I stand on a precipice/ I struggle to keep my balance/ I open myself/ I open myself/ One stitch at a time

First, read this. It is required pre-reading before this piece; or at least pre-skimming.

Setting aside the obvious (I’m not even sure I’m an athlete, and I’m definitely not an elite one), this piece spoke to me so much. When I first read it, I felt like someone was describing what I went through with my trampoline backdrops. Backdrops are just what they sound like, jump up, lean back, land on your back and protect your neck; keep bouncing up and down on your back in continuous backdrops, bounce back to your feet, or use it to bounce into another trick.

They are basic, they are easy; even for me, they were easy. I took to backdrops easily. I quickly used them for other skills. Then, one day, with no warning, they terrified me. I would bounce up and down forever, unable to lean back, break the angle, and land. I could still do perfect bullet drops off the trapeze, but on the trampoline I’d stall and panic. My coach, Thomas, spent hours with me on them, essentially going through all the steps outline in that piece. Now, I do backdrops again without a spot, but fear still lurks.

Moreover, I still block. I block in static trapeze on doing cradles in the ropes. Essentially, from standing on the trapeze, you grasp the ropes the trapeze hangs from, one in each hand. You pull yourself up into a ball, invent so your butt is above your head, extend your legs out straight and tag the ropes for extra support, and then finish by arching your back. It’s a very stable position.

Again, this is a basic move. I do it in hands (rather than hanging by the ropes, Drew does essentially a knee hang, and then I hang from his hands and tag his arms), I do it hanging on the bar without any fear ever. I’m cleared to do it without a spot. I’m cleared to do harder, more complex, more dynamic moves without a spot. Yes, it is a high move. Anymore I’m probably about 12’ above the ground when I complete the move. However, even when my coach William would lower the bar to just barely above the ground it scared me.

I’m getting through it, though. It used to be that we’d do a mount where Drew boosts me up to the bar, and then I’d stand on the bar with my hands gripping the ropes, and just freeze, telling myself I’d go when the flying instructor (classes run concurrently) said “hep” to the student they’re working with, but then not. William would eventually say “you’ve got this, Jenn,” and then I’d dutifully start the move (because you’ll do things for your coaches you can’t do for yourself). Now, I can start without that verbal push. I’m working less on doing the move, and more on not being afraid to do the move; it’s not scary once I start, I know it’s not scary. As it gets less scary, a new move takes its place as the source of aerial fear. I’ll always be facing demons and climbing these fear mountains as long as I do aerial.

When I talk about my fears and how that’s part of aerial for me, people always ask if it’s working, if I’m getting less afraid, if it’s worth it, if I’m able to apply this work on fears to other aspects of my life (as though it isn’t worth it if it only applies to trapeze). On the one hand, my life has improved immeasurably because of trapeze. Of course it’s worth it.

But on the other hand, even if it hadn’t, even if all of this was confined to the world of trapeze, it would still be worth it. Working on these fears, working through blocking, has shown me a fundamental truth about myself: I am someone who faces these demons and climbs these mountains; it’s part of who I am.

I grip and she grips,/ And faster, we're sliding./ Sliding and spilling, and what can I do?

So, book 700. This isn't exactly a milestone, exactly. That won't really happen till 750 in about six months. Though, this may be the first time I'm celebrating a milestone, albeit a small one, at the right point.

It's hard to believe I'm this close to being 3/4ths of the way through this project. I should feel more celebratory than I do. I mostly just feel strange (that may not be the fault of the list project, though).

In some ways, the most dominant thing about this project is how very long it's been going on at this point. It's seen me through so many changes, so many different eras of my life. It's been the one constant through upheaval and change. Anymore I often wish that I was just done with this, but sometimes the thought of being done almost makes me sad.

I've been thinking a lot lately about change and moving on, how you know when to do it, how you do it at all, and I'm sure that's coloring my thinking significantly. Normally I'd just be excited to still be making progress.

Just the typical facts of a typical life in a town on the Eastern Shore/ I thought about what I wanted/ It wasn't like that at all/ Made Carolann a cute baby sweater/ Thinking "I can do better than that"

Addendum to my last post:

Drew read it and told me that I should not count those two books toward my reading goal for this year, since I didn't read them this year. Technicalities, people. I pointed him to the line about how I get to make the rules for this project.

However, I actually did read two more books in June, so I guess I got to 50 whichever way you want to slice it. Now to get organized again and get to that 700 goal.

We build a treehouse,/ I keep it from shaking--/ Little more glue ev'ry time that it breaks/ Perfectly balanced,/ And then I start making/Conscious, deliberate mistakes.

Unbelievably enough (no, seriously, I really don't believe it), I am caught up! I am ahead! I've read more than 50 list books this year so far and June is NOT YET OVER! Let's all pause for a moment and let that sink in.

I don't really know how I turned this around; I got more organized which made things easier (reading is almost easier than dealing with getting the books, so streamlining things helps a lot). I also read some really, really short books. Still, given how far behind I was, it's kind of amazing.

I suppose one key point that I should acknowledge is that I'm counting two books that I had read a long time ago (like, 1984, which I read ages ago) and had failed to log. So one could argue that I didn't actually catch up; additionally, many, many of my milestones have been noted incorrectly (e.g. the book I thought was the 500th was actually the 501st, so go figure).

Fortunately, since I make the rules for this little project, I get to not really care at all. I am incredibly untroubled by the incorrectness of those milestone celebrations and I am more than happy to count those two books for this year.

At a more macro scale, I'm at 689 books for the project. I really, really want to cross that 700 threshold. I'm most excited for crossing 750 and being in that final 25% of the project, but I feel like 700 will also feel like a tipping point.

I guess I can't believe you really came/ And that we're sitting on this pier/ See, I'm smiling/ That means I'm happy that you're here

Recently I did the conditioning test at the rig (still conflicted about things, but doing that test on that particular day made me feel strong and triumphant, so I'll take it). I wouldn't say that it was anti-climatic exactly, but at the same time as I've written before, getting to pull-ups felt like something that just suddenly happened.

In some ways, getting stronger is very nice. I like feeling strong. I like doing pull-ups. I like being able to do pull-ups. I like being able (well, less unable) to base someone doing back balance in static trapeze. I like feeling strong and brave and being able to cradle in the ropes up high (for me) and being able to finally, finally fly shoulder stand and feel calm and controlled and strong (hahaha, it doesn't really take strength). I like the confidence that comes with being stronger than I need to be for things that used to be hard. I like how I feel safer attempting static now.

And yet.....

I also recently went to the doctor; I make it a point to never weigh myself. It's not good for my mental health, and I really try to just focus on having a healthy relationship with food and exercise and my body, and that's enough, thank you very much. So I hadn't known my weight in a year. And I weigh about 3lbs more than last year.

Optimally, it would be great for that to not matter. Objectively, it shouldn't. Knowing what I know about muscle density versus fat and how much muscle I likely gained given the training regime I've been doing for the past five months and the strength gains I've seen, I know that I've likely lost around 5-7lbs of fat and weighing more is actually progress to being fitter.

And yet.....

I'll probably never feel that way about weighing more. I was going to write "and maybe that's okay," but I don't know, I guess maybe it is and maybe it isn't, and meanwhile I'm just trying to focus on the positive. I am stronger and braver and maybe for now that's enough.

I could never rescue you/ All you ever wanted/ But I could never rescue you/ No matter how I tried

Since I've not been reading as much as I should lately (#storyof2015 #failingatlife), here's a some random thoughts on another topic.

First, I should preface this story by explaining that my brother Josh and I are not time travelers from the future post-zombie apocalypse world, nor did we grow up in a survivalist cult. I really can't explain why we both have this same quirk.

But, for whatever reason, Josh and I both take an oddly post-apocalyptic/under siege approach to our daily lives (Josh collects machetes). This worked well when we lived together, since my apartment is made for this kind of thing. My father describes it as favela chic, and passersby tend to assume the place is abandoned (it's also dirt cheap, huge, and in an amazing DC neighborhood that lets me walk to work).

While living together, Josh put up tinfoil covered cardboard pieces to block out the sun using dowels, we made a similar contraption to block an odd crawl space off, cut up old shirts to use as dishrags (and stock-piled these shirts, I know other people do this but we took it to a new level), attempted to use only the clean trashbags that our laundry came back in and not buy any, had minimal furniture, and made makeshift plumbing fixtures to address some (serious?) issues there. Duct tape is our friend.

Now, I live with Drew, and I'm coming to realize that Josh and I may not be normal. Whenever Drew wants to call a plumber (for chronic issues I barely notice anymore), my first reaction is to see what Josh thinks. This is because I know he'll back me up. Our motto was "never let a stranger or casual acquaintance or friend in the apartment." Drew, being less off kilter, has probably stopped trusting either of us on this sort of thing.

Part of it, for me, is that I'm fascinated by how we adapt and can come to see anything as normal. For example, after one year with my iPhone the internet stopped working unless I was on wifi, though I have a data plan. However, if I make a call out it will briefly let me access the internet. So, I just make calls out all the time (to 611, not to real people), and I've been doing that for a year and a half, the majority of the time I've owned the phone. I've stopped noticing that I do that. Isn't that amazing? At first it was so annoying! Now it's still annoying, but I've come to almost believe that's what it takes to get online with your phone. Whenever I get a new phone, I'll spend the first few months making unnecessary calls out and feeling amazed. Then, I'll get totally used to it. Brains are so weird

Now, Josh and I aren't exactly the same. He would not put up with this phone thing for this long, I don't think, and I'm not living in a supply closet on a futon on the ground. However, a similar instinct/preference runs through us. Combined with my affinity for art deco, this led to a really odd apartment when we lived together.

No one can give you courage/ No one can thicken your skin

Some mistakes are more forgivable than others, I suppose, and in the scheme of things, this is a minor one. But, anyway, I read my 666th list book. I was planning to be deliberate and intentional with this one, to pick something befitting of being the book of the beast, as it were.

But, instead, I just forgot all about that and read Diary of a Nobody for it, which in no way fits with book of the beast. It's also pretty boring, not really all that fun, and I'd say largely skip-able, unless you're into satirical novels of the late 19th century.

It's particularly irritating to me that I did this, since I'd actually been on a cult kick lately, similar to that one time where I read about 10 books about murder all in a row, except this time it's randomly a whole bunch of books about cults in various forms (Drop City, She, Super-Cannes, The Plumed Serpent, among others; it actually started to get weird, since I didn't set out to do this as a theme or anything; of these, I highly recommend Super-Cannes). Really, any of those would have been a better choice than Diary of a Nobody.

In other news, I've read 31 books this year and I AM FREAKING OUT. I mean, it's not totally and completely impossible that I'd get to 50 in the next seven weeks, but I think that we can all agree that it's pretty unlikely. GAH.

So goodbye until tomorrow/ Goodbye until my feet touch the floor/ And I will be waiting/ I will be waiting

DCPL Card Privilege Expires in 30 Days

Thus, ominously, read the email subject line. My first reaction, quite naturally, was to sort of panic a bit. What could I have possibly done to lose DCPL library privileges? Was this about the time I took advantage of their new "we don't fine you till your books are 30 days overdue" policy and kept a book nearly three weeks late? Surely not, though. That's their own policy after all. Or about the various times where I put a book on hold but just failed to make it to the library on time for it? Yes, that's obnoxious of me, but this, without warning, seems too extreme.

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to open it. "Our records indicate that your DC library card will expire in 30 days. Library card accounts expire every three years. To re-activate or renew your account simply visit any of the library's 26 locations and present picture ID and an official document with your current address such as a bill, lease, bank statement, or a driver's license (which would cover both picture and address requirements)."

All right, fine, that's not so bad. Still, it's annoying. Still, let's put it off for several weeks.

Over the course of those weeks, I began to dread the encounter. Of course my ID doesn't have my current address, so I had to find a utilities bill. But what if they reject it? To be safe, I brought a utilities bill, bank statement, and letter from my landlord with my address (rent adjustment notification).

As Drew can attest, I whined the whole walk to the library. Why? Why must I go through this? What if they reject all of my forms of ID? What will I do then???

 And then, I'll have to deal with the librarian! I always use the self-checkout. What if they yell at me for not updating my address in their system (which means that every time I put books on hold I have to change the default library to the one closer to my current location, yes I know that I could have changed it JUST ONCE rather than dealing with this hassle on the regular, no, I don't know what's wrong with me).

Finally, I go into the library, hand the librarian my card, ID, and utility bill, takes less than 5min. So anti-climatic.

ALSO! I definitely have had the library card for more than three years; nearly six, in fact, but not exactly, so what gives, DCPL?

All I could do was love you hard/ And let you go

It's time to celebrate! I finished Dance to the Music of Time. That's a very, very long book. The second longest on the list, in fact, clocking in at some 2944 pages. Google helpfully told me that the average book has ~250-300 words per page. Low-balling, that means I read about 736,000 words. Yowza. What strikes me as grossly unfair is that this tome is really 12 novels, or at the very least four (12 novellas clumped together in four novels). But does the list count it that way? Oh, no. Of course not. It counts it as just one.

So, how was it? Long, that's really the first word that comes to mind. Fortunately, it is highly readable and quite enjoyable. I wouldn't recommend binge reading it like I did, but I would recommend reading it, maybe slowly as you would a series of four novels and not as one novel that you just have to get through so your stats don't suffer anymore, dammit. If I have one critique, it's the absence of any really interesting female characters (yes, there is Pamela and yes, she is fun in a Carmen Sternwood way, but it take her forever to appear). However, if I were to make that a disqualifier I wouldn't read the majority of these books, so.....

Unlike In Search of Lost Time, I don't feel a strong need for a reward here (I'd link to my pieces on that tome, but I'm waaaaaay too lazy for that kind of digging), perhaps because it was a fun one. Though, I may be in Georgetown soon and I am a sucker for Baked and Wired cupcakes, and I say this as someone who isn't really a fan of cake. I want to marry these cupcakes and have their babies.

I swear to God I'll never understand/ How you can stand there straight and tall/ And see I'm crying/ And not do anything at all

The other day Drew and I were talking about what attracts us to static, and I mentioned that one aspect that I enjoy is working through really painful moves, gradually killing nerve endings, gradually building up the tolerance, etc. Apparently, Drew not only doesn't feel the same way, he also thinks that this may make me qualify as a masochist.

It's sort of similar to what I love about flying; I'm pretty sure that I don't love flying trapeze in spite of my serious fear of heights. I'm pretty sure that I love it, at least in part, because of my fear and the high I get from working on that fear (and the lows that I get, let's not kid ourselves). I realize this isn't normal, and maybe I am a masochist.

I've since been trying to think through what I do get out of these two sides of the same coin, playing with fear and playing with pain. I think it's several things:

First, fear and pain are limiting factors. Working this way helps me expand the world that feels safe. I have many irrational, childish fears (fire, I'm looking at you; also, phone calls). If I didn't work on them, the world would actually be scarier. I get to be in control when I make it intentional, and if there's one thing I love in life, it's control.

Second, I get to seem totally crazy. I'm not sure why I like giving the impression to folks that I have a weird relationship with fear and pain, but if I'm being honest, I do like watching people's reactions.

Third, when your hobbies are this scary and this painful, it really does make regular life seem great. You don't know how amazing your feet feel by default until you stop trying to do a toe hang, you really don't. There is just a pure endorphin factor here.

Fourth, I have a greater fear than heights, and that is stasis. I'm terrified to stop learning, growing, striving, trying. Life has to be a constant challenge, even to the point where I have to be constantly in battle with myself.