Create your Crazy

When I walked in for a mani/pedi this morning, I picked out my color and immediately sat down and consciously got lost in my magazine- I needed my intense reading to shy my girl away from talking to me, foregoing the opportunity to tell me how absolutely nasty my feet were. It's been done before- where I've been told I don't take care of my feet. And that's been the state of things the last couple weeks and I couldn't bear to hear the truth I already knew. In my hiding out, I read about Demi Moore's demise, her falling apart, her loss of self. And to thicken the moral, Whitney Houston's album was playing through the speakers.

A lot of times I really like myself. Truth be told, I consider myself good company. I laugh with myself, I run ideas by my self. I like being with me. But I can also be very tortured by myself. By my inability to make sense of life. By my ability to relate to the thought processes that end in bad decisions. By my jumbled attempt to separate good and bad, wrong and right. By my failure to be able to reconcile one's action with their heart. These things all drive me crazy.

And this morning, I felt myself being tortured.

Thinking about these two stars, burning with talent, who struggled to keep their heads above water. And I don't look at their situations (actual facts not really important to my oh-so-deep analysis) and ask the question, "Why?" Rather, I look at their situations and nod my head thinking, "I get it. I can see how you ended up here."  I don't say that condescendingly in the least. I say that feeling their pain, understanding their footsteps- that life is hard. And confusing. And full of traps. How do you not get lost? How do you positively deal with all the passion of life?  I see why they went crazy. A lot of times I look at their predicaments and see that as the natural, highlighted path. And that's the part that tortures me- nailing down the path for a different ending, for the happy ending. I feel like I'm finding my own mechanisms to survive life and mostly enjoy it. But I don't understand it enough to feel adequate to teach it to my kids. And that's what scares me. And instead of relishing in a luxury treatment, I left that salon feeling like I just had my toe nails ripped off.  

After I had Deeter, I started shaking that baby fat off with a personal trainer. It was something I'd always wanted to do and then seemed as good as time as any. I started the sessions and my ego was quickly put into check. I remember day #1 having to stop 3 times during the workout for fear of passing out. I was a little bit embarrassed. I shouldn't have been, instead I should have lapped the resting up because my trainer was only easy on me that first session. After that, there was no sympathy. My cute girly pushups were quickly demanded to be transformed into full-on for real ones. I looked up at TMitch with big ole eyes and a look that said nothing short of "You're crazy". Because he was. I had never done for real pushups and I wasn't magically going to be able to just cuz he told me I had to. And anyways, they hurt when I tried and I had no desire to be spending my precious  dollar bills on pain. But he looked me dead in the eye with his arms folded and said, "Yes, real pushups." And guess what? I busted out 10 for reals. And the next time he made me do 15. I kept my head down, eyes glued to the ground, keeping the absolute look of shock between me and the brown rug that nothing but my toes and palms were on. I had no idea I was capable.

We did a few runs together and I confidently told him I was a 10-minute-mile runner. That all the years I had run, I somehow always did 10-minute-miles, whether running one mile or six. He cut the conversation short by saying, "Well, you won't be when I'm done with you." Now I should know that people look at my kind of statement as a challenge, but I'll tell you what,  I could have cared less if he looked at it as a challenge or not because I was so convinced there was no hope for me........I've never run a 10-minute-mile since. Not even running on 2 broken toes. He was crazy. But he was right.

Do you know what these personal training sessions did for me? I kid you not when I say every time I walked away in awe. I walked away in awe at my abilities. I had no idea I was capable of so much. And was dumbfounded that I didn't know my own strength, that this raw strength had just waiting in reserve for me to tap into it. I've thought on that often, how someone's mere presence had the ability to bring out the best in me {physically.} A personal trainer simply believed in me enough so, that it made me reach deep inside and believe in myself. And that's when the results manifested themselves- when I believed I could and kept trying until I did. That's what personal training taught me.

Turns out, I have a lot of crazies looming around in my life. I have one friend that regardless of the idea I bring to her, she catches onto my dream and tells me I have to build it. I have another one who makes me feel like I'm the best mom in the world. And another one who tells me I'm so put together- obvious crazy, which is why I need her in my life. Because I sometimes need to believe her to make it through another week.  I have a mom who acknowledges that life is hard and tells me I'm living it just wonderfully, that I'm doing great. I have sisters that soup my head up, telling me I'm just a good person. I started catching on to the fact that I actually have my own team of personal trainers and how important it is to identify our team of personal trainers. You know, the people you can always count on to help bring out the best in you. All these things, I need to hear. I need to hear them so that I believe them. Because then, I can be just a better "best" me.  I'm learning, as important as it is having these people in our lives, it's equally important to identify the role they play for us. And make sure we are having regular interaction with our personal trainers so that they can do their magic!

So back to the salon. I left my mani/pedi all depressed and what not, to go meet some girlfriends for lunch---

 Now let's just take a brief moment to pause and call me spoiled. And to that accusation.... I will nod and smile a sheepish smile and say......some days I am. And I LOVE IT!---

I met my girlfriends for lunch, and the mood and hopelessness quickly dispelled. Yes, life is hard and confusing and full of traps and sometimes seems impossible. But it's also beautiful and hopeful and bright. And there's a lot of people who view it as such. It was like an object lesson to the very problem torturing me at the time- surround yourself and your family by the crazies who see this positive definition of life. Who create this definition of life. Who infectiously pass it on.  Have them be a constant. Give my kids the opportunity as often as possible to latch onto this mentality and adapt these defense mechanisms for reality. Help them create a personal training team that has them crossing the finish line with 2 arms raised in triumph. While this may not be the whole solution, I'm feeling like maybe it's a sliver.

Maybe there is no avoiding crazy, but there is a designation of crazy that has a happy ending. I'm going for that one!