IndiGlow - The Ordinary Illuminated

IndiGlow - The Ordinary Illuminated

Breadcrumbs and the Big Spinning Universe, Leading us to our Love

Monday, February 02, 2015


One Spring Monday, while teaching in New Hampshire, I asked my students what they had done over the break.  One student, a mop-haired kid with big, brown eyes and Muppet eye-brows, said he had gone home to Geneva.  


I didn't want to look stupid; teenagers already think their professors are stupid, but I thought he had gone to Switzerland.  That is how little I knew of Illinois, my current home state.


That mop-haired student was just one breadcrumb on the path that lead me to my husband.


I've been teaching (and dating) a long time.  I've seen many students go on dates.  I've seen them at faux study lessons.  I've seen same-gender couples embrace their identities and each others' hands.  I had a couple in my classroom get pregnant and subsequently confide in me their decision to terminate that pregnancy.  Not all dates end up the way you envision.   


Recently, a current student of mine told me about the Dating Rituals of the 21st Century Teenager, which includes following the Twitter account of the person you find attractive.  Not coffee, a movie, or a date at Lagomarcino's. (Ask me on a date and this is where we are going).  Nevertheless, apparently, if you find a person attractive, you go home and "like" the person's Twitter feed.  If they "like" your feed in return, then you move toward step two.  I can't say I get it. 


What I do get, what I do know is you have to get out there because the path has already been set.   


Breadcrumb 1:  My husband's first girlfriend was a petite red-head.  


Breadcrumb 2:  While I was growing up in Louisiana, and he was growing up in Illinois, we applied to the same colleges, and we didn't even have the same majors. 


Breadcrumb 3: While living in Atlanta I dated a guy from Minnesota, who grew up in Shaumberg, Illinois, and graduated from Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois.  


Breadcrumb 4:  Sometimes, on weekends, when my friends and I wanted to get out of Atlanta, we would drive up to Chattanooga, Tennessee, which was maybe a 90 minute drive.  Turns out my husband, whom I haven't met yet, is from Illinois, will know where Augustana is, and lives in Chattanooga.


I remember after he and I had been dating a while, I told him I would drive by his work on those weekend get-aways.  (He's practical and says to me it's a well-traveled thoroughfare), but really.....there's lots of well-traveled thoroughfares and I could have just as easily gone in any other direction for a get-away.  I drove past your work, dude.  I could have had a flat and needed to borrow your phone or your jack.  


It was already in the path.  We were traveling the same roads.


What I want you to believe, you of the Lonely Hearts Club, you that keeps trying and dating and changing your Facebook status, is that that person is out there traveling, living his or her life, creating experiences and leaving bread crumbs that will lead the two of you together.  Some of those breadcrumbs will be stale. Pigeons would be smart to kick them to the gutter.  That's okay.  You have to get out there.


The day before I met my husband, I did some extraordinary things.  I did them for myself.  I promise you those events, those experiences, which included a rock band's tour bus and a catwalk, created the person I was, the spirit I put forth on our first date.  


Do crazy things.  Not YOLO, but crazy things that make you uncomfortable, that make you a fuller human being, that create a grand spinning universe full of breadcrumbs, which sounds messy, but you get me.


I don't know about this 21st Century dating trend; I think you should go on dates, good dates, bad dates. I think you should talk in real time. I think you need to shake hands.  You need to ask about his mother and you need to ask about her father.  I asked my husband three questions on our first date.  I didn't need the answer.  I needed to hear the emotion behind the answer.


Ask questions.  Listen.  Look around.  The bread crumbs are there.  





 

Be Kind, Guest Editor Michelle Ladwig

Monday, June 02, 2014
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
                                               - Plato

I work in an environment where I see the same people at the same time every day.  It is the life of a teacher.  For 16 weeks at a time we, college professors and students alike, move like clockwork, quite consistent in our where and when.  All together we consist of about 2,000 worker bees with many queen bees holding down one ever-buzzing hive.  


Because of this time-aligned movement, I see people through seasons, through colds and sniffles, through accomplishments, mild injuries, really anything the average human can get themself into.  At the beginning of the year I ran into a young man as I was exchanging classrooms with a colleague. This young man is tall as a wildflower, thin as a rail, and has a soft and effeminate voice. 


During this 2 minute classroom exchange with limited dialogue, I watched and listened as my colleague (with more clout that I have) refer to this young man as a female.    


My heart was broken.  My eyes went from my colleague to the kid and back again.  I tried to gently interject and correct.  His expression was one of dejection and sad acceptance, like a puppy accepting his corner of the den.  Everything about my colleague was bluster and position.          


I was angry.  I couldn't call out my colleague, and I really just wanted to hug that poor kid who didn't have to seem the voice to correct him.  I guess what really bugged me is that my colleague had so much ego he couldn't get out of his own way to recognize the delicacies of another human being.        


But really, are we any more superior?  Don’t we make judgments daily?  Think about our average grocery store. There’s the fat lady with a buggy filled with poor choices; the teenager with tattoos and gauges; the dad using his food-stamps, holding up the line.  


I do.  You know you do.

      

But, the more I think about it, my colleague didn't pass judgment.  That isn't the case.  He didn't think, I’m guessing, oh, what a homely girl or some such.  He made an assumption and that isn't the same as judgment. Right?  Please someone explain this to me.

     

He assumed that kid was one thing because he didn't look a certain way.  He didn't ask questions. He didn't take the time to know each singular person in the classroom.  He just barreled through them, focusing on his agenda.       


Speaking of the dad in the grocery line, this happened to me.  Dad was trying to pay for his groceries with his food stamps.  It was taking a while.  I leaned in and chatted with his toddler girl about colors and the shapes of balloons.  The clerk apologized for the wait.  The dad apologized for the wait, but really I felt he was apologizing for being poor.  I don’t care if you’re poor.  I don’t care if you are overweight and like Little Debbie’s.      


I certainly don’t care if you want to dress outside the social construct of your gender.   Our kid has now begun cross-dressing.   And it isn't dressing for attention.  He isn't dressing in drag.  I had a kid in my high school class who dressed in drag: all kinds of wrong gathered from Grandma’s and Goodwill.    

This kid is dressed like a stylish teenage girl.

      

If I didn't know him before, I would sincerely think she is the tallest girl I have ever seen. And the prettiest. Quite pretty.  Lovely mid-west, corn silk blonde hair, blue eyes, and thin lips like a pulled bow.

I don’t know what’s in her head.  I am not in a position to ask.  My only option is to open doors when we cross paths, which happens twice a week at 10:20, and smile.  I hope my smile is thing that keeps her alive and happy and healthy and positive.  I hope a smile walks her to her future.

I love that kid with no name.  She is everyone I ever walked past.

The Truth is in the Choice, Guest Editor Michelle Ladwig

Thursday, May 01, 2014

 

Sometimes I think it’s funny that both of my professions, both of my creative loves, involve precision, creativity, attempts and failures, and no-holds-barred shoot outs with my nemesis.  The difference is here:  In academia, the nemesis is the editor.  In yoga, the nemesis is the self.


When I go to school, I dress appropriately:  slacks or skirt, blouse (no cleavage), suitably heeled shoes (no toe cleavage), proper under garments; i.e. things are covered.  I carry a bag filled with books, red-inked papers, pencils, pens, and “Good Job Stickers.”  When I head out to the studio, I carry a bag filled with a mat, a towel, water, one MP3 player, hairbands, pose-driven choreography in my head, and ambition.  When I slack off the outer garments of propriety, I am in barely anything:  a sports bra and hot shorts.


I teach and practice in the tradition of hot yoga.  We keep the room at a lovely 105 degrees.  (If you were from the south like I am, you’d agree 105 degrees ain’t nothing).  The tradition beyond the temperature is in the wall-to-wall sheet of truth staring me down.  We like mirrors!


Truth: once in a while I look in the mirror and think I should cover up. I am too old to bare my belly; too old to wear hot pants. Too old.  And here, right here, is where I not only question my wardrobe, I question where did that come from!


Mother Nature and I have been at it for about a year now.  If you are unsure, let me tell you, shit happens and it happens at glacial speed.   My mother said that one day my skinny body and my metabolism would go to pot.  Well, I haven’t gone to pot.  I’m still doing worlds better than my high school peers, but man, things are a-changing.


Now, all kinds of chicks and dudes come to hot yoga.  All bodies, all ages.  Tall boys, full-figured gals, double sport bra ta-tas, shaved legs, unshaved legs, fitness fanatics and chill lotus flowers.  Here’s the thing:  I don’t care how you look or if you shave your legs.  That’s your body and it’s a beautiful thing.    I have never once noticed if you gained weight.  I do notice when your tricep heads start defining, or your delts get sculpted, or when you finally master THAT pose.


But, when I look at my body in the big ole’ horizon of mirror, I notice things.  And, here, I am tempted to create the laundry list of ughs and wtfs, but that would be counter-productive.
I don’t like it, but what am I going to do?  Diet?  I hate grapefruit.  Run til I drop?  Hurts my everything.  No, I am going to yoga.


I am going to look in the mirror and study the body I have earned.  Positive Laundry List: I like the shape of my lips and the color of my eyes, and my curly red, Moppet hair.  I have strong core muscles, arms and back muscles that allow me into hand stands and arm balance work.  I have two healthy breasts, a hale libido, toes that point, feet that flex, and a body willing to go where the heart goes.

And my heart wants to swing from aerial hoops and silks, fly in AcroYoga with my friends and my husband, go for bike rides above water puddles and below apple blossoms, and I want to paddle the Mississippi on a SUP board.  If the nemesis is the self, then the heart is the child with no caution, only wild abandon.  I am choosing to turn that voice off.  I am choosing this body.


"Buildings and bridges are made to bend...

Tuesday, January 29, 2013
in the wind, to withstand the world that's what it takes.
All that steel and stone
is no match for the air, my friend
what doesn't bend breaks
what doesn't bend breaks...."

Ok, so you might not call it "current," but I still love this Ani DiFranco song from her 1994 album, "Out of Range."  You can listen to the rest of it here on YouTube, but I wish there was a good live performance to share.

What I love about this Righteous Babe is that she's been a champion of speaking her truth.  She's challenged conformity and embraced who she is.  Much of her music is political, but my favorite tunes are the personal songs that pull at my soul and push me to really look at those feelings.  She doesn't hide or shirk or become a prisoner to forum.  And now...she's a mommy, like me.  Suddenly she's all the more relatable.  

I needed to hear her song today...to remind myself that even the strongest & tallest structures are made to bend in the wind.  To withstand the world it really is what it takes.

Peace,
IndigoGrrl

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