There is a truly ugly side to human nature. Truly ugly. It's the one that feels the need to put down others in light of raising oneself up to a higher bar. Does it work? I can tell you that it honestly doesn't. I've tried it.

Yes...I have talked badly about someone behind their back, talked about how someone looked on stage and gossiped with a group of girls and been like a magnet to their words and brought my own baggage of insecurities with me. For isn't that the reason why we feel a need to insult others, to make others seem less than they are? Because of our own insecurities with our own abilities, looks, intellect, achievements? I don't know. It's such a natural reaction when someone brings up someone that you aren't fond of. You allow yourself to open your mouth and state things that you know you wouldn't necessarily state in quite that manner...or maybe not even anywhere within the realm of that manner...if that very same person were standing nose to nose with you. Or would you? How many of us truly have the gumption to tell someone we don't like that we don't like them and why?

Of course, I'm talking about the fitness industry, but it goes way further than that and moves out into the workplace as well. Isn't there a colleague, an employee, or a boss who just really rubs you the wrong way? Who do you tell? Or do you keep it in? Furthermore, why do they rub you the wrong way? What is it about them that you can't stand? And I seriously don't think anyone likes everyone. I just don't see that being possible, not with all the personalities and quirks of humans in today's world. It's just natural to not like someone.

Is it also natural for people to be mean and nasty. And should there be relief for that mean nature, that nastiness. Okay. I can see that. But should the relief be public? Should it be written? Should it be verbalized? Do you contain it to just one person? Two? Three? Where does it stop? Or do you hold it in and feel like a bubble that is about to pop?

I hate seeing this side of myself and would love it if I didn't have a mean bone in my body. On the other hand, I'd love to be totally honest and frank about my opinions of many people. Does that make me bad? I think girls deal with this a lot worse than guys, for we tend to see each other and say how pretty our hair is and what a nice purse that is and say definitely we'll get together for lunch sometime, just call me. And of course we know full well that as soon as the object of our "compliments" is out of sight, we'll turn to the warm body next to us and gripe and complain about her implants, her liposcution, and her fake nails...and won't bat an eye at the fact that we may not know facts about the girl at all. The nasty words just flow from our mouths and we state them with eagerness. It's like it's a weight off of our shoulders to state these negative things, whether they be of truth or not. We almost flock to the ability to point out what is wrong in someone else, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why except it's because we're not happy with ourselves in some way, shape, or form?

So how does someone who seems so confident continually display what concurrently seems as doubt in oneself. How do they seem that confident? Is it possible to be confident and still put others down? And if it is, then what is the need to lower someone else into a hole in the ground? What's the purpose?

Aahhh...I'm so frustrated. Many people (yes, I'm talking about girls) seemed as though they were one thing when I met them and they turn out to be something quite different as occasions arise and words fly. It makes you wonder who to turn to, who it's okay to talk with, who you can confide in. It also makes you wonder just how much you do the very thing that you don't like in that person that you're talking about. And then it makes you take it one step further and wonder what is being said about you. And then the insecurities arise again, and we're back at step one. How do you break the cycle?

I have...or should say "had"...a pair of jeans that I adored. Termed as hip huggers, these jeans fit my butt and quads perfectly without leaving a huge gap between the material and my waist line. I wore these suckers every chance I got. I dressed them up and dressed them down. I eased them on during competition season and forced my way into them during the off season. Well, maybe that was the problem...that forcing my way into them. Tears in the denim began to creep in and before I knew it, it looked like someone had slashed my jeans like one would slash tires. I had holes where there shouldn't be holes in jeans, if you get my drift. Between that fact and a popped button, the jeans were useless. But they remained in my closet on the off chance that I might wriggle into them once again and reminisce of the relationship we once had...me and my jeans...we were tight. Literally.

I let go of them this past weekend. Threw them out. Well, not technically. They went into the bag of clothes of which charity eventually claimed ownership. Those darn jeans made into the "for charity" pile and then went back on the hanger in the closet. Were tossed once again in the "for charity" pile and then made their way back into my heart and the closet. This went on several times until finally I tried them on one last time, admired the way they looked, wriggled my nose at the huge gash appearing in the crotch area, and realized they were not meant for me anymore. Why I gave them to charity, I don't know. Most girls won't want to run around with a hole in the crotch of their pants (well, not most respectable...and even most unrespectable girls), but maybe someone could fix them up, patch them, and make them close to what they once were. Close...but different.

I couldn't do that with Dallas anymore, though. The city that fit like those old pair of jeans had too many holes worn into the memories, and no matter how often I tried on the idea of remaining in the city I had grown up in, of remaining in the apartment I had lived in for eight years, I could only see the holes and the popped buttons and the stubborn zipper and the worn fabric. It was time for a new pair of jeans...and a new city.

I moved to Los Angeles, California this week. This might be a shock to some of you, but if you have paid attention to my journal entries since this summer, then you'll see that I've been searching for a new direction...a new road, if you will.

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

When opportunity presents itself, opens a door for you and leaves it open no matter what other circumstances arise, aren't you the least bit curious to see what is beyond that door? A lot of critics of Frost's poem argue about whether the narrator's decision to take the road less traveled truly "has made all the difference." One might say the narrator is being sarcastic, even stating that no matter what decisions are made in life, one will fulfill a destiny that is already set in stone, and so there really is no difference in the long run. But others would argue that each choice we make in our lives presents a new future, and thus each and every move we make is just as important as the next and could redirect us, thus allowing us to create our own destinies.

I am so fascinated by this topic, and I guess I'm a guinea pig of my own fascination, for I made a decision that has countless opportunities for growth and rebirth...or at least I'm hoping it does. When I try on those old jeans, I know where the holes are; I know they might tear a bit a more. I know how the denim feels against my skin. I recognize the smell of the detergent. I go through the same steps of wriggle, wriggle, jump, jump, bend down and stretch the fabric (which is really what caused the tears in the first place), and a few more jumps and wriggles until the fabric went in place and I could zip up and button away. That is Dallas. I take the same route, have the same job opportunities, meet the same people, and am still far away from someone I care very deeply for.

Moving to the Los Angeles area (I'm in Valencia...a very nice suburb in the mountains just north of LA) is a risk. It's different. It's outside my realm of comfort. This decision sat in my mind and would not leave; back and forth I went, comparing the cities, comparing the ramifications of staying...of leaving. I had to put everything into perspective, examine the relationship I am in, which was the main trigger for this move, and determine what I wanted out of life. I finally realized that the images that continued to nag my mind when I thought of leaving Dallas were not of any great consequence, and were actually items that might hinder my freedom to be me in the long run. But moving to LA...what a world of possibilities!

I walked through my door of opportunity this week. I would like to think I'm in control of my own destiny. But if I'm not, then I want to make sure the ride I take to reach the end that may already be devised for me is the best one I can create. With that being said, I'd say being in 70-degree weather the week before Christmas is a good way to rev up the engine and start my drive into the future.

And working out in Gold's Gym in Venice does wonders for the body. I'm actually crippled with the calf workout I did two days ago. And I have a renewed sense of accomplishment in the gym. My focus around the iron is growing stronger with each decision I make. Maybe it's because my mind is becoming more like the very weights I use to grow my muscles. Stable...consistent...and ready for used in anyway possible to reach my goals.

Jodi