Integrity to others vs. Integrity to Self

There's a ruthlessness in the choices I make. Up until recently, I haven't felt particularly negative about the life choices I've made: separating from the U.S. government, moving in with my mom, working part time for a reduced salary, and making it known I prioritize situations where I have an avenue to the mountains. Until recently. I gave someone my word and then I broke it. Circumstances changed between when I gave my word and when I decided I had to break my word. It was a choice between keeping my word, which I value as a part of what I believe is a characteristic I have: deep integrity, and another conflicting characteristic I have, which is commitment to my true self. So my true self is someone who will break her promise to ensure a way to make it easier to get into the mountains. Integrity ranks lower in my personality scale than being unfettered and uncommitted to convention. Sounds paradoxical and hypocritical right? Commitment to myself and my desired lifestyle over commitment to integrity and trust.

I wrote the above post three months ago. The funny thing about this life, is I'm eating my words. I've committed now to moving out, reducing my expendable income. I'm okay with that. Two months ago I summitted a mountain where the uncertainty of even going to the top were paramount on just the last 140 feet of the summit's ridge. I was stoked - it meant the higher peaks of the Himalayas were a possibility. And if I could fit the pieces of training, income, interesting work for income, experience, and partnerships - none mutually exclusive - that goal was attainable - and with patience - maybe in even a couple years.

On veteran's day

“Honor to the soldier and sailor everywhere, who bravely bears his country's cause. Honor, also, to the citizen who cares for his brother in the field and serves, as he best can, the same cause.” 

 - Abraham Lincoln.

For some time I carried this weight.  Despite my six years in the US Department of Defense, working three months in Iraq in 2007, being one of the few women who wore civilian clothing - although we were given the option of wearing desert cammos that read "DoD Civilian" and then another couple years actually considered a US Army Civilian, and in both instances, carrying around an official identity card declaring me as accompanying the Armed Forces and subject to Geneva Conventions - I don't feel worthy of the title or honor of being called a veteran. 

 International Zone, Baghdad 2007

Sure I went to the same training as many of uniformed colleagues before I was shipped on the same military aircraft to the same desert destinations. Sure I cried when I thought about my uniformed friends who I could not save ... who died for this country, or those who had to leave their families behind (just as I was leaving mine behind), for service. When my unit went to a sponsored day of gratitude to the Armed Forces at Busch Gardens, I felt like a freeloader. 

Yes after six years of service I walked away, not sure what those six years had given me, and not sure what they would contribute to my future. 

In any case, I always feel immense pride at having served alongside my brave, self-less, uniformed brethren. Even for the short-term I did, usually behind multiple lines of defense if and when I was overseas with them. Every time Veterans Day comes around - I struggle with this mix of pride, shame, and egoism. I recognize all my friends who wore the uniform - and certainly I could have taken up the uniform; I also wonder how many other civilians like me, who served in the rear to support our troops or worked alongside them, feel the same way I do. 

I honor all our country's veterans, those in uniform, in the past, present, and future, and those who served alongside those in uniform to support our country's cause.

This dance...

I'm this restless energy, that wants to dance in the mountains, on ropes and my partner never begrudges me this dance. This partner faithfully belays me, cleans the gear, and sets the ropes for us to return to earth. And I realize how grateful I am, to this partner who never says no when I ask to dance on ropes, on mountains, even when my partner is in pain.

This partner who asks me about dancing down mountains, what shoes shall I wear?

This partner who asks me to dance the biggest mountain we ever encounter, so big we must sleep three nights in her cool arms and not feel thirst until we start the descent down her flanks in the beating southern sun.

And this partner who asks me to dance in these mountains, I have seen distantly, dreamt of, or heard terrifying tales of. These mountains this dance with ropes and wax slicken-ed sticks. This dance to connect, to feel how little I am, how big I am, how big we are, how infinite, expansive, and how limitless we can be.

Games

There I was on a varnished hardwood floor, barefoot, making aggressive eye contact with my opponent, the US title holder of women's lightweight Taekwondo champion. We had been intricately dancing, feints, complicated steps, goading the other to give up her tactics, strategies, and vulnerabilities. A muggy day outside in Detroit, my mother screamed in rage at the judges when they appropriately didn't score my big toe brushing the outside of her shoulder, but inappropriately scoring my opponent when she barely grazed my nose with her roundhouse. At black belt level, one had to prove and show impact. Head shots are the most obvious impact - the judges were familiar with her, not me, and were jittery to start scoring.

My insteps were taped, only single wrapped per regulation on a piece of foam cut from my first set of shin guards. My mouthpiece conformed to the roof of my mouth while also restricting the air flow I needed to execute an anaerobic combination of spinning, power, and high kicks for three 1 minute qualification rounds. I had tasted victory on my first match - my opponent's spirit and desire to finish gone after the first round and a half of my onslaught of combination double round house kicks to her flank (1 point each) finishing with a drop kick to her head (2 points). A week earlier I walked the lawn, receiving my Bachelors and celebrated that journey with my family and friends. With six days left until weigh-in, I fasted, jogged in as much clothing as I could, to sweat out the celebratory six pounds at the 2002 US Taekwondo Championships in Detroit. In the second match, I won't forget the taste of bile in the back of my throat, and I won't forget the journey that took me there (in front of a US defending champion) - 

getting knocked out a year and a half ago, my vision fading in and out in an ill-ventilated Richmond gymnasium, crying because I was scared and annoyed with myself. (The silver lining was getting closer to the tall dark handsome heavyweight on the Virginia team, as he doctored me with anti-pain medicine, care, and understanding). 

And then I came back for more, I placed and I went to my first US National Taekwondo Championship tournament in Cleveland. It had been a demonstration event at the Olympics and this year the stakes were higher, as it was rumored back in 2000 Taekwondo would become an Olympic medal sport. And so it did. Trying to get to the World Championships, cutting weight, lifting at the gym, six day work outs to include pummeling swinging heavy bags with my insteps and knuckles until they were raw, partner drills, sprints, long runs, endless practice sparring matches, bruises, and sprains. In 2004 I walked away from reaching the possibility of competing on the world athletic stage to represent the US in a different way. And now, 10 years later I watch in rapt attention the Olympic games. Those emotions, the athlete's families, the victories, the comeback, and my favorite - the underdog (go Slovenia!!!). To all who know, you can't be a champion if you don't ever begin.

And we're caught up - 2013!

This was a particularly challenging year - good and bad - maybe I'm accepting more - maybe I'm learning the best place to find my lightened moments is to stop avoiding my dark times.

January - Back from Montana - go on a few trips with good friends to New Hampshire to ice climb. Starting to see cracks in the recent caulking of my romantic relationship.

February - Committed to not just 'running away' - trying to solve the problems in the relationship. It was tough, but I'm glad we did it. Did a couple ice climbing trips to lighten the heaviness.

March - Acknowledgment and realization set in. Went to another life mind-set changing clinic - for skiing at the invitation of a caring friend in Alta, UT.

April - Went back to Utah, this time to climb at Indian Creek with two amazing women friends. Loved being in the desert in an amazing setting.

May - Went to the New, helped my high-school best friend prepare for her wedding - honored to be part of her ceremony.

June - Went to Peru with the family. For two weeks. It was the biggest challenge - being in an amazing country with amazing peaks and learning how to enjoy the moment, just looking at them, and nothing more :)

July - HERA Climb4Life! Third year in a row. Trained for a return to higher, more committing climbs.

August - Continued training - lots of pitches and days at Seneca, ended the month with a wet climbing trip to New Hampshire at Cannon Cliff.

September - Off to Seattle - hardest climb that made me use every ounce of mental, physical, emotional commitment and a lot more spirituality than I would've believe to go car-to-car in four days, with no water source for the first three days. Left the mountain still good friends with my partner.

October - Enjoyed fall climbing among the turning leaves in the East. Swore since my main objective of the year was complete, I didn't need to push myself. But still managed to get on a few climbs I couldn't get to the top of :) and that was ok.

November - Returned to Indian Creek. Fell, injured settled in for recovery. Sigh. Note to self to not ignore the voice coming from my belly - asking me how a 5 pitch desert tower at 5.10 was an appropriate rest day activity with a two hour approach on either end? Oh well, learning not to take it so hard on myself.

December - Focused on recovery, studying, although got in a couple ski days at the local Pennsylvania resort - despite physical therapists admonishment. Tried ice climbing again end of the month. Had a little bit to go before back in my usual condition and shape.

2012 in Review

2011 was a year for big transitions, from not working, to the anxiety of being jobless and needing the security of a salaried gig.

2012 - was perhaps about getting more settled - and perhaps seeing after I wrote the summaries - of giving myself healthy doses of mountains:

January - Ice climbing for New Years, and the long weekend holidays. It was nice to spend that time on the road with good friends.

February - Itching for adventure, especially after a marathon run of Banff Mountain Filmfest screening at the National Geographic, hopped on a plane with all my ice climbing equipment, prepared to beg, bribe, and sweet talk my way into ice climbing partnerships. Luckily, the IME icefest organizers let me squeeze into two fantastic clinics with Freddie Wilkinson and Mark Synnott. Went to Utah to ski- Snowbasin and Snowbird. Maybe I should have taken that as a sign my itch to be in the mountains would not be appeased.

March - Epic ski trip to Hokkaido, Japan. Amazing backcountry/side-country skiing - open bowl skiing followed by long soaks in mineral hot springs. Unfortunately blew my knee on my fourth day out. I had stretched it out plenty by trying to rid myself of a cold I caught on the flight over. Unfortunately returned a couple days earlier to seek medical treatment.

April - Yea - back in physical therapy. Got into a relationship. Did my annual international film fest binge in D.C. Took a pretty amazing climbing clinic that changed my head - Trad Mental Camp.

May - Gunks, New York City, a small turbo prop flight where they promoted me to captain and promptly fell asleep - thankfully the co-pilot was on it! My first visit to Oregon, sea-side whale sightings, Wilmette Valley Pinot Noir, micro-brews in rainy Bend, Smith Rocks climbing.

June - With a bum knee, started taking opera singing lesson. Yes, opera singing lessons :) Please don't ask me to sing though.

July - Rockclimbing in North Conway, mostly Cathedral. Fighting urges to flee a relationship - learned about working it out like adults, being vulnerable and not blaming.

August - My journey into alternative therapies, catalyzed by a surprise allergic reaction and lack of immediate specialist appointment, sought the acupuncturist. Got the first glimmer of hope I could recover my right ankle to climb harder, longer, and go back to mountaineering/ alpine climbing.

September - the usual Fall climbing, weddings, quick East-side trips.

October - Went to Yosemite - awesome to return and climb! Met some amazing people in an amazing setting. Inspired, totally inspired.

November - A few bits of local climbing - with locally born and raised climbers - enjoying the changing of the season, family-time.

December - took off on a one-month unpaid sabbatical to Montana. Drove through the northern states. Spent time in Bozeman for the icefest, climbing in Hyalite Canyon, and then the rest of the time in Big Sky, skiing at Moonlight and Big Sky. Finished out Christmas in Wyoming, skiing at the epic Jackson Hole.

The years have passed and where have my 'plans' gone ...

The old years in review. I'm sometimes surprised how long I've stayed in one place. Going back the to San Juans of SW Colorado rekindled something in me - maybe that promise to take off West. I cried for an hour the day after my plane left. I was secretly hoping United would have cancelled my flight and I would've had to stay in SW Colorado another day or two. But it didn't so here are the years I didn't post

2011 - What a doozy, when my great road trip ended and life back in the rat race began.

January - spent a month in the San Juans of SW Colorado - predominantly living in Ouray. On the way stopped in West Virginia Snowshoe for some night skiing and the Bourbon trail in Kentucky. Our next stop was in Denver at a friend's, and then a stop in Breckenridge, and then some godforsaken Motel 6 - maybe just outside of Grand Junction, on the way to Ouray. Discovered backcountry powder skiing at Red Mountain Pass, took ski lessons at Telluride, spent a few days with friends in Crested Butte. Took a five day hut tour among the Burn and Ridgeway huts in the San Juans - became so hooked on backcountry skiing - swore to learn to ski all kinds of mountain terrain in any and every condition, and probably never come back to Colorado just to ice climb.

February - returned to the Front Range, stayed another night in Denver, checked out Loveland, a second time at Breckenridge and Copper Mountain. I drove back through a Rocky Mountain snow storm. Eventually left the storm in Kansas city. Crashed in St. Louis. Drove straight to D.C. A week after Valentine's day got dumped.

March - Started earnestly looking for a job. Interviewed and accepted a job as an outdoor climbing instructor for REI. Started the dance to get a salaried office job. Ice climbed in the Adirondacks and fell of the second pitch of Multiplication Gulley, a 240' New England ice climb. Began the saga of right foot restoration. Went back to Crested Butte. Craiglisted a ride from Denver to Buena Vista, skied at Arapahoe Basin, met two road-tripping friends and skied at Crested Butte for a few awesome days.

April - rock climbed with friends back in the mid-Atlantic. Did some pre-employment training. Accepted an offer from the big company.

May - started work at the big company. Worked a lot. Went on a few climbing trips to the Gunks and the New River Gorge.

June - Lots of work - went to Atlanta for a brief moment.

July - First year participating in HERA Climb4Life

August - Lots of employer subsidized rehabbing the right ankle and a broken heart.

September - Trip to climb Mt. Shuksan, Washington - realized the foot may not heal the way I hoped.

October - Lots of volunteer climbing events, for Wounded Warrior, spent time at Seneca Rocks, Red River Gorge, had lots of fun - did some easier fun climbing.

November - Continued to appreciate being back home and seeing good friends.

December - Returned to the Front Range of Colorado - Vail specifically - in a fairly low-snow season.

Re-capping 2010

This was an old post that when I went to publish, blogger crapped out on me:

Besides turning 30 what did I do was notable? Somethings I've posted about already, and I'm thinking about my 'never' list but I'm too lazy to find it and scan it ... maybe an idea for something else I can look up.

January - I remember I was living in Ballston fooling myself into thinking I could continue working for DoD. I probably went on some ice climbing trips. I also mourned the loss of my colleague in Afghanistan. I learned my aunt had breast cancer.

February - Probably more ice climbing trips. Took my first avalanche awareness course.

March - Took my second avalanche course and skied in Colorado for the first time. Crested Butte. Discovered powder. Became insanely jealous of my avalanche comrades who were outfitted in skis while I tromped clumsily around Rocky Mountain National Park in my snowshoes. Snuck in a rockclimbing trip to the Gunks.

April - Moved back to D.C. after realizing I was never going to adapt to living in Arlington. Started appreciating spring time in the city, trained for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer by walking everywhere, 5 to 10 miles a day. Attended DC filmfest fiendishly.

May - Walked a marathon length one day, and a half marathon length the second day. Hardest thing I have ever done. My feet felt like raw pulverized ground meat for a week. Continued training. Went on a date with the first climber to become my boyfriend in six years.



June - Left for Tanzania. Wowed by wildlife in the Serengeti and Ngorongoro crater. Got followed around by a toad in our camp, witnessed wild cheetahs nearby and giraffes in the parking lot. Scared off by lions in the ladies room. Summited Mt. Kilimanjaro, my first and probably only Seven Summit.

July - Said goodbye to a dear friend after his quick spirited and calm acceptance with a terminal illness. Climbed my first of the 50 Classic Climbs of North America - the Petit Grepon on my return visit to Rocky Mountain National Park. Notably this was date # 6 with my ex-boyfriend to be and my first successful alpine route. Another post warrants on date # 6. I also quit my cushy federal job, missed my flight back to DC and instead visited friends in Seattle and San Diego for another 10 days.

August - I returned just in time from my adventures out west to go on date #10 to Chamonix, France. There I didn't climb anything of consequence but had a great time with friends, ate yummy food, dealt with my nagging independence in the face of a looming relationship, and soaked in beautiful views of the French Alps.

September - More home bound than planned due to an recurring illness. Got to be around one of my best friends and witness her become a mother to two children. Eventually got back to San Diego to climb. Climbed my second alpine route in Teton National Park, although not a 50 classic, I thought a better climb than the Petit Grepon.

October- My favorite climbing season, discovered the Red River Gorge in Kentucky, went to an old favorite, the New River Gorge in West Virginia. Took off for a cross-country road-trip.

November - Drove to Joshua Tree, CA and back. On the way saw an old friend and made new ones. Definitely pushed my climbing further than I ever have before. Returned in time for the holidays.

December - Christmas Day ice climbing, worked outdoor recreation equipment and clothing retail, got my first big scare on a lead climb in the Dacks. The same one I got a bloody nose on earlier in the year in January. Realized I was soloing a 350' slush cone of a waterfall ice climb and experienced near anchor failure (would've been catastrophic had it actually happened).
Worked New Year's Eve after driving back from that trip during the night before, and opened my eyes just enough to see fireworks over Baltimore harbor.

In Return

And making what I have now a reality. I'm back in D.C. after some time. To be honest, I flit in and out. I am fortunate to have a patient and supportive mother who expresses minimally to me the frustration she must feel when I arrive, those bags explode, and then in a few hours to a few days, I'm gone again, leaving my room in a bigger disarray then when I arrived. It's been a bit of a trial, I thought I found love, and then I lost love. I was having fun and then the sense that I needed more to be fulfilled began to emanate in my thoughts. I wasn't sure if it's the effect of the dwindling savings account or something innate to my being. So I'm dealing with the eventual consequences of my actions. I have no regrets about the two great road trips I took, the many flights to visit to friends in other parts of the country, the people I shared my life with, and the enormous amount of money I spent on acquiring ski lift tickets and a pair of alpine touring skis. I made many new friends, I strengthened bonds with old friends, and perhaps even a little, I connected with people I hadn't seen in a long time. The next few hours, days, weeks, will play into a decision on whether I can become independent by working again and still hang on to that. In some ways I'm beginning to even wonder if it is possible given my choice of education and work experience. So we'll see.

onto more important things

I'm catching up on current events. A few days ago I learned my cousin was forced out of her short-term rental (a place away from her husband so she wouldn't have to spend two hours commuting each way to work) because her roommate caught her praying. She is a British-accented, non-hijab wearing, modern career woman with degrees in accounting. I, on the other hand, only reveal my religious heritage only after direct scrutiny, and the fact my last name gives it all away. Through my years working within the U.S. military and government agencies, I have often found I'm the minority, and my colleagues are hyper-sensitive to anyone coming close to inferring I have terrorist ties, with the exception of my Irish Army polygrapher. I don't want to make anyone tip-toe around what is a politically charged issue that is intrinsically linked to my namesake and of course, my identity. I've found a pretty thoughtful editorial (the link is in the title).

It invokes many images for me. One is of a regional Taekwondo tournament I participated in where I got my butt thoroughly beaten by a hijab-wearing black belt, coached by an Egyptian American. I have never met a more ferocious, powerful and fast woman in the competition ring in my life. I'm also thinking about the article I read in JO magazine, Jordan's version of The Washingtonian, about how 85% of Jordanian women believe their husbands have a right to physical beat their wives. I'm also taken back to a Facebook wall argument I had with a friend of a friend about health care, when he callously turned it into a debate about my personal background based on what he thought he knew about the origins of my name.

So what is the point of all this? I'm glad I'm not alone in having to defend something that is part of millions of peoples' identity, and two, I'm glad to have known such a wide diversity of experiences, which only three of which I've illustrated here out of a multitude; to show that it is exactly about that, diversity.

how to endure

One moment I was looking at the skyline of Manhattan, under the cover of evening clouds with sunbeams filtering here and there, thirteen hours later, I was pointing out to my seat mate the Dead Sea lapping at the West Bank. I already began putting count down numbers in my planner, this time I wasn't going to cross calendar years like before. My sister's birthday marks exactly the half way point. I miss my sister. Another four months, of me not being me. Of letting go of things I started towards in the last four, that felt like in their intensity zapped my time to a matter of four week, my first lead on ice, first leads on Gunks classics, my first time on a glacier, my first time camping for more than a week, my first time in Washington and Alaska, climbing in an ice park, my new car's first oil change, the first opera that I can clearly remember. I had things to look forward to here, longer dryer days, friends from before, possibly more outings. Possibly more interesting work. I knew my heart was divested before, but in the short time I had home, I managed to reinvest in those other ways to pass time, that have nothing to do with living in foreign country among expats, or sitting at a desk for over ten hours on most days. I sobbed in the apartment that I felt like I barely left. This time there were iron bars over all the windows. That sounds too dramatic, at least they had keys for opening their built in doors.

throwing it out

I'm looking at the left hand column of this blog and seeing how in 2005 I wrote a whopping 320+ posts that year. The blog was a nice way for me to indulge literary narcissism, trying to draw anyone on the net into the what I wanted them to think I was thinking about at 11:35 AM on October 21, 2005. Maybe someone read between the lines and guess at what I was thinking about. Maybe. Now I'm looking back at why I started this blog, it was fad-ish perhaps? All my friends were doing it? I hadn't discovered Facebook yet? I was trying to track my own thoughts?

Since I was maybe 11 I was predisposed to writing in diaries but I would divulge everything in them. I had 11 or so rainbow-colored (by my own hand) composition books filled with doodles and pre-adolescent narratives. Eventually to make room for high school yearbooks, I destroyed them ... maybe or they're somewhere in my closet. Now I look at where I am to where I was five months ago when I was living the D.C. dream: luxury loft downtown, a luxury German sports coupe in an underground garage below, six-figure earnings, and a career with seeming limitless potential. I was on the verge. Of what? I was also a weekend warrior, I spent an uncalculated amount on motel rooms, plane tickets, and gas during the winter season traveling to New England to ice climb. I even booked a trip to the north to climb frozen waterfalls the night after a man I was dating flew from the other side of the country to see me. Now, the luxury loft is rented to a very nice fellow bureaucrat, the bimmer is parked in a neighborhood where it's sale price is easily more than half the value of the homes around it, my Italian wool suits are crammed into a closet and the only things neatly organized in labeled boxes and bags are my climbing gear and DVD's. Some of my clothes are in heaps in the unfurnished room I occupied from when I was 13 to 24.

As the last month rolled in my overseas assignment, I was booking trips. A week in Ouray, Colorado, a weekend in Looking Glass, NC at the end of March, two weeks in the Alaska range, five days in the high peaks of the Adirondacks. Possibly a weekend in the Cascades. When I actually came home, I planned another week in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and I stayed in Washington state for two weeks. I told people I was living out of the trunk of my car. Any given moment I had ropes, a harness, and climbing shoes in my trunk with shower stuff in my Adidas duffel and a garment bag hanging from the back seat with a few dry-cleanables. I was never ever really unpacked. My various pieces of luggage were 'rolling,' the duffel went from ice trips to work trips to a mountaineering trip. My little black executive carry-on was stuffed with silk blouses, gold sandals, icebreaker t-shirts. Meanwhile my large expandable over-sized orange four-wheel roller sat stoically pushed against the closet and the ironing board, empty, waiting to be filled for another four month tour.

i'm back

Coming home from Iraq is a strange thing. My employer had given me at least three copies of pamphlets describing expectations when coming home, from feeling depression, to feeling anxiety, etc. We even had a powerpoint lecture on it. I was not really prepared for what I felt when I came back. I wanted to return to Baghdad! I felt a little bit like Jack on the season finale of Lost, although not that desparate. For a while I moped to my best friends how much I disliked D.C. and how I wanted to move somewhere else. I didn't bother having any welcome back festivities, but naturally friends of mine figured out I was home and would coax me out. I continued with work, but more of a miser than usual. I considered a long-distance relationship, which was completely out of the ordinary for me. But thankfully, soon realized (well after about almost three months), that I missed living in D.C., and I was glad and happy with my life. Woohoo! Now to only see how Chopingal is ...

world's shortest personality test

Your Personality Profile

You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant.Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle.You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs. For you, comfort and calm are very important.You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection.You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong.

The World's Shortest Personality Test

alive

A snapshot of my Whitney attempt, do you see me behaving much like a yellow-bellied California marmot?

Actually I got further on Whitney than that, this was the day after. Story to come.

quiet but not lazy

Yar, so its been a month since I've posted. Yes its been hectic, depite being done temporarily with school. I've been going twice a week to a physical therapist for my right ankle and had a smattering of orthopedist visits. I didn't write because I was afraid I would jinx myself. I decided to pursue the physical therapy intensely in hopes of being prepared to attempt my first alpine rockclimbing trip, summit Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states. My first visit to the orthopedist and physical therapist were not very hopeful. A week later, out of a 'moon boot' aka pump leg cast and some recoil therapy, both therapist and orthopedist were certain I could hike 4,000 feet in elevation gain and summit Mt. Whitney via 5th class (rockclimbing steep) routes. My therapist allowed me to do some moderate hikes and climb indoors. By fourth of July, I was was able to climb outside and spent a day at Seneca. And next, 4th of July pictures!

lovely bones

History: Trauma

Findings: No evidence of fracture or dislocation. Chronic avulsion injury at right lateral malleolus.
For the aspiring radiologists.

manipulated

We all manipulate: our friends, family, bosses, co-workers, etc. Of course its a rather dark way of looking at human relationships and I agree with some people who are fans of "The Art of Seduction," a heartless book on how to exploit others to one's advantage, probably contains a useful study on the modus operandi for some human vampires. I honestly haven't the heart to read the book, but some have already enlightened me with readings from its passages.

Despite all the things I whine and moan about, I am an optimist. There's a part of me that believes in the goodness of human beings, and is always hopeful I'm seeing the best of people. So when I think someone is playing games with me, and puts on a 'good' face, and then I suspect I've been had, I am horribly disappointed and go hard on myself for falling for it. Seems I'm a rarity when it comes to believing in the goodness of humankind, most people I've had this discussion with are pessimistic and have the belief that we are all sinners and need to be saved or forgiven. I know being an 'optimist' about humans and the intentions behind our behavior probably makes me pretty susceptible to manipulation. I usually trust the people I care about and who I believe care about me will not exploit my optimism ... yes it makes me more open to manipulation ... but when I realize what's going on .... well ...

dreamz

You ever found yourself unable to wake out of a dream? This morning it happened, probably because I took Benadryl. Not that I want to turn this into a journal of my nocturnal subconscious visions, but in the dream I was supposed to go to a conference for work, specifically to Khartoum in The Sudan, and a second week in Greece. My flight was supposed to leave Saturday, but I only make it to the check-in counter 5 minutes before and they don't allow me to pass. I buy another ticket for Sunday, and for some reason I forget I'm supposed to be at the airport at 3 PM but don't realize this until 5 PM.

On Monday I go to work and try to find my supervisors to ask if its too late for me or if I should go. In my hurry, I'm feeling out of it, and park my car in the handicapped space in the garage (two places I'm definitely not supposed to park). My boss tells me to not worry about it anymore and then I find out my car has been towed.

I couldn't wake out of this dream until 10 AM even though I went to bed at midnight. A towed car and two missed flights to destinations I've never been before. Odd.

departures II

Should be dated 5 April 06--When I wrote this on airplane flying from IAD to BOS:

This morning could have been a shaky 35 mm of what happens when I leave with an aching heart. Trolling my over-expensive on-a-whim bought-in-Heathrow carry-on Samsonite, my black work bag, and two plastic shopping bags; one with half frozen de-stemmed strawberries, mom's dried lime beef curry and stir-fried baby Asian eggplant over brown rice, an empty Nalgene, a bruised pink lady apple, and a freckled banana; the other bag with squeaky square-toed black pumps and sandals bought after Long Island sound left me shoeless on a red-drunk wine summer day on a rocky beach.

Caption me down an empty DC neighborhood street littered with the debris from spring tree blossoms, wearing a crisp French blue shirt, stretch charcoal pencil skirt, and Tevas-my favorite vehicle of escape. Snapshot to the work lunch hour confessing misty-eyed to a dear friend and colleague, two hours later picking my mom up near Union Station.

Now going up the aesthetically-pleasing cold glass and steel rising escalator corridors of Dulles, staring at aluminum tile, with hot tears falling on my overly expensive Samsonite. The cavern of halogen illuminated escalators echoing the vast crackening of my heart.

I'm going to the beach, but my mind can only think how cold 67 degrees can really be.

My friends console me and tell me I'm brave, I think to myself, 'I had to do it,' no choice or I'll always wonder. The answers I got did not impart the relief of un-weighted insecurity and indecision, but instead the aching of a heart-breaking.