Life Lessons of Nags Head, NC

1. Redefined Relaxation

It's simple really... the idea of just being and not feeling any external or internal pull of duty or responsibility.  To experience immunity from the "I should _______"  thought process is likened to experiencing peace.  But for this inwardly high strung individual, it's a concept I have grappled with since childhood.  And yet, for the entirety of this past week, I found myself sitting... a lot... with little motivation to do anything else.  I had no desire to exercise.  No desire to walk down to the beach


For those who feel led, you can build me one of these.

more than 3 times, and hardly any motivation to think for myself.  My butt was perpetually glued to a solid surface in the lounging position from which I would participate in conversation, eat, drink and breathe.  When I felt frisky I would walk down to the pool and commence to sitting.  There were moments of internal questioning: "What IS this?  Where is my drive? My ambition??"  But they were fleeting and promptly commenced to sitting.

2. Cornhole is Not for Sissies

It's important, when playing a glorified bean bag toss, to remember the score throughout the game.  Only, this requires physical movement to play as well as mental fortitude to remember the purpose of keeping score.  When playing pool-side especially, it's important to practice balance and aim, so as

not to almost fall in to the otherwise refreshing water.  Focus is equally important.  Don't let the music blaring in the background distract you with the need to express yourself through dance; Particularly when it's still your "go".  This proved to be frustrating to the more serious players, and entertaining to the less competitive.  It was a confusing experience.  I only played once. 

3. The Sun is Nondiscriminatory

I donned no bathing suit.  I stuck to the comfort of t-shirts and capris leggings.  Partially because I didn't really have a bathing suit and because I physically feel like a bowling ball with legs.  I kept it covered for my own sense of ease.  But the sun doesn't care about all of that.  Bare ankle?  Exposed
ear?  The sun will zap it, leaving you with unforeseen tan lines to make you feel more awkward than you already do. 

Dude. That sucks.

4. Vacation is Timeless

An entire week devoted to not giving a crap also means that time doesn't have to apply either.  I lost track of time a lot.  Perhaps it's the gentle lull of the tide or the hypnotic breeze with the music of the sea gulls... but time played tricks on me.  I have no watch.  And I would check my phone every once that.


Yep.  This is me.

in a while.  Generally speaking I had no idea.  And it felt lovely.  My work week is defined by time, schedules, appointments, meetings... time management is the back bone of working efficiently for me.  This week, I managed no time.  I worried about no appointments or meetings.  I only had to manage myself, and I hardly did

5. Vacation is Ageless

I forgot how old I was.  Literally.  Someone helped me do the math because I forgot my age.  I was shocked to remember that I am 35.  Stunned, I poured another drink.

Well played Nags Head.  Well played.

Until next time. 

So I auditioned for a band...

...and it was sort of by accident.  I was gently nudged to give it a try after a day of "filling in" due to a no-show for the band's practice session.  No pressure attached, just sing the melody... hum it if I have to.  Why not?  I've always been a closet rock-star.

And then I was asked to consider an audition.  Perhaps it was the wine I was sipping on at the time.  Maybe it was that little edge of courage that magically appears when alcohol hits the bloodstream.  But the words that came out of my mouth affirmed the invitation.  I acquiesced to the request. 

Public speaking comes easily to me.  I officiate weddings and funerals.  I have spoken on topics at various conferences and provide educational presentations to folks in the community.  There is no issue of stage fright here. 

The staggering difference is the medium... it's a matter of speaking vs. singing.  My speaking voice is clear, intentional and robust.  My singing voice is... er... not bad.  I can harmonize with the best of them.  But singing feels so naked to me.  It's so vulnerable.  I get shaky and shy when it's an "Okay Rachel is going to sing" sort of situation. 

"Rock Band" doesn't count.  Everyone is doing their own thing and trying to win a stinking game.  Filling in for an absentee singer on the fly doesn't count either.  Don't ask why.  It just doesn't for some reason that only makes sense to me.

It's the intentional walking up to the mic for the sole purpose of hearing what I sound like as a singer.  It completely freaks me out. 

However, I faced the fear... had another glass of wine or two, and did just that.  The experience went as follows:

• You Oughta Know by Alanis Morrisette:  not too shabby if I don't say so myself.  It was a song of my youth so I was very familiar with the lyrics and the over all feel.  This felt fun to me.  And yes, I said THE word.
• Are You Gonna Go My Way by Lenny Kravitz:  warming up... feeling like karaoke.  And then it dawns on me, I can hear myself.  Suddenly freaking out.  That's MY voice and I'm freaking out.
• I'm The Only One by Melissa Etheridge:  ah jeez this one... I don't have a growly voice or a very bluesy one.  I required an additional glass of wine to even attempt this.  My voice is a little breathy at times and I don't have a huge range.  Singing this song made me feel like one of those 6 year olds in the school chorus performance that keeps twirling around on the risers.  I can't even PRETEND to mimic the original singer's prowess and Janis-Joplin-y gruffy gruff. 
• Gunpowder and Lead by Miranda Lambert: two words - NAILED IT.  Even though I felt like I was yelling the majority of the chorus, I still sounded kind of like Miranda.  I don't know how she yells like that for hours on end. 
• Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar: Uh... super FUN!  And it was double-fun to watch Adam (the drummer) play this and seem like he was enjoying him some Benatar.  It's a karaoke classic, so that's what I pretended I was doing.  It got me through.

All around, it was a great experience.  I got to enjoy a lovely evening with some super cool people.  I felt like a pseudo rock star for an hour and even broke a sweat.  I didn't get to do the whole pick up the mic stand thing and gyrate around like Steven Tyler, but I still got to see what it felt like to be THE voice of the song.  It was scary and exhilarating.  I'm glad I got that out of my system.

No, I didn't get the part. 

I was first runner up. 

I'll take it. 

I think I'll keep my super rock star status on the down low for now, and simply cheer on the band from the comfort of the dance floor with wine in tow.  I'm grateful that I tried it on, zipped it up, and know what it feels like for a minute just before I want to vomit.

Thank you to the brave souls who encouraged me to give a try.  And I did.  I hit it with MY best shot, and fired away.  Bucket list is one notch smaller.  Next stop: Living Room Blue Grass Band.  C'mon guys, we got this.

Oh My GAD!

When the Road Runner would do his running thing to get away from the coyote, he ran so fast that the world around him looked blurry.  It looked blurry why? Because the road runner was running super fast.

When you get on a plane and watch the lines on the runway as it's taking off, things get a little intense with the speed man, I'm telling ya.  What is normally a series of white lines in succession quickly becomes one white line that follows along until the plane leaves the ground. 

With GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder), all things are possible.  Fast running or flying planes not required.  The world around can look just as blurry because the surroundings are moving on... while GAD helps with the sort-of-stuck in this ethereal funk-of-frozen feeling.  It can be debilitating when it's chronic. 

GAD is a sort of umbrella term used to encompass various forms of anxiety.  Whether PTSD or Agoraphobia, the "G" for generalized is intentional and on purpose. 

Anxiety is a normal happenstance for the human race.  It's when the anxiety actually manifests itself in a way that prohibits or prevents normal participation in society that it becomes the disorder.  I can tell you from first hand experience that it's scary shit... on a number of levels.

Even as a young kid I think I was a sort of restless girl, wanting to be doing something, ANYTHING, other than what I was doing.  This flowed over into my teen age years, where I longed for the "ideal" high school experience (like something out of GREASE or maybe The Babysitter's Club), and yet felt so socially awkward and uncomfortable.  I felt angsty and insecure and all kinds of stuff that I didn't have the words for nor could I really put a finger on it.

Fast forwarding a few years, I found myself in Undergrad and Graduate School on this weird emotional and spiritual roller coaster where all of the sudden I'm in this pool of "Churched" people (that is the precise language I heard used), therefore obviously quantifying me as an "Un-Churched" person (i.e. different and/or lacking in some way). 

It seemed that everything about my life is changing as grandparents die and the world keeps turning.  Funerals and term papers I would say.  Troubles on the home front 3 hours away while I'm practicing my Greek and writing about the Trinity. 

The OH MY GAD grandma panic attack occurred while I was home visiting from college.  I had the very real sensation that I was leaving my body.  I couldn't breathe.  My hands drew up in fists and I lost some serious motor function.  I was driving and somehow safely pulled myself across 3 lanes of traffic to safety on the shoulder.  I was scared.  I was embarrassed.  I felt humiliated.  And to add to the shame, I couldn't pull myself together enough to drive myself home.  I actually had to ask for help... it was like putting on an invisibility cloak of a different sort.  All of my vulnerabilities exposed and no where to hide.

Anxiety can be a really great laxative.

Thankful for the quiet assurance from my brother Jason, I made it home and locked myself in my room for a few hours.  Just allowed the embarrassment and fear stew for a bit because that always helps.  And knowing that my parents' humble home was filled to the brim with visiting family members just added to this ghastly pressure cooker. 

"You had a panic attack."  The doctor said.  Immediately I started crying and immediately felt ashamed that I immediately started crying.  The doctor immediately questioned why I put so many feelings on top of feelings.  At this point, I'm sure the snot had made it from my nostril to my upper lip and she finally handed me a tissue.  I couldn't really talk between the hyper-ventilating breaths. 
"Here, take some Paxil." 

Awesome. 

Paxil made me nuts.  For a year I could not drive.  I had a car.  I had a license.  I physically could not drive.  Sitting behind the wheel tipped me over into another frenzied panic, with the manifestations of dizziness, sweaty palms (which I typically have on a normal basis... gross I know), and tightening of the chest.  Here I was, in the world of academia shooting for my masters degree, and I couldn't drive?  Give me a break.  You see how this is a struggle?  A cycle?  It's like an incessant game of "Let's upstage the last failure!" 


All of those little arrows are telling
that kid that he sucks at life. 

Zoloft happened and it helped.  No issue with public speaking and now driving to and from the gym.  But sometimes the walls still breathed and I felt dizzy.  Sometimes my knees felt like they would buckle and I felt the desire to hurry up and hide. 

I decided that I didn't need any "help and stopped taking Zoloft.  I found myself laying on a couch and waiting for someone to shoot me.  I don't recommend doing that.  Ever.

And sometimes I have really awesome
 lightning storms in my head. 

At the age of 34 I still wrestle with this GAD business.  I'm more familiar with it and have learned to give myself some grace and patience.  But man, when it happens it's so draining.  It becomes a grappling match (sort of like MMA), between my own internal dialogue based on anxiety and my own internal dialogue based on tools I've learned.  It does not define me (like many other things), but it is part of what makes Rachel the unique and wonderful Rachel she is. 

Right?

Despite that fact that no one really knows what the Citalopram is actually doing to my body long term, I'll continue taking it like a good little girl to properly function in a way that society expects from me.  After all, it's a legal substance and some pharmacy somewhere is making big bank off of GAD.  It's just another way I can contribute to society. 

And that makes me want to vomit.

See all those Benjamins? Those really should be
going towards my student loans.  THAT would
help me with anxiety.  Punks.

The X Factor

Duck Dynasty, as you may well know, is sort of like a video-blog of a lucky family who have made millions from sounding like ducks.  Now, I'm all for the boot-strap theory.  This is 'Merica!, the place where you can sound like a cat in heat and TLC will make a show out of it.  Let freedom reign.  The Duck Dynasty-ers have no doubt worked hard for this money by their own genius and capacity for wild life imitation. 

Before I go any further, I must share that not only have I watched some episodes and laughed in spite of myself, I've even taken a gander at reading a little from one of their books that was conveniently placed by the toilet for my morning quiet time.  An interesting read indeed.

It's equally wonderful to see a family, a motley crew of personality and down-home humor, who gathers around the table at the end of the day to give thanks to the Almighty for the bounty.  It's like a revised Norman Rockwell painting, capturing the ideal of "family" while also allowing room for off-color humility (i.e. "I have a long beard and play in the woods"). 

Duck Dynasty, aptly put, is a show and a family that brings not only entertainment to many across the board, they also provide, for many, a sense of "Huh, that's kind of like me!"-ness to viewers everywhere.

Perhaps it's just me or my surfacing cynicism, but methinks the French wouldn't get it.

That's besides the point. 

So the one guys who always says "Hey!"... I can't remember his name.  I can only remember that he says "Hey!"... was in a picture posted all over my facebook news feed.  He was holding a picture that read "Keep Christ in Christmas". 

Sigh.  This is one the most misunderstood and misguided complaints about the holidays.  And when I saw that the famous bearded man was holding this sign, I felt compelled to speak to that.  Once and for all.

I have an announcement:  X = CHI = CHRIST = CHRISTMAS. 

"X" is the Greek letter CHI.  In the early days of the church, Greek was the main unifying language before Latin.  And I know there are many who will feel uncomfortable with this BUT like it or not, the church that you are a part of (Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, Unlimited Holy Water of God, etc) originated from the Catholic Church.  Did your hair spike up a little?  It's okay.  Did that to me at first too. 

See, the book that you and I have that's called The Bible wasn't always in existence.  It's a collection of writings that were gathered by a group of men who decided what should be "kept" and what doesn't fit what they considered "orthodox teaching".  I.E. - The Bible did not just fall out of the sky... it was created by people just like you and me.

At any rate, when the Catholic church people come together it's called "mass".  And the one that they celebrate the birth of Jesus is called "Christ Mass".  Ah but because they were Greek-speaking with a modge podge of other languages, to make it make sense to all who attended the letter "X" was used.

Let me repeat: X = CHI = CHRIST = CHRISTMAS.

The only person who is taking "CHRIST" out of anything is, perhaps, you. 

So, the "Hey!" guy is continuing this trend of misinformation.  And he's part of a very charming family and makes you laugh and stuff.  But I gotta tell you, the "Hey!" guy along with many many many others have got it wrong.

Wrong not in the judgey sense of the word, wrong in the sense that... well... it's just not true.  And it makes me sad. 

Don't be a sheep.  Be a shepherd.  Study.  Read.  Find out for yourself.  And maybe you'll see, the "X" might have actually come first.

Merry Xmas indeed.

Do Not Consume a Consumer.

I don't fish.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have gone fishing.  Not because I have some ridiculous moral code that prevents me from sticking a hook their scaly flesh, but because I find it to be... how do I say this gently?

Boring.

I do not hunt either.  Although there was that one time when I rode around on the back of my brother's truck chasing groundhogs.  I have killed spiders before; more or less because I felt they were hunting me.   

Nor do I make a habit out of wearing camouflage as to make myself invisible to critters.  If I wear camo, it's because it's re-gifted hat that no one wanted. 

Furthermore, I generally choose something other than fox pee for my personal eau de toilette.

"Kim" called me yesterday.  She tried really hard to get me to see myself differently. 

According to "Kim", I was such a valued customer at the local Bass Pro Shop (I've been there twice), that my name was chosen for an outstanding travel package.  "Kim" spoke to me for 15 minutes, calling me by my first name as if we had been long-time friends.  "Kim" shared with me of her own travels and the impact her experiences had on her and her loved ones. 

"Kim" spoke in earnest about her appreciation of my purchasing-power in such a way, that I ALMOST believed Bass Pro would send me away on an all-inclusive vacation.  After all, my only responsibility would be to drive myself there.

"Kim" recommended Williamsburg. 

All I would need to do to make this happen included securing the packet for delivery with my VISA or MasterCard.  The packet, "Kim" said, contained sensitive material, including "two $25 gift cards for Bass Pro!  Isn't that awesome Rachel??"

Totally.

"So how much we talking on the VISA?"

"Well, after counting in all of savings that we are offering, this is a real steal Rachel.  You will receive the gift cards, paid vacation and a certificate for a cruise that is good up to a year for only $269.43!!"

"That's cool.  So I'm getting a free vacation for $269.43?"

"Yep!  It's a really great deal Rachel..."  and then she proceeded to tell me about her trip to Las Vegas and the food she ate and how cute her boyfriend looked and... you get the picture.

"Um, well I just returned from a trip to Mexico, so I can't really afford $269.43 for a free vacation."

"I totally understand Rachel.  I know money can be tight which is another reason why this deal is so AWESOME!  I mean all the money you get to save by getting this deal..."

"Yes.  It is awesome Kim.  Totally.  But I don't have $269.43 for a free vacation."

"Okay... let's see what I can do for you.  Tell you what, I'll offer you this deal for $218.  That includes the gift cards, vacation and cruise!!"

"Right.  I don't have $218 for a free vacation."

"Hang on one sec Rachel okay?  I'm gonna send you to my manager and see how we can help you."

Silence.

"Hi, Rachel?"  The voice sounded less chipper and more demure.

"Yes."

"I understand we are offering you this amazing deal at minimal cost... are you interested?"

"I just returned from Mexico.  I can't afford this free vacation."

"Okay I tell you what I'm going to do for you... I'm only allowed two of these a day and haven't used any so far."

I wait. 

"I'm gonna give you this package for the slim cost of $116 Rachel!  This is quite a deal!!"

"Yeah, uh, I can't afford $116 dollars for a free vacation."

"Are you sure?" sounding annoyed, "This is a really good deal Rachel."

"Yeah, I can't afford $116 dollars for a free vacation."

"Okay."

Silence.....

.................

"But... thank you?"

Silence......

Dial tone.

I wonder about the irony here... I did actually buy something from Bass Pro.  Once.  For my trip to Mexico. 

Day 8: The Final Farewell

With America knocking on our door, it's funny how time just seemed to speed back up suddenly.  I could smell coffee brewing in the breeze.  I heard the shuffling of others shaking the sleepy from their bodies and preparing for the final journey ahead.  By some strange twist of fate I had the wherewithall to pack light so it didn't require too much effort. 

But still, there was a quiet sulleness in my midst knowing that we had only a few short hours left before "good bye" would be mandated.  Trying to soak up as much of the shore line as possible, a group of 15 would-be residents repacked for the trip home, giving gracious farewells to Tom and his amazing crew....

By the way, Geydhi and Jose did EVERYTHING short of wiping our butts while we were there.  Incredibly hospitable, friendly, warm and forgiving (for our more obnoxious nights).  They work hard... damn hard. 

We piled up into our caravan after what seemed like an hour of exchanging embraces and farewell's and "see you soon"'s.  With one last final check, the van doors shut... and Casa del Corazon became a lasting imprint in our rear view mirrors as well as our hearts. 

The time spent there has left such an impression that many of us will return again in the Fall of 2014.  Same place.  Same exact coordinates on the map. 

Tom is a host with the most.  And I can't wait to Viva La Mexico all over again.

Landing in RVA

Day 7: Down with the Sickness

Was the room spinning?  Nope.  That's just the ceiling fan.  I spent the majority of this day in the quiet solitude of my Zen Palpita.  If you're going to be sick in any fashion, I would strongly suggest waiting until you get to paradise.  There's no better place to have a "bug"... though it was arguably a hangover, I prefer to say I had a "bug".  It gives the appearance of greater self-respect. 

My comrads enjoyed the sunbeams and the sand per usual.  I simply slept.  Threw up a few times too... but what does that matter?  I was still in paradise.  And somehow, that made even the dry-heaves worth it. 

On that note, I'm gonna grab a beer.  One sec...

Mimi joined me for a snooze.

As I was saying, I spent the day listening to exotic birds and gentle breezes in the comfort of my bed.  Visitors stopped by on occasion to make sure I was ingesting water and a cracker or two.  Tom even took it upon himself to visit with the wise tale coined "Hair of the Dog" in an effort to mend my nauseated tummy.  Emerging from my palpita with a Dos Equis to quell the heave, I made my way to join the others at the beach.  A short few minutes in the hammock, and I was out... again.  Embraced by the lapping ocean and coconuts... who silently mocked me with their hairy little faces. 

I slept... and slept... and slept.......

Viva la Mexico.