positivity – Page 5 – Britt Skrabanek

We love, therefore we are.

There have been a lot of emotions burning today, running wild like a forest fire in a vicious drought.

When tragedies happen, we curl our hands into fists as we feel so hard even though we are helpless. And we often don’t know what to do with ourselves.

It is times like these when we must remember to keep our hearts open. Just love, because it is the most important thing we can ever do. If we keep doing this, we win – even when all seems lost.

Stop the anger. Go with the love.

We love, therefore we are.

Stop Farting Around

Dishes and math. Yes, these are the two things I would gladly excommunicate from my life.

For someone who loves cleaning, the endless task of dishes was, and forever shall remain, an endless pain in the ass.

I know you can sympathize.

You scan the crusty plates and silverware in a loathing manner, sizing them up yet internally pleading: “Why, why are you back in my life again, you uninvited stinkers?”

You give yourself a pep talk, pumping yourself up for the mundane. You finally do the dirty and a little while later – Damn! There’s another foul-scented bastard vying for your attention.

And, math.

I’ve never been a fan of that vindictive subject where a solitary answer – and one answer only – is the right one. If you get super close or even if you make the common mistake, inviting a sense of camaraderie for your bruised psyche, you’re still WRONG.

But, math is useful.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that one before!

I’m kidding. I know it serves a purpose with its haughty digits and conceited logic. I just always preferred words to numbers. They’re so much lovelier.

My dad always used to say two infuriating things to me about procrastination.

1) “With all that energy you used up, you could’ve done it already.”

Let’s just say I had a flair for the dramatic when I was younger. I was a good kid, but I raised hell when I didn’t get my way. And, if you think a little girl bawling and rolling around on the floor in agony works on a single dad…you’re sadly mistaken.

The damn sham didn’t work.

So, then I came back with the classic argument: “But, I don’t wanna.”

And, that brings us to…

2) “Come on, it builds character.”

After saying this, my dad went about his usual business. Then I would scribble math problems so ferociously on that lined notebook paper, I would break the pencil. I would make a bunch of racket in the kitchen, sighing with gusto, but cringing when I almost broke a dish.

Eventually, the temper tantrum would subside. The task was completed, and all the turmoil was quickly forgotten, like a mediocre joke.

When we’re young, we are told to do things. But as we grow up, we’re pretty much on our own. Sure at work there are managers, superiors, and big shots waltzing the ever-seductive deadline dance.

Yet, there is one time when we govern ourselves…our free time.

We have full reign over this precious time. And, what do we do?

We smother it with other obligations while our dreams stew quietly on the back burner. Swift and graceful, time passes us by and we realize all the things we wanted to do haven’t been done at all.

Dad isn’t keeping me in check with his catchy reprimands. At home, the boss isn’t tapping her feisty heel with her manicured hands on her hips.

Procrastination…she’s a sneaky bitch!

I have heard something consistently over the years, and I suppose it is a compliment. “I don’t know how you do it all.”

My big, dark secret is that I don’t ever feel like I’m doing enough. But, the things I manage to squeeze into the day-to-day grind are the result of passion and determination. I guess Dad and his relentless words of wisdom got in a little.

As most of you know I have a full-time day job, I’m working on my Yoga teaching certification, I do this blog thing, and I write books. Oh yeah, I’m blissfully married too. No rugrats though, just a couple of incorrigible felines.

It would be so much simpler for me to give up my dreams, to tuck my aspirations of writing and teaching for a living far, far away.

It’s not that easy for me to sit down at my computer on week nights and weekends to accomplish my writing goals. It’s not math homework, and it sure as hell ain’t dishes, but I could be doing a lot of other things.

I could spend more time with my loving family, watch bad television for the hell of it, sleep a little more, and lose myself in all the books I want.

Maybe even try that foreign concept…relaxing.

Yep, I could just walk away. But, I wouldn’t be building any character, now would I?

So, how do we deal with that clever minx called procrastination?

We have to reason with a thing called time. We are privileged to be here, to live a life surrounded by possibilities.

We have the power to do anything we want. Anything.

Dad was right.

The energy we’re expelling on the wishing can be channeled into the doing.

In other words stop farting around, get your butt in gear, and go do something awesome.

Spring Cleaning in Five Difficult Steps

A lot of “better living” advice starts flying around this time of year, specifically targeting spring cleaning.

There are a couple of different methods out there.

There’s the popular approach: cleaning behind your fridge, organizing your sock drawer, or scrubbing the floors with a Disney princess toothbrush.

Then, there’s the unpopular approach…you know, life beyond your closet.

By April, New Year’s resolutions have been carelessly swept under the rug. Eat healthy, exercise more, drink less, quit smoking…any of those yours?

Although spring is rather different than that balls-to-the-wall ambition for the new year.

Our desires are more humble, more in tune with nature. The blooming and budding stirs something inside of us – a need to grow with our surroundings and a yearning for fresh simplicity.

We often think that a little scrub-a-dub-dub is all we need for renewal.

While spick and span is fine and dandy, the bigger question is…what else should we be cleaning out of our lives?

MESSY OBLIGATIONS

Does your free time mirror your work life with appointments, checklists, and deadlines? I realize there are errands and social engagements, but do you really need to run around all the freaking time?

Not taking time out for yourself – some uninterrupted me time – is like inviting stress to bed with you. Stress not only ages us, it can slowly kill us.

Mop that shit up! Try squeezing in your errands during the week after work when you’re already in that busy bee mode. Or get up early and knock them out on your weekend, so you can have the rest of your day. Brunch with so-and-so, cocktails with those guys, and hosting dinner parties for a herd of people is fine here and there. There’s no need to go all out all the time. Try something less “see and be seen” like staying in your jammies all day and not brushing your hair.

TOXIC INDIVIDUALS

Speaking of so-and-so’s, what do those relationships really have to offer?

I’m not talking about the wonderful people you can count on no matter what, the ones you trust with your life. You know who these toxic culprits are. To name a few: random acquaintances, oversized social circles, and Negative Nancies.

Yeah, it sounds harsh.

But guess what shouldn’t be taken lightly? Spending time with people that either don’t bring any fulfillment or worse, harm you in some way. Also, they take time away from the people you want/should be around more.

Disinfect that shit! It’s time for the old pros and cons list. Honestly, it’s one of the best ways to stand back and logically examine the so-and-so’s. Once you’ve done that, then you have to deal with your decision. You can either tell them to their face or you can just fade out. The fade out is often easier than you might think, because sorry to tell you, you probably were as equally unimportant in their lives as they were in yours.

CLOGGED ACTIVITIES

Have you been doing something forever, so you just keep on doing it? This can be a hobby or a form of exercise.

Although it’s wonderful to be creative and stay active, make sure you are totally in love with it. Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it.

In fact, this encourages a case of the blahs.

Where’s the challenge when you’ve been there, done that? Where’s the high when something has plateaued?

Ho-hum creative endeavors are not making you a more cultured person. And, lackluster exercise routines are not doing anything wonderful for your body.

Why? Because you’re effing bored.

Pour some drain cleaner down that shit! It’s time to move on. I know it’s hard, especially if you’ve been doing it forever and you feel that in some way it defines you. But, it doesn’t. Take up something new, that something you’ve been secretly wanting to try but haven’t had time for. Who cares if you feel like an idiot? You’re learning and growing. Sometimes we have to look a little goofy.

FILTHY HARASSMENT

Commercials, ads, and email marketing infiltrate our very lives like a team of termites.

This is a consumer-driven world we live in, and unless you go native, you’re gonna have to deal with it.

Yet, there is so much we allow voluntarily.

Do you give cashiers your email address when they ask? Do you sign up for e-mail lists just so you can score a discount?

Bam! You’re being stalked by marketers. And, you asked for it.

Trash that shit! You don’t have to give out your email address to, well…anyone. Leave it blank on the form and decline politely when asked. It’s OK to say no. If you do sign up for the sake of a deal, you can unsubscribe after you’ve used the promo. It’s sneaky, but so are they. That initial coupon is just to butter you up. They’ll be harassing you on a regular basis after that…until the end of time.

CLUTTERED MIND

The previously mentioned life trash dumps stress, negativity, boredom, and irritation on our minds. Our lives are hectic enough as they are, but there is one phenomenal way to tidy up our minds….

Wipe down that shit! Meditate. It works…simple as that. Even if you can only squeeze in 5-10 minutes a day, the effects are long-lasting and spotless.

Hey, I was very up front about these steps not being the easy kind. I’m not Martha Stewart, I’m Britt Skrabanek and I like to dish out the tough love sometimes.

So, put your damn hot pink rubber gloves on and start your spring cleaning!

Sometimes Colored Outside the Lines

I’ve seen it all…the martial artist, the OCD chick, the alcoholic, the dude who liked to throw chalkboard erasers at kids, and the wrinkled old bag who told me not to eat my birthday cake because I needed to lose weight.

Did I mention these are teachers I’ve had?

The cake Nazi was a ballet teacher I once had. Fortunately, I didn’t end up with an eating disorder at eighteen. Unfortunately, my birthday was completely shot to shit.

My lovely friend Letizia over at Reading Interrupted was reminiscing about her first reading of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, fondly describing her rotund teacher stirring her imaginary cauldron for dramatic effect.

During our conversation, she divulged another fun fact about this teacher. She often wore sneakers, which were borrowed from her daughter, with “I love boys” written on them.

Amazing, right?!

This spunky discussion threw me down memory lane, one where the street turned into the chalkboard I stared at for countless years. As I walked along this chalkboard street, I saw them all…the teachers of my past.

By the creaking stop sign I saw the nicotine-perfumed spinster who always got mad at me, because my handwriting was slanted the wrong way; across the potholed street I saw the blonde with the infectious smile who was always patient with us, because she loved it when our light bulbs got bright; on the corner I saw the wise guy with the coffee-stained teeth who always encouraged us to be smarter, because he knew we weren’t children, but adults incognito.

When I glance in the rearview mirror, back on the pencil-scented air and the permanent grass stains on my back pocket, the best teachers stand out…they just do. They thought outside the box of crayons, coaxing us to color the world any way we wanted, to become the people we are today.

Here is a tribute to a few of the ~~crazy~~ best ones I have known…

THE FLYING POOH

Around the time chalkboard erasers were being launched at my head, my first dance teacher had something more creative to throw…a fake piece of pooh.

“Do you know what you all look like right now?” he demanded, his eyes darting wildly, daring someone to answer defensively.

I was the youngest in a class of teens and we all looked at each other, then back at him, remaining silent and dreading the punchline.

He pointed at the fake pooh. “You all look like this.”

Quite magnificently, he leaped as he chucked the pooh across the room. Our mouths hung ajar as it plopped on the floor, underneath the ballet barre.

We tried the choreography again, and we didn’t look like pooh that time.

THE HOMELY GIRL

The first short story I ever wrote was in my sophomore honors English class. Until then my writing had been happily concealed from the public, strewn across my journal which was tucked beneath my lumpy mattress.

But, damn this one English teacher!

He decided to share my story “The Homely Girl” with the entire class, a room full of unforgiving teenagers just dying for something to snicker at. And, snicker they did as he read the first sentence, and he stared until they stopped.

He had menacing brown eyes. He didn’t say anything for several minutes – he didn’t have to.

The room was muted except for the ticking of the clock, one of those chintzy ones that falls behind, making time stall after lunch.

Finally he said, “You’re going to listen to this. This is writing.”

I was mortified. But, hey…a writer was born.

THE BLIND SEER

I had this college professor who made intelligence appear effortlessly savvy, but it wasn’t…because he was blind. A Palestinian refugee who ended up sharing his impeccable insight with all of us bleary-eyed political science students, he taught us to stop looking at the world and instead, to start seeing it.

When we complained about reading, he gently reminded us of his lifelong struggle for education, a colorless world where sounds and scents reigned supreme. Words were not something he could see, but we could.

He also had this amazing way of engaging the class. He learned everybody’s name based on their assigned location in the room. Even the rebel in the back corner wasn’t safe from his mental map.

Since he was the head of the department, I had to check in with him before my last year. I sat across the scarred desk from him in his musty office, ready to enter the real world without an effing clue.

“So, Brittney. Why is your primary focus on conflict management anyway?” he asked, leaning back in his basic chair, his arms crossed for emphasis.

“Uh, I don’t know. I want to work for the UN some day, to save the world I guess,” I stammered lamely.

He sighed. “Yet, I can see you’re not a conflict girl.”

I sat silently, fuming. There I was at the end of my college years, and my professor was telling me I was doing it wrong.

“You can do more with the world without pretending to be a conflict girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

We laughed.

“OK, then.” And I traipsed out of his office, confused but smiling.

I never did anything with my expensive piece of paper, my International Studies degree. But, I did some other things.

I danced most of my life, moving thousands through the art of performance and teaching hundreds the art of movement. I kept scribbling nonsense in my journals, and eventually wrote a couple of books and started this sweet blog. I finally figured out that the world begins to be healed when we heal ourselves, and I became a Yogi.

Teachers can be the pencil sharpeners, spinning minds around and around, bettering those who want to be better. We can be the pencils, writing our stories and never worrying about not having an eraser, for they are perfect just as they are. The world can be the coloring book, sometimes colored outside the lines, but forever lovely and full of possibilities.

What about you, my happy pencils? What are some of your memorable teacher tales?

When there’s no occasion

It was a Thursday in downtown, around 5:22pm. I was tiptoeing through the melting snow, immersed in some gorgeous tune courtesy of my teeny headphones – just another cog in the hustle and bustle machine.

Then, I stopped.

I saw this eyesore nestled against the gallant architecture, a neon sign that said “thank you”. Seagulls sprinkled the vastness above like tasteful glitter – annoying, but somehow lovely.

We give thanks in such a lackluster manner – exchanging money and goods, and sometimes sincere compliments.

When I saw this sign, I thought about how little I say it, and how little I mean it.

So, I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you…when there’s no occasion.

Today I’m not thanking you for buying one of my books, which are thousands of words that may or may not make sense. Today I’m not thanking you for liking one of my blog posts, which are hundreds of words that may or not make sense.

Today I’m thanking you because I am grateful that anyone would take the time to pause…to see a common bird in the endless sky, to see the everyday as something – anything at all.

Thank you for being there.