2013: A Year in Review and Looking Ahead

Another year, gone. As tradition dictates since 2009 it is once again time to reflect on the previous year; to stop and take stock for both the purpose of remembering, and for the purpose of planning.

2013 was a tough, tough year. Of course, it had some very high notes, for which I am tremendously grateful! But as a whole, it was stressful and emotional to an alarming degree. I fear that perhaps maybe I did take on a bit too much this year (although I vehemently denied it all year). Or perhaps the constant effort of quitting smoking affected my moods and chemical make-up coupled with what were maybe normal stresses? Perhaps this year I have been suffering from depression...? I honestly and truly don't know. But considering I gained 20 pounds this past year even though I worked out more than ever and didn't change my eating habits (that much - I have been quitting smoking and probably stress eating) I can't help but believe that my body was in a fairly constant state of fight or flight and storing fat and energy as if it were under attack. I have been stressed all year, from beginning to end and for various reasons, and coming off of a stressful 2012 as well.

I think it was just too much (two promotions at work, weddings, school, responsibilities to my writing group) and I'm only realizing this all now. Now that the semester is over and the holidays are over and I'm finding myself with a wee break (with the exception of one more deadline), I'm noticing that I've just been constantly adjusting to everything I "had" to do, and really hanging on by a thread. I accomplished everything (and to my usual high standard), but I fear that I did so at the expense of my well being. There was just nothing left at the end of the day.

I am seriously hoping that is why I have been crying and feeling depressed nearly every single day. For some reason, especially the past few months, I am feeling too much and thinking too much. So much so that I started talking to someone about it in September. Something isn't right. And I don't like the person I was this past year.

I can't keep living like this. It would be impossible to look back on 2013 without acknowledging all of this, as it was the near-constant shadow cast over the year, and without planning some sort of defense for the coming year. I can only hope that everything I have been feeling is some basket weave of stress and quitting smoking that will loosen its grip on my mind and body.

Which is why I am acknowledging that here now and practicing identifying these feelings, sending them love and gratitude, and then sending them on their way.

I quit smoking, finally, in 2013. As of today, I am cigarette free 30 days! For whatever weight I've gained and whatever emotional turbulence I have put myself through as a result of quitting and failing over and over and withdrawal from cigarettes, I am grateful because I feel free. Year after year after year I have tried and failed to quit smoking and finally, FINALLY, I don't have to quit smoking today or write those words on the top of my resolutions list. For all of this, I am so grateful.

Later this month I will begin my final semester at Saint Joseph's University! It has NOT been easy, but in May I will don a cap and gown and FINALLY get my elusive Bachelors Degree with all manner of pomp and circumstance and I will have achieved a major accomplishment. For all the stress, late nights, early mornings and deadlines, I am so grateful. I am a smarter, more confident woman because of my education and I am proud of myself for my stellar grades.

I had the honor, as Matron of Honor, to stand beside my best friend Jess on her wedding day this past June. The Bridal Shower was wonderful, if I do say so myself, the bachelorette party an absolute blast and the wedding was beautiful. Most beautiful of all was the Bride. I was so happy to be a part of it all.

The Bride and Matron of Honor at the Shower

As for travel and leisure, our annual week-long vacation with the Cape May Crew became a long weekend instead. It was super fun, as always, however we did not take our annual photo in front of Kelly's Pub unfortunately. As best as we try to keep traditions, sometimes they're just not possible... the photo that should be here below this paragraph is missed.

Speaking of traditions, we did maintain our Oktoberfest tradition and breathed some fresh life into it adding a new game and some new faces (but more on that in a moment). It was a great time, or so I'm told since I blacked out pretty early (woops). I'm told I was a hoot and a great host so thank goodness for that.

In August I went out to Washington (the second time in 8 months) for a 3rd big brother/little sister adventure (the last before Doug sets out with Kristin on their round the world bicycle tour). We headed out to Doug's favorite part of Washington, the Cascade Mountains, Methow Valley and Winthrop. We spent a couple days just hanging out, hiking, and riding bikes in Stehekin, a community nestled in the North Cascades only accessible by boat, plane, or foot. It was a wonderful experience for a city gal like me and one I will never forget. Not only did I get to experience nature and the beautiful views and a few days of unplugged living, but the time spent with my brother was so wonderful. Drinking coffee and talking for hours in the lodge after a morning of hiking, reading together at the bakery, playing a game at night enjoying a few beers, reading each other's stories... all with the most amazing backdrop imaginable. It was a wonderful trip.

Hanging out near Agnes Gorge

Crossing off item #59 on my bucket list, I finally saw Pearl Jam. It was a great show and wonderful to see them after being a fan for twenty years.

For all that we gained, we also suffered some losses. Mike lost his job in the fall and was unemployed for four weeks. He's back to work now, but not happy so we'll see what the New Year brings. We also lost two very special people, Mike's Grandma Stephanie and our good friend's dad, Mr. Kobryn. They will both be missed.

But when God closes doors, he opens windows and he opened a big one, one that let in a tremendous amount of light, in August when I met April, and Mike and I gained an entire family into our lives who live just a few doors down.

I was out walking one day when a woman I had waved to countless times since we moved here said that if I ever wanted someone to go walking with that she would like to go. I said sure and right then we set up a date and time to walk. I didn't even know her name. I met her in front of her house a few days later and we introduced ourselves and that was it - we were very fast friends. We started walking regularly then a few weeks later we had the family over and Mike and April's husband Joe hit it off splendidly and their kids, Joey and Angelina, are so wonderful and sweet. It's been amazing and we are so happy to have made such wonderful friends.

We took in the New Year with our new friends and it was great. It's funny how sometimes you have no idea what's missing until you find it and then you have no idea how you got by all this time without it. I guess everything happens for a reason. The universe works... and somehow always knows the perfect time to step in.

So that's 2013 in a nutshell. One last highlight; I wrote more in 2013 than I have in years (and I don't mean for school). That's something I really want to continue focusing on in 2014. I am realizing just how good it is for me, mentally, to get things out of me. I may even get to see two of my stories in print... but more on that in a later post.

My number one first and foremost goal for 2014 is quite simple but very hard: I want to be kinder to myself (and by extension to Mike and my Mom). I was not kind to myself in 2013. Maybe that's another reason I have been so sad... But that is going to change.

There are so many other more specific goals I could write about, but I realize now that they all fall under being kinder to myself. Allowing myself to do the things I have been wanting to do (like taking surfing lessons this summer), taking my weight off in a loving way, rather than starving myself and winding up being resentful, giving myself permission to say no more often, making meditation more of a priority as a gift to myself, being a better wife, a better daughter... all these things will come if I can just be kinder to myself. And I started today. After taking several hours to write all of this down for myself, I already feel better. I'm learning what works for me. A lot of people say it's best to keep your eyes forward, but as the name of this blog indicates, I think reflection is critical in order to move ahead. We need to know where we've been in order to plan for where we're going...

...and I'm moving forward in 2014.

Happy New Year!

The Trunk at the Foot of my Bed

At the foot of my bed sits a trunk. It has sat at the foot of my bed, wherever that bed may have been, for the past fourteen years. In this trunk sits my memories.

This past weekend I tackled the arduous task of sorting through my memories. I feared opening that lid would be similar to that of Pandora's box. I worried that lifting the hefty stack of journals strewn across the bottom would result in my sitting back against the trunk, opening, reading, remembering. I envisioned laughing at my 12 year old self and her professions of love to boys I can't place, even after reading my own painstakingly detailed descriptions. I would cry for my fourteen year old self living too far from home in a cold condominium. I would resent my sixteen year old self for her cruelty to her mother. And I would fear for my twenty year old self and what lay before her in the coming year. Lastly, my breath would catch at all the thousands of memories I've since forgotten hidden amongst those pages. And I would inevitably alternate rage with tears.

There was just no need to face any of this. Not now.

So I approached the trunk with ambivalence, but also a sense of purpose. I flipped the pages of a random journal, my foreign handwriting looking insecure, as if it was only whispering its thoughts. I picked up another and read the inside cover and couldn't refrain from whispering a hurtful "fuck you" to the person whose left hand wrote the inscription. My penmanship in this journal was harsh, angry; like the straight edges of the words themselves could cut the reader. I didn't allow my eyes to form sentences, I only flipped the pages. I crossed the room to my end table to pick up my current journal. The hand writing is sloppy, rushed, but purposeful. My handwriting over the years tells a story in itself.

Journals stacked on the side, I lifted my baby blanket and found a large collection of papers sealed with twine in a plastic folder. With a sigh and a smile, I sat. For in that folder were my writings. Stories, poems, letters; it was all in there, even a few drawings. I don't have the heart to get rid of a single yellowed page, even though I understand it's just the musings of a young girl. I like to think one day a child of mine will stumble upon this folder, perhaps in an attic, and will get to see a side of their mother they didn't know.

Also crushed near the bottom was my brother's wide brim Bushmaster hat he gave me a week after my thirteenth birthday. Actually, to say he gave it to me is a lie. He told me I ruined it and should just keep it. You see, I wore it in the pouring rain while sitting on the beach watching he and his friends surf and the brim got all droopy. I wrote a story about that hat and the day for English class. It's in the folder of course with a large "A" adorning the top.

I sorted everything I kept from Mike and spent the most time looking at the letters, cards, ticket stubs, show flyers, as I knew they would bring me no hurt. I sorted notes and cards from my mother into a separate pile as these are equally important artifacts.

I was relieved to see evidence that I undertook this task sometime in the not so distant past as the most difficult sentiments (including those from past loves) were already condensed to a few special items, mainly for the simple sake of remembering. I recall I did this soon after Mike and I became engaged. It was clearly the time to let go so that's what I did.

Other random items include the brown and white plaid apron my childhood self wore as I waitressed my play food, my puffy painted name still intact; my sister-in-law's garter, which I caught the day she and my brother were married; my favorite pocketbook, worn beyond repair, which Mike affectionately referred to as my bag of death; a yellowed album of every card I received for my first birthday, now permanently stuck to its backing. I think of my Mom and how she was once the kind of mother who was organized and made this album. I believe it is the last of its kind.

And the pictures! My God, the pictures: the remnants of my mother and father's wedding album, the plastic sheets slashed by the razor my mom took to its pages. Boxes upon boxes of our childhood photos I believe I may have stole from my mother's basement in an effort to salvage history. All this and more lays within the trunk at the foot of my bed.

Everything is now safely tucked back inside, minus the few collectibles I have decided to sell. I completed the task unscathed, except for the persistent question growing in my mind of why I choose to keep this somewhat random sampling of my life.

I am reminded that the Buddhists believe a truly happy man is a man who can lose every possession, yet still be a happy man. I can part with possessions easily, but I don't view the contents of my trunk as possessions, but strictly memories that happen to exist in tangible form. Memory triggers?

At any rate, the contents of my trunk hold my story. I don't know what is in store for me, but I do not intend to stop valuing my experiences and relationships and therefore, the contents of this trunk which sits at the foot of my bed will grow. I only hope to be well thought of enough when I've gone, that at least one person will not view my trunk as a storage box, but as a treasure chest instead.

Posted to criscipline.blogspot.com 4/18/11

Insomnia at 3:33

In an attempt to stifle my incessant worrying I take to pondering the question of nightmares vs. insomnia. It's been five nights of nightmares now. In one, I lost my brother's dog in a park. But mostly, I just end up without a place to live.

Tonight, sleep won't come for me.

I roll over yet again and the time of 3:33 mocks me. You don't make wishes on obnoxious numbers. My thoughts shift to drink vs. Nyquil? It is Friday. A Friday night in which I was asleep by 10:00 in order to put a period on the end of this day of worrying about where to live. Little did I know that period was an ellipsis. For here I am yet again.

I have decided. Nightmares. Definitely. Because after all, insomnia is a nightmare when you can't escape your thoughts.

A Renewed Interest in Words

Two years ago I took a creative writing course hoping it would stir up my latent desire to write. I wanted to be forced to write, figuring it would get me back in the habit of things. I did some writing which I was proud of as a result of the course, but then I stopped again once it ended.

A couple of weeks ago I needed to choose my words quite carefully in a letter. I wrote again, and damn it felt good. Since that day words have been coming to me on my evening walks through deserted fields with my dog, Cooper. I think the quiet darkness is quite conducive to creative thinking. Ideas and words come during the other quiet darkness as well, when I'm just about to doze off. But now instead of silencing those thoughts, I listen, and scribble them in my journal which has resumed its post on my bedside table. In this short span of two weeks I find I've been able to make just a little more sense of things. Writing allows me the chance to reflect just that much more, to grab just a few of the thousands of fleeting thoughts that saunter by on any given day, and to confide in myself my own personal thoughts. Personal writing is mainly what I have been doing so far. I've learned through writing I no longer need to carry with me the thoughts I am hesitant to express verbally or confide in others.

Writing takes time. I love cooking so I make time for it. I don't love exercising, but I know it's important so I make time for it. I will make time for writing now. Because not only do I really enjoy it, but it helps to provide me with mental well being and a positive outlet. When it's time to write and I got nothing, I will spend some time reading my writing books I purchased when I was certain I would be a best selling author (the books are quite dated needless to say).

I cannot say how often I will write in this blog, although I do hope it is a little less sporadic. If my writing remains personal, well then it will remain private. I'm not going into writing this time with an idea or specific goal of writing a book. I'm going into this for the sake of writing this time.

However, you will see I've done a little updating to the design and added labels. I haven't gone back to add labels to every post yet. Damn, I wrote a lot of crap back when I started this thing! It's been both fun and embarrassing reading backwards. I look forward to choosing my words more carefully and honing my craft.

Ok, so I've been reading this memoir by Wendy McClure, I'm Not the New Me." It's decent. Anyhow, this book is really based on a website. There's this overweight chick, Wendy, and she starts a website to make fun of weight loss, track her progress, bitch, ya know, the usual. www.poundy.com

So I finally remembered that I've been meaning to see if she still writes on it. It turns out she does which I think is pretty cool. Ya know, reading almost daily blogs by an author I happen to be reading. So, in her book she talks about these conventions she gets invited to for bloggers, diaryland.com folk, etc. They find her. So her website got all 'famous' and she's all cool now and has ten million friends.

So in her entries, she references people with obscure names and the name is in orange which tells my brain to click. So I click and I'm swept away to (enter obscure name here's) blog. I read an entry or two. I see a new color and I click and I'm swept away to (obscure's) site and then he/she says that he/she and (obscure's) were interviewed by (hip magazine) and I click on whoever's name that is and they just have an entry about poo colors and nothing in particular. I click again. I read. I click again. I read about garage sales. I click. I read. IT NEVER ENDS!!

Did I miss something? There's conferences for this stuff? There are whole worlds of people who have absolutley nothing better to do than read 12 dozen of their favorite linked sites and then just start all over again? I imagine one day missed would require ten hours of reading to catch up on. I have my favorite site and my brother's blog but I also have yellow post-it notes on my monitor reminding me to look. This is so bizarre to me. Is this kind of like the equivalent to my thirteen year old days on aol hanging on every word some 'kid' typed to me? Those were fun times. Ten hours straight, no sleep, feeling like my life had meaning. I WAS THIRTEEN!

Wow. It's true. You can get famous just by being this invisible online writer. Then you can get famous by writing about it. Then people can see how you really just look like everyone else when you go on book tours. But it's ok because you'll be interviewed by cool magazines and get to write articles for the Chicago Sun Times about the new Dove commercials because you write about being fat and the new commercials feature new and improved curvy women.

Where have I been? My head hurts.

It Starts....

By Jessica Ann

The same title was used over four years ago for my first entry on my online diary. Same name as well. I guess some things never change. http://criscipline.diaryland.com My diary has since been locked due to lack of use and I need to figure out a way to get it back. I perused the collection of over 300 entries in what must have been late winter of 2004. I recall picking interesting entry titles at random and opening them as if mini time capsules on a page. I remember writing that. I can't believe I wrote that. Ohhhh, that's why I did that.

It was really quite amazing looking back. Yes, I know not that long has passed since that diary's beginning to the time I reflected back on it. But it felt like a decade. I couldn't believe I was the same person who had written all this depressed, estranged, psycho babble. Clearly, I may have had an audience in mind. Yet some of it was just beautiful. I could pull out the entries where I was clearly writing for myself.

It was addictive clicking and reading and I experienced moments of teary eyed remembrance, embarassment over certain times and certain people, fear when I read of old nightmares, old anxieties, that 'bad' part of my brain dubbed Criscipline at age 13. There was a several month span wherer I actually specified who wrote the entry; Jessica Ann or Criscipline. That part of me had a personality all her own, a unique writing style; black against the white that was my own, a unique attitude, and worst of all, a name.

So I name this blog Criscipline in remembrance of an old friend who was never very good. We've all had them. And yet they still weasel a way into the deserted corners of our hearts. Squatters. Or perhaps I name this blog Criscipline to mock the gimp now locked up and gagged within a dusty corner of my brain. (I'd like to think no corners of my mind or heart are dusty or deserted, but you get my point.) Or maybe I just do it for consistence. Or maybe because I always enjoyed her creativity...now in moderation. Or maybe because this is just who I am. I don't know.

Regardless of the title, this blog will be for me to have a place to reflect. There will be no theme. The only consistency will be whatever is consistent in my life at the time. I write for no audience in mind. I will follow the advice of the Reiki Master and, "Not censor [my]self". I will create this time capsule for me.

Enjoy.