A Year Ago

back in timeA year ago, I got some news that surprised me. Someone tried to tell me I wasn’t good enough for something. Well, the truth was, they did tell me that they didn’t think I was good enough for something. He basically told me I didn’t make the cut.

After I got over the initial shock since I found the assessment completely unfounded, I thought about the deliverer and I thought about the actual outcome of this news and its impact on the rest of my life. I realized that the deliverer wasn’t someone I admired who’s opinion I needed to listen to and the outcome I thought I wanted was absolutely unnecessary to the goals I had in my own life. Another outcome would have allowed me to check off a box that didn’t need checking in order to prove I live up to arbitrary standards of a system that’s becoming more archaic daily.

But rejection is never fun no matter what perspective you can later spin it into. It can bother you. And, despite the fact that I am now more relieved and well-aware that world is not one I want to be a part of, this one still bothered me for a while.

I mean, you want to get in an invite to the party even if you have no intention of attending.

So I was going to write a whole article in response going into detail about all the things I’ve done in the year since this day. But when this day neared, I lost my edge to write a vengeance-filled post bragging about all my accomplishments. First of all, it’s not really my style. And secondly, I just didn’t care enough. The truth is, this mattered so little to me by the time the day came and went, that I just let it go and forgot about it. I was too busy actually doing the things that I love to take time out of my day to focus on telling people that I’m doing the things that I love.

And when I realized I missed my chance for my year-later response, I couldn’t find a shred of me that really cared. It all felt so long ago and my life has been progressively getting better, more fulfilling, and happier since that day.

When the issue comes up, of course I’m candid and honest about how I felt about the whole situation. But the underlying truth of the matter is that I care about it a lot less now that I thought I would. Which, for the most part, is liberating. But a little part of me still wishes I were angry so that I could let their rejection continue to fuel me.

But I’m not angry. While initial frustrations and rejections can make for good tinder for a fire, they ultimately cannot sustain the flames. They can provide a little help making it burn brighter, but they flare up and burn out quickly. It’s the thick logs and constant care that keep a fire burning. For me, those thick logs are my own passion for creativity and storytelling, and the constant care is the diligence and consistency with which I approach turning my passion into a daily, viable reality.

To put it bluntly, I realized that the best way to show ’em up is to show ’em you don’t even need ’em. Cuz you don’t.


Yesterday, I went with my mother to her favorite form of exercise…Zumba

Now, I don’t know if you guys know this…but Zumba is an experience.

First of all, for whatever reason, old people love it. It’s as confusing as why old people love Florida. Anybody can live in Florida. Lots of non-old people do. But it’s known for having a bunch of crotchity old ladies around. Zumba is the same way.

It was me, my mom, another “Red Hat Society” lady and the instructor (who was much closer to my age than the other ladies). And- to be fair- it was actually a pretty good cardio session. The instructor approaches it as a workout meant to burn calories and improve your fitness, which was cool. Plus, she was one of the good instructors who has a great time and inspires you to just let go and let loose. She does the moves whole-heartedly but doesn’t stare at you to make sure you get them right. She figures you’ll watch her and catch on. Which you do. Eventually. Sort of.

I always get self conscious in those classes. Even when I’m the youngest and/or fittest in the room, I’m convinced that I have to over-achieve. It’s dumb but it’s my mind set. This instructor was really good about not making me feel silly when I was clearly off beat and spinning when nobody else was.

And that happened often. Especially during the Cumbias and Reggaeton songs. I couldn’t find those beats for the life of me. But during the Indian/Irish remix…I tore it UP. And the best part about the music? All the songs are specifically created for Zumba classes. So if for a second you forget you’re doing Zumba, the song will likely remind you at some point.

My mom and I both got a great workout. She’s 65 years old and still active. I love it. And I’m glad she’s found a woman in the area who’s really nice and gives her such a fantastic opportunity for a good class. There’s nothing quite as inspiring as seeing your 65-year-old mom shake her hips to a Pitbull remix while smiling.


I don’t like Spinning

I’m just gonna throw this out there.

I don’t like spinning. I’ve never liked spinning.

Normal biking makes me nervous. I’m too neurotic about traffic to bike in the city. I’m too anxious about getting lost or getting chased to bike in the country.

I don’t like the isolation on your legs that biking requires. It hurts my legs.

I don’t like the yelling in spinning classes. It makes me feel bad about myself.

I don’t like that it makes my butt numb no matter how many times I do it.

I don’t like that I’m supposed to be trusted to turn my resistance up and down on my own. I will not do it. I will fake like the resistance is really high when it is not because it already feels really hard to me, I don’t want to make it any harder.

I don’t like that we’re pretending to go up and down rolling hills in a dark room with loud music playing.

I don’t like the instructor telling me “up” and “down” and “up” and “down.” I like to take things at my own pace.

I don’t like how close I am to the other people in class. They make it harder for me to slack off. I don’t want that motivation.

I would rather run for two hours than spin for two minutes.

I don’t like spinning.

And you can’t make me.