Two Steps Forward

Today was a carnivore's delight--and I usually eat lots of fish, not much meat. But I went to the local deli with a friend for lunch and had a tongue sandwich. Okay, call me weird, but I love corned tongue, probably because I grew up eating it. I have friends who can barely have lunch with me when I order it.
Tonight another friend and I went to the Modern Museum of Art, and we both ordered lamb chops. I brought one of mine home (they were double chops) for a sandwich tomorrow--nothing like a cold lamb sandwich with mayo. These were served with wonderfully delicate and crisp green peas, carrots, baby green beans, and radishes on a bed of green pea puree--and it was really a thin puree. Delicious but a real extravagance. Still I enjoyed it.
Took my two steps forward today, if you remember last night's blog. Went to the grocery store with no untoward incidents--feeling fairly confident. But tonight I dreaded the walk across the long plaza entrance to the Modern and then across the huge marble-floored lobby. Did all of it without holding on to anyone--so that was my two steps forward and a bit boost to myself-confidence, plus a really good dinner.
Many of my Sisters in Crime friends are at the Malice Domestic conference in Bethesda this weekend, at a Hyatt Regency. There have been posts about acrophobia and HyattRegencey hotels, and I'm here to sympathize. I once spent five nights on the 16th floor of a Hyatt with a three--year-old--"Oh, ma'am, there's no way your child could climb that railing"--hah! They didn't know Colin. Once I rode up in one of those abominable glass elevators and asked a friend to hold my two-year old so I could face the doors and not see the world falling away. When the elevator opened at our floor, he said, "Judy, could you take your child now?" And waiting for me in the room with my parents was a six-month old. There was a balcony on the street side of our suite and that awful open atrium on the other side. Needless to say I was a nervous wreck the whole time. Who first designed those blasted open atrium hotels with glass elevators? Think of all that wasted space they could have used for rooms. On Maui I was so relieved that our room was in the annex--low class, I know, but so much more secure. And if you went out on the balcony (only second floor) and held your head just right, you could see the ocean. My best say in a Hyatt.
Okay, enough about me and my phobias. I'm going to settle down, after a happy day, and read At the Water's Edge by Sarah Gruen (\Water for Elephants and other titles). This one is about a spoiled American couple who go to search or Nessie, the Lochness monster, and how she grows and changes in the process.
Happy weekend to all.

The words that come out of our mouths

The other night I was talking yoga with a friend of Jordan's, and said I did my yoga routine alone in the sunroom. My neighbor walked up and said, "Why don't you go to class?" I retorted, "You know I don't like to go out!" The minute I said it, the words echoed in my head. They weren't exactly what I meant--I don't like to do yoga with a lot of other people, and I don't want to deliberately take the chunk out of my day that it takes to come and go.
But did I really mean it? I love people, I feed on company, and too much time alone makes me a tad depressed. But as a friend said to me, "You don't go out. You bring people to you." I've long been aware of a tendency toward reclusiveness that lurks in me, even though I love to go to small parties, restaurants with friends, etc. Increasingly I don't like to go out alone.
Almost forty years ago I was housebound by agoraphobia--sometimes defined as a fear of open spaces but best defined by me as a fear of fear. Phobics gradually draw the circle more tightly around them--the limits of where they'll go get closer and closer until one day you just don't go. If you don't understand panic, you'll have to trust me on this one--I  understand it too well. I spent years pushing back that circle, enlarging it.
But recently I've felt it closing in a bit, and especially during the two weeks I had whatever I had. I stayed home--and pretty much liked it. So when I heard those words--at a party significantly in my own comfortable "safe" house--I knew it was time to start pushing back again. Jacob got caught in my push and we went to church yesterday (once you're out of the habit of going, skipping church gets easier and easier). He tried mightily to talk me into leaving before the sermon, but I insisted and he went grumpily off to the children's sermon. I was glad I stayed because the sermon was good and the music glorious.
Today I had errands to run but found myself contemplating putting them off. That's when I got high behind, dressed and set off to Goodwill, liquor store, grocery and cosmetics store. A bit conscious of myself as I did those things (am I anxious or not?) but I did them. And each small step is a victory. This week, I will make it a point to get out of the house every day.
I'll get my balance back, and my circle will grow. Many people have problems so much worse. How can I complain?