I Got Judged

We often hear: "Don't judge a book by its cover." Then balance that advice alongside: "Always trust your gut instinct." We humans are tribal animals, meaning we pull into groups for survival. This constant awareness to be wary of strangers is wired into our consciousness. If something about another person seems off, our antenna perks up, and we retreat into defensive mode. I was the cause of such a response even though I was only intending to be a friendly, fellow dog lover.

 

The big trend in fitness is rucking, that is, walking extended distances with either a weighted vest or a weighted backpack to add more of a cardio challenge. The term rucking has a military origin because a military backpack is called a "rucksack," shortened to "ruck,"and forced marches with rucks are known as rucking. As a former infantryman, I know quite a lot about rucking.

Although I have access to a weighted vest, I thought it too light and hipster for me so I put barbell weights in my camping backpack in an attempt to turn my morning exercise routine into "rucking."

A few blocks from my house, I ran into a man walking a little girl to school. He had a shiba inu on a leash, and so I approached, saying that I once had a dog like theirs. (My Scout who I lost last May.) The expected response is for the shiba owner to offer an enthusiastic greeting, ask if I want to pet the dog, then we trade favorite anecdotes about our canines. But this time, the man glowered and shied from me, taking a step back, and drawing his daughter behind him. Stranger danger! The man was younger and much taller than me, so I didn't see how I represented a threat. Plus I had kept a respectful distance.

Deciding to leave well enough alone, I continued my walk and wondered what about me had provoked such a suspicious reaction. Then it dawned on me. A short, dark-complexioned man like myself, with a backpack, wandering around that time of the day in a mostly White neighborhood. Who else could I be but a homeless vagrant? 

Despite his display of ethnic prejudice, I couldn't fault him. I've run into plenty of sketchy looking people and you learn, better to misjudge than to be taken by surprise. As a result, I've ditched the backpack in favor of the weighted vest and haven't been turned away since.

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Balance

Catherine Dilts

When I retired from the corporate office job recently, I envisioned sitting at my computer for eight hours a day, churning out fiction manuscripts at a frenetic pace.

Even though I knew better.

During my day job years, I wrote some of my published stories in fifteen-minute increments with time seized out of a busy schedule. Like many writers, the flashes of brilliance I had during work hours had to be jotted down surreptitiously, for later development. Not exactly satisfying, this process felt like piecing together scraps to make a quilt.

When off the clock, I might have the luxury of six to eight hours to focus on a project. A few writing marathons went even longer. I wrote on Sundays, and even used holidays to write fiction. I participated in NaNoWriMo several times. To get 50,000 words slammed down in a month, you have to plant your rear on a chair and work long hours.

When I went to my doctor with a shoulder complaint a few years ago, I did the math. Between the day job and writing fiction, I was frequently at the computer twelve hours a day. Not every day. But often enough. That kind of workload is not sustainable. Physically. Excessively long writing sessions resulted in a couple stints with physical therapy.

When I no longer had a day job whittling away my time, I slid to the opposite extreme a few times. Briefly. I am at heart a workaholic. These forays into slackerdom didn’t last long.

Realizing I can go to either extreme, I keep a timesheet for my writing. And a fitness schedule for my walking and running. Both need to happen, or else everything starts to break down. Both require consistency. Both work and fitness activities also require breaks. Recovery days.

Saturday the weather finally cleared up enough for an outdoor walk. My husband and I enjoyed the fresh air, sunshine, and birds. The small brown birds were chirping with delight to bask in warm sun after a long cold spell. I almost felt like chirping, too.

Taking breaks from writing is necessary. Breaks offer a refreshing change of pace that often inspires a new story. On the flip side, inspiration is nothing without work to give it form. It’s all about balancing work and play, diligence and rest.

How do you balance the demands and delights in your life?