The Need to Compare

So there was a blood moon last night.

To someone, it looked like this.

In Dallas, it looked like this.

My sister even saw stars with hers.

Mine?  Mine looked like this:

Yep.  A fuzzy non-red light in the sky.

So, in my "misery loves company" mood (my eye is screaming.  Is it an ulcer?  Can I ignore it?) I posted this:

Turns out a lot of people had similar experiences-and we all laughed about it.

Why do we feel the need to compare?

Body weight, body types, health, diets and general fitness are hot topics of debate.

Let's not EVEN start with politics...!

We all choose our own path, and do what we believe is right for us.

I still vote, however.

But WHY, why the constant need to compare?

Some compare "to keep up with the Joneses" while others compare as a quality check for themselves.  Some compare to look for new ideas (me) and others compare out of envy or greed.  Yet still some compare to only find fault in themselves, and others to find fault with others.

My fitness quest began as a comparison-comparing one type of exercise to another, to find what was best suited to me.  As one with exercise issues, my comparisons were (and are) snarky at best.  As I prepare to re-enter the world of fitness, I must ask:  is it wise to compare?  Is it making me cynical, or is it scientific research?

Love.  THIS.

As I research time travel, major life tripping points and regrets from the standpoint as a historian, and not a psychologist, I am made more and more aware of the comparisons we make every day, and how they impact our lives.  We are bombarded with comparisons that make us question what we believe and why we believe, leaving some confused, some adamant and others wanting.  Is it our nature to compare, or has society made us into this?

Granted, not all comparisons are bad.  

Green or yellow?

But some comparisons are evil:

I hate even reposting this, it so makes my skin crawl.

How can one identify the when a comparison is good or bad in their life?  Especially when it comes to long held beliefs or perspectives?

That is the question.

Fitness Quest:  getting more real all the time.

Third Time's a Charm

This is it:  the wrap is off.

Yep, it's still buddy taped.  I'm keeping that as my safety net for a few more weeks.

For those of you who are convinced my right hand is permanently messed up (to put it mildly) I'm excited to say it's week EIGHT since the third break (and twenty-two since the first break, but hey, whose counting, right?) and I've been cleared to start "using" it.

Which means I'm still using my left hand for nearly everything.

The middle metacarpal of the right hand is NOT extremely hard.  I can vouch for that.

Quite honestly, the hand is in need of some help.  

 My fingers don't bend any further; they should touch my palm.

So I'm going to start using them, finally!

One of the unexpected side effects of this last break is the new skin sensitivity on my right palm.  Feeling things in my hand, or on my skin is a new sensation...and I'm very aware of it.  It's not a bad thing, and I'm wondering if this is how a baby feels newly out of the womb when it comes to touch.

My favorite type of touch.

So I'm thinking I need to start thinking about exercise in addition to hiking, and I need to figure out how to make the last quarter of the year better than the first three-quarters (lol-it's not hard compared to the last 22 weeks...!)

In reviewing the Quest blogs and videos, it's pretty apparent classical Pilates with Lucille is the logical choice.  The day I broke my hand I did a video earlier about it; and I'd love to regain that confidence.

I've picked myself up and I've dusted myself off.  Now just where did I leave that horse??

OK, maybe I haven't gotten up just YET... :)

Mental Fitness

So I'm not exercising except for a once a week hike, and adding handwriting to my broken right-hand therapy.

....and braiding.  I've tried braiding and having Lagertha hair.  No real success as of yet.

It's seven weeks since my third break; smacking my hand on a door handle last week had me in pain for 48 hrs as the hand cramped up.  Thankfully it got better in time for Fall Gathering.

Bad hair day.  Bad, bad hair day.  Also a rare appearance of that Arizona bad boy:  turquoise.

Today the cold I've had all week flared evilly, knowing it was my day off.  I worked on the time machine, with this immediate result:

Which was apparently no surprise to my hiking partner and co-conspirator in time travel.

While working on a section about life stumbling blocks I began to examine my personal stumbling block, as identified in my time machine.  Whenever I perceived personal rejection, I have an unreasonable desire to tell everyone about the rejection with the objective of being vindicated by them.  It's gotten me into trouble before, and today I realized its at the very heart of many problems I currently face.

Thankfully, coffee is NOT a problem I face.

Rejection.  It goes back to kindergarten, and "not playing well in groups."  Well, how can one learn to play in a group WHEN THE GROUP REFUSES TO PLAY WITH YOU?

My elementary school and birthplace of my lifelong struggle with rejection.

Indeed, ALL of my kindergarten memories are of the rejection of my peers with just one exception; the mid-year arrival of Hugh Tyler Ross, most likely because I saw him receive some rejection, too.  Every school yard pick'em ended the same:  I was chosen last.  Granted I wasn't gifted athletically (which I now believe to be the result of going right handed as a left-eye dominant ambidextrous youth, thank you broken right hand for that insight!) and I was set apart as "gifted" (but so were the popular kids, apparently I was the only nerd) but the rejection of my peers started early, and it never stopped.  Over time I developed different ways of handling it; being a voracious reader, I claimed to have travelled to many places I'd only read about; in middle school I was able to stretch these exaggerations into fanciful tales.  By high school I simply decided I was superior to these fools, and buried my face behind the latest Star Trek novel, all the while longing to belong.  In college I was starting to fit in (mostly because so many other misfits attended my college, right David?) but rejection still haunted me in early adulthood, and sadly, to this very day.

Unfortunately, it was The Knight of Physical Therapy's prolonged illness and eventual death when I picked up the habit of needing affirmation after rejection.  The last six weeks of his life were an endless battle to protect his rights, which I solely held as his medical power of attorney.  He had decided six months prior he wanted every possible treatment to prolong his life-we had a baby on the way, and he was determined to fight.  When he slipped into a coma, I was his voice...and everyone around me wanted to pull the plug.  Despite his written personal wishes and the fact he was in no pain, the doctors, his family and friends fought with me to change that decision.  I was only 24 years old at the time, and resolutely stood my ground to honor his wishes.  It was hell.

The rejection of me in those days was so complete, even my very life was threatened.  Family I thought loved me told me they hated me for following the written wishes of my husband on a notarized medical power of attorney document.  While I prayed for a miracle and spent every waking moment by his side, I was attacked the moment I was alone, told to face reality and let him go.  After every attack, I'd seek reassurance from those on "my side," thus beginning the life long stumbling block.  The doctors, who wholey assured me my husband was in no pain, with few exceptions still tended to agree that pulling the plug was sensible.  He wasn't going to recover (he had an inoperable brain tumor), so why prolong his death?

Because of what if.

What if he did recover?  What if he was accepted in the gamma knife trials?  What if they found a cure?

In the last year, 20 years too late for the Knight, they have.  The polio virus kills glioblastoma multiforme brain tumors.

The Knight knew of my time traveling prowess long ago.  His final gift to me was eliminating all the what if's; I have not a single regret concerning his final wishes.  It was love shown in its purest form, by a young 29 year old husband and new daddy.  "Do everything so you have no regrets when I'm gone," he had said, while spooned up behind me, his hands on my very pregnant belly.  The peace it gave me in the following months and years was truly a gift; despite the rejection of others at the time, I still have no regrets.

Gary Joseph Kreuz, aka My Beloved Frog (Kermit or Kermie.) I was his Piggy.

But the habit of needing immediate reassurance after rejection (real or perceived) was now securely a part of my psyche.  Looking back, I can also see I began to equate real love as the absence of rejection.  So when The King came around...

Let's just say that today has been a Very Deep Thoughts kind of day.

My fitness quest was started as a way to get my body in shape.  A broken hand has forced the quest in other directions.  Apparently, my mental fitness is getting a workout during the physical healing time.

Who knew time travel could change the future?

An Aunt's Love

Love is a call from a beloved aunt, months having gone by, and not a second has been lost.

Martha Ann McKinnon Marshall taught me unconditional love as a small child.  The eldest of my mom's eight sisters (mom was number five), Aunt Martha was a fixture in my life from my earliest journeys to the South.  I grew up in Michigan, my mother grew up in south Florida; nearly all of her family stayed there.  We managed a trip about every other year in my childhood, and always it was Martha who greeted us with the hugs and the excess love we had missed being in the north.  She became my pen pal at age seven; well into my twenties we still exchanged letters via the U.S. Mail.   

It was to her home I brought my first husband, and in her home I sought refuge after his death.  My home is decorated like hers, with an emphasis on family and the happiest things in life:  antiques, books and art.  Martha is a talented artist; the only artistic talent I've ever had was being able to combine colors despite her many attempts to teach me to draw or paint.  To this day, she shares a thirst for knowledge that sees her still working in a library in her mid seventies.  While we diverge politically, it shows the depth of  unconditional love:  one does not have to agree in order to love and accept the other.

Martha with oldest grandson Colton, many moons ago.

Love.  It becomes routine to express "I love you" but when the months go by and distance separates us from family, how is that love so easily sustained?  In marriage there's a need for reassurance and action, yet with some family the memories of past love shown sustains that love indefinitely.  With so many family members so far away, I never cease to be amazed by the instant unconditional love showered on me during visits.

Martha is the matriarch of such love; hearing her Boston/Southern accent I was immediately warmed to my very core.  Her words wrapped around me in a long distance hug; for a minute I was a child again, basking in the attention of a much loved aunt.

I adore being an aunt to Alex, Abby, Edward & Lizzy.  I can only hope that they always feel from me the love I feel from my Aunt Martha.

Pumpkins & Progress

All of my hairstylists (present and former) will tell you I have an obsession with copper locks.

My latest run in with red.

If it's fall, I want red hair.  No other time of the year do I sport this color; it's my own personal ode to pumpkins.

Because I despise pumpkin spiced lattes.

This was a good week; good plans made, and some new opportunities.  My broken toe stopped hurting, and I hiked three times with no air monster.  I even got an unexpected raise at work!  Yet I ended it on an off note; it was puzzling to me why such highs could produce a low.  In reflection, I noted my best days were days I made progress towards future plans:  actual action was taken.  My low days were days I looked for distractions, in finding none I sunk into the familiar unhappiness.

Progress; or "to walk."  I am reminded of a favorite scripture, Habakkuk 3:19.

"The Lord God is my strength [my source of courage, my invincible army]; He has made my feet [steady and sure] like hinds’ feet, and makes me walk [forward with spiritual confidence] on my high places [of challenge and responsibility.]" AMP

Progress.  Moving forward.  Distractions, while often nice and not a bad thing, do nothing to get us out of the bad place we've been in.  The focus need to be on the future, instead of the present.

Maybe so :)

In working with my time machine, I've learned a visit to the past can reveal major life stumbling blocks and impediments to future success.  A visit to the future can provide the catalyst and roadmap for that success.  The present, however, is where we trip up.  Focusing on the present and trying to muddle through the tough times, we turn to distractions as self medication.  Our attention should be on progress - moving closer to the goals we've laid.

My fascination with time popping up once again.

Time travel.  We're all doing it.  I've learned I can go backwards and forwards in my time, and change things in the present.  The only "what if" I can ever change lies in front of me each day; I can use my past and future together to make the best decision possible.

Last year, I met this Navy SEAL while flying.  I asked him what advice he had for my son, who had thought about becoming a SEAL.

"Just remember that everything they throw at you is designed to make you want to quit.  Then just don't quit."

Don't quit.  Don't stop.  Keep moving forward.  Progress.

The Force Awakens

At long last, things are moving in a better direction.

It's under 100!

Actually, I can't announce my plans yet, but I had a meeting today that brought me overwhelming peace and excitement.

Having a Skinny Piggy from Nastee Dogs helped immeasurably as well.

And a lecture on Amelia Earhart at Embry-Riddle with Lad was very reassuring.

Interestingly, my past self popped up to encourage me today.  Which is truly wild since I go back in time a lot-this is the first time my past visited the present.

Bawahahahaha!

Sorry!  Couldn't resist.

And then there was this:

I made it my Facebook cover photo:)

It was a Star Wars kinda night:

TK421 steampunked:)

Truth.

Even our conversations revolved around the Force.

Eventually the topic strayed...

Love my man-child.

Little Date.

Tomorrow:  no scissors (which maybe hard) and flame-tipped hair.

I cannot wait.

Hiking with a Broken Toe

Yeah, you read that right.

I broke my toe.

Except, really, it wasn't my fault!  Three different people stepped on my toe Saturday night.  THREE.

I did have sandals on.  But seriously!

Three!?!

Louella, Amber, Jess & I.  Sara should've been in this...maybe she is but I just can't find her?

So apparently I should avoid the Row for awhile since I've broken bones there twice.

Really.

I woke up Sunday thinking the tips of three of my toes had been cut off, turns out it's just the tip of my left big toe.  Nail is partly gone, it's fairly colorful.  Ibuprofen and a trim cut the pressure and pain, and I can walk without issue.

Hiking, however...

This was yesterday's hike.

At night, obviously.

I have this idea that we (the museum I work for) can lead tours on Halloween on the Constellation trails that share our parking lot.  So, Chris and I decided to test the feasibility. 

Oh, it's flipping creepy!

Can you see the Jolly Roger?  Pirates in Prescott!

I swear this looked like skeletal fingers...

Haha!  I'm the light at the end of the tunnel!

Yes, it was a ton of fun.  My toe only tweaked a few times, most noticeably when we walked through sand.  So I figured a family hike this morning would be fine, right?

Let's just say these two teenagers weren't as enthused as I was.

Sharing is still something they are working on.

Their dad thought it pretty funny.

Me?  Well, I was inverted...

Really I was.  It was a pretty cool move, man.

Let's just say the steepness of Thumb Butte was challenging... for my toe.

So hiking with a broken toe.  Constellation good, Thumb Butte bad.

Except.

No air monster.

Check this:  I didn't have to stop on the way up, and chatted the entire way.

My lungs were ok.  Much to my delighted surprise, I handled the hike with ease -breathing wise.

After only hiking once a week for two months (and easy hikes at that!) A lasting effect of my Fitness Quest:  fit lungs.

Broken hand, broken toe?  So what.

The Air Monster has been defeated!

  Joy.  I could breathe at the top! 

To celebrate?  I'm gonna flame dip my hair on Thursday.

Because I already steampunked my iPhone.