Thank You, Twitter

As I mentioned in a previous post, it has been very difficult for me to blog lately. For some reason or another, I’ve been having trouble finding words that feel good enough to make public on KSL. However, I may have found just the perfect platform to bridge this gap: Twitter.

Originally, I hated Twitter. It made absolutely no sense to me: Who the hell can say what they’re thinking in 140 characters or less? And why would I publish “small”, simple thoughts to the world? And why would anybody care to read them?

My attitude changed one fateful day while I was stuck in traffic on my beloved commute. One hour and twenty-five minutes to travel 8 miles was just too much to handle by myself and I needed to vent. I’m not taking about scream-your-head-off and flip-the-bird type of venting. No, I needed to see how I was feeling, in writing, and not just feel it.

So, I Tweeted exactly how I felt:

There was no profound thinking involved, no editing or thesaurus used, no holding back, no hyperlinking. I didn’t care (or really know) who was reading my Tweets, if anyone at all. All I knew was that I was a girl on the edge and I had nothing to lose.

My recent stint on Twitter has turned out to be the perfect channel for me to aggregate and collect my sporadic and oftentimes disparate ideas and feelings, which is an often source of anxiety and contention when publishing work to my blog. But Twitter allows me to forget the rules and etiquette of formal blogging (and even formal thinking, for that matter). Twitter allows me the opportunity to respond real time, no filtering, no waiting until I get to my desk. Twitter forces me to respond, write, and reply from my gut.

Twitter allows me to be me.

Runners World

Throughout my entire adult life, I have been trying to become a runner. I thought that the only way that I would get into shape and shed a few LBs would be to become a runner – like everyone else – and get skinny – like everyone else. To quote David, “I’ve never known a runner who isn’t skinny”. So, off I went – buying athletic gear that made me look like a runner, buying books that made me think like a runner, and even signing up for a 5k or two.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), running never stuck. The closest I got to being a runner was when I became a walker. For about 6 months, I walked strolled around my historic neighborhood every evening, admiring the cute little bungalows and waving to my neighbors. I loved it. But I never loved running. I never have. And I’ve finally admitted to myself that I never will love running. Ever. This might sound like a very mundane realization, but it was monumental for me. I finally dropped the act of trying to be someone I’m not (a runner) and I stopped trying to love something that I don’t (running) all for the sake of looking a way I never will (skinny).

So, I took up Crossfit instead.

I know: fad exercise… just like TaiBo, just like Zumba, just like P90x. But the difference is that I like it. Unlike running, Crossfit allows me to complete different exercises according to my skill level with a group of people my age. Crossfit allows me to feel better about my health and my coordination… and my ability to jump on boxes and flip tractor tires. Crossfit allows me to finally enjoy exercising.

So what I’ve learned in my exercise journey is that you can’t be someone you’re not, you can’t love something you don’t. And when you decide to do the thing that scares you a little but that you love, something good happens. That’s not scientific or anything, but I’m pretty sure it’s true.

Guernica

Guernica

The world today doesn't make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?

-Pablo Picasso

à emporter

à emporter (ah em-pohr-tar)

-A French word that means to take, remove, or tear away
-To carry along or beside away from the original destination
-Used to describe cafe food that you take away from the restaurant

I remember this day in Paris:

It was a crisp day in August in the City of Lights. The Fat Tire office had slowed down quite a bit, there were less tourists on the streets, and the neighborhood children had gone back to school. The air had become cool, the sun's rays were less intense - which made the light and shadows on the ground and buildings become smudged, almost like a Monet or Renoir.

I was desperate that morning to be out and about in the City: to feel the energy of Paris, to ride my bike through the 15th arrondissement, to be starred at and judged by the wonderful French people, to peak out over the residential buildings and see the Eiffel Tower glancing my way. Serendipitously, the office staff wanted tall Cafe Lattes from the local Starbucks and I willingly - no, enthusiastically - offered to pick them up and bring them back - à emporter.

Ride or Die Chick

I am a "yes" person. Not in a bad way or an illegal way. All I'm saying is if you have: an idea, a dream, a trip you'd like to go on, a new restaurant in mind, a book you loved, an invention idea you want to create - I'm all about it. If you need: a shopping buddy, a pen pal, help painting your walls, a babysitter, someone to keep track of who gave you what gift at your baby shower, a writing coach, accountability partner, recommendations for Paris/Turkey/Germany - I'm your girl. Maybe you want: to talk politics or business or art, an honest opinion, a warm hug, a cold beer, a good laugh, porch time, a deep conversation - me too.

What I'm trying to say is: I'm in. I want to do it too. I want it all. I want to seize each moment, every opportunity, each relationship, all my time - and squeeze it for every last drop possible.

You in?

FOIL

Remember the good, ol’ FOIL method? You know, First, Outter, Inner, Last? The FOIL method is the standard method of multiplying two binomials in an algebraic expression (whatever that means).

I thought about the FOIL method the other day and how much I enjoyed learning and applying that method to problems back when I was in high school. Math is chalk full of rules and laws and nemonic devices that some genius invented long ago allowing us to solve for X. And that's what I like about math: everything is black and white, there is no room for ambiguity or breaking the rules. And if you do break the rules, it's incorrect. Plain and simple.

 This also happens to be the reason why I am not an exceptional math student.

I just don't see the world (or my life) as black or white. I rarely come across situations at work or in my personal life that can be solved by following a predefined method of operation. And rarely in life are we solving for X - no, there is never a simple answer or response to life experiences. Most of the time, we are wading through the grey, foggy details of life, like relationships and personal histories and goals and dreams - giving us just enough visibility to make the next, best decision. There isn't a correct answer. There is no FOIL method for life - and I'm okay with that. Life and decisions and experiences are much more satisfying when solving for the unknown.

Use Your Words

I had a speech impediment when I was a young child.

At the time, my family was living in Pennsylvania. My sister was enrolled at a prestigious Montessori school... while I attended Humpty Dumpty College daycare. While at HDC, I was taken care of by a woman from New York [named Shannon]. Although I have no recollection of Shannon, to this day I envision her to be similar to the actress Fran Dresser from the 90’s TV hit series [ironically] called “The Nanny”. 

And somehow, all of the stars aligned and I was learning to talk when Shannon [and her New York accent] were brought into my life. Soon enough, I had picked up on all of the pronunciation and phonetic idiosyncrasies of someone directly out of Queens. I mainly struggled with my R’s (pronouncing “caahh” instead of “car”) – which, after some preliminary research, I learned is a distinguishing feature of the New York dialect called the “Pre-R Distinction”. Yes, three year old Kristin was straight out of the Empire State.

Luckily, my parents caught-on to what was happening and quickly took action. I remember sitting on my father’s lap in our upstairs study, having to repeat after him:

“Car” (Dad)
“Caahh” (Kristin)
“No, carRRRR” (Dad)
“Cahhhhh…….rrrr” (Kristin)
“Better!?” (Dad)

We did that for hours at a time and eventually my accent faded into the foggy childhood memory file of the mind. However, I recalled my speech impediment after spending some time with a one year old who is learning how to talk. I thought about how frustrating it would be to have something to say and not know the words to use to articulate it. Or to have something on your mind but it just doesn’t come out correctly.

I understand that frustration. It has been a year since I have publically written on KSL. Since then, I've had many thoughts and ideas, lots of interesting stories, delicious recipes, books that you must read, lessons that I have learned and memories that I do not want to forget. But I couldn’t quite find words that were good enough to make public.

But the worst thing I could do would be to stop trying to use my words all together [although I would then technically be a mute – which has been a dream of mine since this post]. So I’ve decided to keep on practicing my skill, honing my craft, sharing my thoughts. And even if it doesn't come out right - at least I tried. And that is enough.