Waiting for Godot...on Valentine's Day.

Today was a good day.

Honestly, it didn't start that way.  It didn't truly start turning into a good day until intermission. 

Wait…intermission?  Intermission for what? 

Godot.

Waiting for Godot.

My favorite play.

No matter where you are in life you can find something that makes sense to you. A line or two, a look exchanged between the players. The pace of the show is such that you don’t get a whole lot of time to relish in the moment before you’re plunged into the next. I love it.

Tonight. Tonight was good.

Today. Today was not so good. 

I woke up out-of-sorts. I got my kids off to school and attempted to go about my normal routine.  When I found myself reading the same email for the third time and still not comprehending what I was reading I finally gave in.

I went to the kitchen and mixed up a batch of mint chocolate-chip ice cream.  Once it was ready I poured myself a new cup of coffee (it was only 10 in the morning), dished up a bowl of ice cream and plopped on the couch.

Obviously today was bothering me.  Over the past year or so I've become very self-aware and I knew I needed to poke this bruise until I figured out why it was there.  Otherwise I was just going to fret all day.

Before you say, “Duh Kristin, it’s Valentine’s day. The first one in 16 years that you don’t have someone.”

That wasn’t it.

Er, that wasn’t all of it.

I needed figure out what was going on in my head.

I did a lot of thinking, a lot of turning thoughts and feelings over in my mind, looking for the source of the unhappiness.  I talked a bit with a friend, talking through things was beneficial. So was the ice cream.  Really, ice cream helps.

It took two cups of coffee, two rather large bowls of ice cream and about four hours for me to sort thru what was at the center of it all.  Once I untangled it, I acknowledged the feelings and set them aside to be processed later. 

I’m not ignoring the feelings.  I’m not pushing them away, hiding from dealing with emotions. 

Instead, I’m saying, “Yes, I feel that.  I know why. Now is not the right time to work through it. It can wait.”

Needless to say I was emotionally exhausted. 

Really didn’t have anything left.  But my day was far from over.

Months ago, I told an actor-friend that I would go see them if they got cast show they were auditioning for.  Well, he got cast.  The show? “Waiting for Godot”

I hoped he’d forget that I had said I would go.

He didn’t.  He even offered to buy my ticket, if the ticket price was going to be a difficulty. 

Last week, when he reminded me of my promise to see the show, I told him that if I could find someone to watch the kids, I would go on Valentine’s Day.  At the time it sounded better than eating heart-shaped pizza with the kids and going to bed early. 

I honestly didn’t think I’d find anyone to watch the kids.

I did.

Why is this a big deal?  Why did I not want to go? 

Anxiety.  I have an irrational fear of doing new things.

And this was fraught with newness.

It’s not the paralyzing fear of a panic attack, but it can get pretty close to that.  I made the decision a long time ago that as long as my anxiety doesn’t interfere with my life, I wouldn’t have to take medication.  I haven’t taken medication for anxiety in about 8 years.

I knew I was going to be spending the evening fighting the “flight” part of my fight or flight reflex.  All that adrenalin pumping through my system?  Exhausting.

After the day I had digging around in my head and heart, I didn’t think I had it in me to deal with all that too.

Then he sent me a text.  Saying that he wouldn’t be able to say hi after the show, because someone important was going to see the show and give the cast feedback.

Well crap.  He hadn’t forgotten. And my kids were totally looking forward to pizza with Grandpa.

So I packed the kids in the car and took them to Grandpa’s. 

I went through the drive thru and got fries and a soda. (my comfort food)  Then I drove to the theatre.  The show was at the community college.  A big massive campus of concrete buildings and parking lots.

 At this point it was only about 6:15.  The curtain was 7:30.  I knew it was going to take me that long to get into the building. 

The whole drive to the theatre was breaking it down into small bits.  Okay, just find the right parking lot.  That’s it, find the right lot. 

Okay, great.  Found it. 

Now, all I have to do is park.  Don’t even have to turn off the car.  Just park somewhere where I can watch everyone else walk in.  Simple.  Easy.  Done.

I sat in my car.  Eating my fries and slowly watching the people get out of their cars and walk towards the theatre. 

At this point it gets a bit easier.  I’m already here. It would be stupid to drive away now.

At 6:58 my mind won the war and I got out of the car.  I walked through the concrete maze to the theatre.  My inner monologue slowed down a bit more and I no longer had to constantly talk myself through each step.

I bought a ticket.  I found a seat in the corner. 

I did it.  I made it in.

Now, just please, I don’t wanna figure out small-talk.  Please.

Let no one notice me. 

So I employed my Jedi mind tricks. “You don’t see me, you don’t want to sit next to me. You don’t see me.”  It worked – no one sat near me, or tried to talk to me.

And then the show started.  Within minutes I was transported away from my exhaustion and hurt. I was absorbed in the banter these two lived in. Who are they?  What are they?

Oh how I love this play. 

I started smiling at my friend’s first entrance and didn’t stop.   As silly as it sounds, I am so proud of him.  He was awesome.  He nailed it. Awesome, adorable, and amazing.

In the shows we’d done together he’d been a chorus member or had a bit-part.  This was totally different.  Was it a flawless performance?  No, but it was a perfect performance.

Intermission came.

Light came back up. I was still smiling.  Sitting there, I realized a hard truth.

This was my first time ever going to a function alone. And it was Valentine’s day.

No group of friends, no significant other.  I could see an endless stream of future nights like this, were I was alone, surrounded by a sea of people.

But I was having a good time. I was glad I came. I even managed small talk.

The show ended and I scurried back to my car.  I wish I could have seen him after to express how awesome I thought his performance was.  I totally wanted to bring him home and set him on the couch and ask him to recite his lines so I could dissect them, pull them apart to find all the truths hidden in his words. I wanted to ask him about how he got there.  The rehearsal process my favorite part of working in the arts.  It’s amazing, taking words on a page and turning them this beautiful, fully realized world.

That, and as bizarre as it sounds, I wanted a sweaty-actor hug. I wanted that post-performance happiness that can only be expressed in a hug.

Really the only thing that could have made my evening better was someone to come home to.  But then, if I had someone to come home to, the whole thing wouldn't have been such a big deal to me.

So, thank you. thank you to the friends I talked with this morning,  thank you to my dad for hanging out with the kids tonight. and thank you to my actor-friend - for being...you.

Skinny Minnie

I’m thin. 

Yup.

Thin. 

5’4” and 112 lbs.

I’m short and thin.  Petite.   

Always have been – with the exception of pregnancies and messing with meds to find the right balance.

Yes, I lost some weight over the last year or so, because of all the stress.  When I’m stressed I don’t eat, the thought of food makes me nauseous.

Truth be told I lost about 10 lbs over the last year.

That’s it.

Total.

10 pounds. 

Why am I thinking about weight?

I volunteered to work at a fundraising event for a friend a couple of weeks ago.  She directed this totally awesome “dancing with the stars” type fundraiser, and she recruited a group of us to help with the tech stuff.

We got to get all dressed up in cocktail attire and have fun.  Running spotlight in a little black dress?  It was awesome.

It was so much fun to be able to get dressed up and not worry about which tattoos were showing. (The company I usually work for has pretty conservative patrons, so I cover them all up when I’m working around the patrons there)

I looked good.

I felt great, I managed to do something more than a pony tail with my hair, and my little black dress was perfect. I even got to wear my grandmother’s rhinestone earrings and necklace.

One of the most awesome parts was when I walked past a guy and he completely lost track of what he was saying and had to apologize to the people he was talking to.  Made me smile.  At 35, mother of three, apparently I still look pretty darn good.

After making sure we were all set for the show, we wandered through the crowd to the bar. There was an assortment of appetizers and drinks to choose from.  Fancy smancy cheeses and sushi and other yummies.

I have a hard time eating in social situations – I don’t like crowds of people, they make me nervous.  I know this, so I made sure to eat dinner before I came. 

The friend I was wandering around with commented that he’d never actually seen me eat.  I looked at him in bewilderment.  I work with him, and I know I’m constantly eating something during rehearsals.   He quickly clarified – York peppermint patties, dum dums, granola bars and cuties.  He’d seen me eat those, but not “real” food.  I assured him I did actually eat.  Yes, the crap food I snack on during work is just that, snacks. He accepted my answer and that was that.

He made a couple other comments over the course of the three days we worked together, commenting on how tiny I am.  All were complimentary, but obviously he had noticed something was different. 

This was the most recent in a string of comments on my size. 

"Skinny Minnie" is a name I've heard directed at me.

At Christmas a brother-in-law made a comment about me needing to “fatten up” which I found hilarious, because at the time I had just finished eating the bacon.  ALL the bacon.  Mmm. Bacon.

I’ve thought about it for a long time.  Trying to figure out what’s different.

Here’s what I’ve come up with –

I’m healthier.  Period.

And my attitude shows that.

I exercise daily and drink a crap-ton of water.  Muscle weighs more than fat, so I am “smaller” but I still weigh the same.

I make sure that even if I’m not hungry I eat.  I keep a food journal.  It’s an app designed for those trying to lose weight, but I don’t use it that way, I use it to record what I’ve eaten and to track all the nutritional information.  ‘Cause sometime I forget to eat. I take a medication that has the side effect of killing my appetite.

I listen to my body.  Am I grumpy?  Tired?  Probably need to eat something. Headache?  Must not have been drinking water.

I’m healthy.  I have energy.  I smile easily.

Yes, I’m still under stress.  But I am maintaining my weight.

I work to maintain this weight, just as much as someone else works to lose weight. I'm working to be healthy.

So, it’s not about what you weigh – that’s just a number on a scale. 

It’s about how you feel, inside and out.

And I feel great.

i need only ask

I am not depressed.  I've been there, done that.

This is not that.

This is not the soul-numbing pit of grey despair with no end in sight.

This is simply life being hard.

I find the small joys in every day.  There are many. I pay attention.

I’m not talking about the “big picture” things – a roof over my head, food in the pantry. I am thankful for those things every day. I don’t take them for granted, but thankful and happy are different things.

I’m talking about the small things.  The things worth smiling about.

• Making a dinner that actually looked like dinner (meat, veggie, salad) that everyone liked.
• Listening to the eldest happily jabber on while she did the dishes.
• Getting in my van after vacuuming it and enjoying the lack of grossness.
• Scheduling coffee with a friend, and confirming that I get to work with some of my favorite people for three days next week.
• Realizing that I had just told the dogs to “HOLD” when I wanted them to freeze.  And having them actually stop. I laughed out loud at that one.

It is now a habit for me to take a moment and acknowledge the small joys as they happen.  A good habit for anyone to cultivate.

There are days that aren't so good.

Days when it is harder to see those small joys.

Days when I’m overwhelmed by my life and the things are missing from it.

Last year, I dealt with it on my own, internalized it. Not a very healthy way to deal with things; it led to stress piling on top of stress, which wasn't healthy.

Friday was one of those days.

As I pushed through the stress and despair, pulling the comforter off my bed for the third time that week because the damn cat peed on it again, I stopped. 

I stopped.  Physically. I let go of the comforter and it slid to the floor .

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared in the mirror.  

I’m creating a peaceful place in my room.  If you distill down what makes me happy, you’ll find it in my room.  A bookcase full of old friends, books I've read so many times that just looking at them makes me smile. Trinkets, treasures and memories that make me happy.  It's not done, but the bones are there.

Looking in the mirror I could see all these things.

I could see my Camelot quilt with the friendship and support written all over it, piled next to the bed where I’d been working on it the night before. 

I could see the button snake my smallest had made for me, the pet rock my boy made “You rock mom.  Get it?” and the mason jar full of pretty feathers my eldest had collected.

I could see pictures spread across the dresser where left them as I tried to figure out which ones to put up in the frames I had, and which ones could wait until I found new frames.

I could see the love and support. 

I closed my eyes. I could feel it.  I just needed to ask for it.

When I opened my eyes, I was looking at my hands in my lap.  Looking at the small rose tattooed on my wrist.  Remembering a conversation I’d had with a friend after getting it done.

I've learned that I have support from many people.  It’s there, I just need ask.

I wanted some support from this friend. A friend who has been an increasing support throughout this mess, but that I hadn't talked to in a while.  I hadn't ever asked them for support, it had always just happened organically.

But I wanted needed this friend’s support. 

Realizing that there was no way for anyone to know I was struggling unless I told them, I put myself out there.

I reached out.  I took a chance that I wouldn't get a response.

I sent a text.

I felt better just asking. I honestly didn't expect a response.

(If you don’t expect anything from anyone, then you can’t be hurt or disappointed.)

But I had asked.

I also knew there were others I could talk to, if this friend wasn't there.

But I had asked. 

A huge step for me. 

Actually asking for help.

I felt like I could keep breathing, I could keep moving.

About an hour later I got a response.

I could hear the words they had written. I could feel the shoulder to lean on.

And that’s all I needed.

I took a deep breath.  I could do this. I am a remarkable woman.  A strong person. 

All day I kept rereading the text, remembering our conversations, taking strength from those words.

I found the small joys Friday.

Saturday was easier, and Sunday better yet.

My heart is not bursting with joy, but one day it will.  Until then, I will continue to see the small joys.  I will continue to remember that I am not as alone as I feel, and that I have support. 

And I will remember to ask for it.