At it again

By the time I get back to my desk, coffee in hand, Sharky McSharkface is shaking his hips and shoulders to whatever song he hears when the sun's radiation hits his stand. He makes me smile even though I've been going full speed since 5 am and have just discovered my underwear is inside out.

I'm tired.

This is to be expected. As hopefully a last year grad student, I'm working part time remotely for San Diego, teaching an undergraduate class, taking two classes, (supposedly) working on my thesis, and training for one triathlon, one half marathon, and one full marathon.

This morning was my first day back at the gym in a couple weeks and I didn't have any energy to spare. I did my best. I faded hard at the end. As I rotated between squats and pull-ups, I visualized the swim portion of my upcoming triathlon. I kept going.

As I was leaving, I ran into one of the trainers and realized now would be a good time to learn his name since we've been saying hello to each other every morning for a couple years now. While we were talking, he told me how one of the guys at the gym told him that he's inspired by me even though he doesn't know me. "You're inspiring people, just so you know. You work your butt off and people see it."

I left feeling slightly recharged.

I ate, showered, bought bar tape on my way to school from the local bike shop, signed my contract, got my teaching ID and my teaching parking permit (yay employee parking!), bought a coffee, and made my way back to my office on the 8th floor.

I pulled out my to-do list and only got to check off one item. I felt slighted. In the process of getting settled, I pulled out my second to-do list in hopes of merging them. Four items got to be checked off!! I thought about merging the lists and decided I should get on Facebook instead.

Thesis (Theo for short) sits on top of my books on my desk, serving as my muse and confidant for the remainder of my master's degree.

The fact that he's a sloth hopefully speaks very little about the time remaining until the completion of my thesis. You can't judge your muse by his appearance, or even his animal species. What really matters is that he (or she) speaks to you, and Theo did speak to me...at least when I passed by him at Barnes and Noble. He's been fairly silent lately, but he's knows I've been busy and overwhelmed. I'm planning a little chat with him later though. He looks to be ready.

Small

Something that really stood out to me on my trip with Emily, my best friend's ten year old daughter, was how when we went out to eat, she was nearly ignored. The waitress would address me directly and would hardly look at her. Maybe parents are used to this and it's nothing new or surprising. When I'm not eating alone, I'm used to my companion being addressed equally. Most of the time Emily ordered for herself, and the waitress would address her then. She's old enough to decide what she wants to eat, especially on vacation. And who am I to tell her what she's going to eat? I'm not her mom.

Boarding our flight from Honolulu to San Diego, there was a big crowd of people pushing to get closer to the front of the line. I walked behind Emily and watched as people on the left and right of her squeezed past her and her roller bag. At one point, she stopped and turned to face me.

"Am I that small?"

My first thought was yes. I told her people do it to me too and they're just being rude. I am also considered small. People actually call me "tiny" as if it isn't the slightest of insults. I no longer take it personally. I can usually do more pull-ups than those people.

On the plane, Emily sat on my right, and a young man sat on my left. As usual, the man hogged the arm rest. He didn't just set his arm on it, but his elbow pointed out into my space. As is habit, I tried to take up less room, and apologized when I accidentally bumped his arm. I let it go, as Emily had lifted the arm rest between us and was curled up with her head on my lap.

Women are taught to be small, quiet, invisible. Don't be loud, don't take up space, don't burden anyone. I don't want Emily to be small, or timid, or afraid to speak her mind. She's going to be a small woman in a hard world and she needs to be aggressive. But there's a fine line. I wouldn't want her to turn into a rude, obnoxious snot either.

I find that I have to pick my battles when it comes to being aggressive or letting things go. Some times you have to stand your ground, but kindness and patience can go a long way. Especially when others are pushing each other, jockeying for position in a line to get on a plane with assigned seats. They're not going to leave without you.

Youth

In Kona, Emily and I browsed beachy jewelery made of silver, hemp, shells, and other different things. We both wore hemp anklets with plumeria flowers, and my mind drifted back to my early 20's when I had fully embraced surfing (though was never any good) and was tan from lifeguarding year round. I wore hemp and shell necklaces and anklets, and had gorgeous youthful skin.

We got toe rings at an outdoor stall and I showed Emily how to use them. We both now have silver toe rings with a plumeria flower on our toes, and hemp anklets. Driving to volcano, she place a tan foot on the dash with her toe ring sparkling in the sun, sunglasses on, and not a care in the world.

How I miss that carefree youthfulness.

There were no radio stations for a long stretch between Kona and Volcano. I offered to sing to Emily, like I did when she was a baby. She asked what I used to sing to her. I offered up a couple Jewel songs which she didn't recognize, a Natalie Merchant song which she didn't recognize. I tried Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which she got.

I asked her if she knew any Madonna.

"Madonna? What's that?"

Oh boy.

Over dinner, I tried to explain to her how I now found myself on the other side of this youth thing. When I was her age, my parents were about my age. I remember thinking how old they seemed in their 30's. Adults who had it all figured out and did adult things. Now I'm that age and I realize how young our 30's are and how we aren't even close to having things figured out. Emily looked around distractedly.

Snorkeling above the reef, watching the fish swim about, I remembered snorkeling in Mexico with my dad. As Emily clung to my arm when we first started, I wondered if my dad had felt the same way I was feeling: excited to be showing a child a new and amazing world, worried about her safety, worried she wouldn't love it.

She's been a more amazing travel partner than I thought she would be. She's far more patient and resilient than I expected. She's endured the discomfort of me getting us lost on a barren lava flow field, itchy mosquito bites (I am a terrible aunt), and long travel legs.

Camping in Sequoia as a child, I had a cold and was feeling miserable. My dad and my brothers still wanted to go hike around and see things. When we got back to camp, my dad said to me "Thank you for doing all that, even though you didn't feel well".

I totally get it.

I also totally get that I will never be this young age again and so I have to hold on to all the youth I have left in me and not allow myself to age prematurely. The young are curious and beautiful, happy and free. Smiling...and of course sunscreen, keeps us young. Exploring keeps us young. Charging out into the world seeking adventure, keeps us young.

I'm going to embrace this youth thing. Hopefully until the day I die.

Into the Great Wide Open

I'm a big believer in doing brave things. Last weekend after swimming in the cove, I was thinking about how much I loved swimming and how swimming in the ocean allows a sense of freedom that swimming back and forth like a ping-pong ball in a pool does not allow. But what about all that fear I feel as I stare out over the ocean before getting in? And the surge of panic as my eyes spot a shadow in the murk below me? As I let my body wash the last ten feet to shore until I'm sitting on the sand, I feel an intense love for swimming in the ocean. Without the bravery to face (mostly) unfounded fears, I would never get to experience the thrill of swimming in the open water.

I've never wanted my own children, so I'm more than happy to accept my best friend's children as my own (you can always give them back). I was a steady part of Emily's life until she was about 3 or 4, then followed my job further away. I missed a lot, I feel. She's incredibly smart, beautiful, and talented in my arenas like art and gymnastics. Sometimes she's a little timid and anxious. But there's a stubbornness in her (just ask her mom) that I have a feeling will grow into a major strength. I feel like if she had the courage to brave new and scary experiences, she could have whatever she wanted in life. She's now ten years old, and I've started her on the path to traveling.

I'm not new to traveling. I've been traveling on my own for years. I am however, new to traveling with a child. For our first trip, we chose Hawaii. I've been thinking about this trip as it approached with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Emily was nervous for the trip, the flight, probably security, probably many other things (like having to deal with me for 5 days). I put on a brave face to show that travel really was not as big a deal as we sometimes think. But as we approached the TSA agent at security, my hands were shaking to the point of not being able to hold the tickets steady. I felt like I was stealing someone's child and was going to get caught. I would be arrested for sure. Even worse, I felt like the shaking in my hands would be a dead give-away that I had kidnapped this child. I was armed with her birth certificate and a letter from her mother (plus Emily would hopefully vouch for me), but it didn't do much to ease my fears.

I handed the agent my driver's license and ticket, then handed over Emily's ticket. The agent asked her name and she gave it to him. He waved us through. We were instructed to go through the metal detector instead of the body scan. Neither of us set off any alarms, neither of us had suspicious bags (I had decided against the pencil sharpener for the colored pencils). We located our gate and then headed to Starbucks.

On the plane, Emily sat by the window, and I sat next to her in a two seat row. It was nice to not have anyone that either of us would have to make get up a ton of times to pee. Loading passengers took awhile, and she wanted to know when we were going to leave. I explained the process. She buckled her seat belt right away and fished through the seat-back pocket in front of her. She pulled out the barf bag.

"Oh, that's a barf bag" she said as she tucked it back in. I wondered how she knew. Did it say barf-bag on it?

She tried to get the in-flight entertainment working on the screen in front of her. I told her she would probably have to wait until we were in the air. We looked through the magazine provided.

As we pushed back from the gate, Emily asked if we were flying yet (she's been on a plane before but was quite a bit younger). We looked through the emergency procedures card and I explained the oxygen masks and exit doors to her in a manner that wouldn't alarm her. Taxiing along the runway, she asked again if we were flying. She wanted to know how long it was going to take to reach the ocean (by plane). Immediately on take-off, she said "oh, there's the ocean!". We watched San Diego peel away beneath us.

 We watched the flight tracker on the screens and she said "We're not even moving!". Our pilot announced the flight was going to take almost an hour less than we had planned. That was good news. We planned our trip, colored, and Emily watched a movie. She tried to get comfortable enough in the seat to sleep, but that never happened.

She came back from the restroom and told me how the toilet flush had scared her. I had forgotten to warn her about that. She asked why there was a time difference, and I did my best to explain that. She asked if it would get dark earlier in Hawaii. I didn't know the exact answer to that, but I figured the latitude wasn't all that different from San Diego.

The temperature, altitude, time to Hawaii, etc, all flashed in front of us on the screen.

"It says it's 59 degrees outside", she said. I looked at the screen.

"Negative 59...Celsius. Negative 74 Fahrenheit." I explained how water freezes to ice at 32 degrees...and we were at negative 74. I told her if she chucked her water bottle out the window, it would probably freeze instantly. She opened the window and put her hand on it.

As we went down in altitude on our approach to Honolulu, my ears popped worse than hers (I had a stuffy nose). I pointed out how her water bottle was collapsing in on itself. I told her that's what was happening to our ears, and explained air pressure, and then pressure under the sea.

We spotted land in the distance. A big volcano on Hawaii perhaps. We decided the pilot should just re-direct and drop us off first.

"Look how red the dirt is! Why is it red?" I tried my best to explain mineral content in dirt.

We landed...and there was a plane parked at our gate. To try to keep the passengers calm and patient, they played island music with birds chirping... far too loud. Emily's assessment of it reminded me of the discussions her mom and I have when we're being cynical.

Emily asked if they spoke English in Hawaii. And if they had their own flag.I reminded her it was just another state in the US. "Oh yeah."

We made our way to the Inter-Island terminal and perused the souvenir shops. Emily and I went back and forth trying to pronounce the names of the different destinations on the monitors. I added extra emphasis on the "ui" at the end (like "oooh -eee!") with my best islander intonation. She giggled.

Boarding took a long time and she was getting impatient. We were both ready to get to our hotel.

We passed over several islands on our way from Oahu to Hawaii. Each one looked different. Emily found the map in the magazine and tried to figure out which one was which.

 She marveled at how green everything was as we approached Hilo, and remarked that even by the beach in San Diego it's just brown. I told her how much more rain Hawaii gets than San Diego, and how it's just dry in general in San Diego. I explained that in the tropics, there's a lot more rain, so it's a lot more green.


"And in Ireland" she said. I paused. Ireland was not tropical.



"They get a lot of rain in Ireland too. I've been to Ireland, I recommend it. They speak English there too, but sometimes it's hard to understand".

"Because of their accents?"

"Yep".

"Like Australia."

We got off the plane and walked to the car rental. She asked if we could just roll the windows down and not use the AC (she doesn't like AC). I decided I could brave the heat and humidity for the opportunity to let the Hawaiian breeze blow through our hair.

By the time we got to the car, she was ready for the air conditioning. We found the hotel and I was excited to hear all of her questions and comments about the things around us that were so different. Her curiosity must have been overwhelming, but she's also at the age where she can do some impressive reasoning.

At a more expensive restaurant than we initially planned, she looked around and asked if I thought if these people were locals or tourists. I said they were probably mostly tourists but that some probably lived here.

"Do you think the Hawaiians like the tourists?"

That is a really profound question that I don't think most people ask themselves when they travel. I started thinking about Belize, where the locals are treated like second class citizens, and tourists are catered to.

"I don't like tourists" she continued. "They're always rushing around all over the place...getting in the way..."

Growing up in San Diego, you get a lot of tourists. I explained the concept of "necessary evil" and how tourists enhance the economy.

We walked back to the hotel in the dark, and wondered what creatures were making the sounds we were hearing. Emily thought maybe they were birds. I was thinking more like beetles or frogs. I told her about the cicadas I heard in Chicago. We saw a ton of cats. One cat ran into the road just as a car was approaching.

"Oh no!" I shrieked.

Emily stopped walking and covered her face "I don't want to watch this!" she cried out,

The car braked and the cat made it to safety.

We stopped and stood under a banyan tree and listened to the sound. "Maybe the ladies at the front desk will know what that is" Emily said.

We learned they were coqui frogs, possibly from Puerto Rico. I said I think I saw that on Dora the Explorer.

"Why are you watching that?" she asked.

"When you were little!" I said.

"I don't remember that. I don't remember watching Dora. " (She totally did.)

"Hey, what is the name of that one with the tree house and the sloth?"

"Zoboomafoo! With the lemur? I still watch that."


I woke up this morning just before 3 am, Hawaii time. 6 am San Diego time. I tried to go back to sleep but got up and made coffee instead. Emily, who is not a morning person, woke up at 4 and asked what time it was. I told her it was 4 am Hawaii time and 7 am San Diego time. She said she's used to it being light out at this time. The time thing is hard, that's for sure. Breakfast doesn't even open until 7 am. She's trying to sleep more.

Today we'll be heading out on our first adventures here. I get the feeling that Emily is going to turn out to be quite the traveler. Despite her anxiety, she has embraced all the strange and new things, and I told her how having courage to do scary things opens up your world to so many possibilities.

Imperfection

I am agitated by imperfection.

My Linux-based laptop that was so fast when I first got it, has developed a long running script at start-up... because of an attempt to figure out why my built-in camera wasn't working. After taking over administrative privileges (sudo) on my computer, I proceeded to mess it up before discovering that I had disabled the camera months prior by pressing F10. All I had to do to turn it back on was press F10 again.

I thought upgrading to the new distro would undo all the harm I had done. Nope. I think it takes even longer now. I desperately deleted a bunch of important looking things on my computer. Nope.

I am agitated. I feel like a failure.

I suddenly find that I am teaching a class this semester- Weather and Climate. I don't get back to San Jose until the night before class starts. This is a problem for so many reasons. I have to meet with HR before they can process my hiring, and I've got a mandatory meeting the day before I get home. I will be flying back from Hawaii while the meeting happens.

To be fair, I still flinch at a stupid thing I said to my friend over ten years ago.

I wonder if other people do this. Say something stupid, or accidentally rude, then mull over it for 20 years. I mentioned the conversation to my friend a couple years ago, telling her I felt bad about what I said. She doesn't remember the conversation. Why do I?

I am torn between swimming in my wetsuit and swimming without. 99% of the other swimmers in the cove are swimming without. I watch the rise and fall of the water temperatures daily. It rises to 75 and very quickly (in an hour or two) dips to 67. I don't want to be in the water without a wetsuit when it dips to 67.

This morning as I hopped off the last step to the beach, a woman coming out of the water told me I was going to be too warm in my wetsuit. I explained that when I hit the currents of cold water, I tighten up, then remain tense the rest of the swim. It's more psychological than anything. Whatever keeps me from freaking out.

As I pushed off the bottom and started my swim, I realized she was right. The wetsuit was uncomfortably warm. I swam fast to catch up with the group that had gotten in just before me. I got a cramp in my side. I was unhappy with my decision.

I reached the quarter mile buoy and poked my head up at two guys I could hardly see through my foggy goggles (after trying out my new anti-fog spray).

"They went that way!" they said, laughing.

I couldn't see where they were pointing, so I just started out toward the half mile buoy.

At the half mile buoy, I stopped and took my goggles off and said hello to Art. He introduced me to Annika, and Annika. He said Annika swims more my speed. I explained my wetsuit conundrum. It probably doesn't matter. There probably aren't many people who fret about their daily choices to the extent that I do.

We swam around a boat docked off shore, around a far buoy, and back to the cove.

I got on my bike and rode more aggressively than usual. I glanced at the swelling ocean as I rode along the shoreline roads. I vowed to never again live away from the ocean.

As an undergrad, something I said in my gymnastics class came out rude. I didn't correct it. Maybe it took me too long to realize it. I still cringe when I think about that.

And I know my agitation over the computer and the mandatory meeting will go away shortly after my roommate gets home and we talk over a bottle of wine (or two). But I also know that for whatever reason, genetic or learned, I will always cling to whatever version of perfection I harbor at the time, and be irritated with myself when I don't fit that vision.

And when a friend tells me to let things go, or not try so hard, I find myself trying harder. An instinct to show them that I can do it. To rebel against mediocrity by expecting more of myself.

It's a perpetual tight rope walk between expecting too much, and not expecting enough. It's hard not to feel slighted when someone says they are proud of my accomplishments, but then disapprove of the manner in which I achieve them. Too much, too serious, too disciplined. It's hard enough to try to fit my own mold, let alone someone else's.

As I grow older, I become more aware of the way I talk to myself. If I keep trying...maybe one day I'll get it right. Or perfect.

High Seas

I realize all that I've been blogging about lately is my epic ocean swims, but I can't help it. Maybe it's all the strange thoughts that pop in my head while swimming. Or maybe because it's the craziest adventures I go on these days.

After my shark sighting two weeks ago (yes, a small leopard shark swam ten feet beneath me), I was a little nervous about getting in the water today. It didn't help that the marine layer was thick enough to be drizzling, and the ocean was tossing about like there was a storm.

The photo below doesn't do it justice, but this is what I've got:

I dawdled putting my wetsuit on, long enough that a big group started to gather. I didn't know any of them, but I was already deciding to sneak in with them so I didn't have to swim alone.

When a few ladies walked down the steps to the beach, I followed a little ways behind. I've mastered the art of crashing swimmers' parties. Mostly it's kinda like stalking. I creepily follow behind far enough to make it seem like maybe I'm not following them, but close enough to be within sight of the group. It just makes me feel better.

I got in behind the ladies and swam out past the surge in the cove. I noticed a lot of little fish near the surface. I didn't like that that would probably bring fish-eaters closer to the surface. I poked my head up when the ladies stopped to locate another from their group. I smiled and put my head back in and swam slowly enough for them to catch up. They got swimming again and joined up with a larger group already in the water. I recognized one guy, John, as one of the people who were kind enough to let me join them on my first day out.

Off we all went to the quarter mile buoy. The water was far rougher than what it seemed from shore. Waves rose up and dropped off quickly, slapped us in the face and arms. It was hard to see the buoy through the heaving ocean. Long fingers of kelp rose up from the bottom and I tried not to think about them. After awhile I started to take a lead on the group, so I slowed down, looked around, and made sure I stayed with them. These are times I wish I had my underwater camera with me. I'd like to capture what it's like to be eye level with the ocean, especially on it's angrier days. I found a couple images on the internet that give you some perspective.

 (Maxx Buchanan)

We made it to the quarter mile buoy and stopped to wait for everyone else to gather. By now I had said hello to John, and Leslie- who was also in the group and had swam with me my first day. I was now in the group, and everyone probably just assumed I had come with someone else. Everyone remarked how much it was like being out on the open ocean in a storm. But being in the group made it far less scary. There was some discussion about whether people wanted to go to the half mile buoy or head back. Some wanted to continue, others wanted to go back. I said I could go either way. A big part of the group decided to go back. One guy said he was moving on, and asked if I wanted to go. I said I'd go. A few more guys said they'd go further too. Off we went.

When we got to the half mile buoy, one group said they were going to swim around the lane markers (to keep boaters out). Another guy said he was going to swim to the other one, then loop around and catch them at their marker. They split off in different directions. I sat treading water, watching the groups split and wondering who to go with. I followed the guy who was heading towards shore, then turning around the buoy and heading back out away from shore.

Boy was that a harsh call. Now we were swimming directly into those waves. With my head down in the water, I couldn't see them coming. My arm would crash into a wave or find free air. I was lifted up, then suddenly dropped so quickly that I slapped down on the other side of the wave. I sat up and looked around. This was crazy! I put my head back in and did my best, getting lifted, dropped, or smacked head on. We met up with the other group and then headed back.

One of the guys, Greg I think, mentioned how a group of swimmers meets a couple times during the week and they're more my level. I really wasn't much better than them, and really, I was just happy to have other people to swim with. Otherwise, all of this would've been absolutely terrifying.

At the quarter mile buoy on the way back, we stopped and talked to some swimmers coming out.

"How is it out there?"

"Still choppy!" responded one of the guys.

"Ha! You mean it doesn't get calm out there, huh?"

"No, it's just as bad out there as it is right here". I mean, we're a quarter mile off shore, paralleling the beach. It was a joke.

"I feel like we're swimming up river on the way back" I mentioned.

"Yeah, for sure" said one guy nodding.

I think what really gets me is that we're out there in this inky black sea- tossed by wind whipped waves, just laughing and joking. And that really points to the power of the mind. Just having a couple people swimming next me, who were comfortable and having a good time, was the complete opposite of what it felt like to swim alone. Had I swam alone today, this is what it would've looked like to me:

Or even this, if left out there long enough:

But alas, we all made it to shore in one piece and I went off to change into my cycling clothes. I rode through the drizzle up to the top of Mt. Soledad, then back down along the coast to my car.

Imagination is a funny thing. Everything in life is perception, and our perceptions are always skewed. How can we ever trust our own minds? But then again, how can we not?