Re-Learning to Drive

This past weekend I had driving lessons. I hopped into a car with my dad as teacher in the passenger's seat, and could have sworn I had done this same thing ten years ago. In fact, I HAD done this over a decade ago, the difference being a stick shift in the new car. As we drove to a parking lot and I went around in cirlces, trying to master the delicate balance of switching from the clutch to the accerlater...not too fast or the wheels will spin and squeak, not to slow or the car will stall. (think of an egg underneath the gas peddle, my dad encouraged when I pressed too hard). I am learning this new skill out of obligation, having sold my beloved (and easy) automatic car. If I wanted to drive, I needed to learn to maneuver boyfriend's manual car. It's hard to learn something new. I haven't done it in a while. It's humbling. And frustrating. Trying to teach your body, your mind to loosen up and absorb this new thing you're making it do. Being patient when you don't catch on as quickly as you want to. You know the ideal--shifting gears effortlessly and smoothly--but you can't quite get there. At least not yet.

Lost and Found

Monday after work I went shopping. Somewhere in my purchasing-induced euphoria, I didn't feel one of my earrings drop out of my ear. Later on at dinner, my mother asked me if I had intentionally taken the piece out, not seeing the other earring still intact. I panicked, grabbing for the phantom pearl. It wasn't there. I searched myself, my pockets, my bags--no luck. My mind flashed back to the turtleneck I tried on at J Crew. That was when it happened, I was sure. Later on, I called J Crew and Ann Taylor--where I'd also been, just in case instincts were wrong--and no such luck. Yesterday I walked there, and, well, same story. I began to imagine someone cleaning the store, sweeping the piece in with the rest of the garbage. Or the vacuum going across and capturing it. The images were painful. It wasn't the most valuable earring I owned, but it was pretty nice (especially considering my jewelry collection is still developing). My parents had given it to me a few years back.
Today, though, I was reminded that there are bigger things in life than lost earrings--even if they are silver and pearl. I had been so upset and frustrated with this missing thing that I had lost some perspective. So, as I type now, the earring is still lost, but something bigger is found.

Scrabble

Yesterday, I did the unthinkable: I left the city. Since so much of my life--job, home, and pretty much everything else--is basically within a 1 mile, two zip code radius, it's always a little strange whenever I venture past. Especially, as with yesterday, for no real logical reason. We weren't meeting anyone, or going on any pressing errand (although our travels did end up at Target, as invariably do all our infrequent trips outside the district's environs). Instead, in the sunny but cool October day--the kind that everyone dreams about when they think of autumn--we packed up the Honda Civic with a few books and magazines and a scrabble board, and drove off to a quaint cafe in Alexandria. We hadn't realized this, but it there was a big Halloween fair (I know, it makes sense) so at first the shop was completely packed with children in various shades of shimmer. We found a seat in the back, watching but removed from the crowds, and brought out the board--the deluxe version that my mother had given me a few birthdays back. I sipped my apple cider and picked my tiles, trying to land my words on the double letter and triple words. I won (although I did have the Z and Q, and both blanks, which helped me), and when we packed up our stuff for the drive back, I realized how nice it was to get past the 1 mile radius. Even if it was only 5 or 6 more, it felt nice.

My Own Finish Line

This weekend I ran a 10K. I hadn't really been training...only running a bit more frequently since I decided to wake up early on a chilly weekend morning and run 6.2 miles. The beginning of the race was horrible. I found myself begging for the mile 1 marker, but when I passed it, I thought "Great, I have five more of these to go." The unnaturally hot summer had let up only a week before, and my lungs were unused to having cool fall air to inhale and exhale. A split second after mile 2, my eyes searched for the next mile marker. "Don't look for it," I forced myself to think. "Just enjoy where you are." I looked around at the Washington monuments around me. The sun was moving forward into the sky, and I could tell it was going to be a beautiful autumn day. I slowed a little. People began to pass me, but I didn't care. I had found a rhythm. Suddenly the air felt brisk instead of painfully cold, my leg muscles awoke, and the adreline began pumping throughout my body. Mile 3 came and I soon reached the halfway point and turned around. People kept passing me. It's weird, in the middle of a large race, I felt comfortably alone. Their energy inspired me, and motivated me, but at the same time, I cherished the time by myself, to focus on taking one pace at a time until I had reached the finish. I made it in 55:26, a personal best (although to be fair, I've only done one other 10K). Immediately after the race, I was exhausted. Later on, my legs began to feel sore. But it was worth it.

Global Positioning

For Hanukkah last year, my parents bought me GPS. This little device is ingenius. You plug in your starting position, your final destination, and your preferred route of travel (quickest, least highways, most highways, least miles), and suddenly you have your map plotted out for you. But what I like most about it is what it does if you make a wrong turn. It recalculates. The screen goes clear except for the electronic hour glass, and a few moments later...you've got a new route. Sometimes these updated directions only say--in automated computer-speak--turn around. But, in other cases, it repopulates a whole new route. Granted GPS doesn't have the emotional capacity of a human (although it does talk to me), but I am amazed with its lack of frustration over making a mistake. No time for grievances....just change course.
That's hard for me (because I do have the emotional capacity of a person. Maybe 2 people). When I make a mistake, a wrong turn, go left instead of straight, right instead of reverse, I blame myself. I focus on what went wrong, not how to fix it. Yes, there is a time for self-reflection, but at the moment, it's usually better to just change with the mistake. If it means rewriting, editing a bit more carefully, getting another source, just do it. Recalculate.

Fall Where Are You?

As the humidity reluctantly releases its grip on DC and cooler airs demand their presense, I find myself rejoicing for the end of summer. I turn my calendar page to October 1, excited for the heat to fade off, the green leaves to evolve into their multi-hued alter egos, and black, star filled nights to usurp the blue skies earlier and earlier in the evening. I've always loved autumn-- even though I am no longer a student, it still has that 'back-to-school' feel. Change is in the air--literally. The brutal summer has overstayed its welcome by about a month, and trading flip flops and tank tops for brown boots and cotton sweaters seems like a good deal. Fall, I think, is my favorite season. But I don't know if I'd want fall year-round. Part of its appeal is that it has taken summer away. The agreement is that it too must leave a few months later, replaced this time with colder winds, snow flurries, and, maybe, white trimmed roofs.

I don't know if I could live anywhere withouth seasons. I never have. The cyclical, predictable changes comfort me. In late March, I pray for the end of winter and a chance to put away the wool pants. I look forward to strappy sandals and beachside trips in the summer, but a few months later can't wait for the start of fall. Even winter, my arguably least favorite season, has promise of hot cocoa and ski trips. Some say they could pick a day and have it replicated the whole year long. I wouldn't want that. My perfect day would be one that changes.

The Philosophy of a Meringue

I cooked on Yom Kippur. On the day where religion prevents any food or beverage intake, I decided to make meringues for a break fast dinner later that evening. As I separated the egg whites from their yellow yokey counterparts and beat them with granulated ivory colored sugar, I felt my stomach growl with impatience. I checked the kitchen clock. It was 2:00pm. Six more hours to go.
Food isn't the real point of the holiday. I know that. Denying oneself sustainance for a 25-hour period is a sacrifice, a symbol of repentence for any sins or wrongdoings committed in the past year. But as I watched as the egg-sugar combination whipped its way up to a glossy, creamy foam, I couldn't get past the literal: going without food is hard. Yet, for a variety of social, financial, and psychological reasons, many people do. And forget about the fluffy mini meringues now baking under a 225 degree heat. It's basic bread and butter people are doing without. What I am facing for one day others will have to bear for most of the year.
An hour later, I took the meringues out of the oven, and scooped these delicate white balls off of the baking pan. When the sun disappeared that night--indicating that the fast was over--I bit into the meringue. Its exterior was hard and crispy, and contrasted nicely with the soft, sweet center. I let the sugary dessert stay on my tongue for just a moment before it dissolved, making its way to my empty stomach. As I reached for my second one, I thought about how good food could be. With my repentence came another lesson that night: appreciation.