Vision Board or Vision Bored???

I can't believe I have actually heard this come up in recent conversations,



"VISION Board!"



A sentence overheard like this..."so, while I was cooped up last weekend I started adding to my vision board."



Or this one..."she is really talented. I told her she needs some focus, maybe a vision board"



I mean, I know I heard Oprah mention it. I think she occasionally refers to it. But, I didn't think anyone actually did one. But, in the past several weeks I have heard at least 3 people talk about their vision boards. Part of me wants to puke. Part of me wants to laugh. Part of me wants to pry. And, honestly, a large part of me wants to know if I should do a vision board.



I have my own beliefs in what motivates people. I believe that most of our motivation for anything we do originates out of two primal emotions: LOVE and FEAR.



We either LOVE to eat and let ourselves get Fat. Or we FEAR that we are getting too fat and we diet. Or we come and go from both sides of the spectrum.



When we LOVE someone so much, it motivates us to keep the relationship alive. We are motivated to talk to that person, to help that person, to hold that person. When we are AFRAID of losing someone or afraid it isn't going well any longer, we are motivated to lie, cheat, harbor our feelings inside, hypothesize etc.



But, I also believe we "go toward what we focus on." When I focus on the negative in my life, things never seem to look up. When I focus on money problems there is never a solution. When I look in the mirror at a blemish or a scar my perspective of my self changes. The same is said when I look in the mirror with a good hair day and nice suit. I feel sexy. I walk out the door differently. When I focus on leaving 20 dollars at home every time I walk out the door, I find myself with extra money at the end of every pay period. And, I definitely believe that if you hear something enough, over and over and over again, it can start to become your personal truth.





So, does a vision board put those feelings into better perspective? Or, are we just bored with our daily life, daily outcomes, etc, and decided to vision our life in a make believe way? Does the board function and motivate? Or, does the board just remind us? Which can either measure our success or constant reminder of where we are NOT. Maybe the bigger question is what are my visions? Before I can make a board for them or get bored of them, I should probably start to figure out what they are?



I should also stop judging those who do have faith in the power of a vision board. Who am I to criticize or patronize or condescend. What ever works for you! I certainly don't seem to have it right, or at least any better...



Let's see...I envision...umm...ummm...well, right now...I envision wine and maybe some froyo!

The Fast Track...Day 1

There's probably not many of you left out there still reading me. I can't believe I dropped the ball just at a time when I was getting readership. Anywhoo, here goes...



I have embarked on what I believe to be my very first official diet. Sure, over the years I have given up this or cut back on that. I have had my exercises fanatical days and my low carb seasons. But, this is the first time I am with in very strict perimeters of a diet that is specifically aimed at cleaning and detox the colon and the liver. It is called The Fast Track One-Day Detox Diet. (Link above...i hope)



Here's a little back story.

-Met a boy and he made me smile.

-Three months later it's a deal.

-His influence is powerful because I love him.

-Now I follow a strict summer detox that he has done in the past, loves and is far more diligent and excited about than me that lasts for a total of 11 days.



But, it is something we can do together (I keep telling myself). It's something that we can share the benefits of together. It means we can cook together. Share ideas for snacks together. Encourage and motivate each other. Even keep tabs on each other to ensure that neither is falling off the detox wagon.



So it begins with 7 days of stocking up and chowing down liver loving foods. (i.e. Greens nobody likes, fruits and veggies that make you gaseous, and protein the size of the palm of your hand in the form of lean chicken, beef or fish. Not to mention things like Flax - what the F is Flax? - a few berries here and there, olive oil, and half your body weight in water a day.) But it also means staying away from the things that clog our liver, toxi-fy our body, and cling to our colon. (i.e. Coffee, alcohol even WINE!, breads, gluten, pastas, fried foods, soy products, sugars and anything that ends in "uctose" as well as any and all dairy.) On the eighth day you fast for 24 hours with only water intake and juice they call "Miracle Juice." It consists of Cranberry Juice (natural of course) and some spices of nutmeg, lemon, etc. Then after most likely "gettin' rid of the rottens" you spend the next 3 days replenishing your fluids and your good bacteria with some supplements and lots of good healthy yogurts and greens.



Now, I must admit, I consider myself a person with a strong sense of conviction and dedication. When I set my mind to something I feel that 9 out of 10 times I accomplish or fulfill to a satisfactory outcome. And, so far this is how it went...



DAY #1 MONDAY

I woke up with a whisper of a hang over. It could have actually been a hang over from Saturday masked by margaritas and wine on Sunday only to rear it's soft subtle head on Monday. A hangover nonetheless was present. So was the boyfriend. (For the sake of this blog and any future one's he will be known as Zondry.) There we were, Zondry and I, scrambling eggs with broccoli and mustard greens in olive oil. The night before we had done some mild one or two day shopping of must have items: A couple of pears and oranges.; a big clove of garlic and a large onion; some odd greens like cilantro, mustard greens, and chard; carrots and lean chicken breast.

I did very well. I jokingly wined about craving coffee. I gave total poker face when Zondry asked if I had a headache. I mustered up a smile (could have been a wince) and said..."No not really..." While thinking..."Nothing a little cup o' java couldn't cure!" He gave his signature "ha!" Which is this adorable nervous laugh he has after he knows more than someone else has actually revealed, when he doesn't know what to do with the dead air, when he feels like being polite and when he hasn't really been listening. It's actually quite cute. Adorable in fact. This toothy, airy, comforting, "Ha" that has just a linger of a sustained awww sound. He preps me on what to expect for the day with my hunger pains, headaches, and possible withdrawal symptoms. (What am I, a junkie?) He promises to cook my first dinner that night and have it waiting in the fridge when I come home from the night shift. (He really is that devoted to the diet)

I suffered that day. No matter how many pears or carrots I ate, my hangover stomach and caffeine headache just would NOT let up. But, I made it. I drank copious amounts of water. I didn't cheat. I didn't have a glass of wine from the three beautiful bottles staring me in the face from my kitchen. I made it home to grilled chicken over more mustard greens and asparagus sauteed with olive oil and garlic. It tasted like heaven and I loved it more because just the thought of Zondry brought his scent into my memory and the dish was peppered with Bond St. #9 cologne.

Day #1.
Mood Swings - 0.
Tired Level (0-10) - 8
Hunger Level (0-10) - 9
Cheats - 0
Cravings - 2 (Peanut Butter and Coffee)

Breathe out the old...in the new...

At first I was afraid. I was petrified.

I ran to the nearest mirror. I inspected my nose hairs for any extra long strays. I tugged at a few of the bed head strands of my styled-to-look-messy hair. I made sure my shirt was tucked in to reveal my "new" ass. I gargled with my organic mouthwash. I shined my boots. I may have even dropped down and squeezed out twenty push-ups (like when we used to date) to give myself a freshly pumped look.

I came up the stairs to find that I was not afraid. My heart was not aching with every heartbeat as it had so many times before. My hear wasn't even racing. I was angry but confident. You were somewhere you shouldn't be. You were doing all the things you shouldn't do. But, poor you, you just can't stop. I was confident but angry. One could say I was maybe confidently angry. I may have been angrily confident. I am not sure how the combination of the two end up rationing themselves over my emotions. But, I was both. I was grace and power. I was tranquil and in motion. I danced around you with reckless abandon but with total control over my surroundings. I looked you in the eye and saw right through you. You are hallow. I wanted your heart to beat. I wanted your pulse to rise. You were in MY house...UNWELCOME.

But I remained a gracious host. A professional manager. My normal, flirty, happy-go-lucky, playful self.

I believe I breathed my very last high strung breath with regards to you. It was a tight breath but after I let it out, the amount of new, clean, fresh air that I let in carried me to new heights. Higher than you. Bigger than you. And yes, I will say it, BETTER than you.

I am so strong...right now!

Dreams Lend To Reality

I had a dream last night. I have tried to so hard to stifle you and bury you that you have entered my subconscious mind and now I have had my first dream. Isn't that the way the world works. Just when you think they are out of your mind the have entered an entire different realm.

The clouds were low in my dream. Like, right by my window-low. They were puffy and thick and I was sitting on my window ledge hanging my legs out the window letting the thick fog of the clouds run over my legs leaving a murky film over my shins and calves. I heard my name. I couldn't see down to the street through the thick and cumulus clouds to see who was calling me. But, when I heard my name it was as if it was softly whispered in my ear, even though I knew it was coming from five flights below. My name kept being called, so I stood on the ledge of my window and dove into the clouds using them as cushions and bouncing from one to the other until I landed on one cloud right above the sidewalk. There you were. It was you. You were calling my name. But why? You looked up and tried to swipe away at the clouds to get a better view of me. You told me to fall into your arms. I began to panic. I didn't know how I was going to get back up to my window five flights above. I tried grabbing on to clouds but no luck. I tried leaping onto one above me. But, every time I landed on one it made the cloud sink a level lower. The last thing I wanted in this dream was to fall into your arms. You stood there. In your postman sort of outfit. Pressed shorts and a nice polo. You smiled but it could have passed for a cynical sneer. You kept telling me that I could fall into your arms. But, the thing was, you weren't holding your arms out. I started to call to you to hold your arms out. I knew I was falling. I knew there was a chance that I might not make it up to my window ledge. You still didn't throw your arms out. You stood there. Stoic. Sneering/Smiling. With your hands in your pockets. Whispering my name and telling me to trust you. But, you didn't lift your arms. I was so tired of fighting the clouds. I laid on my back and sank into one. My dream moved to slow motion. I passed by three clouds on my way to you. I passed by you. You didn't catch me. You stood with your cynicism in tact and your hands wringing in your pockets. I sank into the ground which seemed to be made of a soft slate colored sand. It was moving so slowly. The sand began to wrap around my legs, my body, and soon my face. I blew at the sand to keep it from my mouth and when I did, I created a strong enough wind that you blew over as if you were made of paper. The deterioration of your reality inspired strength in me and I began to sit up and wade out of the sand until I could grab a cloud and rest on it. You were a paperdoll. I made another blowing gesture and it was aimed right at you. You picked up and were whisked away in a moment. I sat with relief and comfort at the fact that you were not real. I made it back to my window ledge determined to never again to fall for a paperdoll just because they can be beautiful and joyful.

I thought I was first.
But I also thought you were real.
I can admit to being wrong.
You will never have this privilege.

"Can I get an Amen!?"

If we stood on our tiptoes and could peak into the future, what would we see? If we knew we could do this, would we do it everyday? Would we constantly be standing on our tip toes? A sea of people walking on their tippy toes afraid of what is to come, maybe excited, or just overly controlling with their life and it's path.

How much control do we really have? Sure, we can financially do our best and keep our fingers tightly gripped on all of our dollars. Thus, preparing for the "future." Having money is preparing for the future isn't it?

But, what about the deeper more immediate future? What about three days from now? Three days from now is my future and there is no telling what is going to happen. I could fall flat on my face. I could soar through my life song with rousing applause. Two weeks from now is my future. Two weeks from now I will turn 30 years old. The day after that, I could die. Or, the day after that, I could feel relieved or nervous or nothing. Three months from now is my future. Three months from now is the end of the year. It is all of our futures. Will we care about how much money we have in the bank? Will we look back at three months ago and see fiscal growth that will ease our minds and make us realize the present moment which was only a few fleeting moments ago the future and now in another fleeting moment it is the past? Or will we have tippy toed our way through those three months dodging anything that looked like potential harm or hurt so as to keep us on the even. I mean really, if you stood on your tiptoes and peaked into the future and saw the hurt you will be feeling after the end of the affair, wouldn't it scare you enough to think twice?

If I could stand on my tiptoes it would only be to stand taller and prouder. I wouldn't want to see into the future, or walk through life straining my already tired and old feet. I would be tempted, of course. I might find myself on a quiet street late at night stretching to the very tops of the tips of my toes and sneaking a quick, but hopefully vague, peak into my future. But, I wouldn't want it to scare me away from the moments that lie most immediately in my future and the ones that exist in my present. I don't care so much about financial growth or security. I don't care so much about retirement plans and property ownership. I don't want to care about whether I am going to be hurt or experience loss or devastation in the future. If I did know these things I might actually become what I fear most--a robot. A functioning product of society as opposed to a fulfilling participant of life.

Sure, I am scared of the future. We all are. Some are terrified. Putting away money and stocks and bonds. Scouring match dot com for the father of their babies. Planning and plodding their predictable futures. Others just nervous and anxious for the changes that lie ahead. Maybe one of the changes in our future will enlighten us. Maybe another will awaken us.

I think about where I might be 10 years from now. It's always fun to think about it. It's fun to think that or to be asked that question. "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?"
My response will be..."I do not see myself in 10 years. I can't see myself in ten hours from now. I see myself as I am currently. And, the most I can hope and strive for is to constantly evolve, learn, feel, express, try, and be. I will dive in. I will swim, wade, languish by the pool and soak up the sun. If I am burned or tired or drenched, then I will make the necessary changes to feel differently. I will not let my tippy toes tread through life with trepidation and a soft unspoken step. I want to leave my mark. I will not let my tippy toes taunt me with my future that teeters on the edge of anything and everything. I want to love the shit and shiny stuff all the same.

I will not take these things for granted.

I will, again, attempt to practice what I preach.

Grow For Me!

The only plant I own was dying all last week and I couldn't figure out why. Was it the drastic change in climate from cold to hot? From open window to AC? I watered it when I felt it needed it. I moved it closer to the window sill for better sun. I even watered it with some of my Smart Water because I buy into all that electrolyte enhanced marketing BS. I had also been talking to my plant. They say that helps. I would place it prominently on my desk and practice my songs by serenading it. I would then bring it back to the coffee table and tell it about my stress at work, the financial woes, and the fear involved with THE BOY. I would see the wilting of it's leaves and I guess I knew that the plant and I were bonding. I wondered what he was going through. Was the yellowed leaf an outcast and struggling to find his way in the rustle and bustle of the The World of Normal Leaves. I wondered how much taunting was coming from the group of bigger and stronger leaves. I began to root for the underdog. I would dust him off solely and stimulate the soil at his roots with my fingertips. Nothing seemed to be working. I had the beginnings of "giving up on it" stirring in my mind and heart. Oh to be the leaf. Oh if only the leaf could live for me.
So, I was lying there on my sofa one evening. I was contemplating "the world." (twice I have used quotation marks...yikes) It was one of those nights where I knew I could cry if I just played the right song or thought of enough bad shit. If I listened to the swelling voice of Patty Griffin or thought about that party in 8th grade I wasn't invited to, I could cultivate tears. So, I did. I sobbed. I sobbed a very hard and heavy sob. Not for any particular reason, just to sob. To let go of the sadness I tend to carry and to send my fears off floating down my cheeks, chin, chest. Repeating random and general phrases over and over in my head. "It will all be okay." "You are worth it." "Why?" It's funny if you think about it. I am certain we all repeat ridiculous, stereotypical, blanket phrases like these to ourselves continually and even more so during sob sessions. I believe I fell asleep shortly after this 7 or 8 minute session. The next day, I awoke to what appeared to be a very small upright stance of some of the leaves on my plant. Oh to be that leaf, struggling and dusting itself off. I will be that leaf. That day I plowed through my work, my shit, my life, "the world" (again with the ""). That night, I saw the boy and I gave into my desires. I put down my defenses (some, at least) and came to my senses. The next morning I smiled without force or conscious participation. That day consisted of a held a hand, a kissed cheek, a phone call, a laugh. I listened, stood up straight, demonstrated kindness and gratitude, felt with my heart and walked taller.
When I arrived home in the early evening, I forgot to check in with the plant. But, I found myself singing different songs than before and after a few hours I grabbed the plant, quenched it's thirst, moved it into the light and told it how I was doing. No longer was the monologue filled with pointless griping, or circular hand movements demonstrating the pattern and monotony of life. I was giggling...to my PLANT!! What have I become? I know I am getting older, but I feel like I am skipping a generation. I had such peaceful and blissful sleep that night. I remember the temperature dropping for the first time in days and I opened my windows for fresh air. By early morning, my plant had stretched it's leaves upward and onward. The yellow leaf is still a little yellow but standing up and willing itself to grow.
I know it's cheesy. I know it only makes sense in my mind and not in my words. But, we all want the same thing. We are all so closely connected to this earth, to this life. I will never misjudge the power of nature and the natural progression of all the things beyond our control. Beyond my control. My leaf and I stand alone, but among The World Of Normal Leaves.

Choking Back

There are so many excuses for my behavior.

This was my first relationship.

I was highly insecure.

I was terribly jealous.

I was deeply in love.

I was 21 years old.



So, then, why? Why every time we see each other, do I get this dizzy stomach and nauseous headache? It's fleeting for the most part. But, it comes every time I see you. I look at you now, and the way we are as friends and feel so blessed. I see how much we have grown as people, as men, as lovers. 8 years and counting. But, I can't seem to shake this one instance. This disgusting display of immaturity and drama.



I wasn't a perfect boyfriend. I still doubt I ever could be. I was jealous and insecure and full of fear. I never felt you would love me for me. I don't think either of us realized it was okay to be ourselves with each other. So instead we tried so hard to be what we thought the other wanted.
And, boy did we love each other. WE LOVED. AND LOVED. AND LOVED.

I am not saying I live with regret from that moment in time. That moment in 1999 where I disappeared from the music store (in hopes that you would chase me down...argh...games!) and walked my sorry ass back to Jersey City where I proceeded to sit on the stoop of our brownstone wiping violently at my tears and peering down Mercer Street with tainted anticipation just waiting and waiting and waiting for you and her to come down the street. And...you didn't. Hours and hours went by. Not a phone call. Nothing.

I didn't get what I wanted. Even after a tireless, immature, ridiculous effort to manipulate it out of you. I didn't get what I wanted. But, I also couldn't see that what I had was enough. I wasn't taking what I was given I was only managing to see what I wasn't.

I don't regret my behavior. I had to go through that to learn about myself. It's an unfortunate circumstance that brings the chuck up to the back of my throat every time I think about it, but I had to go through that.

But, you asked me if I had any regrets, or rather, anything I would go back and change. That would be it. Even if I had left the music store out of jealousy and an immature display of loyalty. I never would have confronted you in front of her. I would have, hopefully, walked my sorry ass back to Mercer street and had sometime to think about not feeling sorry for myself. Then maybe when you both arrived back at the house, I would have stood up on the stoop and said I was sorry. Sorry for my childish behavior. Sorry I was pouting and needy for your attentions. Please forgive me. Please understand I am (was) so young and in the great unknown of relationships.

Enormity

"The Enormity of it devours me." One of my favorite theatrical characters says this in regards to the sweeping overwhelmingness of life and the big picture.

For some reason lately, I have been thinking a lot about the war. Or, rather, Wars in general. And, although, I am opposed to war as a method of problem solving or a means to an end of "something" we aren't quite sure of, I keep thinking I don't know enough about the war.

I don't mean the daily news updates or political factoids that can later be tossed out to grease the conversations with others. I mean I don't have a personal feeling or thought attached to war. This has saddened me lately. My personal wars in my private and professional life take precedence over the wars our country are fighting. My personal battle with self-love and sexual expression overshadow the many men and woman who are considerably younger than me who are risking their lives for the honor and justice of our land. The enormity of this thought devours me and brings me to this page.

I guess my point is, I considered myself to be a passionate person. I have always felt I was a man with a mission, a statement, and an emotional attachment to life outside myself. But, since I don't know what it feels like to have a brother, an uncle, a cousin, or a son or daughter at war, I leave my emotions behind when it comes to this topic. So, I am left with my own wars. My own battles that pale in comparison to the larger ones that life deals to the masses. But, doesn't passion (true passion) come from being able to be compassionate? All this time, that is what I might have been lacking in my life. More compassion. How does one cultivate that? I don't want to have to have a sibling or close relative shipped out to war for me to feel what it might feel like to send someone off to duty. And, is it wrong that I am a little bit envious of those who do have a relative overseas? Not envious that their relative is over there, but envious of the amount of strength and emotion they hold deep within themselves on a daily basis, knowing the risks and the heroism that is thrown at their relative.

Meanwhile, I will release the enter button on my computer, shut down my system and retreat to the sofa to complete my obsession with Grey's Anatomy with the Season 3 finale. All the while, desperately trying to put my little wars aside and try to think about the bigger picture. Maybe just trying to think about the big picture is one baby step closer to seeing things from the big picture.

When I get this way. Which is not that often. I do have to agree with my favorite theatrical character. I sometimes feel the enormity of this world could swallow me whole without a sound.