Push the envelope.

On Saturday, I dropped off five bags of clothes at the local charity center. Five bags. I feel a need to repeat that once more. Five bags. Okay, stop looking incredulously at the screen. Yes, these were large trash bags, and yes, they were filled to the brim. And yes, it was a hilarious scene watching me struggle with these down the stairs from my apartment and haul them into my car. But man, did it feel good. I threw away stuff that I had since college, that I wore while teaching, that I bought and thought I’d wear and never did. Things that I previously thought, “well, I’ll hold onto that just in case.” Just in case what? How many darn T-shirts do I need, especially large ones, considering I’m an extra small? How many button down shirts, how many pairs of jeans, how many of anything?

I downsized a bunch, began throwing out so many papers, and tomorrow I’ll be heading over to Half Price Books to sell about three boxes of books. Someone asked me, “How many times are you actually going to read these novels?” I didn’t have an answer. There is a time when you just have to let go in order to move forward, and that’s what I’m doing now.

I’m in the midst of reading, The Secret Life of Bees, by Sue Monk Kidd. Some of the members have been so kind in visiting the Amazon.com site and purchasing some of the things on my wish list, and so I’ve really added to both my book and my cd collections with great excitement. I really was unsure about this novel though. It had a receive a high rating and was part of some cookie cutter book club gathering, obviously fashioned after Oprah’s idea, but I thought I’d give it a shot. And I’m so glad I did. Ms. Kidd has a way with words. And not just any way. But a way that actually parallels mine if I were to sit and write a fiction novel. And the fact that the protagonist is a teenage girl really compels me to remain alert. A young girl with an absent mother and a belligerent father and a head full of dreams and ideals, I wanted to know more.

Lily is her name. Lily Owens. And she sits in her room in the beginning of the book and hears buzzing and sees bees and decides to capture a few to prove to her father she isn’t crazy. Obviously a metaphor for something on a much grander scale. Sure enough, when she decides to set the bees free, “[t]he bees remained there, like planes on a runway not knowing they’d been cleared for takeoff. They crawled on the stalk legs around the curved perimeters of the glass as if the world had shrunk to that jar. [Lily] tapped the glass, even laid the jar on its side, but those crazy bees stayed put.”

I was a crazy bee. I stayed put in a marriage and even when my jar was tapped, I didn’t leave. I had to wait until the time was right for me, just as the bees did, for eventually, they did leave their captivity and roam free. Sometimes, the door is open wide, and we just buzz about, bounce into the glass walls around us, and wonder how we might reach the other side without stepping foot outside of our comfort zone.

I’m out of my comfort zone right now. I’m unsure of my future. Everything is in my hands. Where to live, where to work…two very essential matters of my future well being are at stake presently. I’m inching outside of the jar, sniffing the air, and wondering where to fly…what flower will I choose and where shall I begin my honeycomb? I’m realizing that an English degree isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And while I’m certified in personal training, I just don’t know if I want to return to that. And I’m not ready to step back into the confines of a public school classroom. Too much rigidity, too much conformation, too much red tape. Besides, you’ve seen the new Brian Moss photos. I don’t think administration would like too kindly upon those images being associated with an upstanding teacher.

I took a month off from the gym. A month off of the diet. Tonight was one of my last all out cheat meals before the Olympia. I’ve been back in the gym for two weeks and gaining back some of the muscle I lost, though I question the utilization of the word, “lost.” In taking a month off, I gained a new respect for my body, a new outlook on the term, “rest,” and a new energy to push me forward into next year’s shows. I’m understanding that not everything is contingent on a pro card. It may be nice to earn one, but it is not a necessity to earn one. I’m finding a new appreciation for my physique at all ends of the spectrum. Take a look at the preview photos for the Brian Moss gallery coming in October. I like that body. A year ago today, I honestly do not think I could have said that and been telling the truth. I’m also discovering that I create my boundary lines. No one else does. So that phrase I started this journal entry off with—“push the envelope”? It’s a brief line out of one of Tool’s songs, “Lateralus.” If I expect to move up the ladder of success (and success is a very relative term), then I must push the envelope. This may mean my expectations of myself change, that my goals change, that my pathways towards reaching my dreams change. My writing may become bolder, my pictures may become sexier, my end results may become brighter. No matter what, I refuse to walk into another jar and stare at the glass walls and not see an open door again.

I have legs to do tomorrow. Damn! I feel strong just thinking about the workout. Five weeks until the Olympia. Five weeks until that little white skirt. Five weeks until another new goal. And so the ladder of success begins…one rung at a time.

Jodi