So not only is ‘Sad Heart of Mine’ now fully a part of my morning routine, I've actually started queuing an emotionally-poignant-life-moment using this song with cresting the Ironworker’s Bridge on the mornings where I'm driving to work.
Above the still water of the Fraser river, opening out to the Salish Sea. Vancouver up in lights, still sparking in the near dawn morning. Mist and clouds shrouding the north shore mountains as I approach, all in concert with the music's slow building, ecstatic crescendo.
I'm completely manufacturing this scripted event, but my god, it still makes me feel awesome and so grateful for life.
The context for this next story is that Arno's had some weight issues, namely putting it on and consistently gaining. It mostly has to do with his picky eating, but it's totally flipped from "normal" picky eating. This kid will toss bread and cream cheese to just eat the cucumber on top. He's skeptical of chow mein, but will happily scarf all the bean sprouts. The only food category he will pretty consistently eat lots of are fruits. (Contrary to much of what seems to be out there on the blogosphere, fruit is NOT weight gain food.) The nutritional nerd in me is very stoked about all this; the Dad in me that just wants to keep my kid on the weight gain train is pretty frustrated. (This is just his weight measure, in all other areas Arno is a super happy healthy kid.)
So at a recent doctor's visit for our little one, my doctor made the observation that "Maybe he's just gonna be tall and thin like his Dad!" I had lots of thoughts and feels in that moment, and so like I usually do, I just said nothing. Now that I've had time to think about it, I think what I found a little upsetting was the implication that the body type I have now is somehow "just how I am." Like it's just genes or something. (Digression: There's a philosophical argument to be had here about whether whatever you happen to be in this moment, really is who you are. I'm gonna not do that.)
What I want to say now is that my "genes" had me at +230lbs. The 175 that I happen to be now? I MADE THIS. This isn't just "how I am", I did this to me, on purpose and I maintain it, on purpose. I guess at the root of this is the implication that your body type is static. I am proof that is categorically wrong and I think sometimes this perception makes people feel more hopeless about themselves than they might otherwise be.
Then again, whatever my genes are, I am 175 today though my own decisions and actions, so maybe at the end of the day this really is just who I am… Damn you, philosophical musings. I just can't quit you.
Speaking of musings:
I came to a realization recently about an old bit of trivia about myself. (I swore that I've blogged about this before, but I can't seem to find that entry...)
So the story goes that before I was born, my parents' short list of names for me were Preston, Austin and Ashley. Austin won, obviously, and I am eternally grateful that I was never cursed with Preston.... but there was a significant part of my life that I wished that I had been named Ashley instead. I never went so far as to like ask that people call me it, or use it instead of Austin in any real space, even at the time I knew that that was a little silly. What attracted me to Ashley was that the name is a little more gender ambiguous and I liked that a lot about it. I still do.
I've also been making some new friends, some out of old friends, that I'm really really happy about. I love getting to know people and connecting. I love real talk. I hate small talk. I seems like I'm coming to newly appreciate the central importance of this kind of connection in my life.
The natural flow of conversation seems to be ice Breaker - small talk - big talk. For me it seems to be ice breaker - big talk - small talk. If I care about the small talk, then it means that you’re pretty important. I don’t know if this is actually true, but it feels true. That sure fits with the theme of this entry.
Above the still water of the Fraser river, opening out to the Salish Sea. Vancouver up in lights, still sparking in the near dawn morning. Mist and clouds shrouding the north shore mountains as I approach, all in concert with the music's slow building, ecstatic crescendo.
I'm completely manufacturing this scripted event, but my god, it still makes me feel awesome and so grateful for life.
The context for this next story is that Arno's had some weight issues, namely putting it on and consistently gaining. It mostly has to do with his picky eating, but it's totally flipped from "normal" picky eating. This kid will toss bread and cream cheese to just eat the cucumber on top. He's skeptical of chow mein, but will happily scarf all the bean sprouts. The only food category he will pretty consistently eat lots of are fruits. (Contrary to much of what seems to be out there on the blogosphere, fruit is NOT weight gain food.) The nutritional nerd in me is very stoked about all this; the Dad in me that just wants to keep my kid on the weight gain train is pretty frustrated. (This is just his weight measure, in all other areas Arno is a super happy healthy kid.)
So at a recent doctor's visit for our little one, my doctor made the observation that "Maybe he's just gonna be tall and thin like his Dad!" I had lots of thoughts and feels in that moment, and so like I usually do, I just said nothing. Now that I've had time to think about it, I think what I found a little upsetting was the implication that the body type I have now is somehow "just how I am." Like it's just genes or something. (Digression: There's a philosophical argument to be had here about whether whatever you happen to be in this moment, really is who you are. I'm gonna not do that.)
What I want to say now is that my "genes" had me at +230lbs. The 175 that I happen to be now? I MADE THIS. This isn't just "how I am", I did this to me, on purpose and I maintain it, on purpose. I guess at the root of this is the implication that your body type is static. I am proof that is categorically wrong and I think sometimes this perception makes people feel more hopeless about themselves than they might otherwise be.
Then again, whatever my genes are, I am 175 today though my own decisions and actions, so maybe at the end of the day this really is just who I am… Damn you, philosophical musings. I just can't quit you.
Speaking of musings:
I came to a realization recently about an old bit of trivia about myself. (I swore that I've blogged about this before, but I can't seem to find that entry...)
So the story goes that before I was born, my parents' short list of names for me were Preston, Austin and Ashley. Austin won, obviously, and I am eternally grateful that I was never cursed with Preston.... but there was a significant part of my life that I wished that I had been named Ashley instead. I never went so far as to like ask that people call me it, or use it instead of Austin in any real space, even at the time I knew that that was a little silly. What attracted me to Ashley was that the name is a little more gender ambiguous and I liked that a lot about it. I still do.
I've also been making some new friends, some out of old friends, that I'm really really happy about. I love getting to know people and connecting. I love real talk. I hate small talk. I seems like I'm coming to newly appreciate the central importance of this kind of connection in my life.
The natural flow of conversation seems to be ice Breaker - small talk - big talk. For me it seems to be ice breaker - big talk - small talk. If I care about the small talk, then it means that you’re pretty important. I don’t know if this is actually true, but it feels true. That sure fits with the theme of this entry.
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