Autumn (okay, still technically Summer) in New York

I thought writing about my first trip to New York would be easy.  The whole time I was there, I filed memories and moments away specifically for this very purpose.

But now I sit here in front of the computer, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and at a loss for words. (Which, for a writer, is a terrible feeling.)

But let’s just see where this goes, shall we?  I’m just going to start writing with the hope that the right words come pouring out eventually.  Like a bout of constipation finally dislodged from the gut. 

 

Speaking of which, I’ve discovered that my body is odd when it comes to traveling.  I didn’t take a shit the entire time I was in NY.  I guess the change of routine really threw off my regularity.  So weird.  So gross.  So true.

I had anxiously awaited September 16, 2011.  I mean more than I anticipate my birthday, which as some of you may know, I begin counting down to sometime in July or August.

But this was a trip.  And actual trip on a plane.  Not to mention my first trip with Laughs.  So, I mean, lots of cool stuff going on all around, am I right?  I over packed, of course.  My bag weighed 34 flipping pounds.  And because I’m terrible about knowing what I want to wear in advance, I even ended up buying an outfit in Brooklyn.  

I could go through all of the details, moment by moment, but I think you’d get bored reading it all.  So I think the best course of action would be to summarize. 

I had a wonderful time.  I laughed a lot.  I smiled a lot.  I ate…A LOT.  I saw things I honestly never thought I’d have the opportunity to see.  (Like, well…New York, for example.)  I think before this whole trip came about, I had convinced myself that I was not allowed to experience things that other people get to experience.  Like traveling or vacations.  For some reason, I’d fallen into this pattern that my life is still on hold in the same capacity it was on hold when my son was an infant. 

 

(I mean, for Pete’s sake, I have a child, but I just realized I will no longer be shopping in the children’s section of a store.  He’s in men’s sizes now.  It’s a SUPER WEIRD thing to wrap your head around.  I have a man-child.  Holy balls.  HOLY BALLS.  It’s absolutely nuts to think about…so anyways…)

But the truth is, it’s not.  Sure, I can’t up and leave for 2 weeks straight without some massive planning and prep.  And true, I can’t just keep planning vacation after vacation or leave on a whim.  But I can visit places.  I can take airplanes to places.  I’ve started to gain a little more freedom in that respect.  And the coolest part?  There is so much I have yet to see that as time goes on, my options remain pretty much endless. 

 

New York: There's a lot of walking.

The other thing I noticed is that I have this deep appreciation and awe for places and things I’ve never experienced.  I felt like a child in some respects: wide-eyed and eager to take it all in.  I didn’t take a single sight, sound---or smell---for granted.   It was incredible.  It also didn’t hurt that I had a rather funny and knowledgeable tour guide with me. 

 

I even learned how to use the subway.  And being that the station near our hotel was closed and the trains weren’t running for THAT WEEKEND ONLY, I was pretty proud of myself and Laughs for owning the shit out of the MTA despite the odds being mildly stacked against us. 

 

I couldn’t have asked for a better experience—in all respects.  Between seeing NY, hanging out with some of the best people around, eating the most awesome food, and having so many moments that will forever be etched in my mind and heart, it was truly unbelievable. 

 

Moreover, it changed my perspective.  Like I said, I realized that I’m reaching a point in my life where I’m slowly getting a little more freedom to explore this life.  Sure, they’re just small bites, but they’re small, delicious bites. 

 

Admittedly, I’ve gotten a bit emotional about the whole trip since coming home.  Part of it might be a mild case of post vacation blues, but there’s another part of it is that I'm just so incredibly grateful to have had the experience that I can’t help but get a little teary thinking about it. 

 

Like I said, until this point, I’d never really considered visiting NYC (or anywhere really) an option.  I’d basically just kind of filed those dreams away somewhere in the recesses of my very busy brain, and didn’t think much of them.  I’d gotten so used to just believing that my path didn’t have those types of beautiful detours.

So when I realized that I had just conquered my first weekend in NY, and my first actual trip since 2007, it was like I had taken my very first breath.  I went to bed the Thursday before one person, and woke up Monday morning a different one.  A more energized one.  A more confident one.  One who realized that it might have taken many, many years, but I’m slowly taking my life and making it all of the things that it has the potential to be. 

Of course, finally seeing Max again after 4 days I also realized that part of that is being a good mom.  And it’s finding that balance that’s been a challenge.  This trip showed me that I can have that balance.  That I DO have that balance.

 

I feel like I absolutely need to end this post by abundantly thanking Laughs for making this trip more than just a trip to New York.  You made it an experience.  You made it fun.  You made my face hurt from laughing.  You made it a memory that I will never forget.  You made something I didn’t think I’d ever possibly do in the foreseeable future, absolutely possible.  So thank you, Laughs – it means so incredibly much to me.  More than I can even express. 

 

Additionally, you also made me want to get closet doors for a closet-sized bathroom. 

Something happened, Hoyt-Schermerhorn.  Something happened.

My Brain Isn’t Built for Math – Literally.

I’ve always had a problem distinguishing left from right.  I mean, I know the difference, but not in the sense that if you say, “Go left” I would automatically turn to my left.

I typically have to take a decent amount of time to process it, run mental tests, and then make sure I’m about to actually turn to the left.  

In other words, that knowledge is not innate.  It’s a constant struggle to remember. 

I’ve always just assumed this was some sort of weird quirk, one that I should just add to the pile of other countless quirks I possess.  But after doing some late night Googling, I discovered something that was not only amazing, but most definitely would have been beneficial to know when I was growing up.

Seems legit.

Because I have an English degree and I like to write and do all sorts of other creative things, I typically joke that I’m just plain bad at math.  In the sense that because I excel at these other things, there’s just no room in my brain for math, hence my inability to do even the simplest problems.  (I mean, I literally have issues with basic subtraction.  No seriously.  And carrying numbers over?  Forget it.)

I have to write even the most elementary math problems on paper, or better yet, use a calculator.  You see, I can’t visualize numbers.  It’s as if my mind’s eye is blind to them.  Put it this way, if you were to say, “What’s 100 minus 37?” and asked me to mentally tell you, I couldn’t—at least not in a reasonable amount of time. 

When I go to think about it, the numbers sort of just fade out from the mental picture.  It’s kind of like mathematical Whack-a-Mole in there.  The numbers just fade in and out until I just finally grab a sheet of paper and write them down so I can plainly see them.  

Additionally, I’ve always had a harder time reading analog clocks.  I remember this issue clearly in about Kindergarten when we were learning to tell time.  I couldn’t freaking do it.  And many times to this day, I transpose the time (mix up the big and little hands), or have to count by 5’s to know what time it is if it’s not on the 12, 3, 6, or 9.  Thank goodness for digital.

So what do knowing my right from my left and not being able to do math have to do with each other?

It’s a learning disability called Dyscalculia or Math Blindness.  It’s basically Dyslexia, but with numbers.    

Well, not just numbers, also sense of direction and time, and a bunch of other things that I’ve always had issue with, but just thought it was because I was just kind of, well, uncoordinated or bad at.  

For example, in high school I was a cheerleader.  I always hated learning new cheers and moreover I hated learning the choreography for the yearly dance number.  I had a hard time following the moves.  More often than not, if the instructor would do a move with her right arm, there my left arm would go, flailing about, sticking out like a sore thumb.  It used to drive me crazy---and when I’m trying to learn a new workout routine, it STILL drives me crazy.  My brain just can’t pick it up as fast as other people. 

Another trait of Dyscalculia is not being able to put names with faces.  This is why I typically fail to introduce people to each other, because I fear I won’t recall their names properly.  Dyscalculics will typically call people the wrong name, but will remember the first letter of the name (for instance, referring to a guy named Bob as “Bill”), which I find myself doing quite often.

Wanna know a secret?  I’ve been on an improv team for over a year, and I STILL have a hard time remembering the Toms and the Tims.  Even though I know these people super well.  And I avoided calling Laughs by his first name for quite some time because I was afraid I’d screw it up.  Of course, once I truly get to know people, that issue goes away, but they’ve gotta be a regular fixture in my everyday life for that to happen. 

Of course, I’ve self-diagnosed my Dyscalculia.  Firstly because when I was in school, no one really knew what it was and secondly because I see no reason to actually take myself to a doctor and get a note.   So unless I find myself in a job or situation where this information would be helpful to me being successful or for a boss or  partner to be aware of it, I’ll probably just remain self-diagnosed.  

The funny thing is, I actually feel better knowing that there’s a legitimate neurological issue at play, and not that I’m just absent-minded, forgetful, or incompetent.  In high school Algebra class, I felt like the biggest idiot in the room.  No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get it.  Especially with tests.  I remember my teacher looking at me some days, like, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!  How are you not getting this?  Are you not trying?”  

But I did try.  Until I finally just gave up.    I mean, I’d tested into the non-credit math class.  

I wanted to blog about this because it took 30 damn years to figure it out.  And also if  we’re ever hanging out, and I motion to the right when I’m talking about my left…just let it happen.  I can’t really help it.  But feel free to point it out so I can correct myself.  

If you’re interested in reading more of the symptoms, I’m putting them below.  I have all of them, with the exception of the last one (although I couldn’t take stats or keep score at a baseball game.  But chess?  Dude.  I rock at chess.  Believe this.).  And if you know me in real life, you'll recognize how many of these do apply.

The cool thing is, I just look at is as something that makes me inherently me, not a disability, but more like, the Universe wanted me to focus on my strengths, like writing and creativity, so my brain wasn't built with the ability to comprehend math and such as strongly.  And if that's not a cue to follow my dreams, I don't know what is.

• ·  Normal or accelerated language acquisition: verbal, reading, writing. Poetic ability. Good visual memory for the printed word. Good in the areas of science (until a level requiring higher math skills is reached), geometry (figures with logic not formulas), and creative arts.
  
• · Difficulty with the abstract concepts of time and direction. Inability to recall schedules, and the sequences of past or future events. Unable to keep track of time. May be chronically late.
  
• ·  Mistaken recollection of names. Poor name/face retrieval. Substitute names beginning with same letter.
  
• ·  Inconsistent results in addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. Poor mental math ability. Poor with money and credit. Cannot do financial planning or budgeting. Checkbooks not balanced. Short term, not long term financial thinking. Fails to see big financial picture. May have fear of money and cash transactions. May be unable to mentally figure change due back, the amounts to pay for tips, taxes, etc.
  
• ·  When writing, reading and recalling numbers, these common mistakes occur: number additions, substitutions, transpositions, omissions, and reversals.
  
• ·  Inability to grasp and remember math concepts, rules, formulas, sequence (order of operations), and basic addition, subtraction, multiplication and division facts.
  
• ·  Poor long term memory (retention & retrieval) of concept mastery- may be able to perform math operations one day, but draw a blank the next! May be able to do book work but fails all tests and quizzes.
  
• ·  May be unable to comprehend or "picture" mechanical processes. Lacks "big picture/ whole picture" thinking. Poor ability to "visualize or picture" the location of the numbers on the face of a clock, the geographical locations of states, countries, oceans, streets, etc.
  
• ·  Poor memory for the "layout" of things. Gets lost or disoriented easily. May have a poor sense of direction, may lose things often, and seem absent minded. (Remember the absent minded professor?)
  
• ·  May have difficulty grasping concepts of formal music education. Difficulty sight-reading music, learning fingering to play an instrument, etc.
  
• ·  May have poor athletic coordination, difficulty keeping up with rapidly changing physical directions like in aerobic, dance, and exercise classes. Difficulty remembering dance step sequences, rules for playing sports.
  
• ·  Difficulty keeping score during games, or difficulty remembering how to keep score in games, like bowling, etc. Often loses track of whose turn it is during games, like cards and board games. Limited strategic planning ability for games, like chess.
  
  For more information on Dyscalculia: http://www.dyscalculia.org/

Sore Thumb. Wait, square peg? Does it even matter?

No.  I did not injure my thumb or any other phalanges. 

I’m talking about sticking out like a sore thumb.  (And by the way, I once had a terribly infected cuticle on my thumb…I assure you my thumb stuck straight out…

…and felt as though a thousand fire banshees were perpetually spraying streams of hot fire urine on it while a million tiny drummers beat it to hell with their drumsticks…which were made of spears and shards of broken glass.)

But that was years ago.  

Anyways, so yeah, sticking out like a sore thumb.  Can I put that on my resume?

Anyone else thinking about Sarah Jessica Parker in the 80s?

Maybe square peg is actually more like it, actually.

(Yeah, it is.  But still.  A sore thumb really does stick out.  So that's covered.  Phew.  ANYWAYS...)

Because it’s a skill or a trait I’ve possessed since childhood.

Let me take you back to St. Paul’s elementary school circa 1987.  I spent nearly every recess watching the other kids play with each other, while I played with things like dandelions, or rocks, or worms after a really hearty rainfall.

Or sometimes I played on the swings, wishing I could just swing right up into the sky.

I wasn’t sad or depressed.  It was more like, I just never felt like I fit in.  Even when I made friends, the friendships always seemed to fizzle away—usually because someone more assertive would come along and decide that she was my old friend’s new best friend and there was no room for Tiff in the picture. 

 

No seriously, that happened.  Twice. 

 

But as an only child, I had a keen sense of doing things by myself.  I was used to it.  And that’s how I spent the majority of my childhood – alone with my imagination.  And for the most part, I was just fine with it.

As I grew, sure I had friends.  Mainly my cousins, but as time went on and I got older, I did have a core group of people I hung out with.  Still, even in their company I often felt like I just didn’t belong.  

There are a few very close people in my life who I truly feel like I fit in with.  That I rarely ever feel like some sort of strange oddity around.  And I’m super thankful for that, but for the most part I can’t seem to find my place.

Of course, these days it’s less about the social aspect, I love people.  I’m a goddamned social butterfly nowadays.  And I love to meet new friends and people.  I really do. 

But when I think about my life, I realize that there are at least two distinct facets that I’ve never quite been able to reconcile: the social me and the domestic me.

 

Social me goes out, has hobbies, does improv, karaoke, hangs out with friends, etc.

Domestic me hangs with Max, makes dinner, pays bills, does chores, sits at home alone or with Max.

Social me interacts with my social circle.

Domestic me rarely ever does. 

Now I’m not saying that one is better than the other.  Or that I like one aspect more than its counterpart.  That’s not true.  Each facet has its own unique sets of perks and drawbacks.

I think what’s hard for me is that I can’t find anyone in either circle to relate with both sides…if that makes sense.  

When I’m in social me mode, I have no other single parents to relate to, typically.  The biggest part of who I am, which is Max, rarely ever makes an appearance because a.) he’s a little too young for some of the events and b.) there will likely be no one around for him to hang out with.  And I’m fairly certain none of my single, childless friends really care about how awesome Max’s autobiography was, or that he blew my mind with his vocabulary over dinner. 

When I’m in domestic mode, again, I have no other single parents (or parents in general now that I think about it) to relate to.  And the parents I do meet, they tend to live the suburban life.  They don’t have an outside hobby or passion.  They like to talk about curtains.  They haven’t been out on the town in years.  So it becomes just me and Max.  As for those single, childless friends of mine, they are great with him, but I can sometimes tell they’re not entirely comfortable--which is understandable and I totally get it.

It’s almost as if I don’t even fit into my own life sometimes.  Does that even make sense?  Probably not. 

Perhaps I create this dichotomy myself.  Perhaps it’s really just a figment of my own imagination.  I’m betting that it actually is.  

But still, it’s Friday night.  I get to hang out with Max and I’m excited about that.  But then I start to think that perhaps I’d like to have one of my girls come over for a glass of wine and some shit shooting after Max goes to bed – and there’s no one to call.  (Part of that is also because 99% of my friends and acquaintances live in Chicago---but that’s a whole other story.) 

Or I see all of my improv friends taking new opportunities or performing more, and I wish so badly that I could do the same, but I know my schedule doesn’t quite allow for it.  

Some days I don’t even think about it.  And then there are other days, days like today, where I just can’t help it.  Like it’s beyond my control.  (Maybe it’s the grey weather…)

Where the heck do I fit in ?  What am I supposed to be doing?  How is it that I could be given so much in terms of having a great kid, great friends, and great opportunities to do the things that I’ve always dreamed I’d be doing (all of which I am infinitely grateful for), yet none of it seems to fit together cohesively?

Or is that just normal?  Does everybody just feel like that sometimes?  

If that’s the case, I guess I fit right in just fine then…right?

I don’t know.  I do know that eventually this nasty thought pattern will let up and I’ll get back to not feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong to any puzzle.  Well, I mean, I probably will still feel like that, it just won’t bother me.  I’ll embrace it like I usually do and recognize that I’m uniquely me, and that’s just fine.   

Even if it doesn’t seem to make a lick of sense. 

Summer 2011 - An Experiment in Being 30 in the Summer: Without Expectations, Everything is Awesome and, Coincidentally, Unexpected

There are 15 days of summer left.

Well, unless you go by meteorological season changes, in which case a.) summer is over and b.) hey asshat, in Chicago much of our year is spent in the cold, grey, deadness of wintry weather…so take your opinions elsewhere.*

*Admittedly, I was that asshat about a week ago when I got excited over pumpkin spice, sweaters and apple orchards.  I apologize.  I’m trying to be in the acceptance stage of grieving over the impending loss of beautiful weather and trees that are lush and green in exchange for bare, skeletal fingers reaching up to flip off Old Man Winter and his sick, frigid grey joke that lasts from late October to early May.  **

**Although, that’s perfect blanket, pj, and movie night inside weather.***

***Who am I kidding?  After Christmas and New Years, winter makes me want to run screaming, bare naked, right into the goddamned sun itself.

What was I saying?  Oh yes, 15 days of summer left.  Bittersweet?  I dunno…maybe.

So, I thought I’d reflect on the summer of my 30^th year, and also maybe generate some excitement about autumn and all its upcoming red, gold, and yellow, cinnamon spice and pumpkin-filling glory.  

And gourds.  God damn do I love gourds. 

Summer 2011 – An Experiment in Being 30 in the Summer: Without Expectations, Everything is Awesome and, Coincidentally, Unexpected.

This is a picture of a tiny turtle.  That's all.

 My 2011 Summer started out pretty normally.  I was stoked to open my summer clothes box which I had packed away last fall, and to push my sweaters to the back of the closet.  I looked forward to setting up my garden with my mom and to spending time with Max.  I was excited about not wearing a coat, driving to Chicago with the sunroof open, and walking to theaters for shows and rehearsals without fear that my breasts or ladyparts would freeze off and fall to the ground, shattering into a million icy flesh shards. 

 Of course, it would be much different than last summer when I was unemployed and could enjoy every day as I pleased, save for the crippling fear that gnawed at me from the darkest depths of my financial uncertainty.  

But still…

…it was a summer vacation.  An actual summer vacation.  And for the most part, I survived the unemployment part unscathed.  

But this summer I had part-time work, which meant that I would only be enjoying the glorious gifts of Momma Summertime on weekends or days off.  But that was fine by me.

The official start of Summer 2011 (again, NOT meteorologically) was Tuesday, June 21^st.  

But I spent much of early June in a summertime state of mind.  Max started vacation.  The days got longer and warmer.  I anticipated my 2^nd annual 4^th of July party, and upcoming shows (one of which I was asked to do by a remarkable group of people who have just made the whole experience a complete joy.  Thank you SCREWED crew and C.L.O.A.K.A.  I can’t believe our run is almost over!  It has been super awesome.  Seriously.), and basically just hanging out and enjoying summertime as I saw fit.

So when June 21^st hit, and the green-light to start calling this season “Summer” flickered on, I already had a running start.

In retrospect, I find it extremely fitting that just about 3 days into to Official Summer, in addition to all of the awesomeness already going on, a new dab of awesomesauce splooshed onto my tray while in line for the Summertime Funtacularaganza Buffet.  

Now we all know at this point that Summer 2011 marked the momentous occasion of my Aloof, Unavailable, Ice Queendom coming to a halt with the intervention of my first date in over a year and a half. 

We also all know that I’ve mentioned the gentleman caller responsible for this epic feat a few times.

(And that I’ve also provided him a pseudonym that, while quite fitting, isn’t my best creative work.  But, whaaaaaatever.)

And finally, it’s been mentioned that because I’m pretty darned happy and excited to just be exploring this whole thing, I’m off the market, so to speak. 

Again, you can read about all of these things in the links I’ve provided.  (But if you loved me, if you truly, truly loved me, you’d have already read them.  Unless you’re new.  In which case, ignore that statement.  Hey! Welcome to my random life musings. Fasten your seat belts and enjoy the ride, bitches!)

That splooshing of awesomesauce, combined with a plethora of other incredible moments with friends and improv and karaoke and Max and days on the patio has made this one unforgettable summer.  

I’ve had a lot of fun over the past 79 days.  And man, it’s flown by so incredibly fast.  Seriously, it just doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long.  But seeing how I just saw some dead leaves scattered across the parking lot on my cigarette break, I know that it has.  And I know that autumn is slowing making its way into the city.

As one final fist bump to Summer, Laughs and I are taking a mini-vacation to a place I’ve never been before, which is super exciting.  I’ve literally been peeing my pants in excitement every day since the tickets were booked.  Okay, not literally. 

Maybe literally.

I’ll let that one be.  You decide if I’m an excited pants-wetter.  

And then, a few short days later (September 23^rd – which is exactly one month before I turn 31), Fall will officially grace us with its presence.

And just like summer, I will be ready.  I will leap in headfirst to its leaf piles and apple cider, without expectation.  I will walk tall towards winter--and 31--with all the confidence and openness to just let things be and see what wonderful things may happen and lessons I may learn.  

Summer 2011 taught me to shuck expectation to the curb in order to make room for the unexpected, which can be precisely what you never knew you were looking for, but exactly what you wanted. 

And that’s how I’ll approach Fall 2011. 

And I...am...stoked.*

*Winter 2011, however, I can only promise not to have expectations about how my experiences play out. 

I will readily be expecting to offend my neighbors with the loud and crude expletives I will undoubtedly spew while trying to shovel my rather large parking pad.  (Alternatively, however, it’s the perfect time to discover new offensive swear words.  So I guess it’s kind of a win.)