How To Be a Writer Today (This Post Contains Little Fluff)

Image snapped from The 22 Day Revolution book.

When I go to author talks or writing conventions at least one doe-eyed student still discovering her voice asks, "How do I really become a writer?" 

Sorry, but, that question always makes me groan.

I've mentioned Cheryl Strayed's take on that, in which she basically says to be a writer you must write. I've really grasped tightly to that sentiment since I read it only a few months ago. I don't always stick to it. I have whined and cried about the fact that I've not done the amount of writing I wanted to since moving to Portland.

But, I have been paying the rent with other writing, and I'd say that's a success. Here are my four tips for living as a writer, and I won't sugar coat it. 

1. Think about yourself.

I was inspired to live a “year of Me.” That allowed me to say, "I want to do these hours over those," and "I want to do this project over that one," at work. I just went and said it, and no one died, no one criticized, and no one said, "nope." You'll be surprised how well others respond when you unapologetically speak up for yourself. 

2. Deal with it

On the other hand, you still have to work hard. And you just have to work hard. I took a very flexible hourly, but permanent, writing job so that I can spend my time as I pleased. For a while it worked Okay. I declared my hours to be 10-4, Monday through Thursday. It was a fantasy I always had that I made a reality by doing what I described above.

However, I started running out of money! While I really like my job, I had to face the fact that I either needed to take on my hours, get other freelance gigs, or start looking for a full-time salaried job that is more on par with my skill level. So far, I've been lucky. I found side gigs thanks to good ol’ ModCloth peeps and thanks to tirelessly sending resume/cover letter/writing sample after resume/cover letter/writing sample. 

I got many headaches. I cried many tears. But, I'm telling you, you just gotta deal with it.

3. You suck at some things

Admit it. Do it. Done? Now, do you feel a weight lifted? I hope so. 

It's never a bad thing to be honest about your skills, especially if an expectation is set by a hiring manager. For example, if you're hired on to write headlines because you're an ace at them, then get asked to craft press releases but have no idea how to write a press release, say so. Maybe you'll be asked to give it a shot and all will end well. Or, maybe you know you're just not at all interested in PR writing and know you won't be able to deliver as well as, say a colleague of yours - Say so! (Bonus tip - supporting your peers makes you look good.)

When you're honest and forthcoming, you'll impress more than if you build yourself up or take on too much. Be an expert in one thing, not a dilettante, and make that all work for you.

4. Count your lucky stars

I mention above that I've been lucky in nailing what I have. But, it's not just random dumb luck. Years ago I worked hard to get a job at ModCloth. I made many friends there who I regularly recommend for work and in turn they've come to trust me as a source for great work. 

So, if you're sitting around wondering why you're not getting any work or getting anyone to read your brilliant pieces, try to make a few friends. Everyone has got to know someone, and chances are you know personally or know of a writer or someone in the field you want to break into who you can make a connection with. Then, you'll be saying years down the line, "I was so lucky to know this person who helped me succeed."

Here's another way of looking at luck. In this piece, Creating Your Own Luck, the author points out that sagaciousness is will open the door to opportunities of luck.

In conclusion? Don't be like me. Don't spend time whining, crying, and watching old Homestar Runner while nursing your headache and not doing much else. If you avoid those things and remember the above, you'll do way better than me! Good luck. :)

2014 Was the Year of the Living Dead

Is there is an astrologist who can show me the jagged map the stars and planets traversed this year so that we can all understand why it was so fucked up? I'll take anything, even a hokey astrology chart. For some, including myself, it could have been worse. For others it was the worst it could get. A lot of good things, foundations in our lives, folded abruptly and a lot of baffling injustices made any remaining faith in humanity brittle. It makes me think of George Romero's remarkable Night of the Living Dead.

I first saw it late one night in the early 2000s while still in high school. I lived in Penn Hills, a large suburb of Pittsburgh, next door to Monroeville where one of the nation's first malls still lives, where the follow-up to NOTLD, Dawn of the Dead, was filmed. NOTLD was also filmed in the then-rural areas East of the city in Allegheny and Westmorland counties. These were places pocked with lose towns populated by farmers, volunteer firefighters, coal miners, steel mill workers, and all of their mothers and who had last names that ended in -cci, -sky, and Gentile -ann. A UFO crashed in one of these towns in the early 60s, but that's another story.

I rediscovered NOTDL after stumbling upon the above video. If you haven't seem the movie yet, maybe you shouldn't sit down and watch it here, but it's still a pretty cool video. The user must have thought it was clever to couple the film with The Suburbs album's lyrical theme, I'm sure. I find it a little too obvious. The music doesn't match rhythmically with the movie, but at times it works in a disturbing, off way. At times, the deceptively upbeat and polished indie rock clashes a little too well impending doom on screen.

Yeah, if I could sum up NOTLD in one word, it'd be DOOM.

When I first saw my opportunity to see it back in the early 2000s, I assumed a gory zombie flick, a kitschy teen scream film that might have accepted it was bad at the time. I was surprised by how sophisticated the storytelling is and enthralled by its terrifying embers that explode in the last few minutes. It's GOOD. The film reveals what it's really about in its last moments, and it's like waking from a nightmare of magical mayhem into brutal, real life swathed in unforgiving sunlight.

I'm debating over whether I want to get into it with a spoiler or not. Okay, I'm not. I think you should just watch it and discuss.

So, what is Night of the Living Dead about? What or who is the real enemy in Night of the Living Dead? Will 2015 be the year of the Dawn of the Dead?

On Practice, Patience, and Persistence / Knitting, Running, and Writing

I have quiet hobbies because I'm a quiet person. For a year now I've finally been learning music, succeeding mainly on the quirky, very simple, Omnichord. Expressing myself through music is scary to me. Me making noise kind of scares me. Drawing attention to myself is something I never consider doing, and when it happens I shrink back into a shell. And, I'm Okay with that. I'm just a quiet person. I'm a lone wolf with a pair of knitting needles.

Music is a challenge I'm amazed at myself for doing at all. I wouldn't have gotten to this point were it not for the hobbies I naturally took up and which have formed who I am now, a person who can do anything if she embraces three things: practice, patience, and persistence.

Practice, patience, and persistence depend on each other. They form a shining circle, a feedback loop. For a number of years I've been writing, knitting, running, pushing myself through each of them (in varying degrees, however) because of the in-the-moment joy they stir up. Here are my reflections on my hobbies. Perhaps you can relate?

Practice

Fundamentally, knitting is performing an action over and over and over. I picked up knitting in the summer of 2005 on a whim. It was trendy at the time, and Target sold a starter kit with plastic number ten needles (which I understand now were of very low quality), pink eyelash yarn (a fad that was a terrible yarn to learn on), and a confusing tutorial DVD. I bought it the day I borrowed my dad's car to distract myself from the commencement of my grandmother's health decline and the angry absence of my brother. The car ran out of gas less than a mile from home. Whoops.

For almost ten years now, I've been learning knitting and I'll never stop learning. There are always many more miles of yarn to manipulate with untried stitches, alternative techniques, and new patterns. And, as long as lace knitting remains difficult, I'll be learning that forever. Cables look hard, but they're actually fairly easy. Lace knitting looks hard and IS hard. Each individual stitch requires full attention, even the ones in rows of straight purls. I've been trying to do the Stitch n Bitch Sweetheart Sweater for a few days now. I've started it over three times, and I'm going to have to go for a fourth now. The full lace pattern occurs over 10 rows and I've yet to complete the round more than twice. My piece looks like the ugliest slice of Swiss cheese you'll never eat. This is how every lace knitting project for me goes. I've never completed a lace project.

A pin-hole photo of my knitting from 2006.

This time, with all that I've been experiencing, I am able to really look at that wonky piece of work and see how much I've actually done at all, not only what I'm doing wrong. I managed to complete one set of the pattern only to get halfway through the next to see that the stitches aren't lining up, and no matter what I do that isn't ripping out the done rows, it doesn't look right. But, I managed to complete one set. I practiced that ridiculous pattern over three times now, and I'm only getting better.

I may not finish this sweater. Maybe I will and it will represent some sort of achievement. And, maybe I'll never wear it. But, right now, it's reminding me how much practice makes a difference. With every new turn at this damn sweater, I get better. With every mile I run, I can breath smoother, with every draft I write I get closer to making a connection with other weirdos out there.

Patience 

You can't practice well on a deadline. Lately, I've felt pressed for time. Deadlines have formed out of my own theories and ifs. My phone isn't on silent, yet it sits next to me and I keep checking it for a call I hope to get in time for...something. The phone utters no peep. True, I'd like to be out of my current apartment and into a cheaper one before a certain time, but it's no tragedy if I'm not, only a struggle if one other thing doesn't happen. etc. Overall, there's a dread in my chest simply because I'm trudging through uncharted territory right now.

When I moved into my first very own apartment in 2006, a fresh college grad, I decided I would become a runner. I bought bad tennis shoes at Payless, neglected warm-ups and stretching, and barely considered a training plan. I was out of breath before I started. That didn't last long. The second time I tried taking it up, in 2010 during my early years living in San Francisco, I made the same mistakes again. Both times I had the urge to jump out and run. Fast. Deep inside, it wasn't out of a desire to be healthier or thinner, to be a winner in some timed race. I had something inside of me that was trying to bust out and would only swell uncomfortably when I rushed into easing this restlessness.

When my husband wanted to get in on the running action, he smartly did his research. We started with the attainable Couch to 5k program and it only got better from there. Today, I'm about a quarter of the way through training for a marathon. A fucking marathon, sons of bitches. And, I WANT do to it.

It's probably going to take me over five hours to complete a marathon. I've finished my last half in two hours and thirty-eight minutes. Most of the my I practice running with music blaring, which gets me in the zone and transforms those miles into minutes flying by. During races runners are encouraged to keep the headphones off for safety reasons, but it's also exhilarating to be aware of the party of thudding feet around you. Even without music, during a good race the miles and the minutes fly by. Your mind becomes still while your body is flying.

Now, maybe half of all of my runs are this Zen-like. Of the half that aren't, I usually want to give up on. It's boring and painful. I'm acutely aware of the damage I'm doing to all the bones in my back, knees, shins, feet. Unable to breath into my stomach while my neck and shoulders constrict like I'm a turtle hunching into its shell. I'm saying very eloquently in my head as I look at the time, "Oh come ooooooon mother fuckers!" Sometimes I finish one of these runs and feel terrible.

So, how did I get to the point of wanting to run a marathon? Patience! Whether I run an eleven or a fourteen minute mile, It takes time to finish one. It takes time to complete the nine mile loop. It takes time to reach the point where you can push through the boring miles and truly want to keep going past mile 13.1. I've always been pretty patient and have been able to tolerate long lines, waits for tables and stuff like that. But I've never been so graceful in waiting for answers to where my life will be in a month, a year, five years. Waiting to know if the other shoe will drop or if whatever it is I'm anxious about today will resolve itself. The difference between dealing with the anxiety of waiting five years ago and dealing with it now is that I can think of the patience I'm forced to face when completing a big run. You'll get there. It will be there when you get there. It will end and you'll have a new perspective after it's over. If it's not what you wanted, then you try next time.

Persistence 

But it's true, practice does make perfect--if you can accept perfection as never reaching an endpoint. I like that philosophy, but I do bulk at it when I think of my writing. I said last week that my writing is like a succulent, growing very slowly. Of the hobbies I'm discussing here, writing is the act I do the least. Perhaps because it's not a hobby. It's my calling. It's just what I do. I regard it the highest inside of myself. It's the most mercurial--an idea burns hotly just before I fall asleep only to be completely forgotten the next time I'm by a pen and paper. It mocks me when I draw blanks, It disappoints. It hurts. I really fucking hate it sometimes.

While I'm persistent in my running programs, working my schedule around miles, and I'm persistent in getting that crazy pattern just right even if I retire by the time it happens, I'm just not quite there in my writing. I can't seem to tame it so that I regularly write. I'm trying now, yet again. Every January I come up with a plan. Every following November I ignore NanoWriMo emails. Maybe going back to school will help, maybe letting go and being wild in my writing habits will if I had a better memory. Maybe I just have to quit bitching and do it.

But, persistence. If I can do it running, dragging my high school gym class self through a marathon, counting every single little stitch in a lacy sweater, I should theoretically be able to complete the writing dreams I've had for most of my life.

In conclusion of sorts, I thought of a cool tattoo idea honoring my hobbies and their virtues. In the meantime, please encourage me to keep writing, even if you don't like this blog. :P I encourage you to embrace practice, patience, and persistence the next time you feel frustrated, anxious, overwhelmed, inadequate. As Counselor Troi says in Star Trek TNG "Decent Part I," "Feelings aren't positive and negative. They simply exist. It's what we do with those feelings that becomes good or bad." Q might consider that "pedantic psychobabble," but I think it's Okay for now. TNG rules.

3 in 30: Why I Must Do.My.Art.

Airplanes make you think.

I knew from the start that I'd have a hard time keeping up with my 3 in 30 project. I dislike my habit of losing steam. I knew that my last installment would be based around the concept of "careering" and I knew I needed time to really think about it. This third part is based on a realization I had while running (see #12 here). It's about what I NEED to do with as far as a job or a "job," but I also knew that I would take it up clumsily.

But, I am going to do it. I just have to. I must. It's hard. So, I take a diamond of advice from Cheryl Strayed--"Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

But very simply, what I without-a-doubt gotta do is, "do my art." My crude little mantra bounced into my head as my feet rounded a Northeastern curve of Lake Merced. All of my life I've been storytelling, crafting, considering, making up, thinking, scribbling, throwing, creating. Like many of us, I did it so much more when I was younger--wondering in a couch-cushion fort at age four and wondering at four a.m. in my college dorm. I made a promise to myself sometime in high school after waking from a dream with an idea. In the middle of the night, I flicked on my lamp and write down the idea, which I've completely forgotten, and lay wide awake for hours after. During that time, I promised that I would always try my wild ideas, write them down while saying "fuck it" to sleep if I had to, share them with the world. No excuses. For the most part, that hasn't happened to me in about six or seven years. About the time when I started working full time. I broke my own promise to myself. Let myself down.

My favorite succulent, which grows as slowly the rest.

I'm happy with the small, but growing, body of work out there that a few people might have read. And, when I say growing, I mean it's growing like succulents. Over a happy spring, you'll notice how quickly tulips and daffodils bloom and wilt. But succulents take their time. Sometimes they turn ruddy and gaunt but then a brilliant storm fills them and they're verdant and voluptuous again. They grow slowly and deliberately. That's my writing. I love it, I don't tend to it enough, and yet I'm blessed with a storm every so often. It's time for me to take those storms into my own hands.

I feel terrified that I will keep making excuses and never sacrifice luxurious comforts to do it.

"Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig."

-Cheryl Strayed

Right before Christmas I lost my job to company-wide layoffs. I knew about it the day before my 31st birthday, so I had two months to prepare to be jobless, to get myself psyched up for a month or so of freedom. Of visiting family, packing and cleaning my apartment, sleeping in, preparing elaborate lunches for myself followed by elaborate dinners for my husband and I, running a wandering we'll-see-far-I-can-go route and possibly ending up somewhere in San Mateo county only to drag myself back to San Francisco on the CalTrain stinky, achy, and more badass than ever, and writing, writing, writing every other hour of the endless days. I had two months to plot all of this, my "do my art" life plan. 

Since being jobless, I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel. I'm tired but can't get off the wheel. The anxiety that I might miss a job or an apartment opportunity if I don't apply immediately and then the guilt when I can't bare to write a third or fourth cover letter in one day or speak on the phone about all of my alternative income. Guilty when I just want spend the day reading. The embarrassment and frustration I aim at myself when I see that I've made a mistake. Uploaded the wrong cover letter to the wrong posting. Spelled "messenger bag" incorrectly in a writing sample. All of this is self imposed. (Ah, I said it!)

Why am I like this? I'm the girl who always does her work on time and works hard enough to justify or earn free time. The little girl whose parents were told by her teachers "I wish I could keep Angela in my class forever!" and whose parents tell her "We're so lucky to have you." The girl who disappoints when she fails Algebra and lies about where she was after school.

I'm flying to the East Coast to meet my niece for the first time. Today is her first birthday. My parents are getting older, too. I found round-trip ticket from coast to coast for under $300. And, I mean, it's not like I have a job (but I keep thinking that my job is to find a job, and by the California EDD expectations it is, but even that job has got to have weekends and vacation, right? Gah!), so I can travel for a few days and see my family while I can. While they're young and healthy.

As I waited at the gate for boarding, I watched a woman across from me knit. If you know me, you know that my other quiet hobby after running and writing is knitting. This woman had those beautiful wooden, rainbow stained needles I covet and was speedily forming a fluffy ivory-colored sweater. If you know me, you're wondering why I didn't bring my own knitting. I thought, as the woman set down her needles pointing precariously upward, that knitting needles were illegal on planes. Only terrorists carry knitting needles onto planes, right? That's what I thought, and I thought I was just following the rules. Always such a good girl, following the rules.

I've been following rules that don't exist.

The girl that always followed the rules.

Inspired by my friend Megan's recent post on the one word blog challenge, I am taking one up. My word is short and sweet. It's ME. I choose it because I'm afraid of not doing what I want, what I know I should do, what is purely me. I fear that I'll end up putting all of my efforts and skills into full-time, well-paying job and feel empty by five p.m. That I should just "quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock" to borrow an Arcade Fire lyric. That I'm selfish for not contributing my skills to society (the workforce). I'm afraid of missing a job posting that could offer me stability and that I'll actually take it and be miserable.

So what am ME doing about this? I'm reminding myself that it's "Okay to take a break," as my husband lovingly and calmly told me over and over after my freak out last evening. I'm leaving my planner and three other job-related notebooks at home when I got out. I'm not going apply for 1 single job or look at Craigslist for even 1 apartment in Portland or anywhere. I'm going to make my own hours, eat BBQ at the Charlotte airport in about three hours, and anticipate seeing my niece's kind little grin in person and be that guy who Instagrams the heck out of it. If I drive anywhere, maybe I'll run a red light. WHO KNOWS. THE GLOVES ARE OFF. WATCH OUT SOCIETY AND HIDE YOUR STUPID RULES.

I must rekindle my promise. I will carve out significant time to work on that project that is truly unique and not yet existing in the world. What is truly ME.

In long-distance running, when you want to finish a certain amount of miles and feel like you can't, you do. You don't stop. You mine the coal. You do your art.

My 2015 is about me, but really it's about "do my art."

How about you?

3 in 30: 13.1 Reasons Why I Love Having Running in My Life

Me getting ready for my second 5k in 2012.

This October, I will be completing my fourth half marathon. It would be my second since turning 30.  Ever since I first started running in 2010, my life has gotten better!

I used to not be very active or health conscious. After moving to San Francisco with its agreeable, must-go-out-and-run weather, things changed. Seeing so many other runners enjoying getting fit in the temperate weather and fresh air inspired my husband and I. We started with the Couch to 5k program and since then have run thousands of miles together. Seriously, if I add it up, it's got to be in the thousands!

The best running I've done, though, has been in this year, my 30th year. This past July, I finished the San Francisco Half in about 2 hours and 48 minutes, never stopping once. Never stopping once! That was my biggest running accomplishment to date. I still can't believe I freaking ran nonstop for almost three hours. As crazy as it sounds, I can't wait to do it again!

During my training for the upcoming Healdsburg Wine Country Half, I've been thinking more specifically about why I love running. Here is a list of 13.1 (har har) reasons why I'm happy running has become a part of my life.

1. Music.
From mixes containing singles from Fleetwood Mac and Prodigy to full albums like Arcade Fire's Neon Bible, the perfect tunes blasting in my giant pink headphones really make a difference. I personally must have really big music laden with thoughtful lyrics (or just plain ol' silly ones). Getting into the zone with the music is essential to a good run.

I'm not going to lie, I do pretend that the music is being performed by my own imaginary band. While running, I fantasize about what my band would be called, what I would wear, what kind of guitars I would use for each part, what songs I might play simple percussion on, what my hometown comeback concert would be like. It gets in intense. When I run, I'm a rock star in my head and on the pavement.

During the latest SF Half Marathon, I was coming up on mile 8, only I didn't know it because I noticed zero mile marker signs on the route. Pulp's "This Is Hardcore" came on in my headphones. I thought "Yeah, this is hardcore. I'm hardcore, bitches!" I saw the 8 mile mark sign, feeling totally awesome, thinking "I just ran 8 miles? No way! I'm seriously hard core!"

The first time I ran for a solid five minutes, I couldn't believe it.

2. Being in the zone.
I mentioned this phrase above. When I'm in the zone for most of my run, the run becomes meditation. I'm motionless in the moment while moving, piling on the miles while being as still as stone. Slipping into a meditative state is probably the easiest thing about running--once it happens. You can't force it to happen, it just happens. When it does and you realize later that you've been in that state, it's so rewarding. I never could, as an adult, get into meditation while simply sitting. Meditative running sort of just happened to me, and it's a gift!

3. Races are fun!
You get free snacks, coupons, a t-shirt, and camaraderie from fellow runners. Sometimes there's even beer at the finish line!

4. An excuse to wear neon.
You may remember my No Bullshit Wardrobe which consists mainly of black knits. I don't own one piece of black running wear.

Me after finishing the 2014 SF Half Marathon. #BUCN

5. Having gained patience and persistence.
The Couch to 5k program could not have been a more perfect intro to running for me. I never knew it could or should have been done that way. You don't buy the cheapest pair of shoes and start racing at full speed only to chide yourself for only lasting a few minutes. It takes time and practice. When I in the past threw myself into running on occasion without doing any research or taking the necessary time to warm up or practice, I was only reminded of why I thought I hated it all in the first place. It's also an injury risk to run right into it (pun intended).

To help us, I drew up a schedule for our Couch to 5k training and marked down when we completed each step. Seeing our progress, our persistence, was part of our fuel. I couldn't bare not being able to cross off a day. Feeling so good about each run lead me to get up out of bed and jump into my running clothes each early morning before sunset. I certainly wasn't always chipper and happy before the runs, but I was after. I've never regretted a run!

I discovered that I can actually run for a sustained amount of time. The first time I ran for a solid five minutes, I couldn't believe it. The first time I ran for a solid twenty and completed half of a 5k, I couldn't believe it. I remember expressing such pure excitement to my husband after my first twenty minute run in Duboce Park one early November morning among happy dogs and their owners. I was almost in tears. It just took some time, building up from one minute to thirty to forty to complete 5 kilometers (3.1 miles). That's all. Patience and persistence with the sweet reward of self accomplishment.

When I run, I'm a rock star in my head and on the pavement.

6. Enjoying my surroundings.
Every time I run the two-mile loop from Church and 30th to Church and 22nd, I notice something new. Those runs from scummy SoMa to the majestic Golden Gate Bridge, climbing Fort Mason and skimming heron-speckled Crissy Field, never get old. Even though I run around Lake Merced almost every Sunday, I'm always taken by the way the elusive sun sparkles on the water, dancing on the ripples created by local rowing teams. Nature!

7. Doing a lot in thirty minutes. 
Whether I'm practicing speed on the treadmill or taking a jaunt around the neighborhood, I can cover between 2.5 and 3 miles in a half hour. (Actually, 3 miles is 30 minutes is something I'm trying to get to, and it ain't easy.) Think about what 2 to 3 miles is. It's kind of far, but when you walk or run it, it's not that far. You could run to the store, buy a candy bar, and run home!

Me after my first 10k.

8. Camaraderie with other runners.
When I pass other runners, sometimes we make eye contact and shoot each other a knowing nod or smile. I especially love acknowledging other women runners, giving them a kind of "you go girl" smile and getting one in return.

When I was doing my first 9 mile run, turning into my second loop around Lake Merced, I passed a walking gentleman for the third time. He said, "You doing this again?!" I nodded. His response? "You go girl!" And you know what, good for him for getting out and exercising too!

9. Food.
While you shouldn't go crazy, you can totally make an excuse to indulge after burning 1500+ calories from running a half marathon!

After our last one, my husband and I limped home, laid in bed for a while, and eventually forced ourselves up to Giovanni's down the street where we pounded down a large stuffed crust pepperoni pizza. And root beers. And a Cesar salad drowned in chemically-dangerous dressing. It was great.

10. Gaining a better body image.
On one of my first runs out in the neighborhood, a man hollered to me "You don't need to do that, girl! You look hella fine!" The entire spectrum of why I resent that comment could be a whole post in itself. For now, I will focus on the body image facet. Assuming I was exercising because I wanted to be thinner or want to look more "hella fine?" Boo! I wasn't trying that. I want a healthier heart, there's that. I want to be able to live as long as possible, too. Overall, losing weight isn't really in my top five.

Still, I've developed a much better outlook toward my body. Like many people who went through middle school and high school (like, everyone, right?) I had to learn to love my body. In high school, I had a difficult time managing emotions and bottled up frustrations came out as binging and purging. Really bad. I ended up losing weight, and began getting compliments on how I looked. That just fueled my bad habits. College helped me with my food issues, but after a summer in a physically demanding job loading and pushing carts of library books, I lost weight again. And, again, I was told that I looked better and again I felt pressured to keep it up or else not look good, as if being heavier meant something was wrong with me.

While training for my first half, I lost ten pounds. The loss only became truly apparent to me during a routine physical at my doctor's. She said it was a good thing, and that if I wanted to lose more, which I could if I wanted, then I should just keep doing what I've been doing. So, I have.

I don't love the way I feel when I don't run for a while. I don't love the heaviness or the softness that drifts back in. But, when I do run for months at a time and feel fit, I know it's because I am doing something healthy for me. I'm now aware of what this body of mine can actually do.

I feel every millimeter of my joints and thank humanity for inventing sweat-slicking pants so that I can run without major chaffing between my thighs (because I never likely never get a thigh gap per my body type or per lack of giving a shit).

I look at my 30-year-old body and know it can take me far. I don't see "fat" or "skinny." Sometimes I see "hella fine" sometimes I see stretch marks and blemishes and move on. I always see a body with a mind, a will, and a heart to got me far and can keep going.

High school gym class will never have anything on me.

11. Parts of your body chafe that you didn't know could chafe. 
I seriously got chaffing on my face. My FACE. Wanna know how? Ask me. Why am I happy about this? It makes me laugh.

12. Why I'm here writing this today.
I talk a lot about Lake Merced. Near the end of a recent run on the 4.6~ loop, I was thinking about what in the hell I want to do with my life (besides run). I had a cliche kind of epiphany moment where I realized all I need to do is have more time for my own creativity. Not just make time, but have more time. I will get more into that in my third 3 for 30 post, but for now I can say that I wouldn't be sitting down and working on this without that clarity running brings to me.

13. High school gym class will never have anything on me. 
Twice now I've announced to social media that I've completed a major race and said something along the lines of "Take that high school gym class!" I suppose I can make it a thing, maybe make a hashtag out of it. I say it over and over because the biggest hurdle for me to get into any exercising was high school gym class. For me it was rarely fun, always annoying, and never a skill-learning experience.

Think of one good memory you've had in gym class. If you've had one, please, tell the world about it. If you somehow never took a school gym class, consider this:

You're told in so many words to run four times around the track or else you won't get any credit for the day, which will count toward your final grade and graduation. The fear of actually flunking high school...yep. You're not really given any direction, just "run!" It's hot, you're already sweating from the trek from the school to the track, and you're worried about having BO in your next class. You have a history test to take later. You're hungry because the lunch options sucked. You make it a quarter of the way around the track once and quit because of the aforementioned reasons and because the boys are staring at your boobs.

So, who would ever enjoy high school gym class? (Hey, smartasses, don't say it's the boys staring at your boobs!)

Going back to my experience training, learning how to run, eating better, not caring that I'll stink on the bus ride home, not giving a shit about what dudes holler at me on the street, I've definitely conquered high school gym class. So, take THAT high school gym class!

.1 There always more miles to go...

Thanks for reading! This is the second part of my 3 for 30 series. Please come back for the last part!

3 for 30: My No Bullshit Wardrobe

 I've figured it out.

Today, my drawers and closet hold black knit tops and dresses, dark wash or black denim, and two different kinds of knit stretch pencil skirts, each in solid black, black and tan stripes, and red. I've got one pair of white Chuck Taylors, one pair of black Doc Marten boots, one pair of cognac Bass sandals, one pair of black ankle strap D'Orsay flats, one pair of running shoes. There's a heavily-worn collection of scarves, some I've hand-knit, and unique jewelry. There are several cat-eye sunglasses.

An exception to my black black black. From freshstyle.

Sprinkled among those items are a few novel things that I'll wear here and there and that I keep because I love them. But those items are greatly overshadowed by the mostly-black basics described above. I expect to feel comfortable and confident each day, and I can expect that from the wardrobe I've zeroed in on. I call it my No Bullshit Wardrobe.

How did I get to the No Bullshit Wardrobe? It took half of my life and thousands of dollars. Here are my reflections on that.

Personal Style Is Complex

Dollar Signs 

No matter how many trips I take to Buffalo Exchange, lugging overstuffed reusable grocery bags full of cat-fur-covered rompers, sweaters, and ill-fitting vintage frocks, I will never get half the money back I spent on clothes in the last nearly two decades. But, I can go forward with a frugal approach at clothes.

I was recently inspired by a "Year of No Shopping" by Bernadette over at Outfits Not Just Clothes. A practical result of her challenge was being able to pay off a lot of credit card debt. Did you ever consider how much you spend on clothes in a month?

To keep her fashion fresh, she borrowed accessories from Le Tote. Services like Le Tote and Stitch Fix may help control impulse buys. These subscription-based services send you personally curated boxes of clothing and accessories. You pay for the shipping and a "styling fee," but then only pay for the items you keep while you send back what you don't want. Not sure that they'd want this, but you could actually carefully wear something once and still send it back. That way you get a bit of style and saved some moneys!

From a shoot I did with ModCloth in a look I co-styled.

Bernadette also talks about wanting for nothing and buying clothes that don't fit yet but might if she lost weight. I have absolutely done that many, many times. My mom has done it many times. My friends have. Have you? Save yourself the money and resist the urge to buy without a clear purpose!

I'm not going to officially challenge myself to refrain from clothes shopping because my strict savings plan pretty much solves that issue for me. And, again, the No Bullshit Wardrobe does that for me too. I just don't feel the need, nor the want, to shop.

Feeling fly! THIS is what I feel like myself in.

Getting All Up in My Closet

I did three or four closet purges this year. My latest one, which got me $90, felt good. I kept seven dresses shrinking my former collection by about 75%. Some are everyday dresses, some are weekenders, some are special occasions, but they're each unique and represent pieces of my personality that still shine. They were right to keep.

I said goodbye to impostor shoes. For me, those are heels. They're not just me. Plus, I can't run in them if I need to (I made the mistake of wearing heels during snowy winter in Pittsburgh and was followed home by a creeper. Nothing terrible happened, but I always think that if it escalated, I wouldn't have been able to run well).

After the purges, I looked at what was left. It looked like me! It made me think of how David Lynch describes what turned him onto meditation. He heard someone say, "True happiness is not out there. True happiness lies within.” In this case, I was able to find part of my true self inside the clutter of my closet. I was able to find it with a little bit of willpower and tolerance for dust.

One of my favorite ways to dress.

When you feel like yourself in an outfit, don't you feel like you can do anything?

Personal Style Is, and Should Be, Complex

Though the No Bullshit Wardrobe is what I found when I stripped away clutter, the clutter wasn't always just clutter, and the remains don't totally define me.

Looking back at my wardrobe experimentations makes me cringe sometimes. My hippie phase and the later-dubbed "Young Republican" period sparks a little embarrassment. Why? Maybe because I feel that those looks don't illustrate who I know I am. Only, at the time, I didn't understand that because I was a teen. Looking back at a dozen years with as many looks shows that you've explored possibilities. It's a way of finding out who you are, and it's healthy!

Wouldn't wear this today, but it was fun at the time! Photo by Kristin Cofer.

You know now that my current everyday wardrobe stars basics. However, my whole true self is anything but basic. If I dress what could be considered boring or plain, do some people expect me to be such? Maybe. Have I been followed around the store by the proprieter while dressed in my Doc Martens? You bet. Do I care? Well, it sucks that people treat each other like that, but in short, nope, I don't care!

Looking back at the past 15 or 20 some years, I see hints of and appearances by my signature look. Through it all there were black tops, bottoms, dresses, etc. Through it all, every time I made the mistake of leaving the house in heels I had a bad day. Through it all, every single time I zipped up some kind of black leather laced boot I felt like myself.

I am what I wear and I'm not what I wear. My style is only a sliver of who I am but it's also important to me. What I wear affects how I feel. When you feel like yourself in an outfit, don't you feel like you can do anything?

Thanks for reading! This is the first part of my 3 for 30 series. Come back for the rest!

3 for 30: What I Learned About Myself This Year

I have a bit over a month and a half until my 31st birthday. This year I was able to deeply reflect on my 4 years here in San Francisco and figure a few things out. Some things are directly related to the ways of life I observed and experienced in the Bay Area, some came from within, and others are a mix of both.

There are three major topics I've boiled it down to, and I will be discussing them here soon! I'll cover:

1. Personal style
2. Running
3. Careering

Simply three subjects for my 30th year. Yet, it's not just that. They're specific themes or actions that I've thought a lot about this year that touched on many of the cliches and platitudes you may have read about it about maturing. Many of them are true, at least for this gal, but this gal is approaching them in her own way. See? When you're 30, you do things your way. 

Hold me to it! Stay tuned.

Brainstorming for my first "3 for 30" post on style.

Outfits Not Just Clothes + My Chloe & Isabel Boutique

 

Image via Outfits Not Just Clothes

My purpose as a writer is to make connections with others. I express experiences, ideas, and emotions creatively with my unique voice, and each of you respond in your own way. Style is another way we can define ourselves, and when I can contribute to someone's expression of style, I feel very lucky!

So, I'm pleased to announce my first Chloe + Isabel blogger collaboration. Bernadette of Outfits Not Just Clothes agreed to style the Retro Glam Square-Cut Crystal Necklace from my boutique. The sleek geometrical shape of the necklace pairs perfectly with Bernadette's menswear-inspired style. Above is just a snippet of today's look. I encourage you to check it the full, super sharp outfit. 

 The featured necklace, available here.

Bernadette is also a writer! Check out her poetry chapbook. 

Who are your favorite and multi-talented bloggers?

Hello, Again! Did You Know I'm a Chloe + Isabel Merchie?

Here is a little bit about my latest side project!

In June, I sort of stumbled into becoming a Merchandiser for the NYC-based jewelry e-retailer Chloe + Isabel. So far it's been a fun confidence-building venture.

Living in SF is great, but super pricey! A gal like me, with dreams and aspirations, could use a few extra bucks. With Chloe + Isabel, I make commission on sales. I've used my commissions to buy groceries for my family (my husband and two kitties). That's money I didn't have from our monthly salaries, so it's a big help. We've been saving for a kinda big thing for a while (I will get more into that in future posts). With even what little time I can devote to Chloe + Isabel my husby and the kitties can get to that goal faster.

If you follow me on Instagram (angela_kristen_c_i), you may have seen my Trek-inspired savings goal chart:

If you're in San Francisco, Oakland, or Berkeley, maybe you'd like to host an in-home pop-up with me? I am also available for online pop-ups, which don't require a lot from a hostess except for spreading the word via social media and word-of-mouth. But, you don't have to be a part of a planned pop-up to treat yourself. Shop my boutique any time! 

If you have a wedding coming up, as a bride, bridesmaid, or guest, I'd love to consult with you! Or, maybe you want to update your accessories or try something new? Let's chat. 

One super simple way is for me to create a Pinterest board based on what you like. I created this li'l style quiz that I use to curate a collection. It's almost like those quizzes you took in 'Teen Magazine back in the day!

I can personally attest to Chloe + Isabel's customer service. Your order is shipped within 1 or 2 days of purchase, and so shipping (as long as USPS is all good, which it usually is) is pretty quick. The pieces themselves are high quality, all hypo-allergenic and nickel free. If you have jewelry allergies, you don't have to worry about these! Yay!

I'm easiest to contact for pop-ups via email. Let me know if you're interested or just have questions about the items. 

Thank you! :)

A Few Haikus for You

I am sore and yet,
what shall be my next challenge,
what race will I run?

Seven AM, my
cats run around the bedroom,
I am still sleeping.

Neighbor's house blocks my
view of the morning sky, but
I imagine sun.

I find few fall leaves
where I live now, so what I
remember won't die.

There Once Was a Girl from Venus

Ten Things

1.  Raw minerals and such.

 

 

2. Babes with bangs and / or bouffants. 

 

3. Missing deadlines. Not writing. Sad face. Nothing to show for that.

4. Past lives.



5. Training for a half marathon. Smoothies with spinach five days a week. Keeping count of how many 20 ounce cantines of water I finish. And, I feel like this.

6.  My "Visions" Pinterest board, which includes visions such as:

 

7. Turning 30. 

 

8. Coming home from wine country.

9. I love movies.

10. Michael. J. Fox. 

Little Bits of Truth

Yep, true story.

Creative Nonfiction asks for compelling Twitter-sized, too-good-to-be-fiction tales. If you have a good one, all you have to do is tweet it with the hashtag #cnftweet. Their favorites end up in their e-newsletters. Mine made it in September's! I'm pretty jazzed!

Quit Your Facebook

Less Facebook. More homemade muffins on the beach.

The little red dot indicating someone noticed me wasn't that exciting anymore. Less and less, I had something to say about a status update. Everyone's day seemed like a varying shade of neutral. Each ad I came across in my newsfeed, I marked as “SPAM” just because I could. I was still bothered by the fact that, if I had a child and really wanted to post a picture of me breast feeding him or her, it would probably be censored. I didn't feel like reading or being confused by the latest iteration of the privacy policy. Finally, Mark Zuckerberg's claim of ignorance on our government's probable Fourth Amendment breach was the status update that broke the camel's back. I quit Facebook.

This might sound familiar to you. Every time I'd sit down to write, I'd open another browser tab and check Facebook for anything new. Someone “Likes” that cat .gif I posted. My brother added yet another photo of a pug. That friend from middle school who has nothing in common with me anymore is up to a lot of stuff I have nothing to comment on. That nice girl who married an acquaintance of mine still has an annoying job. Someone's father passed away. George Takei posted another 'punny' picture. I sat down to write to create something, but in between sentences were spurts of I'm only giving away time to noting very important.

Most of my Facebook time occurred in spurts between sentences. As a longtime office-worker, I know perfectly well that it's healthier to take a walking break or a quick stretch respite when sitting hunched over a computer screen for hours. But, rather than taking a turn about the room, I took a scroll about Facebook. And, I kept doing it. I was on some internal alarm clocks that said “Ding, stop and look at Facebook.” In the haze of headache just a few weeks ago when Zuckerberg addressed his company's involvement, or apparent lack thereof, in PRISM, and the knowledge that my activity on Facebook is data for advertisers, I asked myself, “What am I getting out of it?”

Employers might decide to hire or not to hire an intelligent, qualified person based on her photos of a New Year's 2009 party emblazoned on Facebook. Would that photo of me looking sweaty and drunk while sitting on my husband's lap at karaoke keep me from my dream job even while I interviewed well? Even though my references could vouch for me as a responsible independent leader? Is Facebook some kind of member of HR no one has to pay in this case?

I think about the defendant on an episode of Divorce Court I just watched who had a secret Facebook account to carry on a relationship with another woman, and then another secret Facebook account to carry on another relationship with another other woman. I suppose what this guy gets out of Facebook is extra hanky panky. That's good for him, I guess, until he ends up on that show.

On the bright side, a cold case detective once created a false Facebook account in an attempt to solve a possible murder case, which in part lead to the conviction of a killer. Loved ones can get the word out on their missing person faster and easier than other means. But I'm thinking in the immediate, hopefully it doesn't come to that for me or anyone I know.

So what was I using Facebook for? Pinterest and blogs feed my hobbies. I discover why the Muni trains are running off schedule and what's happening in Gezi up-to-the-moment of the happenings via Twitter. I may even compose a brilliantly witty statement myself in 140 characters! (Pinterest and Twitter, by the way, are not websites in which the NSA was surveying at the time of the PRISM break.) For my writing career, I have a grand plan for my own blog and a small website as hub for that. How will people find it? I don't know, I guess I'll work really hard at getting work out there. Put some elbow grease into it. I couldn't figure out what I was personally gaining from the compulsive twitch to switch from my actual work to checking Facebook.

It started to feel like Facebook was that spot out back behind a building where you find an upside down milk crate with a well-worn dip in it and a coffee can filled with rain water and cigarette butts. I could go out back on Facebook and blow all that is currently miffing or delighting me out in smoke rings. I might even run into my best friend, my cousins, or that girl from middle school who will commiserate or celebrate with me. (If you really wanted to, you could breast feed out back behind a building. It might not be the best, but you could do it.) But, I'm not a smoker. Never really was.

So, I made an announcement letting my friends, near and far, know that if they wanted to keep in touch with me now was the time to exchange information. Many of those who asked for my email congratulated me on leaving, and lamented having a ball and chain with Facebook. I've heard similar encouragement when I started training for a 5K, and I can imagine it's not dissimilar to what I'd hear if I were a smoker trying to quit. "Good for you," in the same sentence as "I should really do that too but—." But what?

I was asked why I was leaving Facebook by these people. Over and over, I stated the same reasons mentioned—the general loss of interest coupled with the unappealing possibility that the company doesn't take privacy too seriously. But what it really came down to was one word. Control.

I was getting lunch at Subway once where it hit me. Four 20, 30-some year old men were in line in front of me. They were heads down, hands propping up their iPhones, thumb rowing through the endless status updates on the navy and white interface. None of them looked up from their glowing phones as their feet shuffled forward in line. I thought of Shawn of the Dead.

While I had a Facebook app on my phone for only a few days before I deleted it, I wasn't too unlike these dudes at Subway. As I described, I would stop frequently during what should be a solid writing work period to see what in the world was happening, only to find nothing was. I didn't have to keep doing that. I didn't have to stick around. I simply looked up “how to quit Facebook” and found a site that included a direct link to their Account Deactivation page and explained that I aught not to log into the site for two weeks after deleting my profile. It was actually pretty easy to take control there. You just up and leave if you want.

This is all easy for me to say. Perhaps I never had a real addition or a serious problem, and perhaps I never depended on it like others might.

Being absent from the most popular social media platform will allow me to miss out on things. If pictures of me go up that I never want anyone to ever see and fear will keep me from a job, then I have other issues. I will not see a some of my friends' beautiful wedding photos, but I could always ask to see them. I will miss pictures of that pug my brother likes so much. I will not know how people's jobs, cats, and neighbors are doing. I will not know what you ate for lunch. (Sorry, I quit Instagram a while back, too.)

So far, it's been a week and a half since I've removed myself from the smoker's crew. Friends have said to me “Oh, you're not on Facebook so you couldn't tell you about this thing I saw that you'd love but it's a moot point now,” about three times. I took the Facebook bookmark off of my browser toolbar, but I've definetely still stopped and opened a browser tab to check the big bad 'book without even realizing I was doing it. Instead, I collect knitting patterns and recipes on Pinterest, get the news scoop on Twitter, make a sandwich, look out the window, or even just sit and write. My writing productivity, by the way, up about 80% since the exodus. What's my status. Pretty dang good.

How are you feeling?