The Weather is Here, I Wish You Were Beautiful.....

The other night found me sitting in Old San Juan sipping a mojito. A damn fine mojito, I might add. The occasion warranted a photo, and that was all good. Glasses up, smiles flashed, click! Aw, such a good shot. But before I knew it, that photo was posted and tagged on Facebook courtesy of “Mobile Uploads”. Over one thousand people (my 300+ friends, as well as the 300+ friends of each of my two companions) were suddenly given a window to my dinner in Old San Juan to watch me enjoy my mojito in real time. And I must admit, even through the heady haze of vacation euphoria, I was annoyed by this.

I love you all (well, most of you, anyway), but honestly, you weren’t invited.

Right now, I am away. I am on vacation, on a remote Caribbean island off the coast of Puerto Rico, sitting on a patio overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, sipping my morning coffee. The only sounds hitting my ears are the waves crashing on the beach and my fingertips clicking on my keyboard. I am in heaven, doing something that refreshes me in an environment that simply oozes endorphines. There are no conference calls to attend, no sales figures over which to fret, no parking spots to find. If you call my cell phone, the outgoing message is a somewhat politely worded way of saying “unless you are about to tap me on the shoulder, you are shit out of luck until I return.”

There is a rooster crowing in the background, reinforcing my point.

As one who pens a blog regularly featuring her dating life, who is an avid Facebooker, and aspires to Twitter more frequently (if only to quell the peer pressure from one Mr. O’Neill, but still), I am cognizant that writing a blog entry ranting about not wanting to appear on Facebook during my vacation, while that vacation is still taking place, seems highly hypocritical, even nonsensical. But there it is.

You ask a hundred different people about social networking, and you’ll get a hundred different opinions. As a consequence of where we have landed in time, every living, breathing human being in the Western world falls somewhere along this new continuum, from those who tweet, blog, Facebook, or Google buzz (or for God’s sake all four - seriously, We.Get.It.) every time they pick their noses to the total boycotters, who between firing up their VHS recorders to watch reruns of Mr. Belvedere, judgmentally take their own noses and throw ‘em way up in the air. They then look straight down those antisocial noses at us and all the perceived narcissism that comes with assuming that people to whom you haven’t spoken since high school graduation care to know that your kid peed like a big boy today, you got concert tickets to that thing you wanted to see, your fibromyalgia is acting up, or you just posted a new blog entry about Booty Call Shrimp.

We social networkers participate for versions of the same reason, to stay connected to someone or something. Although for many of us, our individual desire and quite frankly our need for it seems to cycle through peeks and valleys. I can site several examples where a friend has moved to a new city, is rendered firmly outside of his comfort zone, and a very noticeable spike occurs in activity. My news feed will light up like a Christmas Tree with updates on the his first day of work, a new sofa purchase, the discovery of a place that makes a mean Italian sub, just like the place back home. Perhaps to calm anxiety about the new place by solidifying connections to the old as if to say, “Please don’t forget me!”, perhaps to blow on the embers of a new local connections, probably both. Then, as time goes on, those embers become flames, and the spike of FaceSpacing goes back to the pre-move baseline.

I’m a shameless example of this myself. And a lot of you know this because you access this site through my Facebook page. Khop’s doing this, khop’s up to that, khop just commented on my status, khop just posted a highly inappropriate eCard on my wall. Woops, looks like khop might be drunk right now. At least, I hope she is.... And why not participate? It’s fun, and it keeps me engaged with so many people I can’t see on a regular basis. The downside, though, is that all that online living puts me at terrible risk for not fully living. Instead of being present, I’m distracted. Instead of entirely focusing on you, the person at whom I’m looking, I’m somewhat focused on them, the couple hundred people I’m so anxious to tell about what I’m doing, I’m not really gonna experience it myself. So this time, I’ve gone rouge. I’ve pared down the activity, instead turning my attention this iguana crossing the street (seriously, there’s an iguana crossing the street). And even though I know that the masses greet each new day in utter terror that today will be another khop-absent day, I have to think we’ll all survive.

Social networking tends to strike a nerve in folks, and I’m cognizant that the tone of this post may rub some the wrong way, as plenty (myself included) have documented their way through many a vacation without missing an online beat. We get off the plane - tweet! We have that first margarita - status update! Off to a massage - buzz! In fact, several of my friends are currently on vacation themselves. How do I know this? Facebook, of course. No judgement intended - who am I to say boo on this, anyhow? It’s not like I succeeded in going completely off the grid myself, nor did I want to. I checked my email everyday, caught up with a few people over gChat, took a peek at the ol’ news feed, even posted a buzz (albeit completely unintentionally) that my cousin rightly heckled. But what I did want was to practice the art of being completely immersed in the present moment, not only with all five senses, but also with my thoughts, something I so rarely do, but so keenly long to do more. And now, several days later, on the plane ride home, I’m happy to report success. How refreshing.

Besides, would you really want to have seen any of the following in real time anyway?

khop may have just found the most beautiful beach on the planet.

khop scratch that, *now* may have just found the most beautiful beach on the planet

khop if there is a downside to banging out a 2 mile open water swim in the Caribbean, it’s the tan line left by the damn swim cap across my forehead. Heavy emphasis on *if*.

khop just saw a guy riding on a horse through town, carrying a rooster. Can I move here?

khop thinks there’s no shame in taking a ride back to shore from pirates. In fact, there’s glory in it.

khop just glowed in the bio bay. w.o.w.

khop just finished her third 2+ mile open water swim in three days. This last one hurt. But I-ah beat-ah Steve-ah!

khop has some horrific tan lines, compliments of Speedo.

khop is zooming back to san juan in a taxi driven by a man drinking Johnny Walker Black out of a coconut.

khop just kissed Puerto Rico goodbye. :(

Postin’ the photos on MyFace,

khop

PS: Emphatic, eternal thanks go to Oscar and Kara for welcoming us onto their island and into their home.

Ugh. Here we go, getting all "end of the year reflective"

*Note* First off, please excuse the crickets and tumble weed for the past few weeks. Getting rid of that pesky quarter inch (done. kinda), closing out the year strong in my Actual Job (done) and holiday partying like Clark Griswold (doing) have made sitting down long enough to string a few pseudo-coherent half-thoughts together rather difficult. Some day if the dream lives and this operation goes legit with more than just one writer monkey at the helm, you won't even notice my absence. But for now, suck it. I've been busy. So back to the post at hand.....

I know, I know, December self-reflection. It's so cliche.

But this dose of meditation has less to do with 2009 drawing to a close and more to do with the fact that recently I entered my name in the lottery for this particular self-inflicted torture. As I clicked “enter”, I was struck by the reality of how different my life is now from just one year ago. “Swim across the Chesapeake Bay? Oh you must mean because Osama bin Laden himself has attacked Sandy Point, and this is the one way humanity and America can be saved.”

That is how I would’ve likely responded to that notion a mere twelve flips of the calendar ago.

Additionally, in the days since that particular run of the computer mouse, I’ve been acutely aware of what I’m doing at any particular moment, and I’ve found myself comparing it to exactly what I was doing one year ago. Why? Well, let me annoyingly answer a question with another question: How much does your life change from one year to the next? Really, truly change? If you spent a moment jotting down the things that are true about your life today, place of employment, residence, family, friends, your hobbies, your pets, anything, and compared it all to a list of things that were true about your life one year ago, how much of it would really be different? Our lives are rarely identical from one year to the next, but change typically occurs piecemeal, in one aspect of our lives at a time. As such, even if there is a Big Event, such as a new job/spouse/child, most of the other things we know to be true are still in place. Life is still mostly familiar. However, every once in awhile, a comparison of two lives separated by nothing more than 365 days could not be more striking.

If you were a spectator to my life last year at this time, you would already know that last December my life was one big hot mess. My often-charmed existence could more aptly be described as cursed. The operation had gone horridly haywire, the wheels had come flying off the machine, and the appropriate Google image search would yield this beauty. In short, things were “no bueno”. Occasionally, I would spot someone in my immediate company take a step or two back when they thought I wasn’t looking, presumably to avoid getting struck by all the lightening.

I can’t say I blamed them.

What happened? Well, rewind to Thanksgiving of 2008, when life seemed to be ticking along quite nicely. I had exciting career prospects, a boyfriend who had me smitten, and a rock solid plan to quit this hell hole called Baltimore and go back home to a sweet new crib in Philly, where I clearly belonged. Then December 1 hit, and a big roll of the dice turned up a losing combination. In what can only be described as cinematic fashion, someone turned the leaf blower on the house of cards that was my life. I’ll refrain from boring you with unnecessary detail, but suffice to say by the time the ball dropped on Times Square welcoming 2009, I found myself unemployed, heartbroken and moving into my parents‘ house, exactly what every modern girl in her 30’s dreams for her life.

Oh, did I forget to mention that grandma kicked the bucket that month, too? Even through the tears I couldn’t help but appreciate the comedic timing of all the shitiness. Had my limbs started falling off one by one, I can’t say I would’ve batted an eyelash.

Good times!

I've always said that bad times are a blessing, because it gives the people who love you a chance to flex their friendship muscles and show their stuff. If you find yourself in the midst of a tough spot and you don't find your loved ones elbowing each other out of the way in their rush pick you up and carry you through your misery, then either you've chosen the wrong set of friends or you haven't been a very good one to them. And thus, at very least my friend-picking skills proved rock solid, and once again it became evident how blessed I am with great family, as everyone stood by me like champions. My parents put a roof over my head and food in my cats’ bowls. My sister gave me a spare key to her house in case I needed escape. Dr. Shazam offered her "poo throwing services" and other various methods of creative revenge. I remember one weekend where Becky and Tad, God bless them, dragged me from one holiday party to the next, finally waving the white flag and taking me home as, “oh, for the love of God, she's crying again."

Rarely in life do we have the opportunity and/or are forced to start over essentially from scratch, but January 1, 2009 found me sitting in my old bedroom gearing up to do just that. With no job, no mortgage, no spouse, no children, and not even a car payment to hold me down, I really could do anything I fancied. So did I follow in the footsteps of Frances May and Elizabeth Gilbert, blazing my own trail to find love and adventure overseas? Well, no. As a matter of fact, turns out that being unemployed during one of the worst job markets in recent history causes one to lose the gumption to spend even a few weeks pissing through some severance money in Italy. (I’ll have to leave that to the next time I get laid off, sigh.) But over the course of the next few months, I landed a great gig, I bought a cute little postage stamp of a house and dusted off an old love by diving back into the pool. As a result of those three actions, I scan the landscape of my current world and marvel at how few things in my day to day life remotely resemble what was true last year at this time. Where I wake up, what I spend my time doing and with whom I spend that time are utterly different. A few months ago I completed my first triathlon, and two days ago I hopped in the pool to knock out a 4000 meter swim. The notion of either last December would’ve inspired little more than a confused, blank look. Exactly one year from the night Becky and Tad lugged a whimpering blob around Wilmington, I poured myself a drink at a holiday party in Baltimore and toasted a room full of good friends, not one of whom I knew existed one year ago. These are just a few of a seemingly endless list of examples.

To be fair, there is much that remains consistent. My family is the same, I am still the owner of two ornery pets, and my long time friends are still there, even if primarily via Facebook. I still have all my limbs, and once again I have an orange pork chop on my business card. Additionally, some of the changes have been sad ones. There are people who are definitively absent from my life, and the word Edgely is not currently in my daily vernacular. Mad4Mex happy hours are at most a biannual treat instead of a weekly occurrence, and I’m fairly certain my forehand flick is getting worse and worse by the moment, if that’s even possible.

Out of all of this, one of the coolest pieces for me is a renewed respect for the concept of time, something that is so easy to take for granted. If the world has collapsed around your feet, think of what awaits only a couple hundred days out, when you’ve worked your way through the storm. Similarly, if you find yourself in a good place, be sure to appreciate the present, because the leaf blower could be getting gassed up at this very moment, just for you. The beauty of the cycle, though, is that even if two weeks from now you were to find yourself clamoring around, picking up cards off the wet pavement, six, twelve or perhaps sixteen weeks later would likely yield a whole new house of cards, probably better than the old one or, at very least, different in a cool way. Cheers to all that.

Clearly not playing with a full deck,

khop

Ommmm..... Ommmm...... Ommmm......

I’m absolutely desperate to learn how to meditate.

Stop giggling and shut up.

It’s true. Although I’ve done painfully little towards this end, it’s something I’ve wanted for quite some time now. See, like probably most people, I have this insane level of internal dialogue, sometimes positive, often negative, but absolutely never ending. It exhausts me at times, and I long for greater control over it, to still it or to even just slow its pace. I’ve commented before that I regret the fact that I can’t enjoy the act of sleeping in the actual moment. Sure, there’s an after the fact contentment of having woken from a satisfying night’s sleep, but I can’t enjoy it while it’s happening because I’m, well, asleep. In exploring this idea further, I’ve concluded that it’s the peacefulness present during sleep that I wish to experience on a more conscious level. Simply put, I’d like to be able to make myself just shut the hell up.

In my former life as a musician, I would sometimes reach this euphoric sense of stillness while playing. Conscious dialogue would stop, and I would literally be able to ride a wave of music. The sense of peace I would experience during and immediately after is like nothing else I’ve ever known. Now that music is no longer a part of my daily life, I’ve found that I want and need another way to tap into this and, if possible, take it to a higher level.

Once again, stop sniggering and making the hippie jokes under your breath. You know that’s not very kind and loving ‘n stuff.

I’ve practiced yoga on and off over the years, and while I enjoy it and am able to tap into a certain amount of stillness through it, it’s not ideal. Physically speaking, my muscles are so tight and inflexible that I can barely touch my toes, meaning the only yoga I have a prayer of successfully pulling off is hot yoga. This means huffing it off to a yoga studio for a 90 minute class (so a 2 hour venture when it’s all said and done), not something that is easily incorporated into the daily agenda of a working adult who happens to have a variety of interests. Publishing this rag, to name just one.

No, I’m looking for something a little shorter and sweeter, something that could perhaps be incorporated into my morning routine to, you know, start the day off on a peaceful, transcendental foot. I have this vision in my head of getting to such a place of meditative peace that it carries me through the day, such that each time a customer gears up to kick me in the face (usually figuratively but sometimes literally), the fake smile I normally wear actually becomes genuine, and the hostility rolls right off me like water off a duck’s back.

Perhaps I should just smoke a bunch of weed instead?

Naturally, in getting this started, I headed straight over to iTunes and started a’clickin’ away, to see what there was to see. All kinds of meditation podcasts and audio books for download, and after a few minutes of searching, I found one that seemed as good as any to start with. Who knew that self-actualization is only a few mere clicks away?

I’m three days into this, and I’ve already confirmed my initial assumption which was that I have the mental fitness equivalent to one of those half ton people who need a crane and a team of caregivers just to shower. Still my mind? Oh, sweet little Khop….

But even though this was my assumption headed in, why am I genuinely surprised at all the chatter that goes on in there while I’m trying to do this thing? I always do this. I charge into an activity I have never done and have little to no natural inclination for and then am mildly shocked when I’m not an immediate expert. And then I’m embarrassed for being shocked. After all, who the hell do I think I am?

I think this whole meditation thing will be good for me….

The guided meditations are having me focus on different things each time, like the flame of a candle or a vision of me sitting on a cliff overlooking the ocean – all very chill and groovy. And so far, I’ve had pin pricks of time each during session where I think I’m kinda focused (the contradiction already being painfully evident, as the point of the whole thing is to not think…sigh…). We’re talking flashes, gone before they’re here, whispers of focus, before the stream of conscious dialogue comes rushing back in. Dialogue like this:

· My foot’s falling asleep.

· Huh, I’ve never really watched a flame this long. Look how much it’s moving. That means the air around the flame is moving that much. Weird. What exactly is fire? Am I a moron for not knowing that? Thank goodness there’s such a discrete boundary between fire and not fire. Cos else everything could catch on fire. And that would suck.

· If I move my foot so that it doesn’t fall asleep, does that mean I’m not meditating?

· I’m supposed to be flying over the ocean now. Ok, that’s cool, I can see it. Ahhhh…..Wait, am I supposed to have wings? I think the guy mentioned wings. Wings look lame, though. I’d rather just fly with my arms than with big bird wings. Everyone knows bird feathers are really dirty, and if I had wings, they’d look weird under clothes.

· Wow, the cats seem to be staying at a distance. I’ve heard that cats communicate through telepathy. Maybe I’m telling the cats to leave me be while I do this. Yeah! We’re talkin’ all telepathically ‘n shit! Heel, kit-tay! Nope, nope, a cat is now sitting on my lap.

You get the jist.

Anyone got any tips?

Ommmm……

khop