culture – Britt Skrabanek

The End of A Physical Perspective

Many times I considered giving up on blogging. I always joke around with people that it’s a full-time job, because it kind of is.

If you’re not writing a post, sharing on social, responding to readers, and commenting on other blogs (tired yet?), you’re thinking about your next post and possibly the post after that.

But whenever I think about the “work” that goes into blogging, I think about the “awesome” instead. It’s actually quite easy to do, because there has been a lot of awesome.

Almost three years ago I started this blog, and I am not lying when I say that I had absolutely no freaking clue what I was doing. I knew that it was a big commitment, which is why I shied away from it before and why I refused to take on the responsibility at my job at the time.

I just knew. It’s a lot.

Back then I started a blog because I needed a platform as a writer, especially an Indie Author who nobody would have a chance of hearing about otherwise. I heard phrases like “build a tribe”.

Build a tribe? How in the hell am I supposed to do that? Is anyone ever going to read this crazy shit?

At first, nobody really did. Except for family and friends…thanks, guys. xoxoxo

But then, I started meeting people in the blogging community—people I had never met and had no association with my family or friends who might have forced them to visit. There were some likes, even a few comments, and eventually they shared.

I first came up with the title for this blog, A Physical Perspective, when I felt like I needed some sort of title.

It was thought of on a whim. I remember standing over my dining room table on an evening after work or something and writing it on a notepad.

It’s open to interpretation, which I won’t go into here, but I started thinking recently…who cares?

And, I listened to my people.

It’s very rare when any of you guys even use that name, because you say “Britt’s blog”. So, going into another wild year with this blog, I have ditched my old name.

Many of you were here the other day for Zen’s Life Enthusiast post, and you commented on the new look. Thank you all for your sweet compliments.

I think the space better represents who I am and what I have to say. There’s no need for a fancy blog title that leaves you scratching your head about the meaning.

This is Britt’s blog.

I am a flawed human just like everybody else, and all I do is write nonsense that sometimes makes sense. I am a Life Enthusiast, because I am flawed…and that means I’m alive.

Thank you all for being here. I’m excited to share many more of life’s ridiculously gorgeous moments with you…my tribe.

My Awakening City

I’m a sucker for cities on a weekend morning. With nobody rushing off to work, the restless streets are hushed and vacant.

I started a new Saturday morning tradition.

I drag my ass out of bed, then get dressed in mismatched Yoga clothes. I wander over to the boulangerie right when they open, before the line goes out the door.

I grab a fresh chocolate hazelnut croissant and a latte. Their comforting smells warm me.

This morning I felt inspired to capture my awakening city.

I took the kind of photos I could never take during the day, without people thinking I’m Crazy Stalker Lady.

If any of the local businesses in my neighborhood look at their security cameras, they’ll either think I’m planning a heist or just another starry-eyed tourist.

Let them think what they want. I had to share this beautiful secret.

Sleepy bakers are preparing for the pandemonium, not yet cloaked in flour or sweating beneath their aprons. Though that will all change soon enough.

A couple shares a quiet cup of coffee together, enjoying the empty cafe before they begin their day.

The library on the corner awaits the invasion of eager minds. The chairs sit still, watching over the books as they sleep.

Cutlery echoes from the restaurant opening for brunch. The sandwich board sign is set out, directing crowds inside for hot food and cozy conversation.

The tavern is unusually silent and clean. Liquor bottles rest against one another behind the bar. The old fireplace is cool, but you can still catch a hint of wood in the air.

Slowly, darkness succumbs to morning light. A runner flies past me, more cars ease down the street, and doors swing open to welcome the day.

My city is awake.

Across the Sound

There’s something so awesomely crazy about driving, transporting your car on water, then driving away again. I mean, how often do you get to do that?

Okay, some get to do it often. The people of Seattle sure do.

For the rest of us, it’s kind of a miraculous feeling.

It was a few minutes before 8am last Saturday when me, Mr. H, and our car, Uschi, loaded onto the Edmonds-Kingston ferry in Washington.

We stepped out of the car to stretch our legs and watched the serene world go by through the big windows inside.

I love the inside of ferries, don’t you? They’re always so retro and battered, a great backdrop for some impromptu modeling shots.

I had been on a ferry once, maybe twice before, when I was a pup back in Southern California. But nothing could prepare me for taking a ferry across the Puget Sound on a January morning.

We scurried onto the freezing deck like a couple of kids.

It reminded me of running into the living room on Christmas morning, sneaking around at the crack of dawn so I could check out the pretty presents under the tree before Dad woke up.

Every possible shade of blue, purple, and grey surrounded me. Like I had opened a box of crayons with only a few options.

But I wasn’t disappointed. It was just too beautiful.

Where does the water end? Where does the sky begin? I wanted to cry—my eyes barely knew how to handle visions like this…

Others on the boat were just as hypnotized as we were. Bundled up couples strolled the deck, physically attached to each other in some way, their bodies begging for warmth.

A man who has probably taken this route every single day for years couldn’t resist the temptation to step outside in the biting cold.

To marvel at all of it—the majesty, the simplicity.

Even with all of this power, somehow the Sound was soundless. Here was a welcoming haven from the boisterous world we knew all too well.

The water danced, only because it wanted to. The wind whispered poetry. The birds played it cool.

It was a foreign land, an exquisite secret. Nobody gets to stay here…you can only pass through.

We felt honored to be here, to breathe in this unexpected bliss as we glided across the Sound.

Be Free and Play

It was New Year’s Day, around 8:30am, and Mr. H and I were on the road to Seattle—tired and perhaps a little hungover.

Which is why we brought in 2015 with a 1995 throwback. For the first half of the journey we sang “Boom Boom Boom” by the Outhere Brothers.

Wayo!

It was the first time either of us had gone on a New Year’s Day adventure, because the other years were usually spent chilling around the house. You know…nursing a hangover.

Was this a better way to bring in a new year? You betcha!

The last time we were in Seattle it was summer—bright, sunny, blue skies, shorts, flip-flops—and pretty damn perfect. I also had WAY more hair.

(In case you missed Elegant Attitudes in Seattle.)

This time it was all about grey skies and the kind of biting cold that slices right through your clothes. Chilled to the bone, it’s rare when you don’t have a steaming cup of coffee warming up your sorry ass hands.

Luckily, the coffee in the Pacific Northwest is marvelous. So, it’s not all bad.

I have noticed that Seattle is much like Portland in one interesting way. Somehow these cities become more beautiful when it’s dreary out.

A trip to Pike Place Market took an unexpected turn when I decided it was time to do something I hadn’t done since I was a kid.

Ride a freaking ferris wheel.

I see some of you rolling your eyes right now. The Seattle ferris wheel on the pier is very touristy.

And, it’s also not cheap. I shed a little tear when I realized the admission was the price of a nice lunch.

It wasn’t the picturesque day from last summer. In fact, it started to snow a bit.

But it seemed too perfect to pass up, so I did it.

Taking the cheesy picture right after you hand over your ticket. Freezing your ass off in line but still embarrassingly excited. Stepping into the enclosed cabin and having a mild heart attack when you realize the thing rocks.

Then…lift-off.

Sometimes I fall into the role of travel snob.

I like to experience the world like a local whenever possible. I stay in apartments, avoid paying admissions for things, and wander on my own accord.

But sometimes you have to do the silly stuff too, because the experience is simply good.

As we get older, we move away from the innocence and abandon of being a kid. We need reminders to help us forget the bills and responsibilities, so we can be free and play.

How about you guys…any tourist traps that surprised you by being awesome?

Sensory Deprivation

flotation tank — Infinity Tank at The Float Shoppe

Overstimulation. You, me, we all know it too well.

I’ve always been sensitive to my physical surroundings. I don’t know if it’s the dancer in me, the Yogi in me, or the writer in me that makes me this way.

Bright lights, strong perfume, and big crowds have always been too much. On the other hand, I’ve lived in the city for the past decade or so.

Because this stimulation also provides inspiration. It teaches me about real life and real people. It shows me who I am as a survivor in the midst of all of this activity.

I get infatuated with the chaos. I think we all do in different ways.

How else can you explain why the world is like it is today? With so much chatter in our lives—the rushing, the busyness, the self-indulgence.

Those of you outside of the city, in your peaceful abodes, you participate too.

You’re online. The kingdom of overstimulation.

I started a new job last month—an amazing one. Through it all, more changes and stress were added to an already hectic year I’ve had since uprooting my life and moving across the country.

It had been an entire year since my last massage, back on my birthday of 2013 when I was still in Milwaukee. With the cross-country move came unemployment followed be a low-paying job.

The luxury of a massage was unspeakable. So, my birthday present this year wasn’t hard to pick out.

I was going to treat myself to not only a massage but a flotation tank as well.

Say what?

Floating is pretty popular here in Portland and I’ve been dying to try it. There’s a place right down the street from me, so I made my appointment.

I heard different things from different people. Some said it was like taking hallucinogenic drugs. Some said they were bored and restless, got out of their tanks after squirming for a half hour and left.

The thing that enticed me the most was the miraculous ability to float. I’ve never been able to. I’m an expert swimmer, but I sink like a damn rock.

See those legs up there? Boys in school used to say I had horse legs. And those horse legs ain’t light.

I was skeptical that it would work. But as soon as I laid back, I giggled as my body rose to the top of the heavily Epsom salted water.

The water is kept at skin temperature so that the body is comfortably cocooned. You want to float naked to avoid any swimsuit hassles. (Carrie Rubin, I know this sounds like an introvert’s biggest nightmare.)

Being the claustrophobic gal that I am, I chose the open tank where the room is quaint and steamy. Turning off the light is optional by the push of a white button attached to the tank.

There is no music and the room—or enclosed tank pod if you go that route—is soundproofed. Earplugs are provided so you can connect with the cadence of your heartbeat and breath.

Like many others, I spent the first half hour of the 90-minute session getting situated, my mind racing about the domestic tasks I should have been completing that Sunday instead of “wasting” my day at the spa.

Naturally there were some awkward moments, like earplug mishaps and salt in the eyes.

I was reluctant to turn off the light, because when you do…it’s pitch effing black. Seriously, you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to push that button to become fully immersed in the sensory deprivation experience that I was paying for.

When I was thrown into absolute darkness, I was reminded of a time Mr. H and I were in a cave in Texas, just outside of Austin. Part of the tour has a very special treat for us claustrophobic types.

Once deep inside, the lights are shut off. Darkness encompasses everything—your body and your mind.

A tingling on my neck, face, and shoulders caused me to splash/flail into an upright position in my flotation tank. I punched the button to turn on the light and my eyes darted around the room, searching for the Boogie Man.

Cut me some slack. I was a die-hard believer in the Closet Monster well into my teen years.

But, it was just me. It turns out I had surrendered to a state of complete relaxation.

So, I tried again. I turned off the light and to comfort myself, I covered my belly with my hands to feel the rise and fall of my own breath.

I don’t really have a way to describe what happened next, because I don’t remember. I was in the zone of weightlessness—perhaps I dozed off for a bit.

All I know is that I reconnected with myself in an entirely new way. What was complicated became simple. What was stressful became serene. What was loud became hushed.

This sense of calm stayed with me throughout the week, and my sleep was on a whole other level. I tried something new, something a little kooky and scary, and I took myself to a place we adults don’t like to visit.

Vulnerable territory, where our only duties are to be naked, quiet, and still.

Will I ever float again? You bet your ass.