You've probably seen them around, depending on where you live. Their habitat is mountains, lakes and rivers, with the occasional migration to health food stores, REI, or the local coffee shop. Their scientific name is homo sapien outdoorsi, but I just call them "those really cool hard core people who do outdoorsy stuff" or outdoorsy people for short. They're one part hippie, one part endurance athlete. One part driven competitor just looking for the next peak to climb, river to swim, fish to catch, and one part let's just eat organic watermelon and rent a house in Breck.
You get the idea that they've renounced the world's ideas of materialism and are cool with living out of their Subarus while they camp the summer away in Moab. The more friends I acquire of this genre, the more I am convinced that's a big misconception. Example A: ME! In the past month, I have acquired climbing shoes, my first pair of Chacos and a backpacking backpack. Now when I get on SteepandCheap.com, my mouth starts watering when I see that Petzl climbing harness or Salomon's latest train running shoe. What has gotten into me?
My conclusion after examining my friends and my spending is people like stuff. Whether it's cowboys who like that new Classic rope or Hipsters who can't wait to pick up the latest floral vintage dress from the boutique downtown, people like stuff. We like stuff for different reasons. It makes us comfortable, popular, well-equipped, whatever. Buying stuff isn't really the problem. The problem comes when we start thinking that buying stuff is going to make us happy and fulfilled. That's a spot only the ultimate Man can fill. His name was Jesus. He came to say that stuff or money or power can't make you content. The only thing in the world that can make you content is knowing Him and living life His way.
Little Miss Sunshine - who is still excited to get her Kelty backpack in the mail, but knows it won't make her life a happier place to live.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Adventures in the gym, Part 3
Day 3: Step
Two days passed before I ventured into the gym again, in my defense, they happened to be the days between Friday and Monday. I'm still a little sore from days 1 and 2, a promising sign that yoga and bodypump were successes. The night before, I quizzically checked out the schedule for Monday. Boot Camp at 5:30? Forget it. This is summer. Step at 8:30? Maybe. Aqua at 9:00? Nope, I'll let the grandparents play with the kickboards. 24 S.E.T. at 9:30? To cryptic, that could be a Jack Bauer workout - too intense, a 24 minute Silent E. T. movie viewing with meditation - WEIRD, or some kind of 24 moves to See Emulate and Teach - I just need a workout, not a career change. Step at 8:30 it is!
When I read "Step", I think a little workout cocktail of 80's magenta sweatband aerobics, hip-hop dance and run-of-the-mill cardio. Wingmom was back for day 3, sort of. She decided "Step" sounded synonymous to "joint disaster" so she opted for the elliptical machine and weight machines. Armed with a pocketful of confidence (I don't know why I don't just leave it at home, it doesn't do me any good!) and 9 years of dance classes, I opened the classroom door ready for gym adventure 3.
I checked out my classmates, mostly mom-ish and grandma-ish with a few young women around my age. Great, I thought, these people are old, I'll be able to keep up just fine. Ha, stick those words on a sandwich and eat them. I approached one of these friendly mom-ish people and asked her what I needed for this class. She, being mom-ish, gave me sweet, succinct directions with a smile as I set up my aerobics bench and set down my weights (again, clueless as to which to pick). The instructor asked if it was anyone's first time. I raised my hand, but I think she missed it. We started off with some step up, step back moves: 80's magenta aerobics, check. I thought, this is great, I can do this. Yep, I could do that, while it lasted.
Suddenly, we entered new territory. The instructor started saying things like "mambo combo" and "tap tap ball change" and "sling-shot", which may have been code for, ok mom-ish people, let's confuse the heck out of this college grad and show her what step class is all about, but that's just a guess. I vacillated between frustration and laughing at not being able to keep track of the crazy dance gymnastics these women were doing up and down and all around their aerobics benches. I seriously thought I was going to miss-step and break an ankle. When we stopped for a water break, the very kind lady who had helped me gather my gear assured me that I was doing very well and they had all been doing this for a while and not to worry.
I stumbled my way through the last little bit, which we ended with some killer jackknife crunches (ick). As I racked up my weights and walked out the door, Wingmom met me. Yep, she'd been watching for about 20 minutes, and she'd watched the beginning. She said at one point she was laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath. Thanks, Wingmom. I was laughing too, at how I'd just been royally schooled by a bunch of women twice my age. Although it wasn't as physically taxing as yoga or bodypump, step gave me a cranial workout that should count for the week. It also worked out my nevergiveup muscle, which, in case you didn't know, is snuggled between the tryagain muscle and the trynewthings muscle. Here's to making a fool out of yourself and learning to keep right on attempting tap tap ball change!
Day 3: two thumbs up
Two days passed before I ventured into the gym again, in my defense, they happened to be the days between Friday and Monday. I'm still a little sore from days 1 and 2, a promising sign that yoga and bodypump were successes. The night before, I quizzically checked out the schedule for Monday. Boot Camp at 5:30? Forget it. This is summer. Step at 8:30? Maybe. Aqua at 9:00? Nope, I'll let the grandparents play with the kickboards. 24 S.E.T. at 9:30? To cryptic, that could be a Jack Bauer workout - too intense, a 24 minute Silent E. T. movie viewing with meditation - WEIRD, or some kind of 24 moves to See Emulate and Teach - I just need a workout, not a career change. Step at 8:30 it is!
When I read "Step", I think a little workout cocktail of 80's magenta sweatband aerobics, hip-hop dance and run-of-the-mill cardio. Wingmom was back for day 3, sort of. She decided "Step" sounded synonymous to "joint disaster" so she opted for the elliptical machine and weight machines. Armed with a pocketful of confidence (I don't know why I don't just leave it at home, it doesn't do me any good!) and 9 years of dance classes, I opened the classroom door ready for gym adventure 3.
I checked out my classmates, mostly mom-ish and grandma-ish with a few young women around my age. Great, I thought, these people are old, I'll be able to keep up just fine. Ha, stick those words on a sandwich and eat them. I approached one of these friendly mom-ish people and asked her what I needed for this class. She, being mom-ish, gave me sweet, succinct directions with a smile as I set up my aerobics bench and set down my weights (again, clueless as to which to pick). The instructor asked if it was anyone's first time. I raised my hand, but I think she missed it. We started off with some step up, step back moves: 80's magenta aerobics, check. I thought, this is great, I can do this. Yep, I could do that, while it lasted.
Suddenly, we entered new territory. The instructor started saying things like "mambo combo" and "tap tap ball change" and "sling-shot", which may have been code for, ok mom-ish people, let's confuse the heck out of this college grad and show her what step class is all about, but that's just a guess. I vacillated between frustration and laughing at not being able to keep track of the crazy dance gymnastics these women were doing up and down and all around their aerobics benches. I seriously thought I was going to miss-step and break an ankle. When we stopped for a water break, the very kind lady who had helped me gather my gear assured me that I was doing very well and they had all been doing this for a while and not to worry.
I stumbled my way through the last little bit, which we ended with some killer jackknife crunches (ick). As I racked up my weights and walked out the door, Wingmom met me. Yep, she'd been watching for about 20 minutes, and she'd watched the beginning. She said at one point she was laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath. Thanks, Wingmom. I was laughing too, at how I'd just been royally schooled by a bunch of women twice my age. Although it wasn't as physically taxing as yoga or bodypump, step gave me a cranial workout that should count for the week. It also worked out my nevergiveup muscle, which, in case you didn't know, is snuggled between the tryagain muscle and the trynewthings muscle. Here's to making a fool out of yourself and learning to keep right on attempting tap tap ball change!
Day 3: two thumbs up
Adventures in the gym, Part 2
Day 2: BodyPump with Suzy
Mrs. Yoga Instructor from Day 1 had left us with parting advice. She said, whatever you do, don't do nothing, it will just make you more sore. Stretch, drink lots of water, and work out those muscles. Being the Type A firstborn that I am, I drank lots of water and checked out the class schedule for the next day. BodyPump with Suzy at 8:30? Sure! Why not? I don't know what that is, but it sounds like it will fulfill the instructions from Day 1.
Day 2 of my gym adventures, I was without my wingmom. She had to work early so I took the gym on solo, recall confidence comment from Day 1. After scoping out the situation and laughing at my own confusion, I gathered that I needed a bar with some weights, a bench and some hand weights. How much weight? Beats me, I'll take one of these, one of these, and yeah, ok, one of these. The instructor of this class was Suzy, who, if she didn't have Sergeant as her nickname before, she should adopt it. She was a little older than the average gym instructor and sported a slightly grizzled ponytail braid bolstered by a bandana tied around her head. Before you get the wrong idea of Serg. Suzy, let me tell you, she was nice in the sense that she was friendly. By the time she got done with class, I didn't consider her as nice in the sense that she was sweet and spineless.
Class got underway with Serg. Suzy cheerfully shouting orders about presses and squats and things that translated to my muscles as pain. We biceped, we triceped, we quaded, we hamstringed, and we did it to the beat. If she said 8, we did 8. If she said hold, we held. At intervals she would give instructions about changing weights...things like "use half the weight for biceps as you did for quads" or "triple the weight you used for this as for that". I knew nothing about this, so I would add or subtract at random, using my observational prowess to watch the veterans around me. After an hour, she let up. We wound down with a little stretching. I put my weights on the rack and called it a day, regaling my adventures to mom when she got home. BodyPump: a thumb and a half up
Mrs. Yoga Instructor from Day 1 had left us with parting advice. She said, whatever you do, don't do nothing, it will just make you more sore. Stretch, drink lots of water, and work out those muscles. Being the Type A firstborn that I am, I drank lots of water and checked out the class schedule for the next day. BodyPump with Suzy at 8:30? Sure! Why not? I don't know what that is, but it sounds like it will fulfill the instructions from Day 1.
Day 2 of my gym adventures, I was without my wingmom. She had to work early so I took the gym on solo, recall confidence comment from Day 1. After scoping out the situation and laughing at my own confusion, I gathered that I needed a bar with some weights, a bench and some hand weights. How much weight? Beats me, I'll take one of these, one of these, and yeah, ok, one of these. The instructor of this class was Suzy, who, if she didn't have Sergeant as her nickname before, she should adopt it. She was a little older than the average gym instructor and sported a slightly grizzled ponytail braid bolstered by a bandana tied around her head. Before you get the wrong idea of Serg. Suzy, let me tell you, she was nice in the sense that she was friendly. By the time she got done with class, I didn't consider her as nice in the sense that she was sweet and spineless.
Class got underway with Serg. Suzy cheerfully shouting orders about presses and squats and things that translated to my muscles as pain. We biceped, we triceped, we quaded, we hamstringed, and we did it to the beat. If she said 8, we did 8. If she said hold, we held. At intervals she would give instructions about changing weights...things like "use half the weight for biceps as you did for quads" or "triple the weight you used for this as for that". I knew nothing about this, so I would add or subtract at random, using my observational prowess to watch the veterans around me. After an hour, she let up. We wound down with a little stretching. I put my weights on the rack and called it a day, regaling my adventures to mom when she got home. BodyPump: a thumb and a half up
Adventures in the gym, Part 1
Where I'm from, the summers are scorchers. As you well know, there is a mathematical equation that guides fashion during said scorchers... the increase of temperature corresponds directly with a decrease in clothing worn. [I'll save the modesty post for another day.] When people wear tank tops and shorts, the condition of their muscles, or lack thereof becomes more apparent. All this to say, I live in a city obsessed with their own image. There are gyms on every corner. Gyms can be fun and helpful, as I'm learning this week. My mom belongs to one of these aforementioned gyms, not because she's self-obsessed, just healthy and awesome, and gave me her 7 day friend pass to use while I'm at home.
Day 1: Yoga Class
Because I am a future teacher, I love classes. Cooking classes, sewing classes, language classes, music classes, dance classes, you name it. Thursday morning I woke up and sleepily stumbled out of my bedroom to find some breakfast. Mom tossed me a good morning and asked if I wanted to go to yoga class with her. [Note: this was her first time, and she's more of the kickboxing type, not the zen, yoga, pass the organic hemp milk type.] First I said no, then I said yes, being indecisive by nature, and more so after just waking up. I trotted back to my room, threw on some shorts and a roomy v-neck with a picture of Africa that I thought would be cool enough for yoga class. I grabbed my trusty green Nalgene on the way out and hopped in the car. Mom and I strode confidently into the gym and into the classroom [if nothing else, we're go getters]. We scoped out the situation... bare feet and mats, ok, here we go!
The warm-up was a little comical for someone who is a novice yoga-er. Lots of breathing, good energy, bad energy, blah, blah, blah. I almost lost it a couple times just thinking how goofy we all probably looked. The funny thing was, I don't think the instructor believed a word of it, she was just speaking Yoga language to teach the class. After the warm up, things got a little more interesting. Several downward facing dog, Monkey, Half Moon, Sunrise, and Warriors later, we were sweating it up and feeling muscles stretch we didn't even know we had. The instructor led the class through several rounds of pose routines, including one involving standing in a one-leg squat with the free leg wrapped around the squat leg and the arms twisted around each other. You bet your bottom dollar I was sore the next day. Mom and I walked out of that class feeling like every muscle that could possibly be stretched had been, plus a few. It was the most relaxing workout I've ever had. Yoga adventure: two thumbs up.
Day 1: Yoga Class
Because I am a future teacher, I love classes. Cooking classes, sewing classes, language classes, music classes, dance classes, you name it. Thursday morning I woke up and sleepily stumbled out of my bedroom to find some breakfast. Mom tossed me a good morning and asked if I wanted to go to yoga class with her. [Note: this was her first time, and she's more of the kickboxing type, not the zen, yoga, pass the organic hemp milk type.] First I said no, then I said yes, being indecisive by nature, and more so after just waking up. I trotted back to my room, threw on some shorts and a roomy v-neck with a picture of Africa that I thought would be cool enough for yoga class. I grabbed my trusty green Nalgene on the way out and hopped in the car. Mom and I strode confidently into the gym and into the classroom [if nothing else, we're go getters]. We scoped out the situation... bare feet and mats, ok, here we go!
The warm-up was a little comical for someone who is a novice yoga-er. Lots of breathing, good energy, bad energy, blah, blah, blah. I almost lost it a couple times just thinking how goofy we all probably looked. The funny thing was, I don't think the instructor believed a word of it, she was just speaking Yoga language to teach the class. After the warm up, things got a little more interesting. Several downward facing dog, Monkey, Half Moon, Sunrise, and Warriors later, we were sweating it up and feeling muscles stretch we didn't even know we had. The instructor led the class through several rounds of pose routines, including one involving standing in a one-leg squat with the free leg wrapped around the squat leg and the arms twisted around each other. You bet your bottom dollar I was sore the next day. Mom and I walked out of that class feeling like every muscle that could possibly be stretched had been, plus a few. It was the most relaxing workout I've ever had. Yoga adventure: two thumbs up.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Post Bubble Depression
If you've ever seen a college brochure, they're splashed with bright photos of students doing happy college things. There's the happy musician playing guitar on the green grassy quad. There's the happy trio of girls sprawled out on a soft carpeted floor studying for their next test. There's the happy student and professor shot trying to sell you on the small student to faculty ratio.
Our brochures have that stuff too. The thing about our brochures that you might not be ready for is they're real. We DO have happy musicians playing on the quad. We DO have the happy trio studying away and the happy student talking with their professor. Of course, you can be miserable anywhere, and if you choose, you could be miserable there. It's not a perfect experience but on average, the experience is pretty close to the brochure.
This is great. I love happy musicians and spending time having conversations with professors who really care. The only problem with studying at such a wonderful institution is the hangover the next day.
I spent four years in a place where I was cared for, nurtured, trained to make a difference in the world. It was one big happy party... minus the alcohol because of school policy. Then I graduated. I walked across that stage, shook S.R.'s hand as he congratulated me, finished packing my stuff, said goodbye to my best friends of four years and drove the twenty hours home. Most of my stuff is still in the garage because I have a bedroom again, not an apartment.
The first few days being home it hit me. I'm back to a world where you lock your house, lock your car, and don't walk by yourself after dark. I'm back to a world where the news is something you watch if you want to be sad, and you can't walk or ride your bike anywhere you'd want to go. I'm back in the reality of a recovering economy and family responsibilities with two grandmas who have Alzheimers.
I know you're thinking... wait, this is Little Miss Sunshine, what's with the clouds? Here's the deal. If the rest of my life is going to be spent knowing Jesus better, that means life gets better as it goes. I'm going to have to figure out what's going to pay bills that I'm going to have soon. Yep, there will be people in my life who will leave. That will be hard. When I get a little overwhelmed thinking, "Man I wish I was back in college, real life is too hard."
If we really think that bills and dishes are what's real about real life, we've missed it. Life is learning to follow Jesus and jumping into doing His work wherever you are. It's cherishing those friends who love you so much it's kind of overwhelming. It's trusting that God keeps His promises, like the one that says He'll never give you more than you can handle and He's never going to jump ship on you. If this is real life, maybe I'll be ok.
Little Miss Sunshine
Our brochures have that stuff too. The thing about our brochures that you might not be ready for is they're real. We DO have happy musicians playing on the quad. We DO have the happy trio studying away and the happy student talking with their professor. Of course, you can be miserable anywhere, and if you choose, you could be miserable there. It's not a perfect experience but on average, the experience is pretty close to the brochure.
This is great. I love happy musicians and spending time having conversations with professors who really care. The only problem with studying at such a wonderful institution is the hangover the next day.
I spent four years in a place where I was cared for, nurtured, trained to make a difference in the world. It was one big happy party... minus the alcohol because of school policy. Then I graduated. I walked across that stage, shook S.R.'s hand as he congratulated me, finished packing my stuff, said goodbye to my best friends of four years and drove the twenty hours home. Most of my stuff is still in the garage because I have a bedroom again, not an apartment.
The first few days being home it hit me. I'm back to a world where you lock your house, lock your car, and don't walk by yourself after dark. I'm back to a world where the news is something you watch if you want to be sad, and you can't walk or ride your bike anywhere you'd want to go. I'm back in the reality of a recovering economy and family responsibilities with two grandmas who have Alzheimers.
I know you're thinking... wait, this is Little Miss Sunshine, what's with the clouds? Here's the deal. If the rest of my life is going to be spent knowing Jesus better, that means life gets better as it goes. I'm going to have to figure out what's going to pay bills that I'm going to have soon. Yep, there will be people in my life who will leave. That will be hard. When I get a little overwhelmed thinking, "Man I wish I was back in college, real life is too hard."
If we really think that bills and dishes are what's real about real life, we've missed it. Life is learning to follow Jesus and jumping into doing His work wherever you are. It's cherishing those friends who love you so much it's kind of overwhelming. It's trusting that God keeps His promises, like the one that says He'll never give you more than you can handle and He's never going to jump ship on you. If this is real life, maybe I'll be ok.
Little Miss Sunshine
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Pouting and Packing
For though I am free from all, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law. To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (not being outside the law of God but under the law of Christ) that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings. ~ Paul
I'm packing for my next adventure. It just so happens that this next adventure takes place in a country that likes to wear long pants, long sleeves, and high necks. That would be fine with me, if this country was Siberia. Unfortunately, it's not. It's North Africa, and it's hot. As I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to navigate this wardrobe puzzle, I got a little cranky. Why can't we just wear shorts?! It's HOT. It's SUMMER. More heat, less clothing. That's kind of how we operate.
Then I got to thinking. Paul found himself in a similar situation. He wanted to share his Good News with people who had different customs and ways of living. Instead of saying, "See here, boys, this is how we do it back home!" He said, " I have become all things to all people". He decided he'd let the unimportant stuff go for the sake of the Good News.
I don't know that I'd choose to dress from head to toe, but it does speak to the character of the people that do. They don't let weather dictate their standards of modesty. Ok. Cool. They honor each other by making sure their clothing is not low cut, high cut, un cut.
Am I willing to let my American my-way-or-the-highway attitude go for the sake of building relationships with these people? Am I willing to give up my freedom for the sake of the One who gave it to me in the first place?
Packing and praying,
Little Miss Sunshine
I'm packing for my next adventure. It just so happens that this next adventure takes place in a country that likes to wear long pants, long sleeves, and high necks. That would be fine with me, if this country was Siberia. Unfortunately, it's not. It's North Africa, and it's hot. As I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to navigate this wardrobe puzzle, I got a little cranky. Why can't we just wear shorts?! It's HOT. It's SUMMER. More heat, less clothing. That's kind of how we operate.
Then I got to thinking. Paul found himself in a similar situation. He wanted to share his Good News with people who had different customs and ways of living. Instead of saying, "See here, boys, this is how we do it back home!" He said, " I have become all things to all people". He decided he'd let the unimportant stuff go for the sake of the Good News.
I don't know that I'd choose to dress from head to toe, but it does speak to the character of the people that do. They don't let weather dictate their standards of modesty. Ok. Cool. They honor each other by making sure their clothing is not low cut, high cut, un cut.
Am I willing to let my American my-way-or-the-highway attitude go for the sake of building relationships with these people? Am I willing to give up my freedom for the sake of the One who gave it to me in the first place?
Packing and praying,
Little Miss Sunshine
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Joining the Blogging World
Good afternoon, blogging world,
While I jumped on the blogging bandwagon my last semester of college to share my student teaching adventures, this is my first solo blog. So many of my friends and professors implored me to keep in touch as they were waving their last goodbyes, that I thought I would make it easier for them to keep track of me. I also had a professor strongly encourage me to keep writing after reading my senior thesis. Here it is, ladies and gents. I don't know exactly what moments and mishaps I will be chronicling, but I look forward to sharing them with you.
As I mentioned, I am a recent college grad. I have made the pilgrimage home to live with my family off and on during the summer while I figure out what to do with my life. Oddly enough, on the news this morning, there was a piece about how to put up with your adult child who has moved back in and how to set family ground rules. This afternoon I was watching a little Everybody Loves Raymond and they were talking about kids who take too long to move out. Well, is that my cue? Ha. Maybe. Maybe it's just culture declaring its expectations from the bullhorn of the TV.
Well, dear blog stalkers, that's it for today,
Little Miss Sunshine
While I jumped on the blogging bandwagon my last semester of college to share my student teaching adventures, this is my first solo blog. So many of my friends and professors implored me to keep in touch as they were waving their last goodbyes, that I thought I would make it easier for them to keep track of me. I also had a professor strongly encourage me to keep writing after reading my senior thesis. Here it is, ladies and gents. I don't know exactly what moments and mishaps I will be chronicling, but I look forward to sharing them with you.
As I mentioned, I am a recent college grad. I have made the pilgrimage home to live with my family off and on during the summer while I figure out what to do with my life. Oddly enough, on the news this morning, there was a piece about how to put up with your adult child who has moved back in and how to set family ground rules. This afternoon I was watching a little Everybody Loves Raymond and they were talking about kids who take too long to move out. Well, is that my cue? Ha. Maybe. Maybe it's just culture declaring its expectations from the bullhorn of the TV.
Well, dear blog stalkers, that's it for today,
Little Miss Sunshine
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