One Lap Around the Sun

I'm all caught up in moments these days. We celebrated our wedding anniversary this past Sunday and well, you know, there's something about those milestones. We woke up from dreams snuggled under light snow that fell the entire night; we woke surrounded by the indulgence of the Brown Palace. Our eyes lifted in the spacious softness of a king bed, white clouds of sheets, and Down. We found ourselves dining at one of the best Denver brunch offerings. The day continued with light snow falling, champagne rising, and sweet smiles streaming from our faces. Year One - The Mailornishs (though it's misleading because we've been together for 8.5).

I must admit I am sad to see our first year of marriage end. I had signed up for it to be a good one so I buckled down and felt all the joys that come along with the possibilities of a lifetime partner. I was engaged in the moment and inspired to live this past year like the beginning of some great adventure. It was in many ways a coming together and a clear look at this guy who was my boyfriend, my roommate, my fiancé, and now my husband.

It’s funny what a year can do to a person’s perspective. I'm not entirely off my rocker though, I know I did some good PR work on the year. JH sent me a great e-mail Sunday talking about things that take a year (I'm putting it at the bottom of this post). It was such a fun note to find on our anniversary. I read it out loud to D as we drove across Denver. We smiled at the humor and the thoughtfulness.

It got me thinking again about what can happen over the shift of one year. What can be done to bring a person closer to living the life they were meant to live or simply enjoying the life they have on their plate? What if we took 365 days to invest in ourselves, our dreams, our relationships, our health, or anything we truly want to achieve? A year ago I would never imagine myself living 15 lbs. lighter than I have been the past 10 years. I must admit, it feels pretty good.

I sat with a friend the other day over lunch and we talked about the things we would do if we weren’t scared to just say what it is we wanted out of life. If we were ready to start our life’s true work, what would that be? Is anything possible if you set your mind to it? Year two might be a rival if I play my cards right.
_________________________________________________________
(I can't believe it's been a year)

  • It takes a year for light to travel 5.88 trillion miles
  • It takes a year for a Future Farmer of America member to receive a Chapter FFA Degree
  • It takes a year for a colony of 25,000 termites to eat an eight foot section of a 2"x4"
  • It took Alexander the Great a year to conquer Tyre
  • It takes a year for the planet Earth to make one orbit of its Sun (duh)
  • It takes a year to learn to fly supersonic jet fighters at the National Test Pilot School in Mojave, CA (and tuition is $500,000)(anniv present perhaps?)
  • It takes a year to eat through Andy's bird flu emergency rations
  • It takes a year before people start saying "well, the honeymoon's over"
  • It takes a year to settle into mister and missus Congratulations, you two!
xxoo, J&E
(um, it takes a year before we are officially outside the present-giving time period - I owe you a painting!)

Committed

I'm a commitment-phobe; perhaps a recovering commitment-phobe. In fact, I was secretly doing the "giving thing" for a while before I decided to finally commit to the whole concept and do an official 29 Gifts Round. I figured it would be good conversation for my book club. I figured signing in on the site would make me more accountable, even though I thought it was a bit contrived and not really me (I'm more of a doer not a talk-about-doing doer). And so I stepped in to the commitment not realizing what I was really committing to. Hell it was only 1 month, right?!

Yesterday I realized how much that sheer act of commitment has done for me. Every day I have been accountable for giving something, and in turn I feel like I have received so much. More than that, I decided at the outset to do a blog post every day on that site so I would not forget the gifts. It compelled me to wake up every morning and write, which is my passion, my dream, my balance. Sadly, it is also something I stuff down and keep secretive and leave seemingly out of reach. A few weeks ago, I realized that this blog was me "living the dream". Yes I would love for that dream to include a book contract and publication and yes perhaps I was celebrating the purple ribbon; but for now I was doing something and was inspired enough. It surely came with the mindset reframing that has taken place.

Wednesday night we were watching American Splendor and I found myself inspired by Harvey Pekar, a file clerk who never quite his “day” job but also held on to the idea of doing something “more” with his life. It's ironic coming from a man who has such a down-trodden, negative take on life; but they call him the “everyman comic book hero” and he writes stories about real life. After the movie, I felt like something was missing in the day and I realized I hadn't done a 29 Gifts post yet because I didn’t write that morning. It wasn't the first time that has happened but it was then that I realized I have written almost every day the past few weeks. At the beginning of January, my goal was to journal 10,000 words; I am well over 30,000. It's just a number but it validates something deeper in me.

Thursday morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of habit. Funny to, I bucked my normal routine and took a shower before I went down to write. D was up making coffee before me. When he came upstairs and saw me headed to the bathroom, he said, "Oh I thought you were going downstairs; I turned on your computer and heater." I realized then, that he too was getting used to this commitment and he was supporting it. It made me shine inside.

Afterwards, I was on fire in the basement. I was mentally in a place I hadn't been before. It was as strong as the sheer bouts of joy I have experienced lately but it was more than that. It was about really feeling connected to myself and the life I want to be living. I realized too that last year I stepped in to the one hell of a major commitment by marrying D. I was scared. It was something we both put off for so long but when I said yes, I felt like I was saying yes to life. I spent the rest of the year happily surprised to find how much marriage suited me. I also spent the rest of the year committing to get my body to a size and place I found ideal. That physical change has brought so much clarification and perspective on how I've been living. A year ago I was not this person. I felt like I was glowing.

Walking to work, I remembered a conversation with JK a few days ago when she said she was a commitment-phobe. Re-thinking it, I realized it was there to make me realize what committing does for one's soul. I wondered how many people never commit to their passion in life and yet they show up regularly to jobs they hate or they serve others needs while pushing aside their own. I thought about how much more inspired my life feels when I take care of myself first and how much more I give others when I am in that "space".

I was dying to ask JK if she could commit to an idea, to a desire in her life. When we finally sat down, she said she always associates commitment with the bad things, the obligation. I completely related. We spent two hours having a juicy conversation about this topic. I told her how good I felt and that I thought she should choose to commit to anything that inspires her. Anything and hold tight to it, if only for a month. I wondered what would happen. She said the idea felt like the rabbit hole; like once she got started, there would be no way to go back. She wasn't sure how much life would shift, but she thought it would be huge. I agreed it was scary - you never know what's going to happen. Then again, I told her my bigger fear was not the rabbit hole any longer, it was that this feeling of inspiration and hope and intuitive connection would end.

Is that the secret? To be accountable for who you are and what you do and what you want out of this life? As Jack London said, “You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” Yesterday it was so strong, I felt like I was flying. I left M a voice message saying I was spewing happiness. I wanted to say it was a good day, especially since it feels like so often I say it’s a bad day. The lights kept turning green as I approached each intersection walking home. I couldn’t help but think anything was possible.

The Women

The other night I finally finished the 1939 version of The Women - an all-female-casted movie about infidelity, divorce, and social relationships. The smart, sophisticated charaters in this movie are aggressive, egotistical, and obnoxious. These Manhattan socialites are fast talkers, quick witted, and out for the blood of their contemporaries - never stopping to consider how emotionally damaging it is to gossip about one of their "good" friends. Each woman most definitely protects herself from the surrounding women while projecting an air of confidence. I found Norma Shearer’s Mary so lovable: she holds her integrity in the face of this social badgery and, by the end of the movie, she finds a way to assert herself and band together with a few women who have proven themselves to truly be good friends. I relate to her facial reactions and her physical appearance (P.S. I definitely have a Hollywood crush kickin' -she's the one on the left below. P.P.S. the fashions and real feminine shapes are at times more mesmerizing than the movie itself).

Interestingly enough, when the movie was recreated in 2008, Diane English (Director) said she wanted to have something new to add to the story rather than just doing a remake. The contemporary women are presented more as supportive girlfriends, still dealing with infidelity, but also dealing with the breakdown of a true BFF friendship. I wonder, in this version, if the women are friends because it’s more politically correct nowadays, or if in the past 80 years we have come to discover the sheer importance of supporting girlfriends rather than competing with them?

In the face of all the dynamics that have changed in my life this past year, my close girlfriend’s are as important as ever. There are some things only certain women can relate to or provide insight about. Being the youngest of six girls, I have always had the ability to draw from an arsenal of feminine input and wisdom. Yet still I have been lucky enough to have great friends to confide in as well. I prefer to think we are in this together, supporting each other. We can stand beside each other rather than tear each other down. We are stronger as a sex that way; we are stronger to evolve that way.

MAD woMEN

I love MAD MEN. I would sell advertising or run coffee as a production assistant on the set or get a tattoo of it on my butt because I can't say enough good things about the show. TV is sometimes the religion I preach. When a show makes me think and provides fodder for conversations, well I just can't stop trying to get people to convert.

I hate to admit it but I'm finding these days that though I "know" about historical events, I haven't digested the sheer importance associated with some of them. I'm starting to digest. In any case, I was watching a bonus feature on a MAD MEN dvd the other night about the Civil Rights Movement and Women’s Lib. The feature had various professors talking about how the Civil Rights movement consisted of two types of women: black and white. Since both found themselves being oppressed, the movement spawned a much larger Women’s Liberation movement than it would probably have been otherwise.

Alongside that, I'm currently reading Fear of Flying by Erica Jung. Published in 1973, I thought the book was just a sexy, seedy look into a married woman’s intimate thoughts of considering an affair. At the time when it was published, the book was about topics women didn't openly discuss (remember: there was no Sex and The City to reference). Rather, I assume, most women pushed away these "dirty" thoughts that naturally floated around in their minds, or if they welcomed the thoughts, they assumed no one else was thinking that way so they kept it to themselves.

Even today it is hard enough to project an image of strength and beauty and competency in a world full of purvey men. I can’t begin to digest how how subtle this oppression was and how isolating it made life 50 years ago. Most women had sex just to procreate. It was a patriarchal society where men wanted woman at home with the kids (very compartmentalized). Birth Control Pills, usually only prescribed to married woman, began being dispensed to single woman. This provided a fairly definitive way for a woman to control her reproductive rights and with that, her sexuality. Good damn how liberating that must have been! It was no longer just about having babies; it started to become about the enjoyment of the act, a natural concept for men. Once a woman could get in touch with her sexuality, she could control a piece of herself.

i, Swinger

(Combustible Edison)
It's true: we're officially swingers. I can't even type it with a straight face and I certainly can't post any links to websites with the same word, so I'll post photos instead.

As each new year unfolds, I find it funny that I don't catch on to "Andy Maillet Projects" quicker. They sneak up on me like a child in pajamas who was waiting at the top of the stairs to steal some m&m's from the adult party. All of a sudden the music stops, the tasteless jokes halt, and the kid is found point blank in the middle of the action. I, of course, am usually dangling a martini and saying something ridiculously uncouth when this happens. Andy Maillet projects feel just like that - harmless - but they bring the party down a notch before it starts back up again, leaving a funny story in the wake.
To make a long story short, he was given a 35-foot beast named, I kid you not, THE SWINGER. We spent the weekend cleaning it out. D 100% inspired: singing out loud to his ipod as he scrubbed the exterior or ripped apart water-logged parts. Me: feeling like my mom had just put the kabosh on summer fun in lieu of household chores and also completely convinced I would end up in the ICU with the Hantavirus (only time will tell).

In any case, this is the newest member of our family. I will be making a bumper sticker that says, "I Brake for Hantavirus." Dean suggested, "I Swing for Hantavirus" (that's him in the last photo bottom right; he's the one with the bird flu mask on).

Dancing Days Are Here Again

(Led Zeppelin)
We are all dealt a destiny we come to know intimately as we age. Some take that destiny and dance with it; they let their toes get stepped on or move swiftly/gracefully across the floor. Some never get out of their seat, preferring to sit like wall flowers outside of the action. Some wait for the foxtrot to end so they can dance the waltz; they wait and wait but the waltz is never played.

I spent years, literally years, thinking my destiny had been thrown off course. I thought, “where is the damn waltz when all they’re playing is foxtrot?” The same is true with my upbringing, my love life, my career, my weight, etc. When it comes down to it, my expectations got in the way of me seeing the beauty in my life.

Now, I have no time to waste. I feel I need to fill the minutes because it feels like minutes are all that matter. Perhaps I don't want to slow down and really think about how many moments I wasted wishing for different moments. Perhaps I have picked through that sentiment enough and am ready to be present instead of berating myself.

The other night, after I found out some bad news, D prepared dinner in a 50s cabin up by a lake in the woods outside Granby. Our friends played jazz on their zume and we sipped cocktails as the evening took over the day. My heart was heavy with expectations of the worst sort. Unexpectedly, my love took my hand and swung it up by his shoulder. He put his cheek to mine and wrapped his arm around my hips. We swayed to the music, so classically achey and suiting to my soul. He danced me around the small kitchen, in front of the fridge, in spite of the dogs, as dinner cooked. It was something he never normally would instigate. In fact, I always try to twirl him around our kitchen, daydreaming that we are spinning happiness from our life together. He usually acquiesces but I can tell he thinks I'm being silly. That night, he moved me into the next moment of my life and blew apart my expectations. In sadness there was joy, and my heart broke in a good way.

A Dying Breed

Finding myself newly married has been its own adventure these past four months. It is still very novel to say, "my husband". When I hear D say, “my wife,” I almost stop to look around for some middle aged woman with wrinkles and a bad attitude. Then I realize he's talking about me and I look pretty dang good and I’m pretty dang happy.

Living with a new last name has not been such a seamless transition. I am in the process of purchasing a url for my freelance business and am leaning towards amymaillet.com. The thing is: I don’t feel like Amy Maillet. I feel like Amy Cornish with a side of Maillet. Who knew my name change would cause such an identity crisis? It is my future but what about my past? All those things Amy Cornish lived seem to fade off the charts and become something certain people “remember when”. Remember Amy Cornish?

It’s not that I have accomplished so much in my life that I need to hold on to Cornish; rather it’s a deep breed affinity for the name and the people who came before me and bestowed it on me. My ancestors, yes, but really my grandparents, my dad and his brothers and sister. People who I see rarely but feel for deeply in my heart. Good, kind-hearted, fun loving people that don’t need much but enjoy what they have. That is what I feel when I think of "Cornish". It has always been positive.

Strange too is the consideration that people I meet now will probably never know the last name I carried for 33 years. My kids will ask about it like a trivia fact. My sisters will probably all have other alias’. Six girls and no trace of the Cornish name, only the curves of our cheeks and the lightness of our personality will give it away. It is like a dying breed: someday there will be a search for cave drawings and signs of what was once a group of people bound together. We will be dispersed in the world and hidden by the society around us. We can be traced and identified only by digging under the veils of new last names.

Last night after about the 50th url suggestion and D growing weary of the conversation, I asked him if he would feel comfortable buying AndyCornish.com? He stopped and rolled that around in his mouth and didn't like the taste very much. So this name change business is not just me. It’s like rerouting a river or having a new paint color in your bedroom, it takes some getting used to. I’m not even saying Maillet is a bad thing. My name sounds so much prettier these days with the fade of the French “let”. Since it flows better now, I feel some strange validation that I made the right decision marrying this guy. Funny, I know, and there's no real weight to the sentiment other than it’s one of those nuggets so close to my heart. And Cornish is not gone…it’s there in the middle but I refuse to be a hyphenater or a double-namer. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it whole.