Amy Lu's View

At church this Sunday, I got several compliments on my western-themed costume. Folks thought it was perfect for the Dolly Parton song (“Wildflowers”) that I played percussion on. Someone even asked if I had rented it from a costume shop. 

I loved the positive attention and feedback. But I wasn’t wearing a costume. I was just wearing a new dress* that I thought was a little snazzy but perfectly normal. I chose to wear it mainly because I could find it in my closet (not something I can routinely count on) and it wasn’t wrinkled (since it was new) and it had a full skirt, which I thought would be good for cajon playing (turns out the skirt got in the way a bit but it was manageable). 

Now I have used a play as an excuse to buy a new dress as a costume for a play (with the intention to wear it later in my real life) or pulled something out of my own wardrobe to use for a costume…but this wasn’t one of those times. This was just me, wearing a dress. 

This also reminded me of the time the cashier at Target asked me about the costume party I was going to, because I was buying glitter eyeshadow…and I wasn’t going to a costume party (yes, I blogged about that, too: https://peppersprout.blogspot.com/2016/10/glittery-eyeshadow-aspect.html). This did happen a few days before Halloween so I can see why she had costume parties on her mind, but glittery eyeshadow is just a makeup staple in my book.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by people’s reaction at church to my dress, since Chad said “Wow, you’re really leaning into the theme” before we left the house when he saw what I was wearing. “What do you mean?” I asked. When he explained that he thought I was intentionally going Western for the Dolly song, I just thought “Well, Chad and I have pretty different ideas about fashion.” (When I told him I was writing this blog, he said the dress made me look like Holly Hobby, which is more prairie than Western, but I definitely loved Holly Hobby** as a kid–I even had a Holly Hobby birthday cake one year. And of course, I did watch a lot of Hee-Haw. Maybe my love of my dress is based on a deeply imprinted childhood preference for lace and ruffles.)

I did intentionally wear my cowboy hat during the song, thanks to Chad, who suggested it. At first I thought “no that’s too much” but then brought it along (and wore it only while we played the song). Chad even wore his, too (yes, we both own “cowboy” hats, although they’re just flimsy Target ones. Chad does own a more substantial one, but didn’t wear that to church). 

Unfortunately, I didn’t wear my cowboy style boots, which I nixed because I didn’t think they would be as comfortable as the flats I did wear. Maybe that’s for the best…people’s heads may have metaphorically exploded if I went too Western.

But, to reiterate, even without cowboy boots and before I donned my cowboy hat many people thought I was wearing  a costume, when I was just wearing what I considered a regular dress. And I love this. 

What did I say when I got these “Great costume!” compliments? “Thanks!”…while trying to clarify that I was just dressed as Amy On Any Old Day (or at least one where I left the house). I could have pretended that I was intentionally theme dressing and this wasn’t my regular look, but I wanted to embrace the situation. I love that I was “dressing up” even when I wasn’t trying to. 

I love when I’m being authentically quirky without any intentional affectation. I’ll take pride in bringing a little unplanned theatricality (not “drama”) to a gathering and a smile of bemusement to someone. 

I just hope no one ever thinks I’m wearing a Sexy Librarian costume because everyone should know that is just ONE HUNDRED PERCENT me.

*I’ve been decadent and purchased SEVEN new dresses in the last week. I’ve been trying to reduce my carbon footprint and support of businesses with questionable ethics (and I have a serious lack of closet space), but sometimes I still indulge my clothes habit. I can only say as a slim justification that I purchased three of the dresses from a small local business and the others are “eco-friendly.” I consider all of the dresses more or less practical (meaning I can wear them to places I will actually go without too much of a production) but I’m interested to learn if there are more unexpected costume parties in my future! I did wonder if the dress I wore to our anniversary party looked like a swimsuit coverup but no one mentioned that…

**Actually, he said something more colorful about my Holly Hobby look, but you’ll have to ask me about that in person or via a direct message–we have his ministerial reputation to consider. 

Even though this is just a two person play, sometimes I’m not the co-star. Sometimes, I’m not even on stage. 

After 30 years of marriage, I’m just starting to learn the lesson that sometimes, Chad isn’t thinking about me. 

This may sound a little harsh, but it’s actually rather freeing. This shift in perspective is helping me realize that when Chad is frustrated or annoyed or mad, it’s not necessarily about me. And yes, this also applies to recognizing that I’m not always the cause of his positive emotions and experiences, but I may not be quite motivated to explore that insight yet. 

I think most of us feel we’re the hero of our own stories, and that everyone else is a supporting character in our story, or maybe just an extra or in the audience. It’s so hard to imagine that there are an infinite number of other stories simultaneously happening where we’re not the main character. We may just be a prop or scenery.

A mundane example of how I center myself in Chad’s story is that I get annoyed when I see Chad cleaning in the kitchen. The feeling arises before my mind has a chance to kick in and think, “Amy, you’re being silly and unreasonable.” I think part of this feeling is territorial–even though I’m hardly Martha Stewart, I feel like the kitchen is MINE because I’m the one who is always eating, and thereby always looking for or assembling food. I also can’t help but imagine that Chad is thinking “Amy does a crappy job cleaning the kitchen” when he’s cleaning something up. Maybe sometimes he thinks that, but I bet most of the time he just thinks “Hey, this should be cleaned.”

Imagination is the magical means that empowers us to see the world through another’s perspective. I don’t think it’s possible to have empathy without imagination. But for me, it’s far too easy to get wrapped up in imagining how someone is feeling or thinking about me. It’s hard for me to really believe that I may just be part of whatever they are considering or contemplating, or I may not even be in their equation. 

Sometimes our imagination can take us down dubious paths. At some point during the middle years of Chamy, we realized that we were having fights that Chad wasn’t actually present for. “I don’t think I said that,” Chad observed when I referenced something he had supposedly said. “I don’t think we even had a fight about that.” “Oh yeah,” I clarified, “that’s just what I knew you would say, so I didn’t bother actually talking to you about this.” 

While Chad and I agree that I probably am usually right when I imagine what he would say and that we can both save time if I just go ahead and have the fight for the both of us in my head, I now try to sometimes make the effort to include him in a real world argument. Who knows, my imagined responses for him may be wrong. And even if I’m right in playing the role of Chad, it’s still good to sometimes make him do the work of being a participant. 

I can’t imagine love without imagination. I need imagination to understand Chad’s point of view, and to understand that he has his own story. And we both need imagination to create a story of us, and to imagine who we are together, and to make sense of who we have been and who we want to be. 

Most of all, I sometimes need imagination to believe that it’s even possible for Chad and I to love each other in all our messiness and weirdness, and that it’s possible for love to survive and thrive when the world feels just too hard and mean. 

I don’t think my powers of imagination will ever be strong enough to understand why Chad gets angry that he has to eat lunch, but I can at least imagine a world where we successfully share a life together anyway. 

There are some things that I move quickly on (maybe too quickly): Replying to an email, buying tickets to a concert, blaming Chad for something. But for other things, I can put off making a decision or taking action for a long time. 

I often delay making purchases. It’s not because I’m not materialistic–I like things just like any average American–but because shopping can be hard. I frequently find myself overwhelmed by choices. Replacing things is especially challenging, because it usually involves getting rid of the original item and that disposal can create several logistical and environmental headaches. 

I also have a tendency to immediately forget about problems once I’m out of the situation, and prefer to make do with what I’m familiar with, rather than investing time in learning something new. For example…our coffee maker was leaking water for months, but I would forget about it until I encountered the pool of water every morning, and would just think “Oh well, wiping this up is easier than buying and figuring out a new coffee maker.” 

Chad did eventually get us a new coffee maker (and taught me how to use it without us getting into a fight!) but for the last ten or so years I’ve been thinking I need a new curling iron. Not because it was broken or I didn’t like it, but because it didn’t have an automatic shut off. This missing feature led to countless instances of me compulsively checking to see if I turned it off, which was always stressful when I was running late but yet ran back in the house (or asked Chad to) so the curling iron situation could be verified. 

But this era of curling iron anxiety is about to end, as I just ordered a new curling iron with an automatic shut off feature. 

What finally inspired me to take action? This blog! Well, at least in a roundabout way. I’ve been lacking in blogging inspiration, so I decided to try using a conversation starter card by Esther Perel* to generate ideas. I don’t want to call this a “blog challenge” exactly, but I wanted to make a good faith effort to write about whatever question was on the card I randomly picked. The conversation prompt on my card was “An item I’ve been holding on to for too long…” 

Wow, I could answer that in so many ways–everything from the bottle of barbecue sauce in the basement fridge that we will never, ever, consume, to the pair of underwear that I’m highly unlikely to ever wear again but hang on to “just in case.” Maybe I will blog about those items someday (and what case I’m expecting my old underwear might be appropriate for), but I settled on the curling iron. 

Not too long ago, my curling iron DID come apart–the wand part that I wrap my hair around came out of the base. In typical Amy Fashion, I just crammed it back together and forgot about it. But just a few days ago, it came apart again while I was getting ready in the dressing room for the one-act play I’m currently in. This caused some slight embarrassment that combined with a couple of “I’ve never seen a curling iron that looks like that”** comments from castmates put the curling iron at the top of my mind. 

So as I thought, “I could blog about holding on to my old curling iron for too long,” I realized I could actually buy a new curling iron!

Now I wasn’t going to go wild and actually go to a store or anything, so I bought one online. And now I know why I waited so long to buy one–it was surprisingly hard to find a curling iron with the type of wand I wanted that had an automatic shut-off feature. 

I hope I like my new curling iron, and that it is easy to learn to use. And I hope I do actually get rid of my current one (sticking it in a drawer somewhere rather than throwing it away isn’t going to help the environment) 

Maybe my new curling iron will even look less “unusual” and more like a curling iron and less like another device. 

*Yes, I’ve probably been holding on to these cards for far too long without using them–is that meta? I’m not sure who I thought I would have card-inspired conversations with…StanLee?

**My curling iron looks like a sex toy. I’m not sure this is appropriate to include in my blog, but I figure if this observation is buried in a footnote, I’m being discrete and classy. Now, I’m not 100 percent certain this is what my castmates meant by their comment (surprisingly I didn’t ask) but I think it’s a distinct possibility. 

Chad’s quest to become a minister was almost thwarted by my chip eating habits. 

“WHAT are you doing?!” he recently asked as I was digging around in a chip bag trying to retrieve the smallest chip bits. 

He wasn’t exactly disapproving–just deeply confused. So confused that I could see his brain shutting down. He was freezing up in an automatic response caused not by fear, but bewilderment.

I knew this day would come. Over the many years of us sharing a life together, I’ve learned that Chad can regularly find something I say or do so perplexing that his entire being is consumed with trying to figure me out. While it’s scientifically proven that no one is good at multitasking, Chad takes this to a new level when he’s trying to figure out an Amy Mystery–he simply can’t do any other task. 

Chad happily ponders deep theological mysteries that are intellectually challenging, but he can’t fathom how I eat chips. Luckily, Chad was able to pull himself together before I had to report to his seminary that he couldn’t finish his Masters of Divinity because his brain had short-circuited because his wife was just too weird. 

My practice of purposefully seeking out chip particles to partake of is, admittedly, a little peculiar, so I guessed that it would be too much for Chad to process. I tried to protect him from this behavior and not engage in it in his presence, but sometimes, a gal needs her chip fix and can’t wait for privacy. 

You may also be wondering why I intentionally want to eat small pieces of broken chips, instead of chips that are fully intact. It’s a simple case of the “just a small bite” phenomenon taken to extremes. I started purposefully eating the bits of chips with the hope that I would eat less chips…and then I got to actually prefer them. I know it’s unlikely that I actually eat less chips by eating small pieces (perhaps I even eat more) but at least this tactic draws out the process and slows me down. It takes me longer not only to eat the chips, but to rummage in the bag for them. It’s become a little game, a little ritual, that makes chip eating even more enjoyable. I even enjoy the physical sensation of eating small chip pieces better, which is ineffable, because obviously they have the same texture and taste of whole chips, but they just feel different. Better. Special. 

I do have rules for my chip game. Or at least one rule: the broken chip pieces have to be naturally occurring–I’m not going to take whole chips and break or smash them. And I will go to some lengths to get the small pieces, which usually fall to the bottom of the bag. I’ve poured the contents of a bag on the counter to get at the small bits, and then put the whole chips back in the bag, and sometimes I even have two bags open at once so I can more easily separate the big and small pieces. (Luckily Chad didn’t see this level of chip consumption complexity or he might be catatonic). 

I did confirm with Chad that he wasn’t hoping for the chip bits for himself–he definitely prefers the bigger pieces of chips. So we agreed we had our own version of “Jack Sprat” going on.  

Isn’t our complementary chip consumption a cool little example of how we fit together, and how Chamy works?

It’s almost an example of how I have great power over Chad, so let’s hope I never choose to misuse my ability to confound him. 

This year I took my birthday observance to a new level (not saying in which direction) and decorated a birthday tree.

My birthday tree was initially our Christmas tree. We broke with our tradition and put up an artificial tree this year. I was excited by this change–I didn’t think Chad would be up for it, but jokingly suggested it as we were late in getting a real tree. When Chad was open to the fake tree option, I seized it. I’m not anti-real tree, but we always had fake Christmas trees when I was a kid and they seem like less hassle. 

Procuring an artificial tree turned out to be a bit of an undertaking itself. Ideally, I would have loved to have a retro aluminum tree, but I wasn’t willing to put the time or money into finding one. My laziness basically limited me to shopping at Target or Home Depot. 

Since we were going the faux route, we both agreed to go all in with it and we got a white tree. No one would think we were harboring any illusions that our tree could pass as real. (I did suggest a pink tree but that was a little too extreme for Chad). 

Once we had a white faux Christmas tree up, it was a short distance to “Hey, let’s make that a Valentine’s tree,” especially as I already had some appropriate lights. I also have a personal precedent for having a Valentine’s tree because I had them in my young teen days.

Having a Valentine’s Day tree isn’t that unusual, but a birthday tree? I’m not sure what inspired me to give it a whirl–I definitely wouldn’t have bothered if my birthday wasn’t so soon after Valentine’s Day. 

So what does a “birthday tree” even mean? How would I decorate it? Lots of ideas floated through my head, ranging from the silly to the obscure. Should I embrace the birthday party motif? Have lots of cupcake lights? Do I decorate with ornaments that somehow symbolize Amyness? Do I just go with anything teal (my birthstone color) or fish-related (as Pisces is my Zodiac sign). I was limited by not wanting to invest too much time into my birthday tree or buying too much from Amazon, especially as I don’t know if this will just be a one time passing fancy. 

I ended up with a loosely-themed Pisces tree with teal lights and a string of “Ocean Beach Themed Sea Life Cute Fairy Decorative String Lights”. (Unfortunately, I missed that this string of lights is battery operated, so they’re not very convenient to turn on). I also got a string of lights that spell out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and supplemented the lights with some teal flower lights I already owned because of years of being interested in decorative lights. 

I don’t have too many ornaments on the tree–I was able to use some plastic “Happy Birthday” rings that originally were cupcake toppers so I felt pretty resourceful about that. I also hung up some plastic bead strings that have fish on them that I found buried in my jewelry chest (no, I did not get them at mardi gras and I have no idea why I have them). After some deliberation, I decided to leave the sushi Christmas ornament, even though it feels a little macabre to have on a fish/Pisces themed tree.

I don’t have a topper for my tree, but I did repurpose two big Pisces symbols that were part of a banner. Overall, the banner was a purchase fail–it was supposed to say “Big Pisces Energy” but when I opened it I discovered that I needed to string the banner together. NO. I guess I’m not sure what “Big Pisces Energy” means (the phrase just amuses me) but certainly no one with Big Pisces Energy is going to be bothered with assembling a manner. We Pisceans are clearly too busy being emotional and creative and needy for that. 

Now that we’re past the Days of Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20), I’m pondering the value of my birthday tree. Did it make my birthday more festive? Add a little spark to my celebration? I’m not sure yet if my birthday tree was worth the effort, or the space it takes up, and now I need to decide if I’m going to leave our tree up and redecorate it for Easter. I think I will, since I already have some easter/spring light strings. I am a little nervous to play in this “Christmas tree gets left up all year” space, especially given my sister’s history with leaving up a tree most (all?) of the year (yes, another slightly oblique reference to the family feud/fish sandwich in the Christmas tree story that you will have to ask me about in person), but I think I’ll risk it. Maybe we’ll deliberately end up being a “tree of life” house celebrating everything from my birthday to quirky national holidays to personal milestones.

What could a Chamy 30th Anniversary tree look like? (To be continued?…)

If you do happen to see our Tree of Life (not to be confused with a “Life Day” tree that might celebrate the wookie holiday) when you visit or drive by our house (or if you happen to be our neighbor) please just know that it is intentional, and that we haven’t left our Christmas tree ups as a sign that we’ve just thrown in the towel when it comes to upholding our domestic standards (we’ve got other signs of that). 

I had high hopes for my recent vacation to Mexico for Brandi Carlile’s Girls Just Wanna music festival, but I never dreamed I would experience the enchanting sight of a crowd batting around small inflatable horses. 

We were watching the band Muna perform their song “Anything But Me,” which opens with the awesome lyric “You’re gonna say that I’m on a high horse, I think that my horse is regular-sized,” so presumably, the horses were in honor of that. The horses were cute and it was fun to see them flying through the air, but I was really impressed by the deep fandom for Muna people must have had to know that this was a thing to do, and that they took the time and effort to obtain the horses (where does one even buy an inflatable horse?) and to bring them along to Mexico. I guess an inflatable horse (which the lead singer referred to as “Staceys”) doesn’t take up that much room in your luggage, but still, that demonstrates an above average level of commitment. 

I don’t know why the horses are known as “Staceys” (a cursory Google search didn’t give an answer) so I’m clearly not a hardcore Muna fan (although I definitely like them). But I loved the energy and enthusiasm of the crowd, and the joy was contagious. I didn’t have to understand everything that was going on to experience delight. 

When I was younger, I thought I couldn’t really be a fan of something unless I was an “expert” on it. Now, while I still appreciate having some context and background for whatever art or entertainment I’m experiencing, I’ve given up on having to know too much about it. Maybe it’s because I now have access to so much more than I did when I was young (thanks in large part to the internet). Maybe I don’t have as much “free” time to dedicate to my cultural education. Maybe I’ve just accepted that it’s okay if I’m not that knowledgeable about something, and that I don’t have to prove my fan bonafides to myself or anyone else. Maybe liking (or not liking) something isn’t as much a part of my identity as it used to be. Maybe I’ve learned to lighten up just a bit and just enjoy the moment. 

I think I’m learning to find more opportunities to experience things as surprising and interesting and cool. 

Of course, this is easier to do when on vacation, when encountering so many new and different things. “Oh, look, I was just startled by an iguana! THAT doesn’t happen at home in Minneapolis…and hey, guava for breakfast! And hey, I’ve never been at a music festival before that had bathroom attendants for the port-a-potties!”

Recently I saw a column headline about having a “Traveller’s Mindset,” which made me think about how I want to have a “Vacation Mindset,” even when I’m at home. No, I don’t mean thinking it’s a good idea to regularly engage in day drinking, but to expect to find delights, and to be open to being charmed and intrigued. Okay, living my regular life in Minnesota is probably not going to be as magical as spending time at a resort in Mexico, but perceiving my life as even 5 percent more enchanted would probably feel pretty extraordinary. I do regularly encounter passionate quirky people here that I can appreciate, an adorable neighbor dog that quivers with excitement and loves to run along the fence with StanLee, and sherpa-lined leggings to make me feel cozy–just to name a few regular life pleasures. 

Maybe when I need to add a little pizazz to my life I’ll just starting thinking of people and things as “Stacey.”

I just bought a fanny pack.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

Okay, I do know who I am. I’m a middle-aged lady who is about to embark on a vacation to Mexico to attend Brandi Carlile’s music festival, and I got sucked into a time vortex at Target trying to find gear* at the last minute to make my vacation as awesome as possible. I’m very excited about and thankful to be going on this vacation, but I’m also anxious about it. This anxiety is getting transubstantiated into consumer angst: What are the perfect things to buy that will make me look as cute as possible, be useful, easy to pack, and practical enough to justify the consumer waste I am creating?!

I bought the fanny pack because I wanted some type of personal storage device that will let me conveniently carry around essential items at the festival. I was thinking of a small purse, but none of the purses at Target seemed right. Before I knew it I was considering a fanny pack–yes, as a teen of the 80’s they give me some cultural PTSD, but apparently they’ve made a comeback and I can adapt with the times, right? So I bought the fanny pack, but its fate is uncertain–the strap seems way too long, and I’m realizing that one of my running belts might work just as well, if not better.

I also bought a new swimsuit, which seems reasonable since we’re staying at a beach resort, but I already own several serviceable swimsuits that more or less fit. Yes, they’re old, including items from the now defunct Target brands of Mossimo and Merona, but as I almost never wear them, they are in okay shape. But swimsuits don’t take up much room in a suitcase, right? (NO! I’m not going to let myself go on a rant right now about how inadequate my luggage is).

I did resist some temptation–I did NOT buy new flip flops (my Croc sandals are amazingly just fine, if ugly, after 15 years!!) or a new hat (because I remembered that I have two cowboy sun hats, which seem very appropriate for this event, and now I just have to figure out which one to bring). Okay, I only failed to buy new running shorts because I couldn’t find any, but still. And I bought at least one practical and necessary thing–sunscreen! It’s even reef safe (I think).

I think I have everything essential for vacation except insect repellant (which I’m hoping I can still get at CVS). The recommended packing list does include a carabiner, which I don’t have, but that’s so one can attach a water bottle to a belt loop, and most of my clothes don’t have belt loops. Luckily, I have small, flat, water bottles for running that will fit into pockets or a small personal storage device (whether that ends up being a fanny packet or a small Baggallini purse that I just ordered from Amazon while writing this, talk about fraught consumer choices). Anyway, I don’t think I’ll die of thirst even without a carabiner.

The recommended (technically “Bueno”) list also includes a “Sweat Lighter”–what the hell is that? Yes, I did a cursory Google search, and I’m still nonplussed. I think I’ll just leave that as a mystery to solve on vacation.

If you are a calm and/or experienced traveler, you are probably rather bemused and mystified by all this packing drama. Or if you are just a relatively grounded person, you’re probably wondering why and how I can make a vacation so much work. I guess it’s just one of my superpowers (do real superheroes go on vacation?)

*Portlandia reference: https://youtu.be/R3SFqV0hMyo?si=IVfuRDhq2L4yDBBO

I ran 1770 miles in 2024. 

Whoo-hoo?

I won’t humble brag–I am proud of this achievement. I think this is the most miles I have ever run in a year. But I also know this may not have been the best use of my time and effort. It took me slightly over 290 hours, which is approximately 1.72 weeks of my life, to run 1770 miles. I almost certainly passed the point of diminishing returns somewhere in there. 

In the world of running, “junk miles” refers to running that doesn’t help one get better as a runner or achieve any running goals. With that definition, most, if not all, of my 2024 miles were junk. 

Actually, I didn’t have any running goals for 2024, at least not any related to running a race. I didn’t run any race in 2024, except maybe the Women Run the Cities 10 Mile. I say “maybe” because I signed up to run it as a virtual (on my own) race, but I never actually ran 10 miles with the intent of it being for that race. 

I do find it interesting that I ran so many miles in 2024 without training for a race. I ran more miles last year than I did in 2018, when I trained for two marathons. I racked up these miles with many, many, short and mid-range runs but without any long runs–I only ran 10 miles 3 times. I never even ran a half marathon distance. So in some ways, this is an illustration of how little and consistent efforts add up. (It’s also an illustration of how lucky I am to have a flexible life and the ability to fit runs in at odd times, and a recognition that the weather and air quality was pretty conducive to outdoor running in 2024).  

Perhaps paradoxically, I may also have run more because I wasn’t training for any races and so didn’t consider rest days. Since I wasn’t worried about my running performance, I didn’t feel like I needed to factor in time and opportunity for my legs to recover so I could eventually run faster.

Ideally, as I think back on how many miles I ran in 2024, I’ll consider some questions of purpose and priorities. I’m fine with not improving as a runner or reaching any specific running goals, but is my running serving my overall physical and mental health? 

Maybe? Sometimes? 

I do some other exercise activities besides running, but certainly some more variety would do me good, both physically and mentally. Running is my go-to because it’s “easy”–I know how to do it, and I can usually do it (weather permitting) without too much planning. I feel like I get the biggest bang (in my case, calorie expenditure) for the buck with running. Of course, calorie expenditure isn’t the best reason for exercise, which brings me back to my purpose and priorities question. 

My running total for 2024 is likely a sign of some level of unhealthy obsessions, but I like to think it’s also a sign of my determination and perseverance. I’m not particularly motivated to make any significant changes to my approach to health in the near future (yes, I intellectually understand the value of  strength training and yoga and meditation and rest and recovery, etc.–no need to try and convince me) so I’m choosing to see the positive in my status quo. 

I know I’m extremely lucky to be able to rack up so many running miles–it demonstrates not only a flexible schedule and good weather (and a gym membership for when the weather doesn’t cooperate) but being healthy enough and injury free so I can keep running. I realize this probably won’t last–someday I’m going to have to change my running ways. But I’m not there yet. 

I think there are still plenty of unflattering after running selfies in store for me in 2025!

I sincerely thought my life was in danger. 

It was June 2011, and Chad and I had just climbed up a mountain in Scotland. It was extremely windy, so windy that I literally had difficulty standing up in the wind. The wind blew me down at least once. It was also extremely foggy, so I couldn’t see that far ahead of me. Chad was holding onto me, but I thought there was a reasonable chance that the wind could literally blow me off the edge of the mountain, or at least knock me down causing me to roll down the mountain and land in a painful heap. And if the wind didn’t get me, I thought I might fall off the mountain because I couldn’t see where the edge was. 

Thanks to a post I made on Facebook, I know the name of the mountain was Ben More, and we climbed 3,169 feet. In my mind, we had made it to the summit of Mount Doom (one of the few Tolkien references I will ever feel brave enough to make). 

Later, once the perceived danger had passed, Chad corrected my interpretation of the experience–I wasn’t really in danger of blowing off the mountain and over the edge, although he did confirm that tripping and falling because of lack of visibility was a legitimate concern. 

I don’t think I voiced my concerns to Chad, or to the two other hikers who were with us (John, our guide, and Kristina, our other tour group member) at the time. Maybe I wasn’t sure we were really in danger, and/or was too embarrassed to say so? Maybe I didn’t think it would do any good?

I am a little chagrined that I don’t remember thinking too much, if at all, about Chad’s safety, or about how John and Kristina were doing. Again, maybe I just assumed they were all more competent than me, and knew how to not blow and/or fall off a mountain. Maybe I thought screaming “We’re all going to die!” wasn’t going to help, and I didn’t have much else to offer in the situation? 

Once we made it down off the top of the mountain, I felt exhilarated and mighty. I felt even better when I was back at the hotel, warm and dry, sipping some whisky and basking in my accomplishment and feeling proud because I was such a badass.  

I’m reminiscing about this now because today our church service was about living on the edge, and we had the opportunity to share some type of reading during the service. Of course I volunteered to participate in the service–I wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to stand in front of a microphone. I thought maybe this experience of being on a literal edge of a mountain would be good material for our service, but eventually opted to repurpose one of my previous blog posts about being on an emotional edge. Not surprisingly, I have more than a couple of those (frequently involving food and Chad). 

But I can’t let any content product go to waste, so now I’m reverse engineering a draft of a piece intended to be read aloud into a blog post (is this meta?)

I didn’t dress properly for a Scottish mountain hiking adventure and I was wet and cold for most of the time, so this experience definitely taught me the value of investing in the proper attire for outdoor activity. I also learned that just because I feel like I’m in a dangerous or risky situation, I may not really be on the edge of something or in harm’s way. It may be hard to stand up in a literal or metaphorical wind, and I may not be able to see or understand my surroundings, but that doesn’t mean I’m really going to be blown off the mountain. 

If I survive my experience of being on the edge–whatever it is–I’m going to feel stronger and braver, which might even lead me to try new things and take a new risk. It’s definitely going to make that after accomplishment drink (real or metaphorical but I hope it’s real) taste even better.

Me: “It’s impossible to find underwear at Target that isn’t thongs or boyshorts!”

Chad: “I think you’re exaggerating.”

Of course I was exaggerating, but I was extremely frustrated. I had just spent soooo looong at Target looking at underwear, and I despaired that all my time and effort had been wasted. (I spent even more time at Target because they now apparently hide most of their panties in drawers. Without my friend Sandy who figured this out, I would have thought Target just stopped carrying much in women’s underwear). 

I worried that I failed in my mission to find underwear suitable for an upcoming scene in a play where I would briefly (no pun intended) be onstage wearing an open robe and “flashing” the audience and showing them my bra and panties. It was a short moment–maybe 30 seconds?–but important to my monologue, and to me. Not surprisingly, I was feeling a little nervous and weird about the scene, even though I actively and enthusiastically sought out the role, and being onstage in my underwear isn’t a totally novel experience for me (perhaps I can write more about that in another post). 

I was looking for underwear that was as flattering as possible AND not too risque or revealing. But it also had to fit my character, Mary, and a remark she would make: “It’s laundry day, I don’t normally wear these” suggesting that her panties (or knickers as Mary called them, since the playwright is from New Zealand) were embarrassing in some way. To make things more complicated, I needed two identical pairs of panties, as I needed one to wear and one to toss. 

Oh, and I also needed panties in a bright or dark color, as I was afraid if they were too light or pale they might not show up again my white white skin and the audience would be scared that I WASN’T wearing any underwear at all. 

High waisted “granny” panties (apologies to the grandmas out there) may seem like an obvious choice–funny and modest–but I also wanted underwear that I would wear again in my real life, and the granny style just doesn’t feel flattering or comfortable to me. Since I wasn’t excited about owning any granny panties at all, I definitely didn’t want to buy them in packages of 6–the only way Target sold them. (My hope that I could wear my character underwear in real life also ruled out thongs and boy shorts for me, in addition to neither being stage appropriate. It seems obvious why a thong wouldn’t be a good costume choice for me, but boy shorts seemed too hip for my character). Yes, in theory, I could shop somewhere other than Target, but I had already unsuccessfully looked online and there was just no way I was spending more time going to stores outside my normal life path. 

Eventually, I did end up buying underwear in bulk (I bought two packs of 6 instead of the individually sold panties that I searched so long for) but I was able to find “briefs” rather than granny pants, provided by the classic brand Hanes. Or maybe they were high waisted bikinis–it’s all starting to blend together. I didn’t find undies that were particularly funny, but I went with hot pink–a color bright enough to stand out on my pale skin, and while not necessarily humorous or embarrassing, at least a little silly.

After all that time and pondering, I think I was successful: I felt good about how my monologue went, and audiences seemed entertained and no one seemed too scandalized by their 30 seconds of seeing me in my underwear. AND I’m even finding my 10 new pairs of undies a welcome addition to my wardrobe!

I’ve been using the term “underwear” and “panties” interchangeably throughout this post. I did consult The Google to see what the official difference is (to me, “panty” sounds a little more sexy, “underwear” more utilitarian) and according to Google, “panties” refers specifically to feminine undergarments while “underwear” includes male and female clothing. I also think “underwear” can include bras, but I didn’t feel like I needed to buy a new bra for the play (although I did spend some time thinking about the color and type I should wear, wrestling with similar questions of flattery and modesty). 

A friend who saw the show recently asked how much time goes into putting a production together. He was thinking about things like the time it takes an actor to learn lines and blocking, which is substantial, but I think many would be surprised by the time and energy that can go into the details of costumes, props, set, etc. “Theater is like a package of underwear, you never know what you’re gonna get.” (Something Forrest Gump should have said.)