the day.  

While you're at it, make your bed in the morning.  I don't mean throw your sheets over your pillows.  I mean, put a nice crease in your sheets and make sure you can bounce a quarter off it.  You'll see how making your bed every single day will change the way you face the world.

3.  Get a gym crush

And flirt.  Seriously.  You'll have a much better work out if you've got an audience you want to impress.  And speaking of impressing:

4. Buy new shit

You should be excited to get dressed up for the gym and feel like the cutest version of yourself.  If you have a hot new top, you'll be excited to show it off.  Spend money on the things you want to make a priority.  This could also mean buying new accessories for your bike, getting a new Garmin, or buying a training package at the gym.  And since you are going to the gym, you're not spending money eating out.  Speaking of which:

5. Eat what you want

But only in moderation.  I stopped having grits with eggs and cheese for breakfast at the cafeteria.  That's a weekend meal.  Now I have two hard boiled eggs and banana.  I also drink coffee (who have I become!) but it helps abate my appetite and it keeps me, ahem, regular.  

Sometimes I have a spoonful of almond butter for dinner.  Is it the healthiest thing in the world?  Well, I already told you I'm not a nutritionist.  But it helps me shrink my stomach and the next morning, I see a difference. 

I'm not perfect.  This month alone I've had a Sprinkles cup cake two Sprinkles cupcakes and a cheeseburger Happy Meal.  Stop judging me, you judgy judger.  Avoid binging, but don't think of indulgences as weakness.  Live a little.  I'm just saying after a little living maybe eat like Kate Moss for a meal or two, no? 

6. And this is a BIG one...  Don't drink alone

Oye.  You and the judgement!

Yes, I wish I was writing this with an oversized glass of Sauvignon Blanc.  But I'm drinking an ice cold glass of water to wash down the boring tuna salad I had for dinner.  Forming a habit of having a glass (or two or three) of wine or a beer (or two or three) after a long day of work is really easy.  And really expensive.  Breaking the habit takes a concerted effort but once you do it's not so bad.  Now I put the money I would have spent towards a top that subtly shows off my back.  Which now has muscles.  Speaking of muscles:

7. WORK OUT.  Consistently

I've always loved working out.  But I've fallen out of routines time and time again.  Tips 1-6 on the list helped me get consistent and now that I'm back, I love it.  I live it.  I work out 10-12 hours a week and I have so many endorphins I feel like I'm dancing off the walls.  I am so happy.  Every single day, I'm happy.  I look forward to my work out.  I look forward checking out my progress in the mirror and on the scale.  I look forward to having someone else notice how much weight I've lost.  

Like my hips, I keep my workouts spicy (what does that even mean?).  Weights, classes, spinning, rowing (great for your core), stair master, running, sprint work outs, swimming, elliptical machine.  I downloaded the "Nike Training" app which gives me some tips if I'm not sure what to do in my work out.  When I'm in a rut, I ask the trainers at my gym if they have any suggestions on what I can do.  

If you're ever in doubt, having that dreaded debate: should I go to the gym or should I... (pay my taxes, watch TV, read a book, go shopping, bathe my child, jump out a window)... GO TO THE GYM.  Every time.  Seriously.  Don't make it a choice.  Just go.

8. Talk about it

This will help you be about it.  How often do you talk about Game of Thrones or professional sports/players?  You talk about the things that are important to your life.  Maybe you get a workout buddy.  Maybe you write a blog (copy cat). 

9.  Be naked

This is a big reason I can't have a roommate.  Be comfortable enough with your own body to look at it.  Take a minute to look back at it too.  Know every curve, every mark, every dimple.  Fall in love with your body and be its biggest champion.  Being comfortable naked has a few implications for me:

a. I flex my stomach.  With practice, it's a state of being and it happens even while you sleep

b. I'm more confident.  I'm comfortable with my body.  I loved it twelve pounds ago.  I just love it even more now.

c. I notice subtle changes to my body and it is my biggest motivation to keep going

d. I save time at the gym not worrying about who's gonna see me (thanks, NAPS)

10. And this is what it comes down to...  Love yourself.  LOVE (!!!) yourself.  

This is the one body you have for the rest of your entire life, which, as far as we know, is equivalent to eternity.  Be good to it.  That means be good to yourself too.  I have room for improvement.  But I don't focus on my flaws.  I focus on the way my curves can stop a man in his tracks.  I think good thoughts about myself because I love myself.  Don't be afraid to say that out loud.  It's great to have a cheer squad of family and friends.  But you're the captain of that team.  Earn the spot.       

This is Life

One thing I’ve figured out in the last 36 years is, “This is Life.”  Today.  Right now.  There’s no waiting for a family, a promotion, a bigger house, another move.  My life started 36 years ago and it continues on every day… for as long as it lasts.

I took some time away from Facebook recently.  I was actually in a relationship.  Long-term.  Like I had plans on Valentine’s Day that actually included getting whisked off to the Caribbean.  No such plans lay in the horizon for me.  Minus a few tears early on, I actually feel alright about it.   

It was good to get away for a bit.  Seeing pictures of soccer moms with their perfect kids and in-unit (which means “in-really-big-house with outdoor space”) washer-dryers sometimes leaves a pit in my stomach.  Seeing pictures of soccer dads with their kids on their shoulders or a baby bjorn strapped to their chests sometimes makes my heart hurt.  After a while, the freedoms I enjoy (not needing a baby sitter on a Friday night while living my fabulous New-York-City-Life) don’t mean much when I prefer to stay in and watch a movie.   The opportunity to catch up on sleep feels less luxurious when I can’t stay in bed past 6:36 A.M. on Saturdays.  My response:

              

  Well, at least I’m pretty.  Like, really, really pretty.

My syntax is as lazy as my solace is weak.  

Still, I have really good stories to tell.  Just last week I had a promising first date.  Tall, handsome and successful, I fantasized about what it would feel like to have another first kiss.  The fantasy, it turns out, will have to wait. 

I left my keys at work, which happened to be in the same vicinity as his apartment.  He ordered an Uber and chivalrously offered to leave me with the car after his stop home.   He opened the door, let me in and hopped in behind me.  As soon as he closed the door, he shook a fist-sized can and squirted one, two, three times into his mouth.  He leaned in for a kiss and I recoiled. 

Confused, he offered me the canister for a quick spray, (as if that was the only thing keeping us from locking lips).

                Me:  No, thanks.  I’m good.

Him:  You sure?  It’s organic?  It doesn’t have any alcohol and it’s all natural, (as if the contents of the canister are what caused me to throw up in my mouth a little bit).

                Me:  Sorry, I don’t kiss on first dates.  (As if that is even remotely true.)

Thinking the ride couldn’t possibly get any longer, I say:

                Oh, I love this song, alluding to what was playing on the radio.  What kind of music do you like?

He spent the remainder of the trip serenading me (as in singing along) with the songs on his iPhone playlist and the air guitar he pulled out of his pocket.  The driver turned off my song.  The bonus round of the date was a Garage Band Concert.  I had front row seats. 

Is it just me, or does every man in New York have a severe emotional problem?

In all, life is good.  It continues.  I go to work and I actually love my job.  It’s not without its hiccups, but my company is legit and work-life is unbelievable.

I’m running again, but in moderation.  Bum knees.  I swim as much as I like except when I get my hair blow-dried.  Then it’s Shower Cap City for a week.  The mayor is black.

I started saving for retirement. 

I’m looking forward to visiting my family this summer in Michigan.  There is nothing more beautiful or serene than when my childhood memories of fresh cut grass and blooming flowers coincide with my reality of a cool evening breeze and dusk that lasts until 10 O’clock at night.  It’s perfect.  

This is my life. 

So, now you’re all caught up…

So… now you’re almost all caught up.

Except for what happened this weekend.

It’s part of why I have been avoiding Facebook.  I saw the post and refused to watch.  Then another.  Then it got to the point when I couldn’t continue to look the other way.

Then I wept. 

I cried tears that burned my eyes.  I held my stomach through the pain in my gut.  I struggled to breathe through the lump in my throat.  The emotional release I didn’t have for the end of my relationship came for a young girl in Texas.

A fourteen year old kid was violently assaulted by the police.  It was only one cop, but eight others stood by and watched.  They were complicit.  I watched the YouTube video like I would have watched a movie.  Disbelieving, I held my breath waiting for help that would never arrive.  When civilians tried to step in, the officer drew his loaded weapon in a threat to kill, an act that is routine against unarmed people of color.

I think about the humiliation, the fear, the physical pain this young woman must have felt.  I have trouble breathing because this girl is me.  She cried for her mother the same way I would have; perhaps the same way your own daughters might have cried for you.

I started this entry with recent anecdotes to remind you, my readers, of the woman you know.  Quirky, emotional, resilient, confident, forgetful, funny, American, proud, hopeful, ridiculous, normal, weird.  So weird.  Guilty of run-on-sentences and sentence fragments.  Multidimensional.  Me.  This is who I am.  But as much as I am all of these things, I am that black girl thrown on the ground in a bikini, held down by the knees of a grown man with thirty extra pounds pressed into my back, carrying a loaded weapon.  My brothers, smart and handsome with a kindness that is disarming, are the black boys handcuffed in front of their friends, spoken to like savages, treated like less than animals.    

I am saddened by how many friends and acquaintances I have that are at best apathetic about what’s happening in our country, at worst advocates of the injustice. 

I was called a nigger on the streets of Boston and my friends felt empathy.  I was showered with affirmation and love.  A social message on what happened felt trite to me then.  It feels even more so now.  This is life.  Today.  Right now.  I have to keep living.  But when you see me laughing, working, dating, running in Central Park and getting passed by moms with strollers, being silly, drinking wine, breathing, know that my heart is breaking.  It’s breaking for those kids in Texas.  They will never believe that the police will protect them.  It’s breaking for Mike Brown, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Kalief Browder.  And it’s breaking because if it’s not, your hearts should be breaking too.