Ke$ha

That's right, I bought Ke$ha's album, Animal.

And I fuckin' Luv dat shit.

Thanks pop music.

Congratulations Makko and Kathryn

Last night, I attended the first wedding out of an anticipated many for my "kindergarten crew" friends. Makko and Kathryn were married in Tubac, forty minutes south of Tucson, in a beautiful, traditional, ceremony. There were about 200 guests in attendance, including yours truly. We started off with the reception at the chapel of Tubac Resort, then headed over the clubhouse for cocktail hour (club soda hour for me) and dinner.

First of all, the food was fucking fabulous. I enjoyed the cheeses at cocktail hour and two slices of wedding cake ( I had to try both kinds! C'man!) despite the massive stomach pains that were accompanied by the indulgence. Going to weddings as a college kid is kinda like Sunday dinner at my parent's house with more small talk and high heels. I always get my fill of the multi-coursed meals, enjoying the respite from the simple fare that I make for myself at home. Also, the parents of the couple (in this case, Kathryn's) spent a pretty penny for each plate, so it would be somewhat of an asshole move to simply have nibbled on the dinner.

(For the record, I had the salmon, and if I could high-five my December-Self for the selection, I would.)

The wedding service was a traditional Catholic mass, complete with call and responses from the priest (no hay, ho's, unfortunately) and hand signals. No matter what, I always feel like an actor on opening night who's script was missing a page at Catholic mass. I have a general idea of what to do and say from a loose upbringing in the Lutheran church (see watered down, rogue Catholics) but still manage to not know anything-about-anything that is going on around me. Likewise, I find some of the ceremonial performances carried out by the priests in Catholic Mass downright hilarious. Yesterday, for example, before Kat and Makko gave one another their rings, the priest took a baby rattle (Okay, it looked like it) and flung water on the rings a few times. My first thought was, "What the hell is he doing?!" and then almost immediately after, "No one said anything about a holy supersoaker". Which, of course, ensued inappropriate giggles and an obligatory, self-imposed mental time-out to get myself together.

ANYWAY. It really was beautiful in the chapel. It was a small, latin-crossed adobe style room with Southwest welded like fixtures, small clerestory windows and limited seating. The ceremonial processions, as well as the ceremony, were perfect for Kat and Makko. They are both very kind, down to earth people who grew in Tucson and who are "traditional" in the sense that they both have very supportive, large families who are rallied behind their relationship and seem to delight in their happiness as partners. The traditional ceremony was a great way for them to share the ceremony with everyone in a manner that was relatable.

That said, as much as I love weddings, I am not sure I could ever have a traditional wedding myself. First, I think I might giggle too much with the gendered and sappy language of the wedding vows that are the modus operandi of Christian-based weddings. (That's not even considering what would happen AFTER if the priest gave my wedding ring a holy shower. ) Second, it would not be an honest representation of myself or my partner to have a wedding with religious overtones. I completely respect the decision of many to get married in a church. For me, it would be an appropriation of ceremonial activities that I do not really relate to in my daily life. If there is anything I would want from a wedding, it would be an honest representation, celebration and sharing of my relationship as it exists on the regular. I'm sure I will have a father-daughter dance, for example, but my dad and I will probably be more likely to dance to mystikal than Celine Dion. (And if anyone tries to sneak in the Electric Slide to the playlist, I'm pulling the plug on the whole deal. I will probably have a bouncer on hand for this task alone.)

Last night was a great deal of fun for me, if only because I got to see two people who genuinely love each other, in what appears to be the purest sense, tell their loved ones that they plan to stay that way. No matter how you experience your own relationships, that basic tenet of human connection is palatable. If there is anything that moved me yesterday, it was simply seeing the way Kat and Makko looked stole glances all night when they thought no one was looking.

In many ways, though, the night was very emotionally and mentally exhausting. I am entering the fifth month of ascetic sobriety, and last night was probably the greatest challenge that I have had to my new lifestyle. Compounding the very presence of alcohol as a challenge was almost 20 of my very good friends and their families slamming drinks on the regular, not really providing much conversation that could distract me enough to not notice their single-minded pursuit of the evening. I tend very much to shy away from small talk if I can avoid it and my tolerance for socially acceptable integration at events like weddings is fairly low. I can manage, but it takes a lot of energy to maintain the calm. Throw in toasts, open bars, loud music... it's pretty much a sure set-up for a relapse. But, as the hours fell away, it got easier. Three club sodas and a diet coke later, I was able to take a deep breath and realize that like climbing a hill on the bike, the beginnings of a challenging situation are often mentally the toughest part.

As the night wore on, I realized that I did not want to stay overnight in Tubac and I came to the realization that I almost certainly could not stay the night and maintain a level head. I thought of my bike, my coffee pot, my cat and my dark and quiet room. Once you stop drinking and going out, it's amazing how even the sheer noise of being around a lot of drunk people is overwhelming. Around mid-night, as people were after-partying in one of the hotel rooms, the need to sleep in my own bed, drink my own coffee and ride my bike before noon became too much to handle. I said goodbye to a select few around 12:20 am, dipped out into the silent, cool evening, and headed back to Tucson. I felt sad and relieved. And so proud that I did not make the choice to drink.

My life is very different now and routines are the metronome's tick that keeps my days in sync. I rely on waking up early, pedaling my bike and spending time with myself in the morning to set the tone for the waking hours. I am in a calm and comfortable place in this new direction and lifestyle, and it has been hard ebbing away from the patterns, scenes and routines that used to throw the wrench in my emotional spokes. Last night, I felt outside of the energy and conversation that my old friends were experiencing. And that's a hard thing to experience. However, the self that woke up at six-thirty this morning is calm and relieved that I didn't stick around. I am okay not being in the center of the action socially. I don't go out much and I don't miss it. I wake up almost everyday with a calm heart, mind and body.

And that makes it all worthwhile.

p=mv

Never underestimate the power of momentum. Or physics, for that matter.

I speak of this, of course, in metaphorical matters because brevity is not my strong point, and if I were to take on the perks of momentum in the physical sense (say, pedaling through the trough of a downhill to make rolling up the next climb easier) we'd be here all day extolling what should be fairly obvious.

But when it comes to momentum in my daily routine, sometimes the benefits are not so obvious and I have to remind myself. Or subtly not remind myself of anything and just let it happen. Usually momentum is already there, it takes your own ill-advised interference to slow it down or throw it off track.

I am coming out of this weekend with a great deal of momentum, even though it could be very easy not to. I made a lot of mistakes (noob amateur mistakes, in the bike racing** arena) and hit some barriers (not literally, thank god). However, as my favorite fortune cookie of late states, "Nothing is a waste of time if you use it wisely". And for all my mix-ups, I earned a great deal of learned experience. I can't say that I will "never" do something again, but certainly, I will be a great deal more conscious to arrive early to events, have a spare car key, etc. S'all part of the process.

Possibly the greatest achievement and point of pride for myself that came out of this weekend was the up-close-and-personal engagement I had with my spontaneous self. That is, the person that rides, speaks, hurdles, laughs or stands up for myself in a moment where anticipated response is impossible. My proudest moments from racing this weekend came in the situations where I was obligated to act without thought. I surprised myself and gained a great deal of confidence in my ability to encounter unanticipated adversity with creative and effective solutions. That part of me that policed my actions for so long for fear of embarrassing myself was silenced into submission by confidence that was gained each time I both acted and recognized performative problem-solving and hard-working capabilities.

So, as I woke up today, the first day of spring break, with nearly 13 hours of logged restorative sleep under my wing, I felt well. After a wonderful morning coffee conversation with my mom to start off the day, followed by a great interaction with my psychiatrist, lunch at home and the breeze blowing through my windows, I am feeling the collective momentum of a weekend of welcomed experience and riding the lightning of initiative I feel in my re-charged batteries.

It, my friends, is one of the greatest feelings alive.

**The race I speak of was the Tucson Bicycle Classic, a three-day stage race held every year in beautiful Sahuarita and Green Valley, Arizona.

Foundations

Things I learned at Hillsboro bike race this weekend:

-Never rely on a hotel to have decent breakfast or coffee. Or have it at all, for that matter. Pack for the worst case scenario- ie: world is in flames. Bagels, medium roast, rice milk, natural peanut butter and jelly.

-Always take your own pillow. No pillow is like your own. No matter how much you drool on the hotel provided padding.

-Crying from exhaustion is okay, after you cross the finish line, at the end of a nine mile climb.

-Sometimes you're going to ride alone. Sometimes you're going to ride the whole race alone.

-Buy rain jacket- immediately.

-60 miles is too far on two bottles. Pack for worst case scenario: ie: riding bike race alone, in headwind, rain, mountains.

-New Mexico is beautiful. I kinda-sorta hate their bike races.

-It's going to take a while to learn how to time-trial. And experience.

- My UA teammates are amazing and fun.

-Despite a long, sad, hard day, I still want to ride my bike. And that's pretty cool.