Adrenaline junky

The trapeze experience was so unique - I think it deserves two separate posts. First of all, Lulu is not giving herself nearly enough credit - she was awesome! It is not an easy thing to jump off a platform with only your grip keeping you from plunging into the "net of death." And Lulu did it three or four times! And grace is something I don't think you can even approach until you've been doing it for a while. In addition, there was a lot to distract us. Like...
1. Cute catcher guy
2. Weird trapeze guy with lots of tatoos who was named something like Jeeve (seriously).
3. The harness we had to where around our waist which manages to squeeze all the fat in your belly so that it is bulging out in rolls around it But it is also saving you from death (or at least a real mess) so you simultaneously love it and hate it.
4. Amanda, the will-of-a-wisp girl who took the class with us who was like 14 and managed to look fabulous in her harness - which is physically impossible.
5. The adrenaline.
6. The rational side of your brain screaming at the "let's do something crazy" side to get the hell off that platform.
7. Cute catcher guy's package - which we actually had an oppurtunity to check out because he changed his pants right in front of us as he was calmly explaining what we should do next. Appauling. Really.

All said, I think Lulu was incredible. As for me - I love this stuff. I am an adrenaline junky (within reason of course - I was wearing a harness). If I had the time, I would do this on a regular basis. It really is a rush. There is something very freeing about just trusting your body to figure it out or at least trusting that the net will indeed break your fall, preferably gently. In any case, I will get Lulu up there again. Or, maybe...skydiving!!

Oh She Flies Throught The Air With The Greatest Of Ease . . . Or Maybe Not

Carrie Bradshaw refused to let go of the bar on Sex and The City. What a wimp, I thought, when I watched that episode -- giving girls everywhere a bad name. How hard could it be to let go and swing about on a trapeze?

Let me tell you, I now completely understand not wanting to let go of that bar. As you've probably guessed, this morning KHH and I went to our flying trapeze class. KHH was a natural -- hopefully she'll tell her side of the story on here soon -- she really did fly through the air with the greatest of ease.

Me, on the other hand, not such a natural. My hands are still shaking from the adrenaline that has been coursing through my body all morning.

It started off just fine. We did a practice move on the ground, with a low hanging bar and a spotter. After that, I felt confident and ready to go. Then I had to Climb The Ladder To The Platform Where You Jump Off To Your Death. I reached the top and I have never been more terrified. I was at least several stories off the ground. The net did not look capable of saving anything, let alone my life. The trapeze bar looked like something a child rigged up. I couldn't even hear conversation on the ground, everyone was so far away.

I stood there wondering what in the hell I was thinking when I signed up for this. Then the good-looking, spotter-man hooked me up to the safety line, and he commanded "bend your knees and "hop" (off the platform into the great vast net of death). I couldn't do it. He muttered (with a slight note of frustration) "okay, maybe this time . . . hop." So I did. I managed to do what they told me after a couple of swings. I flipped my knees over the bar, and then I let go! My stomach left my body and I was literally flying (at least it felt like that.) It was hardly graceful. Talk about a rush though.

I climbed the ladder a second time to do it again; this time more confident. The ex-cheerleader kicked in and I planned to "execute" properly. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm made me move too fast; I let go and then promptly fell off the bar, crashing into the net below. Fortunately, I didn't die or break anything. I was thrilled to discover that I was still alive and that the spotter-man used the safety ropes to keep me from really hurting myself.

The next go-round, up on that platform, my brain kicked in. I started thinking about it too much. This time, I was scared. Petrified, actually. I couldn't "hop." Took three commands before I did. Then I did get my knees over the bar again, but this time I couldn't let go. I freaked out in the middle of it all. That was it for me. I turned in my harness and settled in to watch KHH do a catch. She was brilliant - like a Flying Yolanda or whoever that famous carnival woman was.

I'm glad I tried it. I don't think I'm going to be a regular or that I'll run off and join the circus, but it certainly was "new and different." There is a whole sub-culture of carnival folk, and I enjoyed a peek into the world. I'm glad to be back on solid ground though.

The gym . . . some observations

My adventures in the "real" world continue. I went to the gym tonight at a "normal" hour (7 p.m. instead of my usual 9:30-10-just as it's closing routine) and boy was it fun to watch the people there at that time.

I go to this ridiculously, fancy-pants gym downtown. At my usual time, I tend to just see other lawyers who read their crackberries on the treadmill, or the Wall Street Journal while lifting weights. It's a sad sight, but these are my people, so I feel at home.

Tonight though, I observed some distinctly different "types" I hadn't previously seen there and I was struck by the different "gym fashion" choices. I recently was in New York and went to a franchise location there. In NYC, the style of choice was cult-chic. Apparently, New Yorkers are loathe to carry around a gym bag with their own clothes, so the gym provides them as a courtesy. All a New Yorker needs to carry is a pair of sneakers and a change of underwear (they don't really do their hair there either, apparently that only happens in New Jersey). I wasn't previously told about this quirk, so people stared at me as I walked in wearing -- gasp -- my own clothes!

Back in my city tonight, I was first struck by the men in muscle shirts and the ladies who love them. Apparently it's quite popular for couples to go to the gym together. I don't really understand this. For me, gym time is personal time - I can do my thing, sweat and not worry about what I look like or if someone else is judging how hard I'm trying that day. But I digress. The muscle shirt men are funny. They strut around like peacocks, all very proud of themselves.

There are a lot of women "there to impress" at that hour too. Hair done in cute "gym-dos," matching outfits; make-up freshly applied. I don't get this either. I'm well known for spending time getting ready (does Russian River ring a bell for any you folks?), but to go to the gym?! Really?! Seriously, what is the point?!

Euroman was another new addition to the cocktail hour gym-going set. Apparently greasy, pony-tails and tight leggings are back . . . somewhere . . . maybe FHM is perpetrating this don't.

Of course there was also the usual cadre of old men, clearly there under doctor's orders to drop 20 or face an early death via heart attack. They like to work out in knee-highs. And old sneakers. Mostly though they spend a lot of time looking at the machines, and watching the mini-television monitors hooked to each.

As for me, well, I observed in my usual adidas-sponsored look (if adidas dressed and sponsored people who usually wear Brooks Brothers and make their public appearances in the courthouse rather than the tennis court) courtesy of my outlet shopping habits. I felt quite superior while making the above observations because I was listening to Lily Allen's new album on my i-pod and I suspected most people there were still stuck on Justin Timberlake's "sexyback." (The last time I had this superior-ish feeling was in High School when I was friends with the theater set and we "discovered" The Cure, Voice of the Beehive, and Erasure before everyone else.)

So that's my tale of the day. Life in the Real World. Post 1.

Because it should be said earlier and more often...

Thank you ladies. You are my family and I could not have made it through the last five years without you.

I love you all.

Just wanted you to know.

Why I write . . . A reflection sometime later

A few posts ago, TJH2 posed the topic of "why we write" as one for discussion since we all started this blog as a writing exercise. Here are my thoughts after doing this for almost two years now.

I find myself posting on here for a few different reasons. A lot of the time, I'm trying to work out how I'm feeling about something "major" that has happened that day or that week, and by writing about it, I'm seeking to clear my head and to clarify my feelings. I don't always write all of my thoughts or my deepest feelings, but exercise allows me to think about them. I feel better once I've written down what is bothering me, and then I can let it go.

Writers block is another big motivator for me. Like most of us, except KHH, I make my living in large part by writing. At work, the writing is briefs and it's formulaic. I often find the formula constraining and I feel like if I could just get the words flowing, then I would finish whatever it is that I'm working on. I don't feel in this forum like my posts need to start with an "issue" and then have a "rule" and then an "analysis" and then a neat "conclusion," although I often fear that I write like this anyway out of habit. Knowing that I don't have to helps me get back to what I really need to write to keep my job.

I also post on here because I always hope that it will inspire a comment or another post by one of you. I love reading what you have to say, and it's fun to open the blog during the day and see that one of you has posted something. It's a nice little break, and I like the forum. It's a bit more thoughtful than our functional emails, and I feel like if nothing else, it inspires us to talk about deeper things when we see each other.

Tonight, I'm writing because I want to start writing a book again in earnest. I've toyed with it for a quite a few years now, and have never come up with a very good plot line. I'm hoping that just typing here will focus me when I click out of this and into that blank page on MS Word.

A Year Of "New & Different"

Before I went to law school, I loved to "theme" a year. One year was "the year of the elective" where I took a ton of classes at the local Recreation Center, and through U.C. Berkeley extension (photography, tap, jazz, cooking, wine-tasting, etc . . .). Another was the year of "do something new and different every week." I did this with a friend of mine and we had the best time. This was pre-internet, so it was a little harder to find inspiration. In conjunction with my recent effort to take my life back, I'm going to start this again. I'm going to run with a year of something new and different again. Then, I aimed for 52 things (one per week). That seems a little harder to do these days, even with my newly gained free time, so I'm going to try for twice a month. First up, I just signed up to take a flying trapeze class next week. Anyone want in on my plan?

Playing well with others

I had a conversation with LuLu recently where I was telling her about the playlists on my iPod. They all have names which indicate that I find myself very clever and which tell the rest of the world that I am perhaps more than a touch pompous. Examples include "Clearly An Expert Cover Up", "Of An Excellent Vintage", "Pop Rocks & Diet Coke" and "Urban Safeway". Again, I never made any claims that they were amusing to others, only that they were amusing to me.

Anyway, I digress. Obviously.

We actually were speaking about one playlist in particular. It was my "Take This J.D. and Shove It" playlist, which is (1) encompassing a theme which is res ipsa loquitur (which, yes, is latin for "I am a dork"), (2) a lot longer than I had thought because it has continued to grow over the last three years since I started it, and (3) listed below just in case anyone was curious.

Money, Money, Money - Abba
Poor Unfortunate Souls - Ursula (from the Little Mermaid)
Manic Monday - The Bangles
If I Had A Million Dollars - Bare Naked Ladies
Numb - Linkin Park
Master of the House - Les Miserables
Never There - Cake
Tubthumping - Chumbawumba
Under Pressure - David Bowie
Gotta Get Through This - Daniel Bettingfield
Everybody Knows - Concrete Blonde
The Sound of Settling - Deathcab for Cutie
Criminal - Fiona Apple
I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor (though I also have the Cake cover on there as well)
Freedom 90 - George Michael
Vacation - The Go Go's
I Fought The Law - Greenday
Rich Girl - Gwen Stefani
Not Enough Time - INXS
Mercedes Benz - Janis Joplin
The Gambler - Kenny Rogers
Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) - The Offspring
History Repeating - Propellerheads
Take the Money and Run - Steve Miller Band
More Human Than Human - Rob Zombie
Sixteen Tons - The Platters
Brighter Discontent - The Submarines
What Are You Waiting For? - Gwen Stefani
Into The Great Wide Open - Tom Petty
With A Little Help From My Friends - Beatles
The Science of Selling Yourself Short - Less Than Jake
The Unforgiven - Metallica
Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5
Love is Stronger Than Justice - Sting
Stuck in the Middle With You - Stealers Wheel
The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism - New Pornographers
Strawberry - Everclear
A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Presley
Loser - Beck
Sloop John B - The Beach Boys
9 to 5 - Dolly Parton
Mo Money Mo Problems - Biggie
Independent Women Pt. 1 - Destiny's Child
Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Greenday

Anything I missed? Or anything I should subtract? I actually have explanations for each and every one of these songs and their presence on the list. Some are obvious, but some are probably ridiculously obscure.

Victims of our own success?

Just because you can, does it mean that you should?

Lately, I've been observing that many people around me seem to be victims of their own success. I see people becoming "successful" in their chosen professions who I don't believe are consciously making that decision because it is something that will make them happy. Everyone tells them "you can do this," "you're good at this," "I can't imagine you not doing this." It becomes an identity. The longer one wears an identity the more ingrained it becomes. For some, the identity is a well worn, comfortable current iteration of life-long labels -- "A-student," "star intern," "on track," "on the path," "future leader," etc . . . To step back and do something that challenges these labels is petrifying. Surely becoming average would be disappointing to so many people. What would one even say to explain? What if there's no good reason for why it is that you just don't want to anymore? How do you explain yourself without sounding lazy? Without sounding ungrateful? Without sounding like you're selling yourself short? These questions are probably the reason why we do become victims of our own success. Rather than evaluate what will actually bring happiness, it's easier to be consistent and to maintain our self-image. But does anyone else really care?

Taking it Back

Today I took a step toward getting my life back. I've been contemplating this move for quite a while. A few weeks ago I decided that I was going to do it, but I hadn't decided on the timing. Market forces nicely interfered for a change, and it became possible to do this now. It was harder to do than I thought. I had to openly and voluntarily make a statement that would change how I was perceived. I spent the last five years developing that reputation and view of me. I still don't know what will happen, what the final answer will be. I am hopeful that it will be the answer I want to hear, and I suspect it will be. Regardless, I know what I will do next. And that feels good. I am owning my life for the first time in years. That feels incredible. I didn't realize how out of control and how trapped I felt until today.