Being authentic, being in your body
Plus some silliness
Check in
Vision exercise
We all know what a fire hydrant looks like, right? It’s squat and red.
Well, not all hydrants are the same. Here are a few from my neighborhood.
Which one of them is the authentic model? Which one do you like best?
Authenticity
It’s easy to say “be authentic.” But what does that mean? Is authenticity something we want, or even need?
Maybe it means “Be true to yourself.” But how do you do that?
Start here
There is an authentic you. It may be the persona you present to the world every day. Or it could be hidden under layers of armor—the kind you forge to keep yourself “safe”—but that keeps people from seeing, loving, understanding you.
You wear this armor because you are afraid.
Crawling out from under all that baggage
I have been there, dear reader. I remember being afraid to show anyone my writing, to let people know what I was thinking, to connect my essence with anyone else’s.
Doing these things is so radically a part of me now that I can’t comprehend how they weren’t always there.
But it took years of introspection, learning to trust, recognizing my truth, discovering intuition—even some therapy—to get to the point where my authenticity was bared to the world.
Except for . . .
At the same time, during all that growth, I had a stubborn germ of obstinacy that made me uncompromising about my views. I had none of the useful armor that people develop to shield parts of them that could upset others—things like tact, balance, generosity. I let it all hang out, and people got hurt.
But now . . .
It turns out I am genuinely generous, as well as a good, compassionate listener. My Dudley Do-Right urge to make everything balance out is tempered by the knowledge that I am too quick to criticize.
That business about “nix on negativity” we covered in February? Still working on that.
I had to learn to access positive attributes. I had to learn to trust intuition.
Starting at birth
Babies are authentic. They know what they want, and they are not about to compromise.
Eventually, they have to give it up. It’s called socialization. By kindergarten, they’ve learned to share, to take turns, and to moderate their appetites. (Some of us don’t ever really learn that last part—thus obesity, addiction, alcoholism.)
Your authenticity
Pulling forth you inner authenticity requires love and trust. Love yourself, trust yourself. Be yourself.
That is how to be authentic.
For some of us, it’s easy. For most of us, it involves opening a vein and being willing to let our emotions flow.
That takes a leap of faith. It’s a leap worth making.
Just close your eyes and jump.
Body images
Our monthly resolution for May has to do with our bodies:
My body
Review: How do I feel about it?
Renew: What would I change? How can I be happy with what I have?
Restart: Some things we can change—diet, sleep, exercise. I know, I know, resolutions are notoriously unsticky.
Movement, disability, resolution: Topics to explore.
Here are some body ideas to get us started:
Dexter and sinister
Remember, these words are Latin for “right” and “left.”
Most likely, your body is symmetrical in the sense of having two eyes, ears, arms, legs, elbows. You probably favor either your right hand or your left hand.
Take a moment to consider the some lesser ways your body uses left and right.
Which eye do you use to look through a telescope or a camera viewfinder? I’m left-eyed.
Do you hear better with one of your ears?
Which ear do you hold a telephone to?
Which ear do you put the first earring in?
I haven’t worn contacts since I had cataract surgery, but I think I used to insert the left lens first.
Your good side
You may prefer your left profile to your right. Or vice versa. The winner is your “good side.”
Which leg goes into your pants first? Before MS, my left. Now, my right.
Today I forgot I was wearing trousers and had to take the braces off, put the pants on, then the shoes again.
Which sock do you put on first? Left or right?
Do you put on a sock and a sock, then a shoe and a shoe, or a sock and a shoe and the other sock and shoe? Here’s a classic take on the possibilities from “All in the Family.”
Pivot: A little more Browning
I printed a few lines from “Home-Thoughts, from Abroad,” by Robert Browning, last week. Here is another stanza, having to do with May:
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
I love how the rush of words, “he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture,” has a cadance like the song of the thrush.
I have a friend who says he never reads poetry because he can’t understand it. You can appreciate the wonderful images of these few lines even without thinking about a thrush’s song.
Another pivot: Which is your coffee?
Few Americans drink straight espresso. That’s too bad, because a well-made espresso can be divine, especially with sugar.
In Europe, American GIs would order espresso with hot water to dilute it, which is why that drink is called an Americano.
Espresso with milk in it
Americans in the era of Pax Starbucks like milky drinks.
There’s a progression:
Macchiato, just a kiss of milk.
Cortado, a Spanish entry, made with steamed (not foamed) milk.
Cappuccino, a little hot milk, lots of foam.
Latte, lots of hot milk, a little foam.
Café au lait is not an espresso drink. It’s equal parts strong brewed coffee and warm milk.
Welcome, cortado
A cappuccino fan since my Berkeley days a half-century ago, I’ve come to love cortados. They have a special richness, and the bitterness of the espresso is gently cut by the milk.
The drink is just the right size, served in a small glass. Seven sips, and you are done.
Some Portland baristas are knowledgeable about cortados, even some Starbucks partners. But your best bet is independent coffee shops.
A favorite of mine is Coava Coffee, which has a flagship store on Southeast Grand at Main and a small outlet on Hawthorne, just two blocks from my house in Southeast Portland.
Next coffee break, try a cortado. You might find a new love.
Silly poems
~How about a little break?~
Let’s start with some bathroom humor:
Toilet paper
My mom was no fanatic. But in her house, toilet paper came from the bottom of the roll. That was just the way it was. Maybe she was passionate about toilet paper. Who can say? First husband, father of my children, was not always passionate about his priorities, but he had his standards. Toilet paper came off the top of the roll. That was just the way it was. And so, I switched my loyalties from the bottom to the top. I even got passionate about top-sided TP. Sometimes, in a public toilet, I would surreptitiously change a roll From time to time From bottom to top Until NOW Now I don’t even look. I don’t even care. TP comes off a roll Top or bottom, let the Universe decide. It is enough, just the way it is.
Bathroom haiku
I’m not too fond of haiku, but sometimes it’s appropriate:
1. Always squirting out In just the wrong direction— That’s toothpaste for you 2. Swish, swish, swiggle, spit Ah, minty green mouthwash! Swish, swish, swiggle, spit
Another bathroom fixture
Just not in my bathroom. I’m not ready for a cat.
Litter box
Scrabbely scratch scratch Scrabbely scratch scratch Kitty tracks small stones. Hey, it used to be worse. Before there was clumping litter, Before there was clay, There was sand. Plain, smelly sand, like from the beach. Few people kept indoor cats in those days. Be grateful for progress The next time Your bare feet grate on gravel.
Shoelaces
It’s entirely possible to be an adult today and not know how to tie shoelaces.
My shoes have to have laces because the AFOs (braces) have to fit inside. But with so many casual shoes closing with elastic or even zippers, it’s getting hard to find shoes that lace up.
The lone holdout would be hiking boots, but I doubt I’m going to be in the market for those anytime soon.
Or maybe trainers—aka tennis shoes or athletic shoes. I can’t imagine elastic would be sturdy enough for running or playing basketball.
Of course, COVID sequestering brought about a large investment in slip-ons, shoes that are dead comfortable for wearing indoors.
Comfort is a worthy pursuit.
Shoelaces
Not everyone Ties their shoes The same way. I make a loop— A bunny ear— Wrap a lace around, Push it through. Robert makes two Little bunny ears, Wraps and pushes through. Not sure how he does that. I like the way I learned. If only I could remember That kindergarten time, An era before Velcro.
A normal poem
Fido in, Fido out
Something there is that does not love a dog. Something there is that does. Love wins. (Love is a scary thing; Not many people really want it.) Dogs, wolves, coyotes, brothers. Sitting on their haunches, eager. Bouncing on all four legs. Lying, stomach on grass, forelegs crossed, Patient. Patient! What dog is ever patient? Pacers, racers, raucous, Long-tongued, fresh-eared, Big-eyed, dog-eyed, dog-teethed . . . But patient? Maybe the occasional basset. The kind that belches instead of barking. Chewing its cud and watching you with curious eyes.
Check out
When I write, I ask myself always, “Am I being honest? Am I being authentic? Am I being of service?”
Julia Cameron in Write for Life
Wow. I would love to remember to say a mantra every time I wrote. But the usual way it works is that I’m burning with an idea, and I rush to sit down and write about that.
I’ve written before about thinking “sushi!” as if the thought of my favorite food would jump-start my writing time.
But now, I have so many ideas. Maybe too many. They keep popping up like moles on a sunny day, or prairie dogs, their whiskers a-tremble with possibility.
What gets you going?
Something impels you to write, or at least to live. What gets you out of bed in the morning?
Maybe you set up the coffeepot the night before. You could be one of those cwazy wabbits who can’t wait to get out of bed and go running.
I’m just betting that what perks you up in the ayem isn’t sitting in your slippers and catching up on that novel.
I’ll be talking more and more about morning routines in weeks to come. For now, here’s a snippet about Beethoven:
The great man
rose at dawn and got right to work. His breakfast was coffee, which he prepared himself with great care—he determined that there should be 60 beans per cup, and he often counted them out one by one.
This is from Daily Routines by Mason Currey, who also notes that, according to one of his students, Beethoven had a habit of pouring large pitchers of water over his hands, again and again, all the while loudly declaiming a scale or humming to himself. He was concentrating, meditating, creating during these periods, but the water damage to the floor, of which he was totally unaware, made him unpopular with his landlords.
Your own morning routine
While you are counting out your coffee beans tomorrow, remember to be grateful for all the corny, joyous, quirky factoids that you find just lying about everywhere. Try writing about them.
As you commute by bus or car or bike, notice the other humans (or dogs) and engage yourself with their essence. We’re all part of this enormous enterprise, and some of us count our coffee beans.
—30—
I love the shoe poem. Lately, for some reason, I've been thinking of the time when my mother sat me on her lap and taught me how to tie a shoe lace. Being a slow-witted child, it took several demonstrations for me to internalize the Zen of Shoelaces. My mother had a temper but as I now recall how I was as a child, her patience was infinite.