things left undone

I tend to go to Barnes and Noble when I’m sad. This makes me happier, but then it makes my bank account sad. Book addiction is a vicious cycle. 

I could be working on my endurance by rollerskating a 20+ mile lake trail with my fellow derby league members. Alternatively, I could be building strength by participating in a hitting and blocking clinic with the Rose City Roller Girls. What am I doing instead? I am at home, reading an autiobiography by Diane Keaton and eating my feelings. I’m ok with that. Why? Because my feelings are delicious. They taste like Jelly Bellies and pizza. 

I was matched with the coolest Tumblr Buddy a girl could ask for. No, really. I was. I couldn’t wait to exchange identities with Miriam, so I did the Big Reveal early and I’m so glad that I did. Without said reveal, I wouldn’t have been able to salvage a less than stellar day. I arrived home grumbly and bear-like, only to find a birthday package from Miriam. My buddy is no slouch when it comes to good reading and I am now the proud owner of Angels in America (Tony Kushner) and Invisible Monsters (Chuck Palahniuk). She also sent me a mixed cd with such a great opening song that I keep hitting repeat. One of my favorite parts of this experience was getting a glimpse into a life that I wouldn’t otherwise be privy to. Miriam’s passion is theater and I have been inspired to consider taking in a play or two in my immediate future. 

Sidenote: Miriam, if you ever have occasion to visit Portland, we can stalk its streets until we find Palahniuk’s house. I’ll be that girl. 

The last two months have been nothing less than agonizing on the self-esteem front. I really cannot recall a time that I have allowed for such neurotic musings to play out in my mind. I feel like I have been struggling to try to pick out the individual pieces of what make me a special and unique person out of a towering scrap heap of ugliness. Most days, I see myself as a confident, capable individual who can take care of business at work and on the homefront. I genuinely like the person that I am, but out of nowhere, I feel as if some unknown source has sent me back into time to age 12, where every ounce of me is awkward and uncomfortable. Since I am a rational person (most of the time), I realize that this is not an acceptable arrangement. THIS just isn’t who I am and I can’t let this current phase become a new norm.

After a day or so of considering what could be amiss in my life, I am almost certain that the culprit is roller derby. As much as I love roller derby, I am not sure that the feeling is mutual. I cannot help but notice my cohorts progressing in leaps and bounds, while I stumble my way through drills. My feet simply won’t listen to my head. As a former athlete, I find this lack of coordination frustrating.

I also regret that I haven’t made a solid connection with my teammates. I cannot help but feel like that 12 year old version of myself with an unfortunate haircut and an ill-fitting tee-shirt, watching friendships blossoming before my eyes (and playing out on facebook). As silly as it sounds, I seem to be left behind. My heart is such a sensitive little thing. I just want to love and be loved.   

There is a big difference between thinking that you are awesome and knowing that you are awesome. Thinking that you are awesome usually means there is some degree of overcompensation, perhaps some obnoxious and over the top posturing for good measure. Knowing that you are awesome involves a keener sense of awareness - the knowledge that you have a solid command of your skills and gifts. I may not be as far along as I feel I should be in the world of roller derby, but the rational part of me knows that I will get there someday. Someday…..as vague as it sounds, there is promise in knowing that my perseverance will pay off. I will not be so hard on myself. What I lack in finesse on the track, I make up in other ways. I am awesome. I am.

Being a perfectionist is both a blessing and a curse. At the risk of sounding boastful, I acknowledge that I have gifts that lend themselves well to the pursuit of perfection. I am thorough, I am determined, and I am sensitive to the importance of details. On the other hand, I am all too aware of my shortcomings and spend far too much time fixating on them. I am brutally (brutally) hard on myself. I cannot imagine being as hard on anyone as hard as I am on myself. It is a shame really. I have many personal characteristics and talents that most would consider admirable, but despite these things, I am quick to berate and curse myself. I’m not alone in this, but I am not immediately aware of anyone who self-scrutinizes as ruthlessly as I do. Surely others feel the same and do just as good of a job at masking the silent, internal battle that wages on. Why are we so critical in our self-assessments? Why cannot we be as kind to ourselves as we are to others?