A mellow lamp shines softly to my right. Unlit candles are mounted on bookshelves, on walls, on end tables and probably would be hanging from the ceiling if Boy could figure out a way to rig it. An old fashioned wicker rocker sits motionless next to the keyboard Boy bought off of craigslist a few months ago. My sadly neglected guitar rests on its side underneath Boy’s keyboard, badly out of tune and feeling pretty resentful about it. A National Geographic map of the world hangs on the wall behind me. Sometimes I walk into this space (which I’m calling, “The Burrow”. Regardless of whether or not Boy approves) to find Boy kneeling on the fluffy brown couch and gazing at the map with an expression of wonder and delight.
Coffee in one hand.
Oscar Wilde in the other.
Distracted from Dorian Grey by the coast of France or the unwieldy capital of Madagascar, Antananarivo.
Gosh, I like this one.
The sound of the burbling fish tank trickles through the door that leads to the adjoined room in which Boy soundly sleeps.
Boy doesn’t do anything but soundly sleep at five in the morning. Boy grumpily calls five in the morning either, “the middle of the night,” or “o’dark thirty.” Even though five in the morning is clearly well beyond midnight and there’s nary a “thirty” to be found in “five in the morning.”
Gosh. This one...
I leave for a week in Boston this morning. My work at Zoe House (a safe house for survivors of domestic violence, date rape and stalking) is sending me to the East Coast for a training on how best to offer care to the survivors residing at our new facility. Hence, this is my first legit work trip. I’m not just flying by the seat of my pants to Marrakech to bum around the city for a couple of months and see what I can see. I’m getting paid to travel to Boston and attend sixteen hours of training in trauma informed care.
Feels weird. Totally bizarre. Grownup and responsible.
Thankfully, I’ll be balancing the adventure with 3 days of couchsurfing in Savin Hill, so I’ll end the trip as a vagabond even if I have to start it as a grownup.
I haven't been writing because I haven't been traveling. I used to feel horribly guilty about neglecting this blog, but I think I've come to a place of acceptance. Gallivanting Grasshopper explores my life as a traveler. When I'm not traveling, I'm not inspired to write.
And you know what?
That's okay. I do plenty of other things when I'm not traveling/writing.
I've been studying massage therapy for the last month and a half.
I've tested out of foot reflexology, Swedish massage and am currently learning Nepali Ayurvedic. I'm booking about 5 massages a week and am getting paid for my work. Which feels almost as novel as it does awesome.
I'm taking a photojournalism class at the university and am learning how to use my camera to keep me present Grand Junction.
Which still isn't easy for me.
My days start at 6:00 am with a yoga class at either Yoga West or Colorado Mesa University, are filled with Zoe House and end at 8:30 pm when I blearily drive home from massage school. So not only do I have minimal inspiration to write, I also just don't have time or energy to process my feelings and experiences.
But somehow Boy always helps ground me with candles and wine and many, many hairy kisses.
Also, I've been very busy becoming a certified Canadian,
Turning our refrigerator into a novel,
and being perpetually surprised by all the ways Boy insists on keeping the Christmas spirit alive.
I've been exploring wearing bits of makeup again. Mascara one day. Eyeliner the next. A dress here and there. Being in Grand Junction again is bringing up body image issues I thought/hoped I'd worked through during my two years of no makeup/no shaving/nothing pretty ever. But it's easier to work through body image issues while on the move, because you know that people aren't holding you hostage to previous images of you. For example, when I was teaching yoga in Grand Junction in 2012, I still struggled with an eating disorder. I weighed 15 pounds less than I do now, and it wasn't a healthy 15 pounds less. I'm afraid that people will look at me now and hold me to that previous, unhealthy self. And regardless of whether or not the comparison takes place outside of me, the comparison gets stuck in my mind and I begin to feel inadequate.
No... I haven't let go of vanity or insecurities. The only thing I let go of was the idea that my body is of any consequence at all. When I talk about this experiment, I talk about how I had all those meaningful relationships IN SPITE of my hairy legs and naked face. My body got in the way, but my sexy brain thing and heart stuff outweighed, overwhelmed the negatives my body brought to the table. So instead of growing to love my body as it is, I've grown to regard it as irrelevant.
Boy and I have recently taken an OWL's (Our Whole Lives) class at the UU church. This class really delves into the issues of sex, gender, relationships and body image. During the final workshop, we were asked to write down all the things we believe keep us from being "sexy".
I wrote down on my slip of pink paper,
"I'm not sexy when I use my sexuality to manipulate others."
"I'm not sexy when I use my sexuality to survive."
"I'm not sexy when I view my body as an obstacle or an enemy."
"I'm not sexy when I'm feeling controlled or disempowered."
All of these... are head or heart things. None are actually about the body. While all of these are valid and true in my life, I want to invite myself back into my body. I want to celebrate my physical self. When I think about the beautiful, sexy moments of my life, I want to feel like my body helped facilitate beauty. And sexiness. Not that beauty and sexy triumphantly managed to occur in spite of this body.
I know where I want to end.
Now I'll just have to figure out where to begin.
Okay.
And you know what?
That's okay. I do plenty of other things when I'm not traveling/writing.
I've been studying massage therapy for the last month and a half.
I've tested out of foot reflexology, Swedish massage and am currently learning Nepali Ayurvedic. I'm booking about 5 massages a week and am getting paid for my work. Which feels almost as novel as it does awesome.
I'm taking a photojournalism class at the university and am learning how to use my camera to keep me present Grand Junction.
Which still isn't easy for me.
But somehow Boy always helps ground me with candles and wine and many, many hairy kisses.
Also, I've been very busy becoming a certified Canadian,
Turning our refrigerator into a novel,
and being perpetually surprised by all the ways Boy insists on keeping the Christmas spirit alive.
I've been exploring wearing bits of makeup again. Mascara one day. Eyeliner the next. A dress here and there. Being in Grand Junction again is bringing up body image issues I thought/hoped I'd worked through during my two years of no makeup/no shaving/nothing pretty ever. But it's easier to work through body image issues while on the move, because you know that people aren't holding you hostage to previous images of you. For example, when I was teaching yoga in Grand Junction in 2012, I still struggled with an eating disorder. I weighed 15 pounds less than I do now, and it wasn't a healthy 15 pounds less. I'm afraid that people will look at me now and hold me to that previous, unhealthy self. And regardless of whether or not the comparison takes place outside of me, the comparison gets stuck in my mind and I begin to feel inadequate.
No... I haven't let go of vanity or insecurities. The only thing I let go of was the idea that my body is of any consequence at all. When I talk about this experiment, I talk about how I had all those meaningful relationships IN SPITE of my hairy legs and naked face. My body got in the way, but my sexy brain thing and heart stuff outweighed, overwhelmed the negatives my body brought to the table. So instead of growing to love my body as it is, I've grown to regard it as irrelevant.
Boy and I have recently taken an OWL's (Our Whole Lives) class at the UU church. This class really delves into the issues of sex, gender, relationships and body image. During the final workshop, we were asked to write down all the things we believe keep us from being "sexy".
I wrote down on my slip of pink paper,
"I'm not sexy when I use my sexuality to manipulate others."
"I'm not sexy when I use my sexuality to survive."
"I'm not sexy when I view my body as an obstacle or an enemy."
"I'm not sexy when I'm feeling controlled or disempowered."
All of these... are head or heart things. None are actually about the body. While all of these are valid and true in my life, I want to invite myself back into my body. I want to celebrate my physical self. When I think about the beautiful, sexy moments of my life, I want to feel like my body helped facilitate beauty. And sexiness. Not that beauty and sexy triumphantly managed to occur in spite of this body.
I know where I want to end.
Now I'll just have to figure out where to begin.
Okay.
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