The Shortest Day

Today is the shortest day of the year, yet it stretched on like it had one hundred shadows.  

A shadow is an area of darkness where light is obstructed. A shadow is a silhouette or a reverse projection of the object blocking the light.

Maybe it's because I spent today brain-deep in cancer biology, but that sounds like poetry to me. A shadow is just an obstruction, a blockage. A shadow is a mere outline of whatever is blocking the light. And really, a shadow is the opposite of whatever appears in front of you, the opposite of whatever is between you and the light. 

It sounds a lot like fear.

Today, I did 108 sun salutations to celebrate the winter solstice. Fitting, because I am thinking about balance and centeredness in a completely different way than I have before.

I am wondering how long my heart will have shadows, how long it takes to see yourself clearly again when circumstances have changed so drastically. I already know the answer, but I can't recall it easily in the midst of change, so it waits for me, lurking.

Did you know that on the winter solstice, the sun does not rise at the North Pole—so you would have no shadow? And at the South Pole, the sun is up all day on December 21—so you would cast a shadow all day. So the size and very existence of your shadow depends on where you are, and when, and, presumably, with whom.

But tonight I was reminded that it depends quite a bit on the source of your light, too.

The number 108 has many symbolic meanings. Tonight's teacher shared one: the Buddhist belief that humans suffer and move through 108 human delusions in their lives. Buddhists believe that if you bow (or, in Chicago CorePower style, salute the sun) 108 times, you purify these delusions and as a result, find infinite capability and vitality of mind.

Delusions, I have many.

I am hoping my shadow might be one of them.

Windows

I avoid writing about work here, mostly because that tends to put people in hot water (dooce is rare bird who can bounce back from that--but then again she is the exception to most rules about writing about yourself on the internet). But not writing about the good things, when they are good, seems a waste. And I worry, ironically enough, that people who read this blog think that all I do is worry, when that is not true. There is a lot of light in my life, and I want to share more of it here, with you.

A scientist-turned-strategist colleague shared a New York Times article by Oliver Sacks, an NYU School of Medicine professor and author, with me and another writer over the weekend. He often forwards articles about genes, cancer costs, new discoveries--whatever might be useful for communicating with prospective donors.

As death nears, I am surrounding myself, as I did when I was a boy, with metals and minerals, little emblems of eternity.

Source

His message simply said: Wow.

You should read the article--we all should, every year, every birthday--but to summarize: Sacks is grappling with his mortality, having recently been given a metastatic cancer diagnosis, and he turns to the concrete, enduring nature of the physical sciences for comfort.

At one end of my writing table, I have element 81 in a charming box, sent to me by element-friends in England. It says, "Happy Thallium Birthday," a souvenir of my 81st birthday last July.

The other writer--whom I deeply admire, not least for her keen strategic eye, but also because she is a fabulous and kind person--wrote back and said: Certainly as we age we become more unstable (at least in our corporeal body), as do the higher atomic number elements. In our youth, we have been the airily confident oxygen (8) and the intolerably caustic sulfur (16). Now it's time for me to embrace my fissionable future, I guess.

 

Have I mentioned I work with really smart, amazing people?

I wrote back: All of this beautiful talk has put me down an internet rabbit hole researching Gallium. Looking for meaning on Wikipedia for my 31st year--this is what this job is doing to me!

Source

Of course, neither of them know about this blog, where I have been searching for meaning since I was Iron (26)... which (I'm sorry, it's too perfect, it cannot be helped) is "in the first transition series." I refrained from making a Breaking Bad reference before I hit send.

Fabulous-and-Kind wrote back: Soft and silvery and not naturally occurring in nature? That does sound a little like you. And next year you'll be a semi-conductor!

Source

I have carried a Joseph Campbell quote with me since I graduated college: If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be. (Fittingly, Campbell studied biology and math but found he preferred the humanities.)

I had the last sentence of that quote on my graduation cake, and I have always clung to it: I thought of the "doors" as opportunities, and if I just believed they would appear, they would.

And they have, my goodness, they have.

But this email chain also made me glad for the people these opportunities brought to me, and the ideas they have introduced: different ways of seeing myself, and my surroundings, and the world at large. The people that make me stop in my tracks with gratitude, who make me think via their thoughtfulness, whose belief in me makes me believe, too.

Windows, if you will.




P.S. Why Time Flies -- you'll want to check this out as well.

A Toast to Emptiness

I've had the kind of week that leaves you scraping the bottom of your barrel. I'm out of creativity. I'm out of capacity to deal with complex emotions. I'm quite literally out of space in my inbox. I'm out of patience for other people's shit. I'm out of laundry soap (and therefore dangerously close to being out of underwear). I'm out of oatmeal. I'm out of time. I'm out of me.

I've spent it all.

And it occurred to me this morning while binging on cinnamon rolls and cracking overtired jokes with my coworkers that maybe what follows is the sweet spot.

Knowing that tonight--after seriously kicking butt at work and contributing to something bigger than I ever thought possible, after a four-hour jam session co-writing something inspiring with three brilliant people, and the subsequent panic that ensues to get every. detail. just. right.--I get to exhale. After managing to fit in a few work outs I still feel in my tush, a few pep talks for others, a lot of cuddles for a needy puppy who just wants to be near her mama--after managing all that, I get to dissolve into the quiet space of my cozy apartment, cook myself whatever meal I dream up, and toast a well-earned cider to myself. A toast to emptiness.

Because emptiness affords you the chance to fill up again. Tonight brings 8 (or, really, let's be real, more like 11) hours of sleep. Tonight brings affection from the aforementioned love monster, who will greet me with a wagging tail and an entire day's worth of anticipation and kisses. Tonight brings clean sheets and tea and a brand new book (thanks, me, good looking out). Tonight brings solitude and centeredness and grace.

Tomorrow brings friendship and shopping for tights and a phenomenon heretofore known as Crockpot Crafternoon. Tomorrow brings laughter and spirit and probably a fair amount of snark. Tomorrow brings gratitude, and encouraging words, and community.

Next week promises more opportunity to use an intricate balance of words and psychology to engage people to give money to shut down a horrible, horrible disease. It brings more opportunity to honor my aunt and my grandpas and everyone else whose suffering amounts to a lot more than just the emotional fatigue resulting from having used all your words. Next week promises drinks with an old coworker and the opportunity to interview an 80-something man who has made substantial contributions to science.

Next weekend promises a little bit of home right in the middle of Chicago. The weekend after that promises comfort on a direct flight in from Colorado. Thanksgiving promises dates with so many of my people, chilly hikes in the Peninsula, and warm soul food cooked by my mama and my crazy aunts. Home promises jokes and hugs from my dad and arm-punches-turned-bearhugs from my brotherbear.

Being empty isn't so bad when you know what will fill you. Cheers, to pit stops and knowing that the inhale is always sweeter after a long, slow exhale.

Letting Go

There is a line in a Dave Matthew's Band song that has been in my head for weeks:

That's not a star; that's a satellite

It repeats at the end of a nine-minute song that is otherwise about how to live a good life.  Most of the other lyrics are instructive (be kind always and shine your light while you've got one), so the line feels especially out of place.

In an interview with MSN Music, Dave said this about the song:

"My father used to say to me, "Find your bliss, and that's what you should spend your life on" ... I was kind of trying to say the same thing to my kids but with more words, which I'm apt to do*. I have this image of a beaten-up soldier at a bar, sort of thinking about telling his kids this, more than actually being able to. And the war or whatever experience is the music in between... At the end, there's this image of surrender, lying on your back, whether on a battlefield or not, staring at the stars. There's a line my wife has said to me: "That's not a star; that's a satellite." I like that idea, I like that phrase, that's why I repeat it five or six times. I think it's a nice way to say goodbye."

*Me too, Dave. Me too.

A satellite, not a star. A decoy, not the real thing. Something forced, man-made, not something natural. A realization, a vehicle for letting go.

I'm going to say something obvious: It really hurts when something isn't what you think it is. It's the very worst kind of hurt, when you wanted something to be real and it turns out it was just a fabrication.  When you hoped for the magic of a shooting star, only to realize it was just a satellite with its own trajectory.

Sometimes. But not always.

Hope becomes dangerous when it hovers too long. You eventually find you're in the wrong orbit, and the feeling that it's better than no orbit at all only lasts so long.

I'm gonna steer clear

I burn up in your atmosphere

--John Mayer, In Your Atmosphere

Extended Optimism

I've had a draft in my blogger account for a few months entitled "What I've Learned from Dating...So Far". Sometimes drafts sit for a really long time, fully written, just because I'm not ready to press "publish". I know what I want to say, I'm just not ready to say it.

This one just sat empty.

That's misleading, though. I have learned a lot from the year-plus that I've been dating in Chicago. You can find the lessons all over this blog.

But I kept that draft for a reason.

Because, until now, I haven't been able to articulate the most important lesson I've been learning, in dating...and in yoga. (You can roll your eyes. This life/yoga thing is annoying for me, too. Sometimes I'd really just like to go get my stretch on and keep my back healthy without finding a lesson waiting for me. But, alas, I keep finding them in the same spot.)

The Most Important Lesson is something I talk about continuously on Gchat with my friend Ellen. It's the grueling work of continually staying open. Cultivating endless optimism that the next guy might be different or that, despite a string of lackluster second dates or premature arguments, it's not me. I'm not too stubborn, too liberal, too emotional, too affectionate, too complicated. That is, I won't be, for the right person. Because I am the right person for someone.

But that's difficult. To not get hardened. To not get frustrated. To not throw my hands up dramatically and proclaim that I'll only ever love chocolate labs and that's okay with me! To not get in my head. To not avoid, deflate, construct theories. To stay open, stay vulnerable, stay me. To cultivate what I like to call extended optimism.

--

I've been doing a six-week Bikram yoga run with my friend Rachel. Bikram is some serious business, people. 60 or 90 minutes in 105 degree heat, 26 poses, 2 breathing exercises that make you feel like your head might float away. You need to eat the right amount of food, at the right time, and drink ridiculous amounts of water, and that's only just to feel normal in the room--not panicky, fainty, or just plain weak.

(When you start Bikram, they tell you that your only goal is to stay in the room. That should tell you everything you need to know right there. Just staying in the room is considered success, because many people panic and think they can't do it.)

The next 60 or 90 minutes is spent in poses that are not unlike those you'd find in a regular class. As in, I can do them in a regular class. Not perfectly, but I can do them. Not so much with the sweat and the heat. It makes ordinary things challenging and challenging things impossible. I can't tell you how many times I've looked at myself in the mirror during the last six weeks and thought, Really, Bobbi? What the fuck are you trying to prove? I've nearly had some grade-A meltdowns.

The worst is extended side angle, because in regular classes this is pie for me. But in Bikram, it falls after a grueling "warm up" that gets your heart beating like you've just run a mile and literally covers your body in sweat. It takes everything I have just to stay in the pose. Everything. I. have, and sometimes I can't even manage it. That's the worst part. Sometimes you just have to lie down.

This is the perfect image for Bikram.

Because you're basically that close to the sun.

But, despite all the alarms in my head as I enter the studio, Rachel and I have been doing so with pretty impressive regularity. Back to the mat. Back to the sweat. Mustering as much optimism as I can that this time will be better.

--

Yoga teaches you that it's okay to fall, over and over again. That there is strength in trying new things, honor in not shying away. Yoga teaches you to be deliberate, to show up, day after day, even when you're sore or it didn't go so hot (ha. ha. I can't even laugh at heat puns.) the last time.

And so it is with dating. So-and-So never texted back? Not a soul in sight on Match.com that piques your interest? So what. It didn't line up today. Try again tomorrow. Give that cute boy at the bar your number and love up on life in the meantime. Just stay open. Just stay in the room.


I don't know what you smoke / or what countries you've been to
if you speak any other languages other than your own
I'd like to meet you
I don't know if you can drive / if you love the ground beneath you
I don't know if you write letters or panic on the phone
I'd like to call you, all the same
I would want to / I am game

I don't know if you can swim / if the sea has any draw for you
if you're better in the morning or when the sun goes down
I'd like to call you
I don't know if you can dance / if the thought ever occurs to you
if you eat what you've been given or push it 'round your plate
I'd like to cook for you, all the same
if you want to, I am game

if you walk my way / if I could keep my head
we will feel our way / through the dark
or maybe now we could shoot it down anyway

I don't know if you read novels or the magazines
if you love the hand that feeds you
I assume that your heart's been bruised
I'd like to know you

You don't know if I can draw at all / or what records I am into
if I sleep like a spoon or really at all
oh maybe you would do
oh maybe you would do

Lisa Hannigan, I Don't Know

30 Things I've Learned in 30 Years

When I got home each afternoon in elementary school, my dad would ask me what I learned that day. At first, I'd say, "Nothing..." but he always had a rebuttal that, paired with his trademark grin, was oddly threatening: 

"Well then I guess you're not getting ANY smarter..." 

"I'm going to have to call those teachers of yours."

"I 'spose there's no need to go back tomorrow!" 

I loved the social aspect of school so that last one kind of terrified me. I started to pay attention each day to what we were learning, so that I'd have something to report:

"We learned how to write a cursive Z. It's pretty cool, actually."

"We learned that kids in England call Santa 'Father Christmas'." 

"Did you know that penguins are birds? They're not mammals."

I think I'd be ignoring a large part of my psyche if I said that this is the sole reason I'm so aware of/obsessed with the lessons I'm learning, but I also like to think it's part of it.

Here are 30 things I've learned in my 30 years on Earth. I'm smarter, sure, but I'm definitely going back for more tomorrow.

1. You're not going to enjoy it all. Some of it will suck the living soul right out of you and some of the time it will feel like everything you want is just out of your reach. The best coping mechanism is a good healthy dose of perspective. Add vodka as necessary.

2. Don't take the wind personally. There's the sucky thing, and then there's the way you feel about the sucky thing. You have the power to not make it any worse than it is.

3. Shining your own light is not being boastful. Using your talents honors the teachers and cheerleaders who have helped you along your way.

4. There are two ways to shine.  The verb 'shine' actually has two meanings: to give light and to reflect light. To be bright or to reflect someone's brightness back at them. Either way, there's more light in the world when you shine.

5. Pick good people. People who make your heart light up for reasons that you can't put your finger on. People who are kindred spirits after one conversation, or people who have enriched your life for over 20 years. Be choosy, and then be liberal with your love.

 

6. The first rule of work happy hour is Do Not Talk About What Happened At Work Happy Hour.

7. People that truly love you will let you change. In fact, it's only when you truly love yourself that you'll let yourself change.

8. Change can be excruciating, but it is so damn necessary.

9. Balance is worth seeking. Happiness, in general, is worth relentless pursuit.

10. As Joseph Campbell said, "Follow your bliss, and don't be afraid, and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be." There are so many doors out there.

11. Pick up the phone when it's hardest to pick up the phone. You won't regret it. Say what you need to say.

12. Anxiety: The only way out is through. Breathe, girlfriend. Hug your pup.

13. Friendships ebb and flow. And it's nothing to worry about. What's that saying? "True friends know that they can grow separately without growing apart."

14. Your flaws are where your connections to others begin.

15. Tears are a necessary part of life, the good and the bad. Tears are like ginger at a sushi restaurant...they cleanse your emotional palate.

16. You are in charge of your reputation. Conversely, if you're being genuine and authentic, who cares what your Facebook privacy settings are?

17. Hurt begets more hurt. Hurt people hurt people. Every bad behavior comes from an unmet need. (I spent juuust long enough with social workers to make up my mind that I could never do half the work they do.) When you're hurt, choose love, or quiet, or action. Don't choose more hurt. And it is absolutely a choice.

18. Esse quam videri. North Carolina's state motto means "to be, rather than to seem." Basically, be less concerned by how your decisions seem, and more concerned with who they help you be.

19. You know what is best for your body. Just because someone has 'MD' after their name does not mean they know what is best for your body. You do. 

20. Fiber, man. Fiber is key. 

21. Fight for optimum health. Even if you have to yell at or fire your doctor(s). Even if you have to book an appointment with a third physical therapist or track down the best specialist in the USA. Hold out hope and fight like bloody hell. 

22. People think about you a heck of a lot less often than you think they do. This is so liberating.

23. Sex and love are not the same thing. Lemme repeat that: Sex and love are not the same thing.

24. "Anything other than yes is no." Best relationship advice I ever got, straight outta the mouth of our favorite brooding crooner, John Mayer. "Anything other than stay is go."

 

25. It's being taken care of. Per Dave Matthews:

Tell me everything will be okay / if I just keep believing in something 

Tell me everything is all taken care of / by those qualified to take care of it all

And per the Desiderata:

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace...

We all know my feelings about the saying 'everything happens for a reason'; it makes me want to scream and demand that the person who says it please give me a good reason for child abuse, for hunger, for the mistreatment of animals, for cancer. But reminding myself that there are people out there taking care of other people, doing good, using their experience for the better is both comforting and inspirational. Makes me want to be one of those people who is qualified to take care of something. 

26. Use your telfon. I had a really hard time when I started my job as a grant writer for a social service agency. There are so many causes! So many people in need! Where to start?! It wears on you after a while. It brings you down, makes your personal boundaries start to shift. A colleague of mine gave me some great advice. As a person who worked one-on-one with clients in dire circumstances on a daily basis, she regularly envisioned herself in a bubble. Other people's problems cannot penetrate her bubble. She can be empathetic, help them get the help they need and wish them well, but it could never penetrate her bubble, her well-being. The bubble thing didn't work for me, but it instantly clicked: Teflon. I'm covered in Teflon and I can empathize with you, but your worries slide right off of me. This has helped me immensely in creating boundaries in my personal and professional lives. 

27. All things come out in the wash. And sometimes you lose a sock or two. Very sensible advice given to me by a complete stranger on a train in NYC. I think she was probably Buddhist. Basically, don't focus too much on what's going wrong or right right now. It'll all work out, and most times the ends are worth the means, even if you make a little sacrifice along the way.

28. The moment you start living your life on your terms is the moment you become an adult. No other milestone matters quite like that one. 

29. The detours are where the living happens. The more detours, the richer the life. And the more stories you'll have to tell your nursing home homies.

30. You are at the center of your life. Your body, your mind. You're the only you you've got. Fill your own cup and be mindful of how you spend and gain your energy. When you keep this in your thoughts, and your actions follow suit, life becomes really beautiful.

Anxiety: The Only Way Out Is Through

I've wanted to write about anxiety for a while now; it's just that every time I start I become really self-conscious. I don't want you to think I'm any crazier than you already do.

Ahem.

The truth is, while most of the time I go about life with a can-do, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar mindset, there are times when anxiety damn near cripples me. I can go from molehill to mountain in no time flat. I'm halfway up the mountain when I realize I've don't even remember what the molehill looks like anymore.

But if I've learned anything about anxiety it's that it thrives on isolation. And the more I talk about it, the more I realize that so many people suffer. Quietly. Alone.

The wonderful thing about anxiety is that the more you study it, the more tricks you pick up to help squash it. And those tricks add up. You can call them coping mechanisms, stress reduction techniques, whatev. They work, that's all I care about.

I thought I'd share a few of mine:

Think about the Worst Case Scenario. No really, the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen. It's ridiculous, right? It's probably ridiculous. It's probably not going to happen. And if you're a super expert mountain-maker, not only is the WCS in your brain probably not going to happen, it probably isn't actually possible at all. So anything less than whatever catastrophe you conjured up is probably lookin' pretty good right now, eh? The moral is that it's often never as bad as it seems.

 Source

Exercise. I'm not talking a walk around the block. I mean, sweat like a pig, double over because you can't breathe, run until your legs give out. Something about intense physical exertion seems to reset my monkey mind. Science. It's a crazy thing.

Ground yourself in the physical. Anxiety is a mental spiral. Like exercise, doing other things to focus on the physical can help that spiral from becoming a vortex. Things like crafts, getting a massage, doing some yardwork...they can all help you get out of your head and into your body. (Hugs. Hugs, too.)

Call your peeps. You know this is a hard one for me. I didn't start actually calling my people and saying the words, "I'm anxious" until about a year ago. The thing is, there is magic in saying it out loud. It instantly becomes unhidden, taking the shame out of it. Speaking of ditching additional emotions...

Don't worry about the worry. I once read that anxiety is "worry about worry". That was over 10 years ago, when 'anxiety' was a new word in my vocabulary, and that definition has stuck with me to this day.

And that's because when I'm anxious, there are usually two emotions at play. There's the first emotion or scenario (worry, fear, insecurity, anger, disappointment: the deadline, the confrontation, the unknown) and then there's the secondary emotion about the first emotion or scenario (shame, worry, anger: I can't believe I'm upset about this again! Why I can't I just... Why can't it be different?! When will I learn?!). The thing is, the secondary emotion is actually a compounding factor. It doesn't make it twice as bad; it makes it 10x as bad.

So I've learned to cut myself some slack, because that secondary emotion is usually just thinly-veiled self-criticism. So, you've gotta show yourself some compassion and just accept life as it is, as much as possible: I'm an anxious person! Life has curveballs! People make mistakes! Writers have deadlines! So what! What matters is what I do with the portion of my life that's in my control. If I'm responding rather than reacting, I'm doing the best I can.

Be super freakin' kind to yourself. Buy yourself a new magazine. Take a really long bath. Spend an entire afternoon walking around looking for pretty front doors. What makes you feel comforted? Do more of those things. Clean sheets, tea with honey, stovetop vanilla pudding, rolled hand towels, a big stack of new books. Beauty and the Beast. Henley snuggles. And in a pinch: Skittles.

Be super freakin' kind to someone else. I've noticed that I can work my way out of a funk just by being a good friend, a good daughter, a good human. It feels good to lessen someone's load, or to forgive, or to buoy someone else up. It's not all about you anyways. Geeeeesh.

Watch your inner monologue. How are you narrating your life? Would you say it to a friend? How would you feel if you overheard your sibling talking to him or herself with the words you're using in reflection of your life? Simply being aware of what you're thinking is the first step towards...thinking better things.

How does your body respond to stress? For me, it's clenched hands. Noticing this was life-changing. I can actually spot clenched hands in old photos. The great thing about having a 'tell' is you can use it to your advantage. As soon as my hands tense up, it's like a cue for my brain: How can I counteract this? (Another thing: Anxiety, to me, feels physically like too much caffeine feels. So if I know I'm anxious or there is something happening that day that might throw me, I skip all coffee, even decaf. I also limit my daily intake to one half-caff.)

What can you control? Sometimes it helps just to clean my apartment for the sake of having things in order (says the chronically messy girl). Pay some bills, run some errands, cross some things off your to-do list. Do what you can.

--

These are simply tools that I use to manage anxiety--and I think that's the most important thing to remember...because in my experience, it's not something you "cure". It shows up over and over and you just get better at managing it. The only way out is through.

And lastly, I'll leave you with a few kind, albeit paraphrased, reminders I've received throughout the years from a few lovely friends. My gut says they're probably true about you, too.

"You've got this. You've already conquered way bigger things than this." -Shanon
"You're safe, surrounded, and loved." -Alicia
"You'll find the lesson in this and come out the other side inspired." -Allison
"You're amazing, and there is no way you'll mess this up." -Ellen

Resolving, Revisited

So, you guys, I didn't really start the bright and shiny new year out on a real...bright and shiny note.

Truth be told, I was a little bit wompy. A little bit homesick. A little bit in my head.

I realize this is grounds for having my Yooper Card revoked, but Chicago is damn cold in the wintertime. More than that, it's really harsh.

It's a far cry from the homeowner-with-a-big-backyard and a remote-starter-on-the-trusty-Jeep lifestyle I was living in Michigan. Henley needs to pee. And experience a life other than the apartment we live in. And that requires layers upon layers of clothing for me and many, many treks in the great windy city. At all times of the day and night. #whinewithyourcheese? Add to that the fact that I just gave up my car and need to brave the cold and wind any time I go somewhere for anything....

Needless to say, I had a little bit of a hard time adjusting from 17 days home over two stretches in a 40-day period. It was a rough week, and an especially rough morning this morning. There were a lot of tears, and some of the frozen, wind-smacked sort. (You're allowed to call me a baby. I own it.)

Some gym time, some quiet time, and some conversations with some of my nearest and dearests helped me sort it all out and I'm feeling back to my normal self. My crush on Chicago has resurfaced.

But what I really want to tell you about is Henley. #duh.

I came home a few minutes ago from a completely impromptu soul-warming and bolstering night with one of my nearest and dearest Chicago friends, Whitney. I prepared to let Henley out, per usual, but at the last minute decided to let her take a toy out to the alley where she does her business.

We have snow out there. Not Michigan-quantity snow, but snow. It's not a plowed alley--we trudge, there is slop.

I threw the toy for her several times--maybe 20?--but the last time, it got lodged somewhere in the snowbank. I stayed where I was, nuzzled in my NorthFace, letting her sniff and search, trying to find it.

You guys, her tail was wagging the whole damn time. Like it was the best moment of her day, trying to find that damn toy in the wet, soupy snow. She circled, she perched, she dug, she rolled. She wagged.

That's my New Year's resolution. To be happy while searching. To be so damn joyful about how much promise there is in this fucking cold, snowy city, no matter whether I'm sure I'm going to find the prize here or not.

Flaws: A Manifesto

As I got back into the dating game this spring, I tried to set a mindset that was open and, to be frank, wouldn't set me up for disappointment: It's a number's game, so the more people you sit across the table from, a) the more chances you have of finding who you're looking for, and b) the more chances you have of narrowing down what you're looking for. Also, c) the more free vodka sodas you score.

Idea B is a slippery path, though. Sure, the more people you date, the stronger your conviction becomes that, oh, I don't know, an entire month is an unacceptable amount of time between phone calls. That's good. That's called Realizing What You're Worth. See also: Realizing that you'd like someone who has a permanent job, is a good listener, is interested in topics north of your ribcage, can have a somewhat engaging conversation without chugging 8 beers, and doesn't call you Sugar on the second date (or, really, preferably, ever). (True story, people. I cannot make this stuff up.)

But if you start really narrowing it down (zero relationship baggage, no commitment/trust/insert-insecurity-here issues, always on time or early, never loses his cool or forgets to say thank you to waitresses, etc, etc, etc), I'm fairly confident you'll start missing out on some really great people.

How did I realize this? By over-thinking it, of course.  Duh. Whose blog do you think this is?

I thought about my family and how often we fail each other by losing our tempers or pushing each others buttons. They let me fail over and over without ever letting it change how much they love, respect and support me. I realized that having flaws and accepting flaws is what love is. It's essentially the definition of grace. Working to bring out the best in someone and helping to ease some of their burdens is essentially the definition of partnership.

I started thinking about the other people in my life that I really love. I started with my best friends because I hope my husband will be my bestest of all my best friends. I realized that I love those girls and guys because they are so beautifully flawed. They have the most endearing idiosyncrasies and mind-boggling tics. They make these gorgeous mistakes that turn into remarkable lessons for others, or, sometimes, turn out to be the best things that ever happened to them. Sometimes those mistakes prevent other, far worse mistakes or put them on a different, more genuine path. Sometimes when they get knocked on their asses and call for advice, they are their most divine selves. It seems the farther they fall, the better advice they have for me, and the more clarity they have for how to move forward and thrive in this crazy world.

I hope my future husband is flawed like that. I hope that he has made some whopping mistakes and that his life has been an unpredictable road of twists and turns. I hope he messed up something so bad that he's become the cautionary tale for his friends: "Don't do what I did--but if you do, call me. We'll sort it out!"  I hope he has a lot of almosts that push him to try again later. I hope he's been pushed to the max so that he has some sense of what he's made of...but I hope he's got some surprises left for himself, too.

I hope he's been humbled, criticized, supported, championed, and vilified, because that's what teaches you when to do which to others. I hope that he has gained the wisdom that only heartbreak can teach and has already set to work on narrowing down what he is looking for. (Oh, he's looking for an almond-eyed brunette that manages to oftentimes jump in feet first despite over-analyzing just about everything? He's looking for someone who hasn't made her bed in 15 years, who sees no reason to shut cabinet doors if you're just going to open them again, whose primary mode of communication is bullet points!? God, Future Flawed Hubs is so specific, I love it.)

In all seriousness, it was the Sugar guy that stopped me in my tracks: "I'm really into challenging people. It's the only place growth is born." Oh, uh, you have a point there...sir. You can't really challenge someone who's perfect (or thinks they're perfect). Where's the fun growth in that? I'm down to grow; the Universe knows I need it. (But really, the cupboard thing must be genetic or something...)

Allow me to get one giant step even further ahead of myself and pontificate about children for a moment, too. I hope my children are so beautifully flawed that you can see the cracks from a mile away. I hope that they falter and teach other people lessons. I hope that they doubt themselves at times so that they learn how to trust themselves. I hope they let people down so they can fully taste the monumental impact of forgiveness.

 Source

I'm going to try my damnedest not to hold their hands too tightly or wipe away their tears too quickly. I hope they are too empathetic and too generous, and I hope that at times this is the source of their pain; it means that they overshot in the best possible way. I hope that they get the chance to enrage and be enraged by someone so intensely that they fall in stubborn love and can't walk away even though they're not sure why. (Everyone deserves this excruciatingly beautiful experience, don't you think?) I hope their hearts break just enough to realize that there is suffering in this world that is far, far worse than anything they'll ever know. I hope that they fail miserably at something they thought they'd ace so they can understand that it isn't talent that makes you, it's sweat and preparation.

What I am trying to say is that I'm realizing lately that our flaws are what make us loveable because our flaws are what make us real, and what makes us real makes us human, and our humanness is where connection stems from.

I hope that it doesn't take me too much longer to find my person, but in the mean time, cheers--to your flaws and mine. I mean, hey, free vodka sodas!

A Heart Wide Open :OR: 10 Love Lessons I Learned from John Mayer

I'm not sure what it says about the fate of my love life that I believe I have gotten a somewhat legitimate education in matters of the heart from the person who is seemingly the most inept person in the world to deliver such wisdom.

You know how sometimes you learn what not to do from someone's actions? Well, I'm thinking of dear Johnny as a big brother who screwed up so royally that I'll never have to make the same mistakes on my own. Because, you know, I'm totally innocent in this department and have never made a single misstep.

Ahem.

Behold, the lessons John Mayer taught me about how to navigate the winding chambers of my own heart and the weird wacky world of Figuring Out The Opposite Sex:

1. Ask for what you want. It's the only way you're going to get it.

If you want more love, why don't you say so? -Heartbreak Warfare

Oh, uh, good point. Why don't I?

2. Walk away when it's not the complete package. Love hurts the most when it's unbalanced. And really, that's not love, now is it?

Anything other than 'yes' is 'no' / anything other than 'stay' is 'go'  -Friends, Lovers or Nothing

3. Figure out what you're running from. And then figure out what you should be running from. Don't be the crazy girl who doesn't know the difference. Then act accordingly.

You're like 22 girls in one / And none of them know what they're running from -Paper Doll

4. If you find yourself conceding, negotiating with yourself, or settling in any way, move on. 

I can't be her angel now / You know, it's not my place to hold her down / and it's hard for me to take a stand / when I would take her any way I can -Neon

Don't be this girl. Even if he makes you buzz like neon, neon. No--especially if he makes you buzz like neon, neon.

 Dumbest smart person to ever get a record deal.

5. Speak your peace. You'll feel a lot better, regardless of the outcome--even if sucks in the meantime. No--especially if it sucks in the meantime. That usually means there's something important to be said.

Say what you need to say

Have no fear for givin' in / Have no fear for givin' over / You better know that in the end / it's better to say too much / than never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shakin' / and your faith is broken / Even as the eyes are closin' / Do it with a heart wide open -Say

6. Avoid people who can't love you. For whatever reason, even if and especially if it's a reason he made up in his own head and can't or won't articulate.

Half of my heart is a shot gun wedding / to a bride with a paper ring / and half of my heart is the part of a man / who's never truly loved anything

Down the road / later on / you will hate that I never gave more to you / than half of my heart --Half of My Heart

You will. Don't date this boy. For Heaven's sake, don't love this boy.

7. The right person will love you even when you are not 100%.

Suppose I said / colors change for no good reason / Words will go / from poetry to prose 

Would you want me when I'm not myself / Wait it out while I am someone else / And I in time / will come around / I always do / for you  -Not Myself

It's okay to ask that of someone as long as you love the same way in return.

8. There's someone for everyone. Just sometimes you have to go through a lot of someones to find your Someone.

Good love is on the way / I been lonely but I know I'll be okay -Good Love is on the Way

When I was your lover / no one else would do / If I'm forced to find another / she's gonna look like you / Yeah and she's nicer too / I'm gonna find another you -I'm Gonna Find Another You

"This is a song about talking to the person that you haven't even met yet. Maybe they're rolling around in the hay with someone else, but they're not as good as you'll be. You just have to wait your turn. She's out there, he's out there. They're just learning what to contrast you against." -Live Version of Love Song For No One

9. You gotta look out for Number One.

Three years broken-hearted / Now her ghost is finally gone / I'm done with broken people / This is me I'm working on -Good Love is on the Way

I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me / so I can say this is the way that I used to be -Split Screen Sadness

10. In the end, listen to your heart. It's not as dumb, complicated, silly, flaky or broken as you might think. Stop being ridiculous.

Yeah... Johnny's never written anything about this. This I learned from his poor example.

Quoteworthy: Centeredness

When I lived in Marquette, when I was living by my roots, the wings were all I could think about--the things I wanted to do and go and be and see. And now that I am living by my wings, and putting myself in all sorts of new situations and environments, I've been closely examining my roots.

I know that I'm closer to finding a better balance, but the irony of this is not at all lost on me. In fact, it is so quintessentially Bobbi that it is rather obnoxious. File this one under #noshitSherlock. (Remember when hashtagging wasn't a thing? Neither do I.)

But then again that's what this space has always been...an attempt to even things out and be as balanced as possible. A place to document the gravitational pull between my two poles. Maybe in the end, I'll just have one thousand posts struggling to articulate the same thing: the strange, intense dichotomy that is my inner emotional life. Maybe.

On my trip home for the 4th of July, I felt for the first time in a long time that I was standing in the middle of the roots and the wings--that I had both, and what I had was everything I needed. I hugged my honorary nieces and nephews, caught up on heart-to-hearts with some of the best people I know, spent time shooting the shit in Bob's Garage-mahal, walked the shores of the lake with my mama, and watched Henley run wild on open trails. I didn't wish to be anywhere else. It was that New York feeling I had craved for over 7 years: Supported, and happy. Free, but grounded.

And then I piled back in my car with two awesome humans and three awesome puppies, and I headed back to my other home with no hesitation. I unpacked my bags, took a long walk around my neighborhood, prepped my morning smoothie, and settled in to write this post.

Source

According to Wikipedia, "an object at the Equator experiences a weaker gravitational pull than an object at the poles". So, the goal, it seems, really is to stay as close to the center as possible. #Noted.

"Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you truly love. It will not lead you astray." --Rumi

"Oh twice as much, ain't twice as good / And can't sustain like one half could / It's wanting more / That's going to send me to my knees" --John Mayer, Gravity

"Not one that I have found in all of my searching equaled the one that found me when I finally stopped." --Tyler Knott Gregson

"And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much of it was mine to keep." --Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

"You belong among the wildflowers / You belong in a boat out at sea / You belong with your love on your arm / You belong somewhere you feel free"  --Tom Petty, Wildflowers

Gravity: (n) a natural force of attraction; of grave consequence and importance

Balance: (n) a harmonious or satisfying arrangement; an influence producing equilibrium



Esse Quam Videri: To Be Rather Than To Seem

I'm acutely aware that this is the internet, and it's accessible by anyone. That's why I don't talk in any specific sense about work or personal relationships--at least beyond celebrating what I'm thankful for. For over two years, I've enjoyed being able to share things in this format, but somewhere along the line of oh, near strangers and my family and my childhood friends and my coworkers and my parents commenting about posts or saying they've enjoyed the blog, I've developed a bit of, I don't know... stage fright? No. I wouldn't call it that. I'd just call it self-awareness.

Suddenly the microphone was on and I wasn't sure I had anything to say. So I told a few jokes and hoped no one would notice the wrinkles on my shirt. (The wrinkles are a metaphor for my imperfections and insecurities, in case that wasn't clear.) Once I started thinking more about how my posts seemed, the joy disappeared. I still pushed myself to post on more personal topics, but I no longer felt relieved after I pushed "publish". I sort of felt sick to my stomach.

It's been a little like that in real life, too. I'm proud of how much I've pushed myself to pursue new friendships and, you know, start a brand new job in a brand new city, but along the way I realized I was holding back in my interactions with people. I was trying to understand who I was by understanding what I was showing people about myself. The result was undeniably limiting. I wasn't showing all my parts and by doing so I wasn't showing my best parts. I wasn't showing my worst parts and therefore I wasn't really connecting.

Similarly, I have been trying to understand who I am by understanding what I share on the blog. You guys seem to love the funny, light stuff, but what about the darker, heavier stuff? How do I represent all the sides of me? Because isn't that the point? How do I know I'm really representing my true self at all? What is self? What I see or what you see? Does it matter? And...how do I become comfortable sharing all of this with anyone who could come across my site? Talk about self-acceptance and self-confidence. Gulp.

This is all very existential, I realize, but the point I am trying to make is that the more I tried to see myself through other people's eyes, the more stifled I felt, and the more my capacity to connect and share and create and just be me was limited.

Being in Chicago and having the opportunity to start fresh has been eye-opening in this regard, and I'm absolutely positive that it's the reason I even started thinking about what I was publishing. (Trying to accurately and attractively describe myself in an online dating profile didn't really help the situation.)

"You can be anyone you want to be!" said a well-meaning friend upon the announcement of my move. After a brief period of extreme hesitation, I'm relieved to report that given the chance to be anyone, I've chosen to be myself. It just took me a bit to realize it was okay to be my whole self.

Ironically, what resolved this for me was asking myself not who I am, but what kind of person I wanted to strive to be. Someone who lives out loud. Someone who doesn't try to hide the struggles--who, maybe one day, can embrace them. Someone authentic and genuine and bold.

Oh. Uh. So, what was I waiting for? Permission?

So, I've given myself permission to be funny and deep, and confident if often a little bit anxious, and practical and carefree, depending on the day. Permission to be a hybrid hippie-yuppie, an adult-child, a sociable recluse. Permission to be a little giddy and a lot terrified to try out online dating. Permission to be sentimental and grounded with dreams and a mile-long To-Do-Go-See-and-Accomplish list. Permission to try something new. Permission to succeed and permission to fail. Permission to not settle. Permission to seek like-minded people going through the same things I am. Permission to celebrate all of the above and recount the many stumbling blocks and lessons along the way.

Permission to spend all the time in the world thinking about how to be a better, happier me. Permission to over-analyze just about anything except what people think about me. Permission to be whole-heartedly myself on the way to becoming the person I want to be.

And, finally, permission to ramble on about the elusive sweet spot between the roots and the wings, regardless of if the metaphor strikes anyone as much as it resonates with me.

Overflow

I felt it coming. I knew it was close when I left a tornado and a few curse words in my wake on my way to yoga last Tuesday. The trains were busy and I hadn't packed my gym bag the night before. All I could find were a pair of cut-off running pants, striped with dog slobber. I quickly and clumsily shaved my ankles in the sink with the closest lubricant: hand soap. My mind was fervent with criticism: Who even lets me be an adult? When will I get my act together?

I filled Henley's near-empty water bowl and rushed her through a potty break. Even though I knew she'd had her share of exercise yesterday, and that mamas had to take care of themselves in order to take care of their babes, I guiltly slipped out the front door. I got half way down my block before I had to turn around for my gym ID, which got her all excited again. Zen my ass. Just getting to class was a production.

While I enjoyed the class, I certainly wasn't feeling the yin/yang. My body did the moves, but my head ran right through the next day's to-do list and took a hearty turn onto Insecurity Row.

The week passed quickly, but I felt on edge. I avoided the phone (even more than normal) and spent an entire Saturday ransacking organizing my kitchen--which is filled with other people's things, mind you--in a fit to have everything just so. Would this new normal ever feel effortless? Why does this feel so hard?

I knew it was almost here when that familiar tickle appeared in my throat while I was watching the last episode of Weeds. It erupted from me during the last scene: open mouth cry, breathless sobs. For absolutely no reason and for absolutely every reason under the sun.

I missed my family. (When Weeds makes you miss your family, your family is either super cray-cray or you're one sentimental cat. I plead the fifth. ;) I was still stumbling at work, grappling to learn a new language in a fast-paced office. Still learning my surroundings. Still feeling it all out. Feeling it really intensely, per usual. All of it.

I'm hard on myself. I want to get it right the first time. I want to do it on my own, faster than I did last time, and with absolute grace. I hate to falter, I hate to find the weak spot. Even though this time around I knew I would need to make room for patience and self-care, like one makes space in one's hips during yoga. I still overdid myself, piled on too much pressure, got bent all out of shape.

I love Chicago, and I love my job. My social life is filled with friends both new and old. But I'm not sure you could pay me enough to replay the last six weeks. There's been nothing wrong in particular, it's just that the adjustment has had me so far out of alignment that its almost as if I had to come out the other side. Cue open mouth cry, breathless sobs.

I've been so self-aware, so full of self-doubt. I have been having the absolute best experience I could have hoped for, but it wound me up tighter than I've ever been.

But that's what yoga's for. Last night I got there early, having already ran my 40 minutes of intervals and made my rounds through the weight machines. I chose a mat, a block, a strap, and a blanket, and strategically placed myself next to the only heterosexual male in the room.

The instructor said in her yoga teacher voice, "Find your place on the mat. Get comfortable in a seated position. Set your intention for tonight's practice." I wished she would follow me around through life. "Remember this is your practice, your hour. Honor your limits as well as your growth. If something comes to mind that is not to do with tonight's practice, simply bring yourself back."

Gentle reminders. Bring yourself back. Learn your body's way of saying no, slow down, or dig just a little bit deeper. Open up your heart space: shoulders back, chin up. The position you are in is the perfect position for you, right now. Calmly assess your next move if you begin to feel discomfort. You may find stiff old aches you didn't know were still there. If you feel out of sorts, quietly retreat to child's pose, and join the group again when you're ready.

It's only when you return to the mat that you remember that the struggle is worth it. You can avoid yoga, you can make excuses to dodge the work, but once you're back on the mat, you remember. You get yourself into poses you don't know your way out of. You twist and stretch and go too far and reset. There's the burn and the good hurt, the progress and the sweet release. But you have to return to the mat.

Source

After a few sun salutations, some hell-yes-that's-the-good-stuff-hallelujah hip and IT-band stretches and one are-you-fucking-kidding-me-I-hate-you warrior combination, I returned my gear to the front of the room, gave the token hetero a shy smile, and walked out, feeling taller, a tad more graceful and a lot more relaxed.

"You will be called on to expand," says Danielle LaPorte. "And that is why we practice."

It's true what they say about anxiety: The only way out, is through. You can't hop over it, you can't duck under it, and there's no way around it. You have to face it straight on, head bowed, hands at your heart center. Namaste.

Bittersweet

Over the past three weeks, as I've been preparing to move, I lost not one but two dearly beloved family members. First we lost my grandpa, my dad's dad, my family's patriarch, my Papa.

We had just barely begun to grapple with the hole his death left, when, three weeks to the day later, on Papa's birthday, we lost my Auntie Vicki, my dad's sister, lover-fighter-planner-giver-truthteller-bullshitcaller so full of life, so feisty and so at the core of our family.

Here she is dancing at my cousin's wedding with the bride, Amy, and her son, DJ. This picture is her true essence...always celebrating, always loving.

I cannot believe they're gone, and as I prepare to leave tomorrow, I realize what the term bittersweet really means. The events of the last few weeks are the very reason I haven't yet moved away from home. This is what I was always fearful of: missing time with loved ones, because life moves so very fast.

But there's a part of me that's wiser now, that understands that life is always moving and passing us by, no matter your choices. We make the best decisions we can, and in the end, if we're anything like Papa and Auntie Vicki, we won't fear death, knowing that we've lived a good life. To me, led by their examples, that means taking life by the horns, working hard, fighting the good fight, loving out loud, calling out the bullshit and leaving a legacy of love and spirit. I only hope I can make them proud in this next chapter of my life.

9 Things English Teachers Taught Me About Writing [& Life], Part 3

I'm recalling 9 lessons from past English teachers. You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here. 

7. Show, don't tell. Dr. Ronald Johnson was a professor I had during my Junior year of college for a non-fiction class. I had heard the adage "show, don't tell" in many of my classes, but he drove the idea home with the use of peer-edits (where everyone reads your work and gives you verbal critiques in front of everyone else--the good, the bad and the ugly). The good pieces (and good writers) stood out in these sessions because they showed you how things happening (and how those things affected them), rather than told you. For instance: My hands shook when I walked into the kitchen, but I walked in tall and spoke evenly: "Can we talk?," I said to Brad. "It's about what you said earlier." --rather than I don't think my boyfriend noticed I was nervous when I walked in to confront him.

This immediately helped me revise my pieces so that I was showing my audience the story, and therefore letting them experience it themselves, rather than just telling them what happened.  But it wasn't until I was looking into moving to North Carolina after grad school that the lesson came full circle. Their state motto is "Esse Quam Videri", which means "To be, rather than to seem". It essentially means: Come as you are and don't bullshit us. Be you, don't waste our time trying to prove otherwise. In a book I read about living there (oh you know I researched the dickens out of it), they explained that the people there would rather you be harried and rude than fake and pleasant. It actually offends them if you try to be anything but what you are at the moment. 

I realized that this is exactly how I want to live my life. I never want to just seem happy, I want to be happy. I never want to just seem grateful, I want to be grateful. I want to show the people in my life my story, I never just want to tell them. (Cue up another blog goal!)

--Dr. Johnson also taught me that writers write (you are not a writer unless you are working on something) and that there is merit in everyday things (good writers can make those everyday things seem interesting, because they weave the story with things that connect and compel every day people).

Source

8. You have to put yourself out there. Dr. Ray Ventre was my graduate advisor. Having had Ray as a professor previously, I felt just comfortable enough to propose some out-of-the-ordinary directed studies for my grad student study plan that would help me later on when writing for non-profits. But I had to drum up the courage to ask, and I had to put myself out there. I was proposing supplementing the classes they offered with other trainings and self-guided study that I had found via, you guessed it, research. I was terrified I was going to offend him, the department head, he who most likely decides the cirriculum. But Ray signed every directed study form I put in front of him, and I know he did it because he believed I was invested in my education, and my future. 

Source

It's not a coincidence that around the time Ray expressed that trust in me, I started taking more risks with my writing. I learned from him that you must put yourself out there. You'll be pleasantly surprised by who will welcome it, like all of you sweet people who have reached out to say you're enjoying my blog. Thanks, sweet people.


--Ray also taught me that you need to study the writers who have come before you, from the greats to the obscure people in your university's journal. Learning about them as writers equals learning about yourself as a writer. And there is always more to learn.

9. Everything comes together in the end. Dr. Teresa Hunt was my professor, my advisor and my employer, but she was, first and foremost, always a mentor. She passed away unexpectedly during my last year of graduate school, but before she died she taught me plenty. I still think about her when I do a close edit or use hierarchical headings (riveting link right there, folks).

She told her students, who were headed down different career paths, from software technical writing to training and development (or non-profit writing for me), that their job in grad school was to learn how to write. Their employers could teach them everything else--the lingo, the trends, the expectations they had. All we needed to do was walk in with that one skill and we would be successful. This helped to calm the nerves we had, faced with making a career out of something that doesn't always lead to lucrative ends. (Every English major has heard the joke about asking if you'd like fries with that.) But, she was right; from the handful of classmates I've kept in touch with, we are all thriving at jobs that require a lot of us. Having a firm grasp on different styles of writing has made all of our paths a lot easier to navigate.

When I was on the fence between moving to New York and staying in Marquette for grad school, Teresa was the only one intuitive (or gutsy?) enough to tell me what I needed to hear: "You've been there, done that, Bobbi. New York will be waiting if decide to go back." I thank her every day for encouraging me to stick around and learn more.

I feel like this is true of the writing process as well. Give something your all, but trust in your skill. If you're unsure about something, put it away in a drawer for a while, and when you pull it out later, when you're a little bit wiser, the answers will appear. 

On the other hand, you need know when to edit, edit, edit. The final product rarely resembles the first draft, but you won't know what the final draft should look like until you have a really, really ugly first draft in front of you. (Do we need to even go into how that applies to life?)

--And one more: Teresa taught me that once you know the rules, you can break them, but you absolutely must learn them first. When you study communication, it soon becomes clear that there are rules for a reason: 99% of the time, rules about punctuation and grammar (though sometimes annoying and seemingly arbitrary) help keep your writing understandable and allow your real message to come through. After all, you want your audience to focus their energy on the message itself, not interpreting the message, right? And I can start sentences with ‘But’ and ‘And’ like I just did because I know you’re not supposed to. But it works sometimes. Even incomplete sentences like this one. Breaking the rules sometimes can lend itself to the tone and pace of a piece. In short – you have to know what works all the time, the classic rules, before you can begin to successfully experiment with things that aren’t supposed to work but might. In life.... well, I think you get the picture.