The Journey to Runner Status: 50 Shades of Purple?

Since I was a teenager, I have regularly run—other than a few “breaks” for things like pregnancy and a bad ankle injury.  But, for the most part, running has been my main mode of exercise.  It has been my “medicine” for anxiety, sadness, to help me achieve health (even though my health is my biggest source of anxiety)… I like to run.  No, I love to run—especially after the run is over. 

Despite my individual participation in the activity of running, I have always been hesitant to call myself a RUNNER.  I mean, I ran around my neighborhood in old t-shirts and shorts.  RUNNERS run competitive races, keep track of time and distance, have nice running clothes, special running shoes, and they have those amazingly sexy toned calves.  I’ve never been a REAL runner.  But that all changed 2 days ago…

But my journey to runner status really began about a year and a half ago.  I hurt my ankle and couldn’t run.  I tried biking and walking and the elliptical machine—nothing was the same as running.  I decided once I could run again, I would RUN again.  I wanted to run a 5k and not be embarrassed.  Last summer, I started timing myself and seeing how far I could run.  I couldn’t even run a 5k after that stupid injury!  But I was setting a goal.  Physical goals are hard for me.  Though I had run, I wouldn’t push myself or anything like that.  So, my goal was to, by this spring, run a 5k and not be embarrassed.

Then, Buzz ran the Marine Corps Marathon last October.  He did it without training and made mistakes a real runner would never make—like buying new running shoes the day before the race.  I mean, even I knew that was a no-no.  I made fun of him—a lot.  But, on the day of the MCM, something inside ME changed.  I obsessive-compulsively checked the live updates to see how he was doing.  I was so proud of him.  Maybe he wasn’t a REAL runner, either (though hands-down he was way closer to one than me)…but that didn’t matter.  He was out there pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles like every other RUNNER out there.  I was inspired.  That day, I ran 5 miles under a 10 minute pace.  That was the longest distance I have ever run, at least since college.  When Buzz got home, he was sore to say the least.  But within a day, with the pain still present, he said he wanted to do it again.  What was wrong with him?  Was he a real runner?  Only a real runner would subject himself to that kind of torture, I think. 

Then, we signed up for the MCM series Turkey Trot 10k.  I “trained.”  My goal was to finish in an hour.  I was nervous.  Buzz and I ran the course prior to the race, since it was here on base, and I made it under my goal time.  Still, race day I was really nervous.  But I came in under 55 minutes!  I felt great!  I couldn’t wait to do it again!  Maybe I COULD become a runner.  We signed up for a 4-mile race in February.

I bought real running gear, not so much because I wanted to LOOK like a runner, but because I realized that that gear is more comfortable and necessary when you are running long distances outside—especially when it’s too cold to be outside to begin with.  I considered starting a blog called “50 Shades of Purple” to chronicle my quest to become a runner—turns out I really like the color purple and this is reflected in my running clothes, even though it must be impossible to match shades of purple among various articles.  Plus, it fit with the whole 50 shades theme as I became obsessed with running and developed a new relationship where the running dominated my mind and body.  But, I opted out of the blog idea because I was scared I would fail and then I would have these deep desires out there for people to see…and everyone would know I didn’t achieve my goal. 

Then came THE injury.  It was some strange-name condition that is worse than shin splints and not as bad as a stress fracture (which they thought it was but was ruled out with an MRI that diagnosed the strange-name-thing).  I only had to take a few more weeks off from running (yay!) and get some orthotic inserts for my running shoes.  I felt old and anyone who needs orthotic anything is certainly not a RUNNER.  Nonetheless, the day after I got the diagnosis, I signed up for the MCM Historic Half Marathon—about 4 months away, even though I had still not run more than 7 miles.  Ever.  My goal:  13.1 miles in less than 2 1/2 hours.  IF I could do that, I would feel confident in calling myself a RUNNER.  That race became more than a goal.  It began to define who I was—or who I could be—or who I wanted to be.  It consumed my thoughts.  Running was always on my mind.

So, I “trained” again.  But this time I knew I had to start out slowly, despite reaching the 7-mile mark before my injury.  I had to start out at 1 mile, slowly, and then work my way up.  That was frustrating but I didn't want to risk another injury.  I remember my sense of accomplishment when I completed my first 8-mile run without a struggle.  I stopped getting gastrointestinal distress (as Buzz and I embarrassingly call it) after my longer runs.  I started recovering faster from the joint and muscle pain and stiffness.  The first time I ran 10 miles (with hills) the pain was intense but the sense of accomplishment was bigger than the pain.  I was soon able to run 8 miles with no problem.  Then, one day, after my 8 (planned) miles, I just kept going—to 13.1!  Yes, there was pain—but it paled in comparison to the goal I had just reached—in less than 2 hours and 10 minutes (with minimal hills). 

I started researching my big race.  Hospital Hill scared me to pieces!  Hospital Hill refers to the hill next to Mary Washington Hospital in the final miles of the half marathon.  There are stories…this hill is a legend around here and among those who have run the course.  Running groups (with real runners) started training to tackle THE hill.  I started training to run more hills on base, since I wasn't part of a real-runner club.

The day before the race, I cried on the way to pick up our race packets.  Buzz didn’t understand.  Of course I could do it, he said.  But what if I couldn't?  What if I stopped/didn’t finish, or got hurt, or passed out, or died?  (Yes, those were real thoughts.)  We drove hospital hill.  It didn’t look THAT bad in the car…except I would have to run 9+ miles before I tackled it on foot.  My response:  at least the hospital is right here.  All I wanted to do was finish under my goal time and that hill was standing in my way.  But, if by some chance I could actually achieve that goal even with the evil hill, then I would have done it, I could call myself a runner, and I would never do it again.  I would stick to 10k’s and finally run that 5k I talked about this time last year. 

The night before the race, I carb-loaded with Moe’s and mac and cheese.  I only slept about 4 hours.  I was so nervous.  When the alarm went off at 4:45 I was exhausted, but jumped out of bed easily thanks to my nerves.  Real runners aren’t nervous before a race.  And they probably aren’t that tired.  Plus, real runners probably train when they were tired.  I didn’t.  I waited until another day to run if I was tired.

I got dressed—I had put aside my race day outfit (with 4 shades of purple) a week before, down to my underwear that I knew wouldn’t give me wedgies.  I made my old-faithful long-run breakfast—a peanut butter and banana sandwich.  But I couldn’t finish it because I had a nervous stomach.  Real runners didn’t get that—I bet they were able to scarf down their breakfasts.  I took my vitamins, kissed K (the babysitter spent the night so she would be there when we left), drank lots of water, and headed off.

We parked.  After 2 pee-pee stops (at Wal-Mart and a porta-john) we were off to the start line.  While waiting for the porta-potty, I saw people—real runners—running to warm up.  I couldn’t do that.  I had to save my “juice.”  The first 2 miles was my warm up—plus I was already warmed up from the heart-pounding anxiety.  But, back to the start line: It was real.  This day I had dreamed of—choked up about envisioning myself crossing the finish line—was here.  It was real and surreal all at the same time.  I bet real runners didn’t think it was surreal. 

I almost cried during the national anthem.  There I was, among Marines and real runners—at the same start line on the same course.  It was happening.  Deep breath…the gun fired.  And we stood there.  With that many people running, it’s not an on your marks, get set, go sort of thing.  It takes a while to get to the actual start line and then some more time to really get going as you wait for the pack to disperse.  But, soon enough, we were off.

I remember running under the huge flag in the air right after the start line—hoping in less than 2 ½ hours I would be looking at the same flag from the other direction with a huge sense of accomplishment.

I was so excited, but told myself to settle down.  I had 13 miles ahead of me.  Then came the rain.  I realized that I hadn’t trained in the rain.  Real runners do that, but not me.  Oh well, it would keep me cool, I thought.  It did.  And one of my shades of purple was a new armband I had bought at the expo the day before (a not-real-runner move, I'm sure--to get so excited at the expo and make irrational-type purchases) and it was perfect for keeping the wetness out of my eyes.

In all of the excitement, I am so proud of what I did the entire race: I took it all in.  ALL of it.  I looked at every person cheering that I could.  I high-fived the people on the side lines.  I read the signs.  I looked at my fellow runners—fellow runners?  If they are fellows, does it mean I am among their ranks?  Anyway, if this was going to be my ONE and ONLY half marathon, my one experience that would help me become the runner I wanted to be even if I would never do it again, I had to take it all in.  I had to savor all of the information my senses fed me.  And I did.  When I got tired, I danced to my music on my iPhone, just like I do running at home.  When I hurt, I reminded myself that it was just pain and the race was really run in my mind.  When it got tough, I took the advice from real runners—it’s just me and the road.  When I had to, I looked at my feet, saw I was still moving, and reminded myself this was about ME and I COULD do it.  And the only person I had to prove something to was ME.  It hurt toward the end.  I remember telling Buzz that every step hurt right after Hospital Hill.  Hospital hill was a beast, but I conquered it with flying colors, with Buzz by my side.  I loved the sign that said “What Hill?”  I loved the clapping and cheering.  It makes me want to go be a spectator at a big race and cheer on all of the runners…maybe I could be that person with a sign that pushes the person who "wants to be a real runner" toward their goal.

Buzz and I held hands as we crossed the finish line.  The pics and video show a big smile on my face.  My time: 2:12:44.  Maybe it wasn’t the best time for a real RUNNER, but it was AMAZING for ME.  The pain didn’t even bother me.  I was on top of the world.  I did it!  And I loved it.  I took it all in.  I lived each moment.  I RAN each moment.  And it felt good.  It still feels good—amazing!

The pain has subsided for the most part and, yesterday, I signed up for another half marathon later this year…and the Turkey Trot 10k again.  What’s that?  I signed up for ANOTHER half?  But the one two days ago was supposed to be my one and only.  The only explanation…I AM a RUNNER!   (And I’m writing this down because I never want to forget this feeling when I made that transition…or maybe I’ve been a runner all along, but that was the moment when I recognized it for REAL.)

Party! (in my head)

I don't usually go for the newer songs on here, mostly because they haven't been around long enough to "speak" to me.  BUT, this week we have an exception, for a few general reasons.

1.  Any song that can fit "Zach Galifianakis" into the lyrics of a song gets a major awesome point from me.

2.  I have a huge conscience and, what those close to me call, a guilt complex.  I overthink EVERYTHING and that overthinking turns into excessive worry.  I replay things I have said or done in my head over and over and come up with countless ways that I should feel bad, made a fool out of myself, or made someone think less of me.  And when something even remotely "bad" does happen, it's stress city in my brain!  Some recent examples of my overthinking (not to mention I still stress out about events from years ago, as well):

- First, Let me not forget my pay it forward adventure and its aftermath. Seriously, even when I try SO HARD to do the right thing, the NICE and KIND thing all planned out but things don't go exactly the way I think they should, I end up overthinking and worrying and being totally awkward.  I mean, I am awkward, but you'd think by now I could just embrace that and run with it.  :)

- I spent an evening at a little party at a conference with my colleagues, my professors, some other sociologists I didn't know, and a few cocktails.  Everyone was having a good time, most way more than me in the cocktail department, but I don't get in social situations with these people very often.  So, for so long after that, I stressed over whether or not anything I said was stupid or if the stories I told were boring. (Luckily, after talking with some friends after the event, I was totally not the most awkward one there and other people did things silly enough to be remembered over any faux pas I may have made.  Yay!)

- I have made plans to go out to dinner and a movie with Buzz and another couple this weekend.  We NEVER do things like this.  K has even been asking if she could have a "young" babysitter come hang out with her like they used to do before she went to school.  BUT, I feel guilty because I am going out and leaving her at home--even though she will have way more fun that if she were to come with us.

- When we do go out to special events, like the Marine Corps Ball (seriously, that's the ONLY time we really go out), and someone else puts K to bed, I can't sleep when I get home because I feel guilty and feel like a bad mom for staying out later than her bedtime.  I seriously have issues--most of these probably stem from the fact that for so long, it was just the two of us--Buzz was deployed so much in her first few years and I was away from family and most of my friends.  I never had the option to do such things.  K and I are a team.  But SHE has cut the cord, I believe this is MY problem.  Mom guilt sucks...especially when you worry like I do!

Anyway, back to 2. on my list...These are just a few examples of how I feel and overthink everything and lose a lot of sleep over things that no one else probably even remembers, or people don't even remotely care about if they DO remember.  I dream of being able to let things go, of having fun without worrying that I said or did something stupid or to "silly," of not caring if I am an awkward faux pas queen.  I have always prided myself on being true to me--of who I am and what I stand for.  I wouldn't compromise that for anything, but I will stress about it!  :)  So, this song makes me smile big smiles--and laugh.  Because I can't IMAGINE being in such crazy situations and saying "Whatever." "It doesn't matter."  Oh well!"  It seriously makes me uncomfortable to watch people being awkward on tv or hear about an embarrassing story of someone else.  The scenarios in this song make me uncomfortable--but they make me laugh because of the anecdote to just be like "whatever!"  And I dream of letting myself off the hook--even for just one night--to let my crazy hair hang down and not look back with anything except for happy laughs.  It's not likely to ever happen, but in the soundtrack of my mind, it's a good hypothetical story. 

And, 3.  I like the beat.  :)

So, without further ado, here is MY song for the week...(and, yep, I'm bouncing and smiling right now)  :)

Head on over to

to link up and hear other great songs!

Life in the 'Burbs: Dressing your mailbox for success

Welcome to the first (I think there might be more) installment of "Life in the 'Burbs" where I contemplate the strange things in suburban life that are so foreign to me.  I didn't grow up in the suburbs.  When I first got married, I jumped between apartments and base housing...much different from the suburbs.  When we bought our first home it was in Jacksonville, NC--I suppose it was TECHNICALLY in the suburbs, but it was a neighborhood of Marines and their families, so it was pretty much still like base housing except with more bills and less rules.  When we moved to TN, we bought a house in the suburbs--the REAL suburbs...where people act differently than all of the places I have lived before.  I love it here, but as a sociologist, it brings about a lot of questions.  I notice some quirks that I suppose are normal for suburbanites, but I'm not a native.

There was a time in my life, before I moved to the 'burbs, when I thought that mailboxes were merely receptacles for receiving mail delivered by the USPS.  How silly!?!  Mailboxes are not just for getting your mail...apparently they are for showing off your landscaping skills (or, more likely, the landscaping skills of the landscaping company you hired to dress your formerly naked mailbox).  I don't know if status-symbol is the right word, but mailboxes in my neighborhood have something to prove!  I was thinking, while walking the dogs today, how humorous it is that people have taken this necessary, government-mandated box and turned it into a fashion statement of the front yard.  All mailboxes (and their surrounding areas) are not created equal.  But what makes a good mailbox?  I truly have no idea...but I did take the opportunity to walk just a few houses up the street to document some of the mailbox ornamentation in my little neck of the 'burbs.  Please forgive the lack of quality in these photographs...I felt a little silly walking around taking pictures of mailboxes so I was trying to be inconspicuous.  (On a sidenote, I think this would be a great idea of a coffee-table book--I called it.  Can I get a copyright on that?  I'll get to work as soon as this pesky PhD is out of the way.)

This is our mailbox, poor thing.  The mailbox landscaping came with the house.  But the box itself is falling over and is being overtaken by that bush that we keep trimming back but won't let up.  That little dogwood looks like it might be on its last leg, or should I say branch.  Those white flowers are pretty, but they are taking over, too.  We have a single tulip holding down the perennial fort.  Some of the monkey grass is new since we've been here.  We have no idea what to do with this thing.  We really need some fresh mulch, though.

This, I think, represents a mailbox that has it all.  Residents are obviously well-read (note the newspaper-box-thing).  You also have your classy Japanese Maple, some tulips, some irises (I think that's what they are) and some monkey grass...all encompassed in nice rocky line with mulch.

Here we have your big-time-mailbox-landscaping example.  Look at that mailbox, standing strong on a freshly-painted post-thing.  Complete with your colorful flowers, complimenting the landscape of the larger yard, and your bold monkey grass, all held together with rock and mulch.

I feel like this mailbox landscaper came from our school of thought.  I'm not sure that they knew exactly WHAT to do with the mailbox's yard, but they knew it was something.  So they planted this azalea (I think) around the mailbox and let it be.  Notice the symmetry with a similar bush on the other side of the driveway.

Similar to the specimen two pictures above, this mailbox landscaper went bold, but held off on the color.  Strong, upstanding mailbox in and of itself, it is complemented with a couple varieties (careful not to overdo it) of greenery with some new mulch and brick fence.

A fan of irises (and difficult to contain monkey grass), this mailbox landscaper also welcomes visitors with the garden flag--nice touch to make your mailbox feel homey. 

Woah!  This mailbox landscaping is in need of some TLC (I think--but of course it is quite possible I'm totally wrong).  What probably began with some crisp and defined greenery is spilling over a bit.  I picture the different plants fighting for the attention of the mailbox.  Clearly, this specimen has potential but needs some control.

A common sight in our neighborhood...the brick mailbox.  These pieces of yard ornamentation allow for additional landscaping around them or for the mailbox to boldly stand on its own, as if saying "Dude, I'm made of brick.  I don't need no landscapin'."

Now we move to the somewhat common "there's supposed to be something here, but what?" mailbox landscaping.  I'm glad our little area was filled in when we bought our house...otherwise, our mailbox would likely fall into this category or be extremely tacky with mis-matched plants because, again, we don't know what to do with these things.  I'm thinking of suggesting an HOA meeting on the topic.  People need to know what's expected of their suburban mailboxes.

Oh...this poor guy didn't get the memo. 

Am I the only one dorky enough to notice these things?!?  This is important stuff here.  Urban sociologists, move over--I'm going to dive into the subfield of SUBurban sociology...

The Grocery List

I am so overly behind with about every single one of my home chores and just about all of my schoolwork this week.  My husband had been out of town with his other true love (The Marine Corps) and my daughter has been sick.  Things are all off--not that we have a "normal" around here but I just feel out of sorts.  Anyway, at the top of the list of things to do is go to the grocery store...we are out of everything and have been eating out every meal since Monday, I think.  (NOT good for the bank account or for health reasons but whatever...)

So, I am preparing to grocery shop.  I hate going to the grocery store.  It's right up there with putting gas in the car of things that I have to do on a regular basis, aren't that big of a deal, but that I just can't stand.  And so the list begins.  You know, the grocery list that you try to stick to but you always end up buying more and forgetting one or two of the most important things on the list...so you spend more money than you want and STILL have to go back.  [sigh]

I'm all about trying to save money.  I'm cheap, yet somehow we still never seem to have extra money.  I don't mind buying what we call "the bo-bo brand" (i.e. the store brand) of things, but there are some things that I buy where I MUST have the real-deal, expensive name brand.  Top among these are aluminum foil (it HAS to be Reynolds Wrap).  I just can't seem to deal with the bo-bo brands of aluminum foil--they rip too easily and aren't strong enough.  I also must have Silk soy milk--my daughter won't drink anything else.  I am starting to gravitate away from the bo-bo brand of paper towels, too.  Speaking of paper towels, I have another issue with grocery shopping...

I have a small fear of running out of 3 things:  paper towels, toilet paper, and light bulbs.  A light bulb just blew in our living room and I went out to our cold garage to the storage shelves where I keep a healthy stock of reserves of these items and HOLY CRAP, I'm running low!  We are down to our last roll of paper towels on reserve.  And, if you'll take a quick journey into that garage with me...

I am down to my last jumbo pack of TP...and it's OPEN!!!  Not only that, look...

The light bulb boxes are emptying out!  Oh, back to the grocery list--there are necessities that need to be on there!

I get it, I'm really not running that low.  I'm not sure where these irrational worries come from.  They are not major worries that consume my days, but when I recognize this ever-so-minor emergency is on my hands, I must take action.  These shelves must be filled again with their appropriate goods.

So, I'm wondering if anyone else has any of these random grocery shopping pet peeves?  Are there other must-have-name-brand goods where the bo-bo brands just won't do?  Am I the only one who feels the need to stockpile light bulbs, TP, and paper towels...or other random things?

Happy almost weekend!



Good deeds gone awkward--a follow up

So, if you scroll down and take a look at my attempt to "pay it forward" a while ago, you will know that I can be the queen of social awkwardness. (No, being a sociologist does not help me fit in any better in social situations. NERD ALERT!) Anyway, the men who I attempted to pay it forward to have appeared in my life again.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and one of his Marine friends grabbed a quick lunch at another restaurant on the UT strip. My husband and his friend (on their own) brought up my pay it forward adventure--and laughed at me, of course. Towards the end of our meal, who walks in??? The men whose breakfast I paid for at Panera during my botched good deed attempt. Oh the irony! So, I relived that little adventure, complete with heart palpitations, and went on with my day.

Fast forward to Tuesday (2 days ago). Buzz and I stop in that same restaurant for an even quicker lunch. And who sits down a couple tables over? Yep--those guys.

I am a little superstitious (not exactly the word I am looking for here but it will do) and I tend to think that things really do happen for a reason. So, why do these men keep appearing in my life? Especially since I am still dwelling on a 2 minute encounter that happened months ago? And my brain goes into overdrive... I feel like I HAVE to say something to them this time.

And, again, there I go with the heart palpitations, complete with sweaty palms. My husband even said if I didn't do it he was going to go introduce me. He puts my social awkwardness to shame--but he doesn't care. Plus, he kept saying it wasn't them. So, the pressure was on...

I walked over and introduced myself and told the outdoorsy man that he looked familiar and I think I met him on "Pay it Forward Day." He laughed and introduced himself and the gentleman with him. I told him how I felt so silly and he told me not to feel bad that it was a very nice gesture that meant a lot to him. He said he told some people about it and it was special. He told me it was even more special that I approached him in that context. We made small-talk for a few minutes, I walked back to my table, smiled and waved as my new friend refilled his drink and then I went about my day.

I guess that my social awkwardness isn't ALWAYS as bad to others as it seems to me. Or, even if it is, I guess it's not offensive. I have come to terms with just being "that girl" sometimes, more often than I would like or care to admit--the one whose heart takes over her brain function sometimes and makes a fool of herself in attempts to be kind. I guess being a big dork is just part of my "charm." :)

I think the most important thing I have learned is not to try to silence that crazy voice inside me that tells me to do nice things, even if they don't always turn out the way I envision them in my mind. Sometimes, a little smile, handshake,or gesture has the possibility to make someone's day, or at least make that minute a little brighter--and maybe an awkward payment of kindness can really have a positive impact on someone. And the fact that these might be small bright spots in others' lives makes them no less valuable.

On that note, when I walked into my parents house today after a 4 hour drive for a weekend visit, I saw a longer version of the quote below printed out sitting on the counter. Coincidence? Not in my mind.

"From the standpoint of daily life...there is one thing we do know: That man is here for the sake of other men--above all for those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness depends, and also for the unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellow men, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received." -Albert Einstein

Paying it forward?

"A life lived for others is the only life worth living." ~Albert Einstein


We all know the meaning of paying it forward, right? Earlier this year (I think--it could have been the end of last year--I have no concept of real time anymore, but anyway), I signed this petition-thing on Facebook to do something nice for someone the next day which was supposedly "Pay it Forward Day." Now, I am the type of person whose conscience speaks WAY louder than anything else, so knowing that I signed this thing meant that I HAD to do something nice. What a great thing, right? Maybe for anyone else on the planet, but not necessarily for me...


I woke the morning of the supposed "Pay it Forward Day" (note, I have seen the same thing going around Facebook again--I know there's not national holiday for this event, but still) and I told myself, I must pay it forward today. So the day began...I dropped of K at school and had just a little extra time before my meeting with my professor. And the pressure was on. So that I would not have to grapple with living up to my deal, I was convinced I must pay it forward before this meeting. I was a little hungry so I decided to grab a bagel at Panera. And, as I parked, I promised myself I would pay it forward in the restaurant. It would be so simple. I would just pay for the meal of the person behind me.


SOOOO simple...or not. First of all, I realized I had no cash (as usual) but I told myself I could just pay with my check card--still simple, just not quite as simple as hading the cashier an extra $10 and telling her what to do with it. Minor setback but we were still good...or not.


There were no other customers in the restaurant. Crap. I was going to have to devise some sort of lunch plan. I could get cash and do some sort of drive-thru pay-it-forward-action. It would be okay...or not.


So I pay for my bagel and walk down to get my cup of water. Then, the door opened. Two men walked in. One was what I would describe as an outdoorsy-type--you know, with the big beard, plaid shirt, hiking boots, etc. And the man with him appeared to maybe have some special needs. Apparently they were regulars. All of the Panera employees knew them and they spoke with everyone. When the guy (not the outdoorsy guy) walked past, he said hi to me, too...and I said hi back. My palms were sweating now--Should I go with the original plan or just duck and run? Again, this conscience of mine speaks loudly and sometimes it distorts its messages. I felt I had to go with the original plan. I mean, what if I got tied up and did not get another chance to pay it forward? I must do it now, I told myself. So, great, back to the original plan...or not.


Since I was on the other side of the restaurant having this mental conversation with myself, I had to act quickly. The outdoorsy man had ordered while the other man sat down. I walked quickly to the register and, in my attempts to pay it forward, made a complete fool out of myself.


I panicked--I flaked.


I asked the lady if he (clearly talking about the outdoorsy man) had paid yet, suddenly realizing I am talking about the gentleman as if he was not there. So then I turned and asked him. He said he was getting ready to. And I said "Well, I would like to pay for your breakfast this morning." He told me I didn't have to do it and I told him I wanted to. In my panicking and flaking out, I became concerned that maybe he thought I felt sorry for him or something--or thought he couldn't afford breakfast or some other craziness. So I told him it was Pay it Forward Day and I had to do something nice for someone. He and the cashier laughed about how I "had" to and how I was getting it over with early...so I paid, felt my face turn 10 shades of red, ducked my head, and ran out of there. Oh, and the grand total: less than $5.


And THAT was my "good deed." Or whatever it turned out to be. I blew it. I wrecked it. I felt like a fool and called my husband, who laughed at me because I somehow always turn something simple and supposedly nice into something humiliating--at least for me.


So, what's the point here? Welllll, why must we need a day to pay things forward? And why do we have to pay it forward to complete strangers? And why does it feel so strange when you combine the two? First of all, I don't think we should need a day to pay it forward. I do try to practice simple, random acts of kindness on a daily basis to people I don't know and will never see again. Yet, I am thrown a curve ball when I sign some silly petition. I don't like the pressure. I don't really like any pressure, so I throw myself into a PhD program--ahhh the irony...


Anyway, I have recently been having some rough days for a variety of reasons. I am working to change my thinking and my attitude. And I have come to the conclusion that, in order to do this, I need to work on rising above. And one way of doing this is to make every day pay it forward day--but my focus should not be on strangers, but on those close to me. All too often, I think we all forget that those closest to us need a little random kindness, too. Now, what deviates here, at least in my case, is that "paying" it "forward" implies that the niceness will be passed along to others and this will give you some sense of satisfaction--but that's not likely to happen in my case. I am sure those I am "paying" will not even recognize it. But I must rise above. I must pay it forward as a gift to others and, in turn, myself. I cannot do this as a credit or an I-owe-you or a promise to pass it on to anyone else. I must do it to be a better person--and to maintain some sense of sanity in the insanity which is my life. I must work to find intrinsic good in being a nice person ALWAYS, even if that is not reciprocated to me or beyond. I must be the example. Now, if I can just practice this.



"Be the change you want to see in the world." ~Gandhi

Social Disorganization...and allergies? (a work in conspiracy theory)

I am working on a paper with a theoretical framework of social disorganization theory. This theory revolves around your social world (i.e. your neighborhood) influencing behavior. In my studies, I often reflect on how these theories are relevant in my own life--sometimes in an academic, sociological sort of way and sometimes in a ridiculous dorky type of way...which is where this blog comes in. :)

While working on this paper recently, I have thought about the idea that my neighbors might intervene on my behalf should some crime start to take place in my quiet, suburban neighborhood. I think they would--I KNOW some would. But then my mind wanders...are my neighbors really out to get me?!?

I have terrible allergies and the beginning of the fall season here has reminded me just how miserable they can make me. There are lots of trees in my yard, sometimes I forget my allergy medicine, and blah blah blah that I have blamed it on. Today I actually woke up without much reminder of my insane hay fever, allergic rhinitis, alleged eustachian tube dysfunction, officially diagnosed enlarged turbinates, and post-nasal drip. It was a good morning.

K and I went outside to play with some sidewalk chalk. It is the first day in I don't know how long that the sun was shining and it was not raining. Our outside adventure was relatively pleasant and allergy symptom-free. Then, my neighbor started mowing his yard. I could literally see the allergens coming my way--but at that point, I made no connection, just thought it was a bit dusty.

I was talking to another neighbor when I nearly passed out from my violent dry hacking cough. My eyes filled with water yet felt painful and dry all at the same time. My nose felt like it swelled shut almost in a second. As I attempted to explain my allergies to my neighbor, she made me feel more comfortable and less like the nerd with the nose spray at summer camp by telling me she had the same problem. I quickly tried to clean up and politely explain to K that we had to go in because mommy couldn't breathe.

I made it. But my day has taken a downward turn. My intentions were to work out after we came in and then get a project for class tomorrow completed. But now I can't shake the cough and I can't breathe...No good workout and who knows if I will find the motivation to work ahead. Is this some sort of conspiracy? Probably not. I have the greatest neighbors. But it could be possible that these people are trying to squelch my academic career and fitness goals with pollen, mold spores, and grass. Again, probably not but I do love conspiracy theories (hello, Kennedys!) and I have talked to people about how there should be a book series comprised of exaggerated characters that live in my neighborhood. Maybe it's just that this is the first time I have been away from a military town in so long that "normalcy" of social life seems freakish to me. Whatever it is, I think this conspiracy theory would play well into a plot twist in the series...