Let go of the anger.

I hate being sick. I’m just getting over a miserable head cold and I’ve been pissed off about how I’ve felt health-wise all week.

What I noticed, though, is that the feeling of misery isn’t the physical discomfort. I’m actually pretty tough when it comes to pain, etc. (which my brother-in-law would say is what EVERYONE says—but I know it’s true for me. ;) ) I’m miserable because I’m angry about being sick.

When I was miserable at my job, I worked with an amazing woman to help get things back on track. Stella’s thing was (still is) happiness. “Get happy.” She’d say that if you weren’t happy you couldn’t do your best work, and you wouldn’t see opportunities that you don’t want to miss.

What I wanted was a different job. What I needed was to feel what I felt, then move on to a better feeling.

One of the most important things Stella ever said to me was, “While you’re doing whatever you’re doing to change things, you have to trust that the universe is out there working on your behalf. It will meet you half way, but you can’t plan or control that part.”

I never trusted the universe. What I’ve gotten in my life, so I thought, was because I put my head down and worked through whatever it took to get my share of the life-win scraps. And I think I did okay. We live in a safe place and have the luxury of choosing the food we eat and taking vacations. It feels like these things were earned. Earning I understand.

But the “letting things happen” part? What is that about?

It’s this head cold. It just happened. It doesn’t have to make me happy, but being angry that I can’t do what I’d planned to do that day (or for several days) doesn’t change it. Getting mad at the universe for putting me on the couch doesn’t help me. My anger, I think, is me feeling betrayed. Like I’m doing my part, and the universe is putting its boot on my face.

Anger is more complicated than we think. It looks so pure on the surface, but my anger, for example, is “betrayal” flavored. What about the person who gets in the ring feeling anger? Is he boxing, or is he trying to kill someone?

We’re all playing a game. It’s all a game. That means doing your best. Doing it in a way that’s fun. You don’t go into a game of Settlers of Catan based on anger. You don’t box that way. You can’t live that way. Not really live.

Get the right sparring partner.

Last night my husband and I watched Facing Ali, a series of interviews with men who fought title bouts with The Greatist.

These guys are no doubt heroes, but what about the guys who sparred with Ali? What about Jimmy Ellis? Sure, the boxing legends spent several grueling minutes in the ring with Ali, but Ellis did it for twenty years.

Sparring isn’t fighting. Sparring the practice of sharpening your skills and challenging your partner to do the hard stuff. Boxers have coaches, but the coach isn’t usually doing the work with you. Your sparring partner is. This partner works with you, but doesn’t always have the same goals. You’re working on using a certain punch more efficiently; your partner’s working on stamina.

I look at people in the ring at my gym and sometimes wonder if they’re paired with the right person. Someone who’s inexperienced is SO happy to be getting attention from a fighter with more skills. But that fighter may not be the right sparring partner. It’s tricky.

Are you copping out by only working with people you know you could beat in a real fight?

Or maybe you’re trying to figure out—or establish—where you are in this weird kind of pecking order.

Or maybe you’re looking for a challenge. That’s what I want. But I’m looking for a meaningful challenge. I want to work with someone who has better skills than me AND help me see why it matters. I want to grow, not just get beaten up. I may not alway see exactly what the lesson was for that day, but it should still feel like a lesson—not just getting my ass kicked.

In general, I’m a lot choosier about who I spend my time with both inside and outside of the ring.

I spent too many years in a career where the people I should have been sparring with were basically saying, “You’ll never get better no matter how hard to try because you don’t have a particular piece of paper.” (I’m telling you, just having a card—the USA Boxing clearance for sparring—doesn’t buy you much, not even basic cred.) What i heard at work was “SIt over there for awhile and watch us make decisions” and “This place really sucks, so it’s too bad we have to suffer like this to keep money coming in.” I don’t do that anymore.

I’m not a small talk person, and while I don’t have to talk about the meaning of life all the time (though I could get used to that), I do want to feel like every exchange I have with someone means something. Because it can. Tiny little things. I remember the woman who was working at the gas station when I stopped late on the 2016 election day. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on TV. I don’t even know what she said to me, but that woman was kind. And I noticed when she wasn’t working any more. Somehow her just being there and being pleasant meant as much to me as the tone in the doctor’s voice when he called the next morning to say that my mom died.

When it comes to partnering, though, take a really close look at the person you spend the most time with. Who is that? For me it’s my husband Evan. We spend a lot of time together. We laugh A LOT. I mostly think he’s a better person than me. His faith is stronger. He connects comfortably with the kinds of people I’ve never been able to (like, children). I know that some people don’t look forward to going home to their parter and frankly that breaks my heart. Evan IS home. We both grow a little (almost) every day. But you gotta find that right one. I got the right one. An incredibly lucky break for me.

Using the ring

It was a big revelation for me. After doing this for 10+ years, I got something in a way I haven't before.

My elbow's been bothering me. It's not an injury so much as a stress? An inflamed tendon? Whatever. It doesn't feel serious.

Not the cause, but I suspected that something that kept the discomfort alive was one boxer's style. This man is incredibly strong. And I can hold mitts for "strong," but he always moves to his left as he throws, which means that his [amazingly powerful] cross hits my right hand straight on, then at a bit of an angle, then more of an angle, then more, and more. It's this combination of power and unusual angle (because I'm a stubborn trainer and won't move) that wasn't working.

So yesterday, here he comes in the rotation. I know that cross is coming, but instead of leaving him room to move, I stood so close to the ropes that he couldn't drift to his left. I'm not even sure if he noticed it, but it worked.

What's the point? Well, this is what boxers do in the ring. Do what they can to dominate a situation. If the person is bigger, stronger, faster, smarter--whatever--you can still "win." You make whatever you can work for you, including the ropes. 

I think about what's possible most often in terms of opportunities, or possibilities. But constraints are just as important. I felt pretty smart, even though you'd think I would have realized this years ago.

When you don't get to choose

I almost always get to choose what I eat.

I'm lucky.

Someone at the gym brought in a carload of food that had been donated by a local business. Tons of stuff. Frozen stuff, dairy stuff, cans, bags, organic, not organic.

I found myself thinking, "Thank you, but I don't think I'd eat that." "How are the dates? Is everything expired?" "It doesn't specifically say MSG on the label, but some of the natural flavors could be MSG in disguise." 

My husband and I have sometimes made donations to a local food shelf. I actually love taking the "most asked for" list and making bags of food to give. 

But the food they're asking for isn't often what I'd choose to eat. And even when they ask for peanut butter, I never know it it's better to give two jars of organic or four jars of the industrial kind--even when I know that peanuts are one of the most heavily sprayed foods. They say peanuts are full of pesticides.

So I thought, as I accepted an armload of this stuff, how it would feel if I didn't get to choose. If I would have given the yogurt to my kids even if it was a couple days past the date...and let them have the boxed macaroni and cheese because it was quick, and they love it. It's easy to think about these things in the abstract, but I've never before looked at a pile of offered free food and thought, "How would it feel if this is all I had to work with?" If there was no choice. If you were thankful for--if still unhappy with--this gift of food from strangers.

So much gets taken for granted.

What did I learn? I'm spoiled. I'm a snob. I haven't really appreciated how much harder it is to "do your best" when you can't just have whatever it is you want. I've known in the past that's true, but I've never felt it in my heart before.

So much with the food

We spend SO MUCH TIME talking about food. What to eat. Where to buy it. Whether or not this form of protein supplement is superior to another one. What time we eat. What we don't like to eat. What we ate in this place at this time with these people. 

When is it too much?

At some point, I guess you have to decide how much you'll let this rule your life. How many minutes of the day do you want to spend counting, worrying, or resisting?