Solitude

I recently discovered Yoga on Tap at the Old Mecklenburg Brewery in Charlotte where you can get a yoga class and a beer for $5.  Beer and yoga?  Where do I sign up?  If I could rewrite the ever wholesome "My Favorite Things," it might sound something like this:

Flowing in yoga and sarcasm said,

Crispy fried bacon and reading in bed,

Foaming draft beer and the buzz that it brings

These are a few of my favorite things

Julie Andrews would be properly horrified, I'm sure.

Anyways, I went down to OMB last night to check out the class.  It was basically a warehouse with Christmas lights, candles, incense, a choir, and a thousand yogis flowing together.  We sang, held hands during savasana, and the instructor talked about helping our neighbor and getting "yoga stoned."  These are my people.  

Afterwards, I enjoyed a beer in the biergarten.  As I sat there contentedly watching the clouds drift across the sky by myself, it struck me that in my pre children days, I would have felt awkward and self conscious to do something like that alone.  In my younger days, I was a pack animal, feeling safety in numbers, but as I've gotten older I am comfortable to be on my own.  While everyone else seemed to know each other and were chatting amiably, I was happy to sit back and relax.  These days, I relish my solitude and enjoy the peace and quiet, allowing the world to continue around me while I slow down.  I had a great time people watching and day dreaming.  I left feeling recharged and ready to take on the challenges at home.

Empathy

The news has become overwhelmingly depressing: shootings, terrorism, murder, infidelity, hate, injustice.  Every day it's some new horror.  People have become so self absorbed that they lose sight of the humanity of their neighbors.  Certainly man's inhumanity to man has been an issue since the dawn of time, but it seems to be escalating at an astounding rate.

Technology is an amazing gift.  The Internet has made information and communication available instantaneously.  We can keep up with friends that we haven't seen in years, but are we really more connected?  I think social media has provided us with a false sense of intimacy.  We share our thoughts and pictures, but do we really know those people?  A real relationship has to be based on more substance or we end up feeling hollow and dissatisfied.  We often lose the chance to interact with the people around us because our heads are in our phones (I know I'm guilty of this).  We look for validation in the number of virtual likes, while ignoring opportunities to engage in meaningful dialogue with the people sitting next to us.  We are losing the ability to relate to one another on a basic human level.

If you've ever read the comments section of any online article or blog, you have witnessed the scathing remarks.  Behind the veil of anonymity offered by a keyboard, people feel emoboldened to spew hate that they would never dare speak if they were forced to look that person in the eye.  They forget that the person on the other end of the computer is a living breathing human with feelings.  

I think the solution has to take place at the individual level.  Most people are not capable of changing hearts and healing wounds on a grand scale.  I think each person has to do their part to love their neighbors.  I believe parents are on the front lines of this war.  We have to recognize our responsibility in raising the next generation.  We need to make sure they feel heard and learn to channel anger into something productive.  We must put down our phones and turn off the television.  We need to demonstrate empathy, teach them to identify feelings and communicate, take them outside to experience nature, show them what it means to stand up against prejudice and hate, be kinder than is expected, go the extra mile for our neighbors, pay respect to everyone, even those with whom we disagree.  We need to raise them to recognize and honor the dignity of each and every person.

Heroine

I've finally found my perfect literary doppelgänger and her name is Claire Beauchamp.  She is the heroine of the Outlander series.  The television series has used sex to advertise the show, but it has great depth.  The characters are complicated, layered, and multifaceted.  Diana Gabaldon weaves a thick lush fabric of romance, adventure, political intrigue, historical fiction, and fantasy.  Many Outlander fans are distracted by the sex appeal of the leading man.  Let's get it out of the way.  Yes, Jamie is the handsome, rugged and self-sacrificing hero who is fully devoted to his wife.  And he looks damn good in a kilt.  Swoon.  But it is the character of Claire who resonates so deeply with me.  She's anything but the typical fainting damsel in distress.  She swears and holds her liquor, and is presented as the equal of her husband.  She's stubborn, intelligent, strong willed, passionate, and unflinching while still maintaining a vulnerability. 

I saw a challenge the other day to list your 15 favorite books.  Here are mine:

Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

Anne of Green Gables series by L. M. Montgomery

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Little Women by Lousia May Alcott

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling

The Sun Also Risses by Ernest Hemingway

Farenheight 451 by Ray Bradbury

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Game of Thrones series by Gerorg R. R. Martin

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I've noticed a common thread; eight of the books are written by female authors with the main characters being strong women who defy traditional gender roles.  They have an opinion and a voice.  They are not afraid to be seen as being unladylike for speaking their minds.  They are more than just background and support for the male characters to play off of.  Naturally, I would relate to the rebels, the women who disrupt the status quo and challenge their male counterparts.   I've certainly been called a trouble maker.  In fact, my husband's earliest memory of me is when I stormed out of a packed lecture hall after my psychology professor made some absurd political statements.  I yelled, "this is ridiculous," over my shoulder as I slammed the door.  So anytime he accuses me of being difficult, I remind him that he knew that long before we ever started dating.  To quote Claire, "I'm not the meek and obedient type."  Yes!

On Hair and Other Important Issues

I've been reading a lot lately.  I'm a creative junkie and thoughts are bouncing around in my head like a ping pong game that I'm playing by myself with far too many balls (insert inappropriate joke here).  So, I'm going to talk about something really meaningful like my hair.  

I've always identified with Jo from Little Women.  She was the oldest of the March sisters: blunt, feisty, independent, brainy, a tomboy, a writer .  She is described as plain except for her hair, her "one true beauty" as her gorgeous, fashionable, social butterfly little sister (Hey, I have one of those too!) described it.  I don't consider myself to be particularly vain, but I do think of my hair as one of my better features.  So, imagine my feeling of horror and utter betrayal when I woke one morning to discover not a stray gray hair or two, but a whole patch, which sprung up right in front.  I have lovingly named said patch for a certain child... if you've spent more than 5 minutes with my family I'll bet you can guess to whom I am referring.  When I pointed this out to my husband and asked him if it were gray or blonde (serious denial, folks), he looked terrified.  There was no safe answer that would not going to draw my ire.

Unlike Jo, who cut her hair to sell for the sake of her family, I chopped my hair off in what can only be described as a moment of temporary insanity.  I have since cursed myself and vowed to never do that again.  At the time, I had just had a baby and I was hoping for a simpler more manageable hairstyle.  Wrong.  Not only was shorter hair not easier, but I missed my long locks.  While I realize that what I look like isn't particularly important, it's jarring to look in a mirror and not be able to reconcile the image in your head with your reflection.   Who is this stranger?

Now I am in the panstakingly slow process of growing it out.  So I have a graying mullet.  It's magnificent.  It has reached this awkward phase where it is long enough to hang in my face, but not long enough to put up in a ponytail yet.  Thank goodness headbands are in style (or so I think, please don't correct me if I'm wrong).  

I can fairly be described as the least patient person in the world.  I want results and I want them yesterday.  I imagine God is laughing at me as I try to deal with this mess that I created.  But, I think that's life.  I think that I personally create about 90% of my own problems and then become frustrated with myself.