My (Boring) (Adventuresome) Life

People often comment on what an adventurous life I live. I travel to weird places by most people's standards. I book myself on cool trips, find people to go with me, give trips as gifts as a secret way to do stuff, and sometimes even go alone (see dogsledding in Maine, kayaking Casco Bay, canoeing on the Charles, lighthouse climbing in Boston Harbor, whitewater rafting the Kennebec, zip-lining in NH). I find interesting hobbies, have interesting friends, volunteer, and engage in my community.

All of that is true. To be honest, though, I feel pretty boring most of the time. I have purposely created as simple a life as possible in order to reduce drama and stress. Mostly, I succeed at that. I have a lovely little apartment on a lovely little street near lots of greenspace, but still in the city with a lovely roommate who I really like. Neither of us own a lot of things and there's little clutter in our home. I have a simple little car (and a simple little loan to pay for it) that is easy to navigate, easy to park and easy to maintain. I have a small group of regular friends who don't contribute drama to my life. They are loving and caring and like to drink beer and host potlucks and talk about politics and movies.

I go to work, volunteer, go to the gym (these days), make a healthy dinner, occasionally bake something, check my email, write a blogpost now and again, watch Lost online (my simple life has resulted in no cable TV), and go for a walk in the park near my house. I gossip much less than I used to, I avoid "Did you hear about..." talk as much as possible, and I attempt to not create drama for other people as much as possible.

Unfortunately, this is not how I used to be. I used to love gossip (as long as I wasn't spreading lies and other people were not aware I was talking behind their backs, why did it hurt them?). I used to be in the center of the "Did you hear about..." discussion. I still harbor these tendencies, way down inside the teenager that still lives in a little room in my heart and always will. Last year, I had a friend who was full of drama. He claimed he wasn't. Claimed an allergy to it. Sure - to other people's drama. But he swirled in it - bathed in it every day. Created it at every turn. He complicated everything. And I got sucked in. Him going away has reverted me back to my days pre-him. And it feels weird.

And so, here I am, in my simple life, wondering if I've done something wrong to not have more action happening in my life at my age. I have just gotten fully engaged on FaceBook, and I've reconnected with lots of folks. Now, I'm not saying their lives are complicated or filled with drama, but they have kids and homes and husbands and wives and in-laws and all sorts of craziness going on. I don't have any of that. And I'm glad. Don't get me wrong. But am I somehow less mature - less developed - because I don't? And should I be somehow doing more? If Becky has a child and a job and a husband, and she just opened her own baking company on the side, what am I doing with my time? Shouldn't I somehow be saving the world or something amazing? What I'm doing is baking chocolate macaroons and finishing reading Revolutionary Road in a day and a half. Nice for me, but significant?

I'm not sure I even believe any of those thoughts in that paragraph up there. But there the ones that have been parading (uninvited, I might add), through my head all week. Part of me, the big part, I should clarify, is really pleased with simplicity. I hope to hang on to it for the rest of my life. This other little part, probably the part that still listens to that teenage self in my heart, is wondering when the BIG will happen and what it'll be.

And while all these thoughts are happening, I'm hatching my Mother and Father's Day adventure-trip gifts for this year and looking forward to that rafting trip in May. And spring. Bring on spring! The parks look lonely out there in my neighborhood! Simple tasks, simple anticipation, simple requests. That all feel really good.

Wishing for a Visit to Mars

I am a woman who is meant to have male friends.

In high school, many of my closest friends were boys. When I left college, which I loved every minute of, and am still very glad I had the extraordinary experience of a women's education, my first close friend in grad school was a man. When I moved to LA, one of my three closest friends there was a man. In Thailand, my closest friend was a man. I have always, up until two and a half years ago, had men in my workplace who I thoroughly enjoyed (they tended to be married or gay, but they were men, nonetheless).

I miss this very much. My one close male friend left Boston last summer. I miss him. And then I just lost the closest male friend I've had in a long time. And he was truly male. In every sense of the word and I loved having that again.

I know that part of the reason I lament being single as much as I do is because I really really dig maleness and having it in my every day existence. I also want a partnership and to be loved, but on a base level, part of that is wanting maleness in my life.

I am in a field that is dominated by women. Ninety percent of the meetings I attend in and out of my office are filled with women. And the one or two men who happen to be in some of them tend to operate in a female-dominated field in a way that downplays their maleness. I work with 12 other people, only one of whom is a man. Everyone who works for me is a woman. I hire them. And I can't find AmeriCorps members who are men very easily. Believe me, I try.

I love my women friends. Deeply and madly. Women are allowed to have friendships that are intimate and special, and I wouldn't trade this for anything. I would never want to be a man, because then I'd have to give up the way I understand friendship as a woman. I love my sister and my mother more than anything. I am very pleased my first aunt experience is to a girl. I understand that better.

But I want testosterone around me. I want to have a man's way of knowing on my Board of Directors. I want that back. I had it for a full year, in a very intense manner. I explained what was going on, and he saw the situation in an entirely different way, just because he is in possession of a penis. I swear it's that simple. Men just see things differently, know them differently, and solve them differently.

I do not miss this man who wronged me. I don't miss him. But I sure miss his maleness. I want that back. My brother is great, but he's my brother; not the same. And I have all these family friends who are men, but they too, are family.

Men and women, it's said, aren't meant to be friends. The Harry Met Sally syndrome and all. Yeah, yeah. And that's mostly true. I have a terrible history of falling for my male friends. I know. But the ones who are married or gay or otherwise engaged have been godsends to me. And I wish for one, long for one, right now. Tonight. To drink a beer and talk. In a boy-man-way. A way that's a treat for me. A way that's not my default. A way that feels interesting and comfortable and a little bit racy.

I'm can't just order it up, though, can I? Shit.

Running: Who Knew?

I have never liked to run. In junior high, when we had to run the mile for the Presidential Fitness program, I refused to do it. I walked. But you have to finish in 15 minutes or something like that, so I had to run part of it at the end. I hated every minute of the damn thing.

There's a 2 mile road race before my hometown's 4th of July Parade that raises money for a scholarship fund in the name of a childhood friend's brother, who was killed when we were all still in high school. I've done it a number of times through the years, but I've always walked it, on purpose.

I played soccer when I was 10 - 12 or thereabouts. I quit after that. So much running.

I got yelled at in gym class routinely through my entire school life for not fulling participating, especially when the activity required running.

I was practically the tallest girl in the 9th grade and the gym teacher / coach tried to recruit me for basketball. You kidding me?

I was never overweight in school, ever. Not till college did my family genetics catch up with me, and even then, I've never been more than 30 pounds overweight, and on my 5'10" frame, I can (mostly) carry it off. And, I'm active in other ways. I ski, I dived for years, I love to canoe, raft, do adventure stuff like bungee jump, dogsled, zipline, etc. I am also a city-dweller, so I walk a lot. A tank of gas typically lasts me a few weeks and I have a 12 minute walk on the front end of my commute and an 8 minute walk on the back end, reversed on the way home. I often go walking in my neighborhood (which has a huge pond with a 1.5 mile walkway around it and a huge Arboretum, which includes two good-sized hills).

I have only been a religious gym-goer one other time in my life, when I lived in LA, and that was because everyone in LA is a poser in one way or another, and I really wanted to stay thin while I was living there. For the record, it didn't work. I was fit, but gained weight just the same while living there because I was eating like a pig, as usual. I have also dieted my way out of those 30 extra pounds a few times over the last decade, using Weight Watchers mostly, and skipping the exercise, since I hate it so much.

I have used every excuse in the book. Here's a few: Exercise doesn't work for me, it's all about what I eat. I hate to run. I hate the gym. I won't get up in the morning. I like to be outside too much.

I decided just after Christmas to give the gym another go. I thought I was going for the classes: affordable yoga is almost impossible to find. And I needed something to relax me, and perhaps help with toning my body a bit. At the same time, I made an attempt to stop eating so much and so frequently and so much bad shit (my sweet tooth is the bane of my existence). I started going. And I jumped on the treadmill, being such a good walker and all. I could walk forever, really.

And I ran.

And I almost died. I said to myself, "If you can run 5 minutes in a row, you can stop." And this was at a 13-minute-mile pace. And I ran those 5 horrible minutes and I stopped. That week, I went to yoga and went to the gym every day. I rode the bike, walked a lot, and even did the elliptical machine.

The next week, I convinced myself to run a whole mile. And I did it. I hated it, and I sweated more than I've sweated in a long time. But at the end, I felt accomplishment. A sense of "I can do this!"

By the fourth week, almost to the one-month day of when I began going to the gym, I ran 3 miles. And I did it in just over 32 minutes. I was amazed. Holy cow. I can do this. I can run. And it feels amazing. That first mile's a killer, and the second one tries to convince you the whole time to stop, just stop! But that third one, it's easy. Really.

So now I'm running three miles about three times a week. Some days are easier than others. Last week, one morning, I could barely convince myself to keep going, and had to walk part of the second mile in order to push through the third. But three days later, I got on there and ran three like it was my job. And yesterday I ran three miles in only 31 minutes. I've even gone past the three-mile mark and done 3.5, but have to get off for someone waiting or because I'm going to be late for work.

My goals now? Run 5 miles by the 4th of July. Run outside once the weather gets nicer and see if I can actually run 3 miles outside (big difference between the treadmill and the street). Enter a 5K and run it by the end of the summer.

Dream goals that I'm not ready to commit to yet? Run a 5-mile roadrace by the fall. Train for a sprint-trialthalon for next spring (1/2 mile swim, 12 mile bike, 3 mile run). God only knows if I'll follow through on this long enough for those to become a reality. Time will tell.

In the meantime, running's like drugs. I tried to figure out how I could get to the gym today. There's no way. I left the house at 7 a.m. for an 8 a.m. meeting and my last meeting of the day will get out at 9 tonight, getting me home by 9:40. For a minute and a half, I considered trying to get to the gym by 9:30 for a 30 minute run before they close at 10. No way I'm gonna make that, but I thought about it.

And my body's changing. My legs are more powerful. The celluite is slowly disappearing. My ass is smaller. Jeans that have been in my drawer for a year or more fit again. I like the idea that my body might sculpt itself differently than it ever has before.

And I'm keeping the yoga. All this running needs to be countered by strength and relaxation. The balance will keep me healthier.

And those calories? I'm staying away from the cookies for the most part, making a three-pieces-of-fruit smoothie each morning, and keeping the beer to a minimum. Because what goes in my mouth still matters. But now exercise does too. Another great balance.