Intention

I’ve been thinking about living with intention this month. The things I do, how I spend my time and money, what I eat. There is a lot of my life that I coast through. The brain likes to put things in boxes and there are benefits to that process. That’s why for a toddler every four-legged furry animal is the family dog. If we had to consciously take every breath or every step we wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything else. At the same time being mindful of our connection to our breath, ourselves, and others has a very calming effect and can provide the environment for inspirational breakthroughs.

I make new years resolutions every year. And every year they are more or less the same ones. Keep my room clean, improve my handwriting, eat right, exercise more, save more… the normal ones. But all of those come from a place of not being enough. That there is an ideal ‘self’ I am forever falling short. I write my resolutions and don’t look at them again until a year or two later to see how many I kept. I can’t think of a single one.

On the flip side are the goals that I make throughout my life, not from a place of shortcomings to be overcome but from a place of completeness with a motivation of being more. For example being 27 would be the best year of my life and I’ve worked at making it so. Then there is the goal to touch every continent by the time I am 30. Baring any unforeseen crisis, or even in spite of them, I have a loose plan to accomplish this. Getting involved in a voluntourism agency in some fashion (still working out the details of that one).

Why make goals at all? I like the idea of self-improvement and the idea of stagnation feels grimy. And goals are easier to keep if they are written out, spoken, or otherwise given authority. Just because the road is difficult doesn’t mean you should give up. I’ve started to be intentional even about what goals I set. Goals that you actually want to meet take energy and risk to accomplish. Even those goals made that you don’t want to accomplish still take emotional energy and focus away from other things. If the motivation comes from anywhere but me, I don’t bother making it.

Chill

The past few months have been very full of events. The marathon, dance practice gearing up for another competition in the spring, and starting my AFP program in Skydiving. It leads to an amazingly full life… and also stress fractures. The past four weeks I have been forced to change how I live my life with varying degrees of success. Unable to dance, jump, or even walk quickly.

I love all of the things I do but what do I miss by rushing around? A couple weekends ago I got to see the inside of the Washington Monument in DC. There are 897 stairs but also an elevator. I would love to know how they inserted it after the monument was built. Along the inside are 193 blocks given by states, cities, and other entities to honor our first president. The alternative, less altruistic, motive was to provide the stones when funding ran out. They are completely unseen from the outside. There are hidden treasures all over if you slow down enough to see them.

While in DC I also had my first official at-a-spa massage. The timing was perfect as I adjust to learning to slow down. (Plus it's a DayZero item) I’m one of the only people I know of who tenses up at a massage and have to continually be told to relax. I was a lot more successful in this one than in past mini massages after facials.

My favorite part of the Pixar film ‘Up’ is the girl’s adventure book. Ellie loves adventure and has a scrapbook where she records everything. In the end, it turns out she saw her whole life as an adventure shared with her childhood friend who became her husband, even though she never got to build the house on Paradise Falls. It is a sweet, endearing part of the movie. I think about it a lot as I go flying around the world. Is adventure really about the things I do? Or is it rather more about my approach and attitude towards all aspects of life? And the type of people I choose to fill my life with? There can be adventure in the quiet moments of life too. Granted, as soon as the doctor says I can, I am back on the dance floor and in the sky. Being chill can only last for so long.

Addiction

Ever since my first tandem skydive, I've developed a bit of an addiction to the sport. To clarify: I'm willing to sleep in a tent in 30 mile and hour winds, travel for hours on buses, sleep on a bench along side homeless men talking to themselves, spend whole weekends staring at the sky hoping for sun, all for the chance of getting up in the sky and jumping out of a "perfectly good airplane".

After your first skydive each jump has certain skills to demonstrate. There is a set progression baby-stepping your way to fully jumping on your own, getting your a-license, and being known as a fun-jumper. Yes, we do this for fun.

By the third windy day attempting to dive, I was so tired of sitting on the ground; all I wanted to do was jump. One of the instructors understood this need and took me up in a tandem so that I could at least fly. In addition, while on a commercial airline I stared out the window wishing I had a parachute. Now, this might not be understandable to a majority of people but among those who frequent dropzones every weekend, no other response would make sense. After numerous wind delays where it was not safe for me to try and land on my own, this weekend I’ve finally officially begun my AFP training. That means I have my own parachute, jump out of the plane with an instructor next to me but not attached by a harness, and once I pull, I am under canopy on my own including landing. Just as scary and amazing as it sounds.

It’s hard to put into words why I ended up being so obsessed with skydiving. I’ve heard stories of how people from all different backgrounds found diving. There are social hobby divers like myself, those who do this for a job, complete with all the benefits and frustrations of any job, and those who have found freedom and, in a way, salvation in diving.

Skydivers are an interesting lot. They literally put their life on the line in order to fully live it. Certain traits like risk taking, a fondness for travel, few physical attachments, and the willingness to do anything for a story are typical. My stories of petting a cheetah and leaving for a two week international trip with four days preparation are usually unique. But on the dropzone the response beomes “I’ve done that” or at least something similar. One thing I love is never having to defend myself or my choices to divers. They get it. I’ve yet to hear that I’m crazy. In that way I’ve found kindred spirits in the diving community. Now along with any niche community they do have their quirks but are charming all the same.

The thing that has surprised me the most while training is the control over almost all aspects, even when falling at 120 miles per hour. Depending on body position, a skydiver can move faster, slower, left, right, turn, flip, basically moving in all directions of a three dimensional space. At each level there are different tasks to demonstrate control over. While focusing on each these, I find that the whole idea of the ground coming towards me disappears.

The idea of consuming concentration is one of the many reasons I like skydiving. The body still responds with a flight or fight response and you have to push past that to be completely in the moment, eventually using the body’s response to your advantage. Even instructors and divers with hundreds of jumps get butterflies. I noticed each person had a way of centering themselves before the door of the plane opened. A brief moment of closing the eyes and breathing, visualizing the jump ahead.

I also like the clear cut sense of success. If you get up and walk away from the dive it was successful. Even with things to improve (arch position ;)) the dive is an accomplishment. The most dangerous diver is the one who thinks they have nothing to improve. Diving simplifies priorities. The most important thing is to pull (in a stable position). Whatever else you do in the air don’t forget that step.

I also like the personal responsibility aspect to the success of skydiving. Skydiving for me is a very individual thing. I have to make the decision to leave the plane. And I determine how much preparation I give to each jump. My new friend, M, has a great outlook on life and diving. She shared about the significance of consequences and taking responsibility in diving and therefore life. When we jump out of the plane we have to accept the consequences of our decisions. That includes accountability to learn correct maneuvers, how to get out of malfunctions, and what we want to accomplish.

My other friend, I, recently completed his certification jumps and graduated from AFP. Having someone to talk to who is only a handful of jumps ahead of me is great because we can vent the struggles and frustrations from learning a whole new skill set, give encouragement when dives don’t go quite as planned (because they won’t always), share in the excitement and glow from a successful dive, and enable and shamelessly encourage each other’s addictions to this sport. Though to be perfectly honest, the competitive side of me wishes that I could spend a week diving and get my A-license before him.

Even if all of this makes very little sense, I highly recommend adding skydiving at least once to any sort of life list you create. I’ll always be willing to go along.

Rain

At what age do we decide that rain ruins a picnic? In the rain everyone treks into work with scowls on their faces. Except a this little girl about five years old. She had cute little ladybug boots, with a matching raincoat and umbrella that instead of covering her head she twirled around. Rain meant it was time to play, just as sun means its time to play.

Years ago, while vacationing in Disney, it started to rain. I forget whether Aimee or Rob started playing in the rain first but soon the three of us where slipping and sliding around, getting completely soaked. Back under the awning, my parents were receiving dirty looks from all the other parents whose children wanted to join us. My parents say they endured the looks because we were too old to disciple, but I think they understand the need to play.

The subways are always grumpy places when it is raining. Filling a tiny space with a bunch of wet people who have decided that the rain messed up their plans causes people to snap. I witnessed two old ladies on the train the morning of the ladybug princess. One started lecturing about deference to elders, complaining that all respect had left society. She continued on for a few stops even after the recipient had clearly stopped listening. The other woman jumped onto the train saying “I would have never fit before. I’m shrinking. Thank God for old age.” When another rider yelled at people to move in, her response was “Don’t worry about them, they are just tired this morning. How are you?” The yeller had no clue how to respond to such a positive response.

When I’m old, I want to be like the second lady. But her attitude wasn’t something she magically obtained one day. She had to develop a habit of choosing to be happy. A pattern of complaining, likewise, will carry on till you are a bitter old woman (or man).

Kids have the amazing ability to live in the present; to take whatever comes and make the best of it. They don’t (initially) live life measuring events up to an ideal situation. Hopefully I can develop a habit of playing in the rain, whatever form that takes.

Marathon

This weekend I completed a marathon in the Hamptons. I went into the marathon without training because I hate running alone. I also had spent the two nights before on 8-hour bus rides to and from Buffalo to celebrate my brothers 21st b-day. (Happy Birthday Robert!) It didn’t make the best conditions for running a marathon but I truly had no idea what I was getting into. Unlike my half marathon where I wanted to run the whole thing (and did), my goal for the marathon was simply to not give up (I didn’t).

Mile 1-5: Feeling good, running at a nice pace, lots of people and spectators and smiles.
Mile 7-13: They split the full marathon runners away. Because I’m running at a steady but slow pace I’m towards the back and there aren't a lot of us, no cheerers, no change in scenery. My extroverted side is getting grumpy. My ankles are starting to hurt but self talk is working. I tend to self-talk in two different ways. The first is tough love: “Jennifer, do you really need to walk? I didn’t think so.” The second is as if I were a two-year old or a dog: “What a good girl. Look at you running.”
Mile 13.1 Halfway there! Still feeling lonely and now the pain has moved to my calves but every step after this is farther than I have run before.
Mile 15: Took a 10 second walk which broke my mental game. Still to make it 15 miles is pretty darn good.
Mile 17: Minor breakdown. My legs are killing me and there hasn’t been people in a very long time. I switch between running like a little old lady and walking. I have no internal motivation to run, instead feeding off the energy I get from crowds.
Mile 20: Dance party and back to running. ‘Tightrope’ has become my new running song. Dancing makes me happier even when I’m dancing like a crazy person alone in the woods.
Mile 22: I have a full blown temper tantrum like a 4-year old, except I didn’t stomp my feet because they hurt so badly. I would have been completely embarrassed to let anyone hear my whining but there was no one around me. “I hate these woods, I hate running, this isn’t fun anymore, I hate this, I’m all alone, I want to quit, this sucks.” All I really wanted to do was sit down in the middle of the road but I knew my legs wouldn’t let me back up.
Mile 23: I laughed at how dramatic I was being and started to run again. There was a group of people who were cheering on a friend running slightly behind me and I adopted them as my own. I knew I couldn’t quit now. I can’t tell if it was a personal need or because I didn’t want to have to tell people that I quit. Either way my new goal was to run the last three miles. I had a tear streaked face but a smile.
Mile 24: Ran by the ocean didn’t even see it. I’ve heard it looked beautiful.
Mile 25: The last mile seemed like the longest.
Mile 26.2: As soon as I saw the finish line I started full out running. Everything else disappeared. My headphones flew out of my ears and started flapping behind me. I’m sure my face looks crazed in the picture. But… I FINISHED.

I’m glad I took on the challenge and completed a marathon. However, I don’t think I’ll get addicted to marathons. I averaged a little over a 13 minute mile which all things considered is a respectable time. Granted, I was towards the back of the pack but despite more physical pain than my mind was able to process and a high level of emotional turmoil I finished.

Congrats to Jeff & Nick on completing the Hamptons Half Marathon- their first endurance race.

Longkong

The first question you may be asking is: “What in the world is a Longkong?” It is a fruit native to Thailand, slightly larger than a grape but smaller than a strawberry, with a distinctive sweet and sour taste. It has translucent flesh with a shiny seed the size of a marble in the center that has a rich brown color.

The next question would be: “Why devote a blog entry to such a fruit?” Especially a blog where I typically share things I consider to be adventures. I have spent over six years trying to find this fruit. It became a mystical endeavor for me, an adventure in its own right. It made sense I couldn’t find it in upstate New York. But for the past three years I have lived in NYC, where anything and everything you could possible want from around the globe is offered to you. Except, apparently, the Longkong. In every new grocery store, every little hole-in-the-wall deli, every fruit stand, I explored the fruit section looking and hoping without result.

Last week I went to the fruit man by my work and saw a large box filled with small round tan circles. I barely restrained myself to buying two pounds; I wanted the whole box.

The fruit isn’t some ambrosia-like substance. It is about more than just the taste for me. Every time I peel back the thin tan skin, I’m reminded of sitting on benches eating with the girls from the Home of Blessing in Thailand after they returned from school. They didn’t own many possessions but they took such delight in sharing their lives with us. Plus, like all students, it provided a distraction from starting their homework. While working on building a road or clearing the rice fields we had pockets filled with Longkong.

Camp+

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nuT1uvDR64

Labor Day weekend I went to summer camp with my go-to outdoorsy friend M and Urban Escapes. It had all the right ingredients to recreate the world of middle school sleepaway camp, plus a few additions, like wine, to update it for adults. There were roaring bonfires with sing-alongs and smores; small wooden cabins with bunk beds and bugs; games such as volleyball, capture the flag, flag football, and kickball; exercise with yoga and trail runs; crafts such as lanyard keychain making; water events of blobbing and a zip line; and nightly dance parties. There was even a 20+ person cup game. Our behavior matched that of summer camps I remember with new friends, innocent flirtations, mild drama, and sneaking around after curfew. The guides had an amazing comaraderie between themselves though many of them had never met and that created an atmosphere of friendship and fun for the rest of us.

The video and picture are of blobbing. Which, as I so gracefully demonstrate, is a lot more entertaining when it goes slightly wrong. Thanks to R&D for the spectacular gang blob.

This summer has been dominated by water activities. I went kayaking on the Hudson with my sister. Downtown Boathouse is a free kayaking rental program which allows you to kayak against the beautiful backdrop of the Upper West Side. The day was perfect and not only because we did not tip into the sketchy dirty water filled with lotto tickets and other trash.

I also went whitewater rafting. The guides said there were level 3 rapids. I doubt it. Still we did go through rapids backwards as a general rule, hit almost every rock even if it was on the opposite side of the river from us, and propel everyone on my side of the boat into the water.