The Station. A Happy Day.

Welcome to my 200th post, completely unintentionally!

Sometimes I think I only post about anxious, stressful, crazy days. Just because I think it’s nice to know you’re not alone in those days, in those feelings. But then I find myself not wanting to share the good days, the ones that are good for no reason other than just … waking up on the right side of the bed. Those days when no one can really get under your skin, where everything that could be annoying is just funny. Zen days when you find perfect peace in shavasana, in relaxation, at the end of yoga.

This evening I’m remembering to relish the happy day, the good run, the expansive quietness, the soft, lyrical music.

There’s this poem, long quote, short essay that I’ve been meaning to share really for a long time. It’s called The Station. One of my fellow lineheads, counselor, that summer gave this to me and a few other women she had worked with. That summer I was at a station—a really good, full, happy moment in my life. Sometimes I think about this piece, during good moments, on good days, during good months, and I am sure that there are lots of stations that we hit as we travel through life, where everything feels … right.

I try to remind myself to not rush through each station, because who knows how long I’ll be stopped there before I start up moving through life again.

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This or That … Chocolate(vegan) Cupcakes

This is a face I am certain about. This Mira, I know, it’s an easy decision. I don’t waver. It’s never, “Should I love this dog or not?” It probably has something to do with those ridiculous eyes.

With most everything else in life I am a very indecisive person. I sit on the fence a lot. Doesn’t that sound painful? Who even came up with that phrase? I want to be more decisive just so I don’t have a fence up my butt.

Anyway.

I like to have things both ways, because most of the time I can’t decide which way is best, tastiest, most advantageous. For instance, would I want to make my home in the city or the country?

Right now my home is in the city. I’m 10-15 minutes from great restaurants, a grocery, the cleaners, parks and museums, the highway … When I say I’m going to run to the store, I mean I will be there and back within twenty minutes if I know exactly what I want (which, let’s be honest, rarely happens). I can ride my bike to the farmers market.

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I love living in a neighborhood. It’s got character. I smile at people as I walk the dog along the tree-lined sidewalk. We gossip about the yard work the couple up the street is doing, and we curse the damn lady who walks her dog without a leash.

At the same time, I crave long and quiet roads, houses with huge yards, big inky black night skies filled with endless stars. I think this side of me stems from camp in the mountains tucked away in a stoplight-less town of Tuxedo. I want to sit in my house with the windows open and not hear cars drive by. I want to not have to close my curtains at night to block out the street lights.

Biking north of the city with friends.

This or that?

I’d like to be a vegetarian, to make that commitment, that decision. I don’t love meat (besides bacon, oh dear God), and I am sure OK with eating lots of vegetarian foods, such as tofu, beans, lentils, and vegetables. I just can’t make the decision. Because what if it’s wrong? What if one day I want a burger? What if one day I want to run to the grocery five minutes away to get a pound of chicken salad? (I may or may not have done that this weekend.) So I go back and forth. I rarely cook meat in the house. Chicken or fish, the occasional beef. I only buy meat when I know how and where it’s been raised. Then I feel better about eating it. Always in moderation. Does that make me a semi-vegetarian?

This or that?

If making decisions was as easy as eating these chocolate(vegan) cupcakes, then I’d have bought a house somewhere totes rad and would be a super vegetarian.

Yeah, they’re vegan. That means no eggs, no butter, no  milk. That means in my mind kinda healthier. That means in my mind that I am being a vegan for the two minutes it takes me to eat one of these. So I feel good. Like I’ve made a good decision.

Now, don’t expect these cupcakes to taste like regular chocolate cupcakes. They don’t quite. The texture is all around different, and that’s not a bad thing. They’ll stay tasty and edible for a week before they start to dry out/get weird. And they have a secret ingredient in them—avocado! I’ve made them a couple of times for audiences of mixed varieties, and everyone has enjoyed them.

My advice? Make the decision to make these for the vegan in your life who can commit to a lifestyle, the on-the-fencer who wishes she could commit to a meatless life, and the lover of all things non-alternative who you think should branch out. They’ll all love these cupcakes.

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Worrying.

I’ve always been a worrier. I think it runs in my family. During my camp counselor years I drove down to North Carolina each summer by myself. My mom, the never-ending worrier, made me call her every hour. My dad, he calls himself a Jewish mother. Jewish mothers stereotypically worry. A lot.

Worrying can vary. It can be picturing the worst thing that could happen. The dog unexpectedly jumping into the road and getting hit by a car. The house catching on fire. Planes with loved ones aboard crashing. (When Michael went to Sweden in June I stayed up all night following his plane on my Kayak flight tracker app. The plane stopped moving around Greenland. Let’s not talk about what went through my brain. Turns out Kayak won’t track planes in international waters.)

Worrying can also manifest itself in anxiety, in panic attacks. These can pop up at any time. Small and insignificant things can turn into huge chest-tightening, breath-shortening, mind-overtaking worries. They whirl around in your head until you are convinced they will cause the destruction of the world, until you are worked up into such a state that it takes a miracle to bring you down.

Notice something? These worries, they’re not real. I mean, they’re real, but not to the monumental state I make them. I’m really good at making my worries into mountains. You know what made me realize this? A silly sign on Pinterest.

 

I don’t want the things that I worry about to come true. I don’t want to worry. So why do I? No one in their right mind would pray for something they don’t want. So why do I blow my worries out of proportion? Next time I start to worry I’m going to remind myself of this poster, and I’m going to pray for something I do want instead of worrying for something I hope to never happen.