Generosity: The Virtue that Never Ceases to Amaze

Sometimes, I am absolutely flabbergasted by the generosity of other people. Truly.

Take R___, my fiance. He recently took part in this work event called a "Hack Day" where all the developers stay overnight and code feverishly (for fun, mind you) to create new company-related programs or features that they think would be cool. R___'s feature earned him an award where they gave him a mini bonus . . . which he then turned around and donated to a charity, since his company agreed to match the amount.

Is that not the textbook definition of generous?

But okay, maybe I'm a bit biased toward R___. After all, he is going to be my husband.

So let's take two of my teammates: S___ and J___. I first met S___ when I was working in Brooklyn and my coach told me, "Hey, there's this fast girl who lives and runs in Brooklyn near you. She has great form. You should see if you can hook up with her sometime--it'd be good for you. " He was right on all accounts (coaches are usually, annoyingly, right--kind of like moms): she was fast, she did have great form, and running with her was very, very good for me. But the best and most unexpected part came when, because I was about to leave my job and had to give up my local gym access (and therefore shower), she offered the use of her apartment.

Now let's face it: inviting an acquaintance into your apartment is kind of a risky thing. Our homes are small extensions of ourselves; inviting someone in gives them a rather intimate glimpse into your finances, habits, and priorities. Plus, on a more practical level, having another person around disrupts your life routine. (Although, I'd like to think, sometimes for the better.)

However, S___ seemed to have no problem with my imposing on her living space, and eventually this imposition turned into once-a-week routine where I'd show up at her door to drop off my stuff; we'd run to the track and do our workout; and then we'd run back to shower and eat breakfast together before she left for work and I headed off to the local library. In this way, we were able to spend time together and forge a real relationship--something we might have never done had she not generously offered me the use of her apartment.

So in a nutshell, S___ was amazingly generous to me. But then, not more than a few months later, our coach brought on a new assistant coach and moved our workouts from Brooklyn and to the East River track . . . twice a week at 6:30am. Now I had a whole new set of obstacles: I had to ride the PATH in from NJ, run 2 miles to the track, do the workout, run 2 miles back to the PATH, and ride the PATH back to NJ in order to shower and eat . . . and ride the PATH again if I wanted to come back into the NYC for any reason.* This was, to put it succinctly, a hassle. At our first workout, I made mention of what a hassle this was, and my teammate J___ piped up, "Well you can always come and use my apartment."

Now let me back up for a second. At this point in time, J___ was officially the newest member of our running team. I had met her literally two times before this: once at a casual long run where my coach (yet again) had told me to, "Come and meet this fast girl. She's really bubbly. She's thinking about joining," and once when I invited her to do a tempo run up the West Side Highway. That's it. Two meetings. And then, at our third, she offered up free, unconditional use of her apartment. Is that not one of the most generous things you've ever heard?

But okay, okay. These are my current teammates; maybe I'm biased toward them, too. So let me offer up my final, crowning vignette.

Last weekend, I went to the Poconos for a writing retreat. While the main goal up there was to write (obviously), I also had a 16-mile run to do on Saturday. Therefore, I spent Friday night mapping out my course, trying to create the easiest, most direct route possible. And what is the easiest, most direct route possible? An out-and-back, which is exactly what it sounds like: running in one direction and then turning around and running back. This being the Poconos, it wasn't going to be possible to run in a straight line for 8 miles, so the route had a few turns, but it was pretty darned simple: take a left, then a right, then another right, and keep going straight until my watch read 8 miles. Then, turn around and run back.

Sounds simple, right? It sounds so simple that I decided not to take my phone with me when I left at 7am that morning. I knew the risks--I could get a cramp or run into a bear, and I'd be all by myself, virtually in the middle of nowhere--but the annoyance of having to carry my phone in my hand and get it all sweaty and salt-encrusted ultimately outweighed those unlikely risks. And before you ask, yes, the possibility of getting lost did cross my mind. But was I really going to get lost? I mean, the route had three turns in it. I wasn't going to get lost.

Until I did.

Seventeen miles later, surrounded by silent leafless trees, with no sign of civilization in sight--never mind the specific house I should have reached a mile back--I started to get worried. It all looked eerily familiar while also being completely unfamiliar, and I couldn't just keep running in this random direction without knowing where I was going. So I stopped on the side of the empty road and waited. Several minutes later, a car drove by. They either didn't see my extended hand, or they ignored it. I waved more enthusiastically at the next car, and it slowed down. The driver inside rolled down his window halfway. He looked suspicious.

"Hi!" I tried to look friendly. "Do you know what road this is?"

"River."

River was not the name of any road I remembered from my map.

"Do you know where Upper Ridge Drive is?" He looked at me blankly. "Or . . . the ski lodge?" I knew the ski lodge was somewhat close to the house we had rented.

"Uh, well the ski lodge is down this road." He pointed in the direction I'd been running.

"Oh great! Like, maybe a mile do you think?"

He paused. "Probably a few." Then he drove away.

Now, I have talked to drivers before about distances, and when they say "a few miles" they typically mean at least five. So I aimlessly walked another quarter of a mile and then stopped, listening to the intermittent sounds of rifle shots echoing through the trees. This wasn't going to work. I couldn't walk five miles after that run, especially wearing a sweaty tank top and shorts when the weather outside was in the low fifties. As humiliating as it might be, I was going to have to flag down another car and ask to use their phone.

Two cars later, an SUV pulled up. A big maple leaf was drawn on the door, above the words "Park Services." My heart leapt as I trotted across the road. Inside sat a young woman, probably my age or a few years younger. She leaned out of the window.

"Are you lost?"

Yes. The answer was yes.

I asked to use her phone, but since she didn't have a data plan, there was no way for me to know where I was in order to call someone to come pick me up. After consulting a few useless maps she had in her glove compartment, she told me what she'd do. She needed to return this vehicle a bit farther up the road, and she couldn't take me with her because there were rules against having people in park-owned vehicles. However, then she'd have her personal vehicle, and she had a GPS in it, so if I could just hang tight for ten minutes, she would come back, pick me up, and drive me wherever I needed to go. Gratefully, I waved goodbye and then found a rock to sit on and wait.

And wait. And wait.

A lot went through my mind during what turned out to be a twenty-five minute wait. I thought about how stupid and lazy and stubborn I was for not taking my phone with me. (I thought a lot about that.)  I thought about how amazing it was that this random woman was willing to take the time out of her day to come back for me. I thought about the possibility that she'd forget me. I thought about what the other writers back at the house must be thinking, now that I'd been gone for 3 hours. I thought about how cold I was.

Then, I saw a small silver car slow down and pull over to the shoulder. The headlights flashed. My savior had arrived!

Even as I write this several days later, I'm filled with amazement and gratitude that a complete stranger, going about her day, would be willing to stop and help a lost runner get back to where she belonged. And what she offered wasn't just ordinary, casual "help"; this woman went completely out of her way to get her own vehicle, drive back to where I was waiting, and then drive yet another ten minutes out of her way to take me where I needed to go. I almost can't believe it. Would I do that? Would I be that open-hearted? I honestly don't know. I'd like to think I would, but if I'm completely honest, I'm not 100% sure I'd even stop my car. I hope I would. I hope, someday, I will.

*Note: for those of you familiar with these transportation systems who are wondering why I didn't just take the PATH to 14th street and then take L train to 1st Ave instead of running from 9th and 6th, that would have cost me an extra $11/week. And I'm not only a frugal person, but now I'm a frugal person trying to be a freelancer.)

A Belated Giving of Thanks

I'm a little late posting this, but really, it is still that time of year: the time to be grateful, to express gratitude, to offer thanks. I might not have any turkey to go with it anymore (that's right, no more leftovers), but I do have twinkling Christmas lights to keep me company. So in no particular order, here are a few thank-yous that I should say more often:

1. Thanks Coach Josh, for making me faster. I never thought I would ever enjoy speed intervals, and while I'm not sure I'd claim to enjoy them, plain old runs do seem sort of boring now.
2. Thanks Gotham City Runners for making this running season so much fun. You guys are a wonderful, supportive group, and races just aren't the same without you. (Fingers crossed for April Fool's Day!)
3. Thanks mom and dad, for your continuous love and support. A girl couldn't ask for better parents.
4. Thanks Ryan for always picking me up when I'm down and cheering me on when I'm up. I know I can always depend on you, and that means the world.
5. Thanks Klock family for your endless generosity and willingness to have me around. I don't think any other group of people will make me laugh as hard as you all do.
6. Thanks Tyrone, for being my number one work confident. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when you finally go off and follow the job of your dreams! But you deserve it, so get out of here.
7. Thanks Mark for always having adorable pictures and even more adorable stories of your kids handy to supplement long and potentially boring runs. It's quite the luxury to be a vicarious parent!
8. Thanks [Work] Josh, for finding lost things, fixing broken stuff, and scavenging the rest. And of course for your tireless enthusiasm. No one loves the Pittsburgh Triathlon like you!
9. Thanks body, for not breaking down on me during marathon training. It's such a relief to get through a running season with no injuries.
10. Thanks Ellen and Nick, for making every day at work a lot more fun.
11. Thanks Emily, for always having an open heart and an open home. Although we're both far away and super busy, it's good to know that some friendships are made to last.
12. Thanks Kelly 1 for always making time for me when I'm in the 'burgh. And, of course, for being my #1 Excel consultant. I know you're busy and important, so I really appreciate it!
13. Thanks Adrian and Esther for staying in contact despite oceans between us. Hopefully I will see both of you sooner than later!
14. Thanks James and Tiffanie for picking up where Adrian and Esther left off. I'd never swim at all if it weren't for the two of you! (And I'd never have such entertaining email exchanges to look forward to when I go away either.)
15. Thanks Jersey City Writers for kicking my butt into gear this year! I've produced more writing in 2013 than I have since it was required of me in college, and I couldn't have done it without all of you.

I'm sure I forgot a great number of other items, but this was delayed long enough. So a big "sorry" and extra-big "thank-you" to anyone/anything I missed! 

A Break In Routine

When I get home from work, I have a pretty standard routine.

I come in the door, say hi to R___ (who is usually seated in the living room at his computer), toss any mail I have collected onto the end table by the door, go into the bedroom, and throw my keys in their little ceramic bowl. Then I put my backpack down, unload my wallet and book from the front pouch, and put them in their respective places (the wallet goes by my keys and the book goes on a stack near the mail). Next I unload the larger section of my backpack. If I've gone food shopping, I put those items away first, particularly if there is anything that needs to be refrigerated of frozen. If I went swimming, I take my wet suit and towel into the bathroom and hang them up on the middle two wall hooks, between our towels. If I've brought home my dirty running clothes, I dump them from their plastic bag into the hamper by the bedroom door. Finally, I plug in my iPod (if it's lost its charge) in the living room, remove my shoes and put them in the shoe rack on the back of the bedroom door, and--if I'm home for the evening--change into pajamas.

As you may have determined from the specificity of this routine, I am slightly OCD about it. Putting away everything in its rightful place when I get home comforts me, and I hate being interrupted until I have reached the pajama-wearing stage. When R___ and I first started living together, he simply did not understand. I would walk in the door, and he would immediately accost me with hugs and chatter. Under almost any other circumstance, I like hugs and chatter; however, if it impinges on my Arriving Home Routine, I get anxious and frustrated and usually snap at him until he goes away and lets me finish putting things where they belong.

Sometime this past spring--almost three years since we first moved in together--R___ finally figured it out. He started saying "hello" when I walked in the door from his position in the living room, and then not moving from his chair until I was finally clad in T-shirt and boxer shorts. At first I just assumed he was preoccupied when I arrived home, and braced myself the next day for his inevitable interruption. But it never came. Eventually, I relaxed into my routine and began to approach him after I had finished everything I needed to do.

Yesterday, I arrived home and began my routine as usual. R___ and I said hello, I put the mail on its end table, and I tossed my keys into their bowl. Once my wallet and book were in their proper places, I put the half and half I had bought for R___ in the fridge, and the bags of coffee and Oreos onto the designated snack shelf. Then I went into the bathroom to hang up my swimming gear, and finally returned to the bedroom to retrieve the final item, my iPod, from my backpack. As I was straightening up, iPod in hand, I noticed an orange shape in my peripheral vision. Hmmm, I thought. That's odd. I don't remember hanging anything in that spot on the wall. There used to be a calendar there, but I took it down a while ago.... I turned toward the wall, and low and behold, there was an orange Post-It stuck to the surface!

"5 Reasons Why I Love My Swan*," it read.  "#2: She's super inspiring."

Putting down my iPod, I peeled the Post-It off of the wall and took it into the living room. R___ was already turned toward me, suppressing a grin.

"What's this?" I asked. "Where's number one?"

"You'll have to find it. They're not in a particular order; I just put the five reasons at the top so you knew how many to look for."

I glanced around the living room until I saw another orange square stuck to the black television screen.

"Oooh!" I raced over.

"5 Reasons Why I Love My Swan. #4: She's amazingly supportive."

Suffice to say, I spent the next few minutes on one of the most fun, spontaneous scavenger hunts ever. And all before I plugged in my iPod or even took off my shoes. 

Sometimes a break in routine is totally worth it.

*Every couple has weird nicknames for one another. This happens to be mine.

Why We Shouldn't Outsource Design Work

Aside from actual lack of design (which is a whole different issue), here are some messages recently received from the designers (who, as you may gather, are not from the US):

"Should I should the file you uploaded or the one you specified"

"I am not sure with our initial agreement of sending the message with an hour interval, will cause the next batch to consider as spamming."

The response I'd like to send:

"Engrish next time, pweez!"

A Suggestion for Coping

This was recommended to me by my darling baby bugga-boo, when I complained about having had to stay at work until after 7pm. Not exactly prime advice for getting ahead, but hey, it would be amusing.

Room for Dessert

At a restaurant, a mother and her 8-year old daughter are sitting at a nearby table, finishing their dinner.

MOTHER: Are you going to finish your rice?

DAUGHTER: (Groaning) My tummy is so full, mommy! I can't eat another bite.

MOTHER: All right. Just wait until I call the waitress over.

(The mother motions to a nearby waitress, who approaches the table.)

WAITRESS: Are you ladies all finished?

MOTHER: Yes, I believe we are.

WAITRESS: (Setting a small menu on the corner of the table) Can I interest you in some dessert?

MOTHER: I don't think--

DAUGHTER: Ooooh mommy!

(She reaches for the menu, but her mother places a restraining hand atop it.)

MOTHER: I thought you were so full you couldn't eat another bite.

DAUGHTER: But I have another tummy, mommy. I have a second tummy for dessert!

An Unfortunate Start to My Day

"Is that a man's belt you're wearing?"

-A friend, questioning my fashion choices at 8 in the morning.

The End: 21 Days of Thanks

Lumping the final 3 days together is not really the best way to finish off my experiment, but on a positive note, I made it through with only 3 slip-ups! Here are my 3x thanks for Days 19, 20, and 21.

A guest appearance on K___'s blog. It's about her family (as is somewhat evident from the title OkMom&Dad), but I was tickled to show up in two posts about her brother, "Taboo" and "Yin."

Successfully finding Takoma Pool. With my unfortunately poor sense of direction and lack of smartphone, this admittedly took me over an hour; however, on the plus side, I did manage to correctly navigate the metro system (i.e. get off at the right stop), and it was a lovely day to be wandering around the suburban streets of Takoma. Plus, I'm getting less and less shy about stopping strangers to ask for directions!

My train was on time. It left on time and arrived on time. I can only hope that my flight tomorrow will be as smooth!

Seeing L___ the night I arrived. Seeing her upon arriving in a still-unfamiliar city is the best sort of welcome!

Seeing K2 and meeting her friends during the same work trip. It's so nice that my friends take time out of their schedules to see me when I am in town. It makes these work trips that much more fun!

The fact that I can give tasks to a shared assistant while I am away from the office, and he capably and confidently completes them. N___ is such a lifesaver; I don't know how we functioned before without him.

Meeting friendly work colleagues who make enjoyable and interesting dinner partners while travelling. I don't know how people can work for companies where they don't like any of their coworkers. Life would be miserable!

Being remembered by customers from my old paper route. A few ladies passed by my parents' house and, when they saw my parents outside, stopped them to ask how I was doing. One of them even mentioned the Christmas letter I used to write and include in the paper once a year. I am really touched that she appreciated them enough to remember them, even this many years later.

The opportunity to go to San Diego tomorrow! I'll probably only have a couple half-days to do any sightseeing, but it's a nice break to get out of the office and see another area of the country.

And that, folks, is it! Hopefully I've become less grouchy in the past 21 days, and while I can guarantee that I'll never stop complaining completely, hopefully this exercise has helped me tone it down a bit and become a more pleasant, positive person.

Eek! 3-Day Catch-up

I was terribly lax over this past weekend, so here are Days 16, 17, and 18.

A casual birthday potluck! Met some new game-loving friends of friends, ate some delicious food (compliments of A___, who is a great cook and hostess), and spent a much more social Sunday night than usual.

Train travel. It's so much roomier and more pleasant than air or bus travel, and certainly more relaxing than driving. Why did we silly Americans ever do away with 90% of our railroads?

My haircut. Even though it's grown out a little since I got it cut, it is still at a great length: makes a small ponytail, dries fairly quickly, and doesn't take more than 30 minutes to blow-dry and straighten.

The chance to see M___ and L___ get married! It was a beautiful day for a beautiful wedding between two beautiful friends. And also . . .

An excuse to dress up. Because let's face it: after high school prom, how many dress-up events are there?

A boyfriend who likes to match my outfit. I would never require this, but it does look nice, so it's especially gratifying that he does this on his own!

R___'s mom. At the risk of sounding like a suck-up, I have to say that she's generous and kind, and this past weekend gladly answered my question about wedding gifts in (lieu of my parents, who were MIA). It's so nice to have another adult I can depend upon . . . plus she makes really scrumptious cookies.

The fact that my iPod hasn't died yet. I am pretty sure its life has exceeded 2 years now, which is more than I had hoped for, so hopefully my gratefulness won't jinx it.

Netflix! Whoever came up with the idea of a subscription movie/tv service is a genius (and probably being rewarded accordingly). It's hard to believe that I went so many years without television . . . until I try to actually watch cable TV. Those are the moments when gratitude for Netflix overwhelms me.

Day 15, TGIF

It's Friday the 13th, but Day 15 of my 3x thanks experiment.

Central Park in the spring is beautiful! And full of very interesting people to watch on a long run.

Swimming 400 yards in less than 5 minutes and 30 seconds. That means my 100 yard pace times were below 1:25!

My boyfriend's enormous 46" HD TV. I would never have admitted it a year ago, but it really does make watching television and movies a much nicer experience. My little Macbook just cannot compete.

Day 14, Simple Pleasures

Sometimes I just wish this experiment was over! But I can't give up now. Only 7 days left after today (Day 14). . . .

When the subway shows up immediately after I arrive at my stop. Specifically, I am referring to the PATH train, which arrived almost immediately after I arrived at the station this morning, when I was heading to work. Then, when I transferred, that train arrived quickly too! A nice, smooth commute to work--just the way I like it.

Knowing people around the country, so that when I travel for work, I can visit them. Next week I get to visit two friends while attending a conference in DC, and although I don't know anyone in San Diego, I connected with a friend who moved to San Francisco, and she's giving me the "inside scoop" on what to check out when I visit that city in June! (Even better, she's a swimmer, so she can tell me where all the pools are located. Essential advice for a swimmer way from home!)

Photographs. I feel so sorry for people who lived before the age of photography. Not even digital photography, necessarily, but at the very least pictures to capture who you are and who you are with at a given time, in a given place. Looking at photographs is like looking backwards in time (a day, a month, a year), and looking at other people's photographs is like reading an intimate story of their lives. I am grateful that a friend shared his familiy vacation photos with me today!

Day 13, Quick and Easy

Good things happened early today, so I have an easy Day 13 to write up.

Free biking gear! Compliments of my friend/coworker S___. She is a former Ironman triathlete, currently on hiatus from the sport, and after we talked the other day about how expensive of a sport biking is, she generously brought me some of her old gear!

A successful solo swim. Despite his lingering biking injuries, A___ came to the pool this morning to putter around in the water while I came up with a swim set that actually went better than I had anticipated, considering that there were 4 stubborn men in my lane who refuse to let other swimmers pass. (In case anyone is interested, the set was 5x100 yards on 1:35, 4x100 yards on 1:30, 3x100 yards on 1:25, and 2x100 yards on 1:20.)

A live-in hug. I don't think I express my gratitude often enough for the available and willing hugs I get from R___ when I go home. That was one of the hardest things about living alone in a new city: the lack of physical contact. Hugs communicate "I know you" and "I care about you" in a simple and intimate way that simply cannot be replicated in any other way. I value them, so I am thankful to have one ready and waiting for me when I walk in the door!

Day 10--Feeling the Stretch

I'm running out of ways to introduce this. . . . So here's Day 10.

Walking into a clean bedroom. The key word in that phrase being "walking." R___ ever-so-nicely cleaned things off of the floor, so the key now will be keeping that space clutter-free!

Surviving hot yoga without sitting down during the poses more than once. That's a real accomplishment for me! Granted, it was only an hour-long class (rather than the traditional 90-minute class), but I'm still proud. I didn't take more than 2 sips of water during class, either. Yeah!

Discovering clothes I didn't know I had during a spring closet switch-out. It's so fun to have forgotten about certain items of clothing and then "rediscover" them when I change out my winter wardrobe for spring/summer.

Comedy Club Delays Day 7

Having missed yesterday's post (once again), I owe another double-dose of 3x thanks today. Here are my three belated thanks for Day 7:

Being included in R___'s birthday present! As a pre-birthday present, his sister K___ took us to Gotham Comedy Club last night to see Fortune Feimster perform. A great time was had by all.

Eyebrow threading. It makes my eyebrows look nicer than when I pluck them myself, and best of all, Indian ladies charge less for eyebrow threading than Asian ladies do for eyebrow waxing. True story.

Successful email attachments. I'd rather complain about the slow IT response time at work, but instead I'll just be grateful that when they finally responded to my "ticket request" about being unable to attach anything to my outgoing emails, they were able to fix it in all of five minutes. Again, it makes me wonder how anyone ever got work done before email. Well, I guess for one thing, they probably didn't spend 75% of their day answering email. . . !

Work-Themed 3x Thanks

Day 4, with a bit of a work theme to start off the week.

My coworkers have a sense of humor. Not too sure how else I'd get through a day full of "Sorry for the interruption, but an office that is not yours is having technical difficulties with a system you don't use," emails without tearing my hair out.

A Guide to Academia already has four 5-star reviews on Amazon.com. For whatever reason, I've taken an unusually vested interest in promoting this book, so I really want to see it sell well.

My boss is very cool and doesn't have a problem letting me take vacation days on short notice. He also has a sleeve--so yes, he's pretty cool.

Safety First! 3x Thanks

Day 3, the theme of which is: Physical Safety.

A___ emerged with life and limb from his bike race today. His bike may not be able to say the same, but as my parents always say, "Vehicles can be replaced. You can't."

R___ returned safely from his nighttime revelry last week. That makes me sound more like his mother than his girlfriend, but I was relieved!

I biked from Prospect Park to the World Trade Center without falling into a pothole, being sideswiped by a bus, or crashing into a pedestrian. Considering that the ride includes a sizable stretch of Flatbush Ave and winds through Chinatown, I always thank my lucky stars when I make it to the end in one piece. Today was no exception.

Hot Yoga Thought

For those of you unfamiliar with hot yoga (also known as "bikram"), let me explain the basic goals of a class:

Task 1) Stay inside a room that is kept at 105 degrees Fahrenheit for 1.5 hours.

Task 2) Breathe only through your nose for the entire class.

Task 3) Bend your body into unnatural shapes using muscles you never knew existed.

Task 4) Try not to drink water.

Task 5) . . . don't pass out.

Over the last few months, I have attended hot yoga classes a number of times, and I can tell you from experience that it doesn't get easier with practice. You may be able to stretch and extend farther in the poses, but it never ever feels easier.

Some days you feel like you're going to faint from heat and exhaustion the moment you walk in the room. Other days, you breathe smoothly and have no problem standing through all 12 poses (you stand/balance for 12 poses and then sit/lay down for 14 poses). Occasionally you can trace your bodily sensations back to sleep or diet, but most of the time, how you feel is simply . . . how you feel.

Whatever kind of day you're having, however, you're always going to feel hot and sweaty. Period.

Now, I understand that the purpose of yoga is to meditate, to focus one's attention inward. However, I'm human, a competitive human, so I sometimes can't help letting my eyes roam across the mirrors in front of me to see how others are doing.

The level of performance differs from class to class, as does the demographic. There are only two constants: the average age of any class probably lands somewhere in the late 20s, and if someone is going to "fail" the practice, it will be a man.

There is no real definition of "failing" a hot yoga practice, so I will tell you what I think qualifies:

1. Trying to leave the room. Newcomers are told repeatedly that regardless of how they feel throughout the class, they must stay in the room; it is healthier for their bodies, and the abrupt change of temperature will actually make them feel worse if they leave.
2. Sitting or laying in a non-yoga pose, panting through the mouth. Newcomers are told repeatedly that it is normal to feel overheated or woozy. If the sensation is too much, they are told to stand still and breathe. If that is too much, they should sit down on their knees or cross-legged. If even that is too much, they should lie on their back with their legs together, arms at their sides, head to the front of the room and feet to the rear. At all times, they should take small sips of air through the nose. As the instructor repeats time and time again, breathing through the mouth will actually make them feel hotter.
3. Requiring the teacher to come to their aid. This can mean the teacher escorts them back to their mat if they try to leave the room, pours water on their pulse points to cool them down, or otherwise attends to them considerably more than anyone else in class in a way that does not advance their yoga practice.

I would very much like to be more sympathetic toward these men, but they are almost always young, physically fit specimens who look like they could lift a 50 lb. dumbbell with their ring finger. When I see them outwardly displaying the same suffering I feel, I like to imagine that the girl on the mat next to them is their girlfriend, and that after class she'll shake her head and say, "See? And you said yoga wasn't exercise."

Bad Days, Bad News, and Bad Stories: The Emotional Game of “Telephone”

Imagine a game of telephone: you sit in a circle with your friends and one person thinks of a message. She then whispers it to the person next to her, who whispers it to the person next to him, and so on, until it reaches the last person in the circle. That person then says the message aloud, and everyone laughs at how different it is from what the initial message was.

Bad days (and the bad emotions they generate) create an effect that is sort of like a game of telephone. Mr. A has a bad day. That night, he comes home and tells his wife, Mrs. A, what a bad day he had. He rants and raves and performs what we typically call "venting." Mrs. A feels so badly listening to him, that the next morning when she goes for a walk with her neighbor Mrs. B, the whole story comes gushing out. She cries on Mrs. B's shoulder, and then goes about the rest of her day not exactly forgetting the whole incident from the night before, but at least feeling a little better. After their walk, Mrs. B has a lunch date with her friend Mrs. C, and Mrs. B's outburst is fresh in her mind, so she tells Mrs. C. At this point, all the anger and sorrow has ebbed from the story; Mrs. B and Mrs. C. feel a bit of pity for Mrs. A and her husband, but they are easily able to shrug and go their separate ways. Later that night, when Mrs. C is sitting at dinner with her husband, trying to think of something to fill the silence at the table, she recalls the story Mrs. B told her and, in a very "You won't believe this" way, gives her own recount. She is so melodramatic in her retelling that Mr. C laughs out loud.

And there you have it: the end of the emotional game of telephone. An event causes an emotion that unleashes a story that transforms that emotion and shifts it from one polar opposite of the emotional spectrum to the other.

These emotional transformations, from sorrow to anger or anger to hilarity, are only possible because the emotions become stories and the stories are told and retold. Ultimately, the transformation is in the telling.

My Boyfriend Dresses Better Than Me (and other things I've noticed recently)

You know those things that have been there all along, unnoticed until suddenly--wham!--they hit you out of the blue? I have been experiencing a lot of these lately. For instance:

The other night--like on so many nights--my boyfriend R___ and I went out to dinner. It was not an extravagant affair; we spent most of the evening hemming and hawing over what we wanted to eat, and then finally at 8pm, we peeled ourselves off of the futon and walked to a restaurant less than two blocks away. When we arrived and sat down, I took a good look at R___. He was wearing approximately the same clothes as he wears to work every day: a striped button-down shirt, navy blue slacks, and sandals (which, when going to work, he substitutes with dress shoes). I, meanwhile, was wearing dirty sneakers, gray sweatpants, and a T-shirt from a basketball camp I attended back in 2000. That is when the full realization came to me: my boyfriend dresses better than I do. I still haven't decided if that's good for him (he dresses very well!) or bad for me (I dress very pooly). Then again, it could also be bad for him (he dates a slob) and good for me (I date a fashionable dude). I haven't decided yet.

Another realization came to me this morning, on the subway. As often happens, the train i needed to take was operating on a delay, which meant that when it arrived, I and the nearly hundred other commuters waiting on the platform faced the ever-pleasant task of jamming ourselves into an already-overstuffed train. As I mashed myself between suited shoulders and looked for the nearest railing to grip, I made eye contact with a young, petite Asian woman who happened to be pressed up against my chest. She was also looking for something to hold onto, but whereas I merely reached over a few shoulders and took a hold of the metal ceiling rod, she had nothing. Stuck like she was, in the center of the train car, she could not reach from her 5'2" height to grasp any of the surrounding railings. And that's when I realized: on the subway--in spite of how much greasy hair I might have to smell--taller is better.

One more realization came to me out at dinner the other evening. I ordered miso soup as an appetizer, and when it arrived and I began to slurp it up from my Chinese spoon, I started to think: what was really in this soup? Three or four tiny little cubes of tofu (each smaller than a cube of sugar), three lonely pieces of seaweed, a few chopped pieces of scallion, and a bowlful of broth. I happen to have my own container of miso paste at home (which is what you use to make the broth), and that cost me four or five dollars. If you go to the right bodega, scallions can be fifty cents a bunch, and even tofu is not that expensive. Yet, here I was in this restaurant, drinking down the dregs of a two-dollar cup of soup that probably cost twenty-five cents to make. If my soup was marked up 300%, how much must the restaurant be making on a tuna roll, or shrimp teriyaki, or cabbage stir-fry? Yet going out to eat gives me a destination, even an "event," if you will; it makes me feel as though I accomplished something, simply because I left my apartment. This was what I suddenly realized: when I go out to eat, I'm not really paying for the food; I'm paying for the experience.

The New York Flux

I love New York City (and the New Jersey boroughs of Hoboken and Jersey City, both of which are pretty much extensions of NYC, in my opinion). I love the energy, I love the diversity, I love the availability, and most of all, I love the people.

Of course, I don’t love all of the people. I definitely do not love the people who walk four abreast on the sidewalk and glare as if I am in their way as I struggle to haul three gigantic, overflowing bags of laundry past them up the street. I do not love the people who stand outside bodegas, bars, or restaurants and blow cigarette smoke directly into my eyes as I pass by on the sidewalk. I do not love people who allow their children ride hilly-nilly around the street and run into me on their scooters, and I also do not love people who ask me how to do something and then, as I am telling them, act as if they already know the answer.

Alternatively, I do love people who agree to get up before the sun rises on a Saturday morning to ride bikes or go swimming. (And I especially love those people when they offer to pick me up in their car!) I love people who say, “Yes you can,” and, “I believe in you,” and, “Thank you for working so hard on this.” I love people who selflessly offer to come to my apartment and help me snake my stuffed-up toilet, and people who drive me to Home Depot to pick out supplies to repair a hold in my apartment wall. I love people who are willing to lend me shoe polish, yoga mats, and a whole variety of other odds-and-ends that I am lacking. I love people who love to go on “coffee walks” at work just to be outside and catch up on each other’s lives. I love people who care about the things I care about.

Living in New York (okay, okay, New Jersey, but like I said, Jersey City counts), I have had the opportunity to meet all of sorts of people from all over: people from Israel, Australia, Italy, Japan, China, Canada, California, Wisconsin, Queens (NY), and Long Branch (NJ)--all of whom are gathered right here in this one spot to live and eat and exercise and smile. Nowhere else in America--or maybe even the world--would this be possible.

With so many people gathered from so many other cities and states and countries, however, there is an inevitable flux. People come; people go. Some visit for a week, others stay for a year or two or three. Eventually, though, it seems that everyone leaves.

I am not an exception to this trend. At two-and-a-half years, I have been here longer than some, although probably not most. In that time, I have formed relationships with coworkers and fellow athletes that I would not trade for the world. Yet, I cannot envision myself staying in this place any longer than five years. If I do stay for the full five, most of my friends will have come and gone. At that time, I will follow their examples: taking a week or two to check activities off of my “bucket list,” give away most of my belongings, and say the most lasting farewells that I can.

I do not look forward to that time, nor do I dread it; I simply know it is coming. Yet selfishly, I hope my time comes earlier rather than later, because I find it easier to wave farewell from the balcony of a ship setting sail than to wave while standing behind, on the shore.