Amy Lu's View

We’ve all heard of the humble brag, but is anxious bragging a recognized thing?

No, I’m not anxious that people will realize I’m bragging, or that there will be some type of negative consequence if I indulge in bragging. I want to brag, and I don’t care if it’s obvious I’m bragging and seeking acolades, and I don’t think my bragging will incur the wrath of the universe.

But I do often find that trying to revel in my successes makes me realize that I’m worried that I’ll never live up to, much less surpass, my accomplishments.

Let me get specific: I want to let the whole world know that I recently did a 17.5 plus mile run at a 9.22 miles/hour pace. That’s not going to get me into the Boston Marathon or anything (that’s not a humble brag, just a pissy brag) but for me, it’s amazingly fast for a run of that distance.

So yeah, I’m awesome. But HOW did this happen? Were my results skewed because I took several breaks for stoplights? Was it the weather? What I ate for breakfast? The alignment of the stars? What I was wearing?

And how lame am I going to feel if/WHEN I do a run this long again and I’m back to, or even slower than, my normal pace?

My anxious bragging is most obvious when it comes to running, because there are seemingly objective measurements of my running success. It’s why I’m ambivalent about running another marathon: What if I don’t do as well as I did on my first one? But this anxiety about living up to my past accomplishments happens in almost all areas of my life. Someone compliments me on an acting performance? I worry about trying to figure out exactly what I did and how I can recreate it. I feel like I’m wearing a particularly sassy ensemble? How will I ever find all the wardrobe elements and accessories again at the same time? Etc., etc….

Thankfully, there are some standards of Amy prowess that I don’t worry about living up to. I never worry that I’ll fail at latch hook (I can’t imagine how anyone would fail at that), making/eating salads, or drinking red wine.

And I never worry that I won’t worry enough.

I’m going to attempt another post inspired by something that I don’t really understand that I’m probably taking horribly out of context. This time it is science-based, rather than math-based (although I’m sure this science involves math) and science, unlike math, is  something I’m really intrigued by. Or at least the fields of science that have to do with astronomy and quantum physics and all those things that can fuel cool science fiction.

So. Dark matter.

I was listening to the Minnesota Public Radio this afternoon and happened to catch Bob Collins tell Mary Lucia that scientists (okay, not all scientists but you know what I mean) have discovered a galaxy where there is NO dark matter.

Mary Lucia saracastcially conveyed that she was NOT impressed. But I totally am.

Now, as I said I can’t claim to have even an informed layperson’s understanding of dark matter and I’m not going to devote the time to even doing a little internet research about it. Who has time for knowledge when there are deep philosopical ideas to blog about? (Okay, my librarian soul can’t resist at least one link about the story for context: https://www.wired.com/story/the-case-of-the-missing-dark-matter/)

I think dark matter is “stuff” that we* can’t see or sense or measure or explain but we know it has to be there because otherwise there would no way the universe could function like it does. We know it’s there because we can see it’s effects but we can’t see it directly. (*By “we” I am of course referring to all those sciencey types who devote their lives to studying those things).

Whoa. That is so cool and disturbing, both in the literal sense and as a metaphor…how many things impact us that we can’t see or understand? These things run the gamut of everything from love and our unconscious and our fears and things from childhood we don’t remember and our DNA and our brain chemistry and what weird chemicals are in our food.

Oh, and I think dark matter is also somehow tied into the theory of the multiverse: somewhere there is a universe where every possible version of reality exists and every choice you didn’t make in this universe another you did make. So there is an Amy Luedtke out there who IS a DJ or a mother or a writer or a Republican or a fluitist or a scientist. And of course muliple universes where there is no Amy Luedtke at all.

The multiverse theory is comforting and terrifying, because on one hand, some you is experiencing all those things you have missed out on, but that includes all the really sucky things you’re glad you got to skip.

Thinking about dark matter makes me think both about my choices and the things I can control and how things that are way beyond my understanding that impact, and maybe even control, me.

“Dark Matter” is also a recent book by Blake Crouch that I read and it was really thought-provoking and fast-paced and sweet and made me appreciate the choices I’ve made and the life I do have. It also made me very sleepy because I don’t actually read print books anymore. I only listen to audiobooks (mostly when I run), so it took me so long to finish that I couldn’t really remember what was going on. Of course you can check “Dark Matter” out from the your friendly neighborhood library: https://hclib.bibliocommons.com/item/show/5385452109

The book also made me worry that if I ever did get to meet other me’s most of them would me homicial whiny jerks. More likely, we would just be hyper-competitive and judgy of each other. I can’t imagine how the poor non-drinking Amy’s would fare.

Anyway, a galaxy without dark matter? Is it populated by beings who fully understand how the world works and how they work and are in total control of their lives and actions? Would that be empowering or boring?

What does it mean that there is a galaxy without dark matter or that the rest of the universe has it? Anything? Everything? Nothing? All I know is that this Amy, in this universe, gets to decide (or think she’s deciding) what that—or anything—means and I think that is pretty awesome.

And I do wonder if there is a me out there somewhere who crafts and makes the time to get her hair cut on a regular basis.

Right before my birthday, a friend and fellow Pigeons From Hell bandmate sent me an article called “The Birthday Paradox.”

I was immediately intrigued. I really like the word “paradox.” And it sounds like a Star Trek (TREK for the love of god and all that is holy not TRACK) episode.

Turns out the article was about math. Really not my wheelhouse (even though I don’t know what a wheelhouse is) and the point of the article seems to be that one’s birthday is not special or unique. Yeah, definitely not my lived experience.

However, I do feel birthdays are paradoxical events. A birthday is a time to celebrate your life and all your blessings and friends and experiences. And yet, every birthday brings you that much closer to your death. Every birthday is another number in the countdown to the end.

Then again, while I’m quite confident in my assessment of birthdays, maybe “paradox” doesn’t mean what I think it means. Perhaps I am like Alanis Morissette singing about irony.

Whether “paradox” is the correct word or not, I’m fascinated and moved and intriuged by how we inhabit in-between spaces. “Between a laugh and a tear” as John Cougar Mellencamp put it. Is it ambivalence? Ambiguity? When I was an undergraduate religious studies major I learned about the Hindu concept of the “coincidence of opposites.” My my mind was blown and that idea stays with me. Maybe life really isn’t just black or white or good or evil. Apparent opposites can exist at the same time, in the same person?

I often regret that I am not fully happy, even when things are awesome. Or that I laugh when things are crappy. While I do aspire to stop (at least occasionally) my ongoing inner narrator and live in the moment, I do find it liberating and meaningful to embrace this “yes, but” dimension of being human, or at least this Amy-human.

Chad and I recently re-discovered songs from the Sondheim masterpiece “Company,” mostly notably “Sorry/Grateful.” The title alone covers everything from our relationship to work to church to running.

Oh yes, one can definitely carry that too far. You don’t want to be sorry/grateful every time you go out to eat or go about most of your day. Then you’re just straight-up annoying/whiny with no subtle tension of meaning.

And, in case you’re wondering, my birthday celebration was amazing/amazing. Both my bands got to play a gig at the Eagles in South Minneapolis and so many of our friends showed up. Okay, it was amazing/exhausting/nerve-wracking/doubt-ridden and I’m sad I didn’t get to talk to my friends more, but isn’t that the defintion of awesome?

Yesterday was the first day in 48 days that I did NOT run.

Yes, I did another “Days of Awesome” challenge, where I ran every day for at least a mile. This time I created my own challenge and ran for 48 days in a row (the original challenge was 40 days) from January 15 (MLK Day) to March 3 to celebrate my 48th birthday.

During those 48 days I ran a total of 210.22 miles, at least according to my Garmin watch. I’m a little dubious of my watch’s accuracy since I did most of my running at the gym and I don’t think the GPS or the little fairies of whatever it is that counts miles works as well indoors. It’s probably close enough for government work, though, as that averages 4.37 miles per day which is definitely plausible.

Whatever my actual mileage, I can tell you I ran a LOT of laps. Approximately 1,710 laps. Only about 20 of my miles were outside, because I’m terribly cautious about running outside on icy trails and sidewalks. So, showing my work: It’s about 9 laps per mile at my gym track, so 190 x 9 = 1,710.

One of my friends from church who is also a member of the same Lifetime Fitness that I am said she watched me running and thought that one lap was a mile. Wow. If only.

My biggest obstacle to overcome was tedium. Even with audiobooks (I listened to “Career of Evil” by Robert Galbraith, “The Magician’s Land” by Lev Grossman and started “The Dark Defiles” by Richard K. Morgan) 1,710 laps could only be so interesting. I even made up backstories about my fellow gym goers, many of whom I saw over and over, and occassionally almost ran over when they got in my way. (Do NOT walk three abreast on the track, for all that is good and decent!!)

The hardest day to complete a run was on Sunday, Feb. 25, after the snowpocalypse. I was so proud that I was able to get my car out of the alley, but then I got it stuck in the intersection by our house. Chad was very gracious in rescuing me (with the help of a neighbor) so that I could make it to the gym.

I’d like to say I learned many deep and profound lessons from my 48 day running challenge, but mostly I learned/re-learned that I might be a tad obsessive. There was a story in a recent issue of “Runner’s World” (Chad got me a subscription as a most awesome Christmas present) about increasing your grit, and I said “Hey, I’ve got grit.” But Chad said, “No, I think you just have OCD.”

And grit (or no grit) aside I totally needed a nap after my almost 11 mile run on Day 48, especially before my birthday band gigs.

Regardless of what I’ve learned, or haven’t learned, from my running streak challenge, I’m definitely done with those for a while. No, not because I’ve become less obsessive, but because I’m in Week 5 of Training for the Med City Marathon in Rochester. Although I’ve got mixed feelings about this decision garnished with a side of self doubt, I did learn (and retain) from my first round of marathon training that rest days (from running) are very important.

I am a little concerned that I’ve set myself for some crazy birthday challenges in the future…49 Days for my 49th, etc. Could be quite entertaining if I make it to 80….

The one and only drum set that I’ve ever owned before this week, that I got when it was brand new, shows up on a website about “vintage” drums.

Hopefully, that provides some insight into why I have such mixed and complicated emotions about the new drum set I got this week.

It’s hard to feel like I’m abandoning a cherished possession that I’ve had for so long — over thirty years, since I got my drum set the summer before I started my senior year of high school. I won’t claim that all of those years we’ve had together were exciting…many of those years my 1988 Ludwig Rocker set spent just chillin’ in our upstairs. But I like to think the last five years or so, especially onstage at various Twin Cities venues with our band Clusterflock, have more than made up for the downtime.

I’m also conflicted because in this case, “vintage” means not only longevity, but style. My red Ludwig Rocker drum set is flippin’ awesome. It’s a badass classic.

More important than any of that, though, is that my mom got it for me. She was deeply committed to me having a drum set, and even though by the time she could afford it I really didn’t need it, I got it. I don’t even remember how or why we chose the set we did or where we got it from or any of those details…it just became a permanent fixture in my bedroom (complimenting my orange carpet nicely) and an amazing prop for my senior photos.

So if I love my vintage 1988 red Ludwig Rocker drum set so much why on earth did I get a new set?

Believe me, I considered the purchase a lot. I felt a bit like a middle-aged person tempted to have a fling with a younger, newer, flashier version of their spouse.

It really comes down to the size of my Ludwig rocker set: it’s seriously heavy and inconvenient to transport. The bass drum is immense. And as Chad would say, I’m a delicate (or lazy) flower and lugging all that around is quite an undertaking. Plus, the drum set “footprint” is substantial in venues with small stages (not to mention that the new set probably makes me more visible).

Catering to my laziness, delicacy and vanity? Actually, these are all outcomes my mom would completely support. While I have mixed feelings about gettting a new drum set, mostly because of mom-feelings, I have no doubt that my mom would totally think I should go for it.

And I won’t deny that getting new awesome things is cool. And my new drum set is totally cool. It’s a Questlove Breakbeats, also by Ludwig, and even though I don’t fully know or appreciate who Questlove is, I’m totally psyched about my new drum set and can’t wait to try it out onstage at our gigs next week. It’s silver, which wasn’t my first choice (I wanted blue) but silver was a $100 less so as a cheap-ass person I love that, plus the silver reminds me of my glitter eyeshadow.

I didn’t intend on buying a Breakbeats. We went to our beloved and most awesome Minneapolis music store,  Twin Town Guitars, to look at a Tama mini-cocktail drum set. The shopping experience was quite an emotional roller…I went with such high hopes and expectations, but it was soon apparent that the Tama bass drum just wasn’t going to cut it. Doom, despair, and agony on me…but then we saw the Questlove Breakbeats! Still compact, but much more powerful. A huge thanks to our salesperson (Laura, I think?) of helping us navigate through the shopping journey.

I could have made this post about my drum sets more about the sets themselves…the specs, the sound, etc. Instead I made it more about my mom and eyeshadow. Now THAT’S vintage Amy.

And the fate of my 1988 Ludwig Rocker? For the near future, it’s going to hang out behind our couch listening to it’s Ludwig progeny, until I’m ready to move on or we discover we need a really kickass and bigass bass drum. It’s use to chillin’.

In the lead up to today, I’ve been thinking about how funny, and perhaps deeply meaningful, it is that Valentine’s Day and Lent are on the same day. Chocolate and romance and sacrifice and contemplation all mixed into one?

I had such lofty dreams. Could I combine these two seemingly disparate holidays and  meaningfully vow to give up things that stand in the way of loving and connection? Could I abstain from (or at least reduce) fear, defensiveness, distraction, and just general bitchiness for 40 days?

Um, sure?

As I have said before, I seem to be more successful at doing things rather than not doing things. So I also thought about declaring my intention to do some things I love (or helps me do things that I love better) for 40 days.

Morning Me had such high hopes. I could vow to practice drums and piano for 15 minutes EACH every day! (If that doesn’t sound like much…well, it’s amazing how much I can get away with. Just imagine what a virtuoso I could be if I practiced). AND I could do a writing 10-minute writing exercise (inspired by something that Chad is doing) every day. That’s less than half an hour a day of self-improvement and artistic fulfillment, right?

Now Me smiles at such naivety.

I’m now officially declaring that in the spirit of Valentine’s Lent, I will do ONE creative/self-actualization practice per day (drums/writing/piano) AND be less bitchy while I do it (and nicer to Chad in general). For today, Day 1, I played drums. And while I can’t really say if I was less bitchy to Chad, I barely saw him, so I had less oppportunity to be bitchy but that counts.

Notice there are not declarations to give up (or even reduce) alcohol, diet soda or chips.

I never heard of Fat Tuesday as a kid. The whole Mardi Gras thing way too exotic for my rural Wisconsin German Lutheran world. I think even Lent was a little suspicious because it was so Catholic. Anyway, as I understand it, Fat Tuesday is all about indulging in delights that you are planning on giving up for Lent.

Fat Tuesday has limited appeal for me at this point in my life, because I’m pretty set in the food and alcohol that I’m going to enjoy and in what amounts. By this same logic, Lent doesn’t have much of an impact, as I’m not super motivated to give anything up (the most I aspire to is some indulgence reduction).

But I do like the idea of celebrating the luxuries of life—big and small—and taking some time to be grateful for them.  Not only do I want to be more appreciative of my favorite and well-loved joys, I’m trying to be open to and on the lookout for new decadences, especially those (like massages) that I never thought of as “me.”

(A quick aside about massages—I actually had my first one years ago and loved it, but have yet to make time for massage on a regular basis. I would also love to have more/any pedicures, but running has made my feet a disaster. ((Are double parenthesis a thing….yes, I am indulging in them!…did I mention I finally lost a toenail from running last week?)) ).

So, in no particular order, here are some extravagances, new and old, that I am appreciative of (purposively trying to stay away from food and drink as I feel I’ve covered that pretty throroughly in other posts). And just what is a “luxury”? That’s tricky, because today’s luxury might just be tomorrow’s necessity. I’m also including conveniences that, while in and of themselves are not sensory delights, make life so much easier (I think you will be able to identify those…)

• Temporary tattoos
• Having a paid dog poop scooper come and clean up our yard once a week
• My fuzzy pink bathrobe
• Clothes made out of quality (not your standard Target grade) material
• Our electric matttress pad
• Having groceries delivered from Coborns Delivers
• Dyeing my hair (at-home) every 3 weeks
• Latch hook kits
• Amazon Prime
• Light-up drumsticks
• Our Loot Crate subscriptions
• Any time we get to go to Crooners, especially the Dunsmore room
• Having this blog
• Working from home
• Being in two bands
• Alexa (even though she frequently pisses me off)
• Precut vegetables
• Halo and Dannon Light and Fit Greek yogurt (have to have SOME food things)
• Marathon training (seriously, you have to have an extravagant amount of time for this) and races in general (cost some real cheddar)

So while none of these things are likely to make me fat—without a lot of effort—(that’s what booze and chip/crackers are for) they are pretty phat. (Using seriously outdated slang is another indulgence!)

“You’re not very good at not doing things…”

Chad told me this at the end of our weeklong vacation in Florida last week. And yeah, I got a titch defensive. What do you mean, are you saying I can’t relax? So then we chatted, (over day drinks)d, about how not doing things isn’t the same as relaxing…

I really am not good at not doing things. And, perhaps even more importantly, I’m not good at not planning what things I’m going to do.

But I can do relaxing things, like hanging out in the sun, and day drinking. And it’s probably a good thing thing that I put a fair amount of planning into day drinking (When can I start? How can I minimize the alcohol content without adding too many calories?)  or I’d be in a coma.

I should probably put even more thinking into hanging out in the sun….How does one forget to put sunscreen on their chest? I know mine is relatively small, but still sun-scorchable. I think I was just so concerned about avoiding my standard goofy random strip(s) of sunburn that I forgot a whole section of my torso. At least my sunburn was even and consistent…

In a further attempt to prove that I am NOT hopelessly uptight, I offer this list of more relaxing things I did on vacation:

• Latch hook (just saying it was relaxing, NOT saying it wasn’t lame)
• Watch the 90’s music channel (Clusterflock should do the Cranberries’ “Zombie”! And I had NO idea I knew so much 90’s music).
• Watch messed-up cartoons: Bob’s Burger, Adventure Time, Rick & Morty
• Took and posted selfies
• Watched a frolicking dolphin up-close
• Read 1 1/2 magazine and 2 chapters of a book
• Shopped at Publix

I also did a fair amount of running and ate a lot of salad, chips, and fake ice cream. Not sure if these activities count as relaxing but they definitely aren’t work related, and took a fair amount of time and planning.

So my vacation time doesn’t actually sound  all that much different than my every day time, but it was definitely warmer and boozier. I’ll count that as a win.

It’s almost February, but I think I still have time to proclaim 2018 as the year that I will “Be a Better Drummer.”

Which doesn’t mean that I am currently a crappy drummer. Not that any of my readers are necessarily thinking that, but that’s what my inner critic voice is saying. I have a weird resistance to try to improve or change myself in any way (besides hair color) because I feel it’s a critique of everything that precedes the potential change. I’ll have to work on that.

But back to drumming…for the last 5 years, I’ve been drumming regularly with various student and cover bands and now regularly with Clusterflock. I’ve dusted off the skills I learned in high school (you can read all about my history as a Lady Drummer) and have learned how to play in a real live band with other folks. It’s a blast and my confidence, and perhaps even stage presence (yes another blog) has improved.

I’m definitely a better drummer than I was 5 years ago, but I haven’t devoted any time or thought to actually learning about drumming or improving my technique. As someone recently told me, I’m a very “instinctual” drummer, which means I’ve got the basics down and I’m basically going to do what I’m going to do. Hopefully I’ll keep the beat but don’t expect anything too fancy.

So as we librarians like to say, 2018 could be the year I’m more “intentional” about my drumming. I don’t want to overthink things, but I can challenge myself to be more aware of what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it and try to learn some new things.

And hey, turns out that the internet thing is pretty handy for conveniently accessing knowledge. It was hardly an extensive vetting process, but I’m declaring Jared Falk my new drumming guru. By working on just a few of Jared’s lessons, I’ve already learned how ingrained by drumming patterns are. Doing something that seems technically simpler (at least on paper/screen) can actually be harder if I have to change a habit. Playing less can definitely be more challenging.

I’ve also learned that writing about the specificis of drumming is pretty challenging, but also that I know enough about drumming to understand the difference between “ee” and “ah.” I’m not nearly good enough of a writer to make that difference compelling, but trust me that playing snare on the “ee” instead of the “ah” is a huge shift fot me.

So I aspire to sticking with Jared’s lessons and pushing myself, at least a little, as a drummer in 2018. I’m saying I’ll “be a better drummer” but not by how much. But I WILL be inspired by the Muppets “Can You Picture That”:

Beat down the walls, begin, believe, behold, begat.

Be a better drummer, be an up and comer. Can you picture that?

I lost my Deadpool shirt.

But that’s okay, it will turn up eventually. Or maybe it won’t, because I’m not sure I acutally have a Deadpool shirt. This confusion stems NOT from alcohol consumption (valid guess) but from the shirt in question coming via LootCrate. I’ve seen so many emails ads for a LootCrate with this shirt, I’m not sure if it’s one I actually got or not, or if I just think I got it.

Let me explan that LootCrate is a totally awesome subscription box for geeks. Chad and I both purchased each other subscriptions for various holidays, so every month we each get a box of geekly swag—a t-shirt, collectibles, and comic books for Chad, and some type of clothing or accessory for me. It’s so much fun to get a box of goodies in the mail and we’ve gotten really cool things, like my Batman purse and Dark Willow jacket, and all the cool pins I’m now sporting on my work lanyard.

We don’t always have enough geekly cred to fully understand and appreciate our loot, but it has led us to discover incredibly cool (and disturbing) things like “Rick and Morty.”

The only real downside is that we don’t really have room for all the cool items we’re acquiring…including clothes.

Which leads me to the other reason why I don’t even know if I own a Deadpool shirt…not only do I not have a great short-term memory, but I’m so disorganized and my clothes are such a mess (and okay, yes, I own so much) that it’s not at all unusual for me to forget and/or lose items of clothing.

Unfortunately, losing things like this drive me nuts, which is silly because I do it all the time.  I even have recurring dreams about discovering clothes I didn’t know I own (which I guess can be interpreted literally and symbolically about finding untapped potential, etc. etc….) And there can be an upside to losing clothes to the mysterious depths of my closets and clothes piles. It can be a wonderful surprise to find something that I had given up on as forever lost, or better yet, didn’t even remember I owned.

Perhaps my memory deficiencies even developed naturally because I used to go shopping with my mom to pick out my birthday and Christmas presents, but by the time I opened them, I had forgotten what I had picked out so it was all new and surprising to me (so see, this isn’t just because of age and alcohol). It was the best of both worlds…I got the joy of shopping and getting just what I wanted AND being surprised. (Yes, Chad still thinks this is sad).

I don’t just forget what clothes I own. This morning I uncovered a dog jacket that still had the tag on it that was just perfect for Olive. Yay!

So I’m trying to accept that being disorganized and losing clothes and having a terrible short term memory is just me. I’m sure I could change if I put enough effort into it, but I’m choosing to embrace these Amy characteristics.

Okay, that will work for the mysterious Deadpool shirt. However, I think one of the greatest unsolved mysterious of my life will remain “Whatever happened to theCurrent hoodie that I lost in 2014?” I hope whatever it’s fate, it’s had a good and useful life.

But on my deathbed, instead of uttering “rosebud” I’ll probably mutter “hoodie.” Okay, who am I kidding…I probably won’t have a deathbed. I’ll be lying at the foot of the stairs clutching a bottle of wine muttering “F&*king cat.”