Being a teenager is terrifying

My hands shook all the time when I was a teenager.

It wasn’t because of a medical condition, and I never checked whether I had anything like anxiety disorder. The fine tremble was so familiar to me that I never even thought about it much, and when someone asked I would brush it off with a “oh, they always do that.” Never once did I think about how strange it was, and alarming, that an average day could make my hands do something a human body is only supposed to do at its most frightened or emotional.

The emotion and fear weren’t exactly new to me either, with every day a desperate effort to prove myself to classmates I was certain hated me and a father and grandparents who looked at me and wished for a different girl in my place. It was like every morning was the biggest test of my life, and I was dogged with the constant, terrible feeling I was failing no matter what I did.

Adults forget how terrifying being a teenager can be. It’s like inching slowly out onto an impossibly high diving board for the very first time in your life, Olympic-level judges critiquing your every step and hesitation. People are screaming suggestions and other critiques to you from both the sidelines and the water, along with dire warnings about what will happen if your dive isn’t absolutely perfect. There’s some encouragement, but it either gets lost in the shouting or makes it seem like you’re being a coward for not just jumping in.

When you get in the water, it’s always easier. True, we still have people shouting at us from the sidelines, and sometimes the other swimmers try to drown us, but it feels like there aren’t as many people paying attention. Even more importantly, the water is familiar to us now – even climbing back up and jumping in again isn’t as frightening, because we know what it feels like to fall. We’ve done it before, and we know what to do with our bodies.

If you’re still up on that diving board, it’s okay to be scared. Being young is incredibly overwhelming, and though those of us down below mean well we don’t really understand. Just be as good to yourself as you can be, and know that when you get down to the water you realize that the shouting doesn’t really mean that much. All that really matters is that you get down here without hurting yourself, and figure out how to keep your head above water once you’re here. The rest of it is just noise.

I don’t know when my hands stopped shaking – I only noticed the strange stillness afterward. But whenever something stressful or frightening has happened in the years since, I can’t help but look down at my hands. Surely this is bad enough to make them shake, I always think. Surely what I’m going through has to be scarier than just being a teenager.

But they’ve never shaken since. 

Conquering it all, one step at a time

You can’t do it all at once.

It’s one of the hardest lessons to learn, whether it comes to weight loss, quitting smoking, writing a novel or getting your dream job. Primed with that first, wonderful burst of determined enthusiasm, we rush out to conquer whatever’s standing in our way with all the fervor of the newly converted. For a little while, at least, we’re sure we can do anything.

But whatever mountain we’re trying to climb inevitably outlasts that first rush of enthusiasm, because no matter how much we want something there’s still only so much our fragile human selves can do at once. The more worthwhile and life-changing a goal is, the less likely it is that you’ll be able to knock it out in a few weeks or even a few months. If the mountain you’re trying to tackle is big enough, you might not feel like you’ve made any progress at all during that time.

After working that long and hard for something that still seems so far away, you’ll start worrying that you should never have bothered making the climb in the first place. There will be a moment when your energy fails you, and you look at your treadmill or the alarm waking you up for your morning jog and loathe it with every fiber of your being. When you find yourself with a cigarette in your mouth, despite your best intentions, or you stare at your resume and wonder if you should just delete the file completely.

This is the point where so many people give up. They see a slip and a fall as the same thing, and take either as a sign to give up on the mountain completely. Some get sick of the work they’re putting into it, but others turn around because they feel like they’ve failed some kind of test. If they were a better person, the kind of person meant to accomplish whatever they’re trying to do, they wouldn’t be feeling so lost and discouraged by now. They lose hope, and let their doubts talk them into walking away.

But there’s no one, anywhere, who has ever raced to their goal with an easy stride and a song in their hearts (and if there are a few rare blossoms out there who have, do the world a favor and don’t admit it to anyone). Achieving your dreams, no matter what they are, is a long, slow and often painful process that takes the kind of raw determination that isn’t nearly as pretty or fun as enthusiasm.

The kind of people who accomplish their goals still curse their clock’s existence, think longingly of cheesecake or a cigarette, and cry and swear and kick things where no one can see them. And then they get up and go for the run anyway, or say no to whatever they’re craving for the thousandth time. They grit their teeth and suffer through the misery, because they want what’s at the end badly enough that they’re not going to let anything stand in their way.

That doesn’t mean they don’t stumble sometimes, earning scraped knees, heartache and grief instead of another step forward. When that happens, because it inevitably will, they pick themselves up, wipe their eyes and forge ahead. Falling a thousand times doesn’t mean you won’t get to the top of whatever mountain you’ve set your sites on.

You’ve just got to take it one step at a time.  

Don't get fooled by Photoshop

Photoshop claims yet another victim. Seriously, this woman
would be incapable of standing if her thigh muscles were
really that non-existent.

There’s no diet in the world that will make you look like the models you see online and in magazines. The models themselves don’t even look like that.

See, there’s this little thing called Photoshop.  And it turns out that, no matter how skinny a model or actress is in real life, the people who run the magazine or website want them to be even skinner. For their skin to be even clearer and their breasts to be even bigger. Wrinkles? They don’t exist in Photoshop land – a quick brush with the blur tool and they’re gone forever.

Sometimes, you don’t even need the “before” picture to tell. Those shots where the skin on their face looks so smooth and tight you could bounce a quarter off it? That’s not a magic skin crème – it’s someone in the art department who went a little too crazy on the computer. Not even Scarlett Johansson has that kind of face in real life, and if she can’t manage it that officially proves that it’s impossible to pull off.  

Besides, would we really want to? It kind of makes them look like aliens from another planet.
If someone ever invents a Photoshop that works on real life, they will immediately earn a gazillion dollars and legions of people would happily bow down to them as their new overlords. A quick swipe with the erase tool, a couple of taps on the “bright” slide bar, a little judicious stamping, and we could all look like those poor half-naked women draped over the couches in all those high fashion ads.

But right now, in a world where that kind of miracle technology doesn’t exist, we have to stop looking at those fantasy images and thinking that they’re something we need to work towards. That we need to be as skinny as those models we see in advertisements. That our chests need to be as round and as perky. That we can age in such a way where wrinkles don’t exist.

Those things are just as unreal as the idea of waking up in the morning with wings growing out of your back.

Think of those glowing, alien pictures of non-existent women in the same way you do paintings of nubile warrior women or ridiculously sexy space babes who were always inexplicably attracted to the hero. You’d never think you had to actually be one of those women, would you? If nothing else, those metal bras always looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Remind yourself of that, every time you start looking longingly at a Photoshopped waistline. Tell your sisters, friends, daughters and granddaughters, and repeat it until you see it start to sink in. Trying to twist, tighten or shove your body into a shape that doesn’t actually exist in nature can only bring you pain. At best, it leads to heartache and constant frustration. At worst, it leads to eating disorders and the kind of self-hatred that can screw up entire lives.

Exercise so you feel healthy and strong. Use that skin crème because you love the way it makes your skin feel silky soft. Change your diet because you want to wake up with more energy in the morning.

Whatever you choose to do, you’re showing the world how awesome, beautiful and powerful real women can be. In the end, that’s so much more amazing than any magic Photoshop can pull off.  

Loving your brain

by Gaetan (via Wikipedia)

We're reminded almost constantly to treat out bodies right. We're told to exercise so our muscles stay strong, eat healthy foods so our bodies get the vitamins and minerals they need, to protect our skin from the sun and make sure we get regular dental checkups.

When we get sick, injured or just achy, our co-workers tell us to go home and take care of ourselves. Get some medicine. Have someone cook you some chicken soup. Give your body the love and attention it needs to get well again.

Our brains, however, don't get nearly so much love and attention. We're constantly making demands out of the thing, insisting that it perform perfectly at work, remember the kids' schedules when we get home and think up something brilliant for our anniversary. We get mad at it every time it forgets something, and when it feels things we don't want it to we bottle the emotions up and pretend they're not happening. We're expected to be able to work forever, shake off negative feelings, and constantly achieve more.

But it's just as important to take care of our minds as it is our bodies, maybe more so. Our bodies may be what keep us alive, letting us do all those wonderful things like walk, talk and breathe on a regular basis, but the brain is the switchboard that makes it all happen. You wouldn't lovingly take care of a sports car only to mistreat the engine, would you?

What people tend to forget is that our minds are just as fragile and just as prone to injury as our bodies. That organ that allowed Beethoven to write symphonies that outlasted him my centuries, or Einstein to discover things about the universe that no one had ever imagined before, is just a small, wrinkled organ that's so complex internally that scientists are only beginning to understand it. If something as relatively simple as an arm or a leg can get damaged so many ways, imagine the trouble that the brain can get in to.

But we shouldn't be ashamed of our brains for getting tired, or even breaking, any more than we are when our muscles and bones do the same thing. We should learn to accept its frailties the same way we accept that we'll never be a size six, no matter how many diets we go on, or that we'll never run as fast an as Olympic sprinter no matter how hard we train. Sometimes we get a cold, no matter how hard we try to protect ourselves from germs, and sometimes we feel sad for no reason we can explain.

Once we can accept that our brains aren't perfect, then maybe we can start learning to take care of them as well as we do our bodies. Addiction can have as many effects on the mind as it does the body, and seeking treatment can improve your life on more than just a physical level. Taking breaks, and not being quite so hard on yourself, can help lower potentially damaging stress levels. Seeking treatment for depression can help you reclaim the life you no longer feel like you have the energy to maintain.

It's normal to take vitamins to improve our bodies, or medicine when we're sick and need to feel well again. It's normal to pamper aching muscles for a little while, giving them the chance to heal. We need to learn to treat our brains the same way.
 

Talking to people

I still don't know how to talk to strangers.

It's probably incredibly embarrassing that I'm a fully grown adult and haven't managed to figure this out yet, but I haven't yet been brave enough to ask anyone about it who might actually give me an impartial answer. See, I'm great at talking to my family and friends, because they already know exactly how weird I am. They've listened to me rant about a character who isn't doing what I want them to, or about how the dialogue in a particular movie was so terrible that it caused me physical pain, and they're still willing to associate with me.

But people I don't know well ... that's another story. I'm paralyzed every time I try to open my mouth, so used to my own eccentricities that I'm no longer sure where the line is between "Oh, how eccentrically charming" and "There's something wrong with you." I either say too much and end up looking nuts, or I say too little and sound like the most boring and unopinionated person on the planet. I've been trying to balance the two for decades now, and though I've occasionally managed to hit the sweet spot I mostly end up landing firmly in "Why did you do that?" territory.

The awful thing is that I'm a journalist, so talking to people I don't know well is literally my job. There, though, it's almost easier than it is in day-to-day conversation, since I don't have to talk about myself at all. The entire purpose of my job is to find out about the people I'm interviewing, and I'm curious enough that I'm fantastic about asking questions. The fact that I'm terrible at answering them never comes up.

So I talk to people for a living, but when I stand next to a stranger at a party I'm absolutely paralyzed. I've tried to steal from work and just ask them a ton of questions, but apparently in social situations that's weird, too. They always want to know why I want to know so much about them, and I haven't yet figured out a normal way to say "It's so much easier than talking about me."

So I'll keep guessing, and probably keep missing the balance by a mile. If you're ever one of the people caught in the crossfire, I'd like to apologize in advance.

I hope I don't scare you away.

The body inside my head

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Office

Here’s the thing about weight loss. It doesn’t change the body you have inside your head.

Honestly, I didn’t even really mean to lose weight in the first place. I’m a bit of a pessimist, so I didn’t think it was even possible. But a few years ago I realized that I was so out of shape I no longer had the strength to take the short walks I used to enjoy so much, and I was horrified. I had always been proud of the strength in my legs, and I wanted that back.

So I started walking, which is about the only exercise I knew I would reliably keep up with. Slowly, my route increased as my energy did. Later, I realized I was probably eating enough for two people, so I tried to be a little more reasonable about my portion sizes. I found I could walk even further. I would start walking places just because I knew I could, proud at how much easier it had become.

It was a surprise when I realized I could once again fit into t-shirts and tops I had stopped wearing a long time ago. It was like I had been re-gifted with an entire half of my closet again, and I enjoyed it in much the same way I would have a surprise shopping trip.

Having people tell me I looked good was even more of a surprise, and even now I’m still not entirely sure if I believe it. I’m panicking about the shirt I’m wearing now – even though someone just complimented me on how good I looked at it an hour ago – because it touches my ribs.

It’s only the lightest touch, the kind of top people wear all the time because apparently it’s normal to want to give people an idea of what your general body shape is. This is, I’ve recently discovered, a normal thing for clothes to do. In fact, less-than-skinny people are told to gravitate towards these kind of tops, because big, baggy things only make you look larger.

But I didn’t care about looking larger, because I had given my body up as a lost cause. I had decided there was nothing I could do to make my body match the normal expectations of beauty, so I wrapped myself in large shirts as if they were protective blankets. I wanted only to hide.

Even now, when I have been told time and time again that I should be proud of what I’ve accomplished, the feel of fabric tight against my ribs feels like staggering out into the world without my protective shell.

The thing is, though, I have nothing to hide. More importantly, I never did.

So, in addition to exercise, I’m spending an equal amount of time learning to appreciate my body. I’m learning decorating it in ways that appeal to me, much the same way I take careful time finding just the right spot for the butterflies flying on my walls.  I’m enjoying not only the t-shirts that have come back into my life, but the fact that I look pretty darn good in some of them. I’m teaching my brain that feeling that fabric against my ribs is nothing to be scared of.

It feels like running into someone I’d thought was a childhood enemy, only to discover after spending time with them that they’re actually a really nice person. It’s not an easy process – old instincts die hard – but I’m finally starting to realize that my body might be a friend worth having.

There’s no amount of weight loss in the world that can make you realize that. You have to find it out for yourself. 

Guest Blog: Developing New and Interesting Characters

On today's blog we have Andy Washburn, co-author of the new book "Pitch Green." He's got some interesting thoughts on what it takes to bring a new character into the world.

Dissociative Identity Disorder

(Or Developing New and Interesting Characters)

 

By Andy Washburn

(Some personal thoughts)

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is the technical name for what we laymen refer to as a “split personality”.  It is a controversial diagnosis with some experts believing it is not real, or maybe even therapist induced.  (Isn’t Wikipedia wonderful?)  I bring this up, because I sometimes believe I may have a form of DID, though I have never seen a therapist.  (I was going to say, “Where is the fun of having a mental disorder if you get it fixed?” but then I worried that someone with a real mental disorder would be offended, and yes, I think that people with mental disorders are the most likely to be reading my stuff.  Whatever.)

When I’m writing, I sometimes believe that I have multiple personalities within me, all battling to get out, or at least take control of the writing process.  And, most of these personalities, wait, no, all of these personalities are younger than me; healthier than me; and without a doubt, thinner and better looking than me.  The sixteen year old personality is especially keen to take over.  He must not have caught a look of me in the mirror yet.

It is from these disparate and distinct personalities that I form the characters that I write about in my novels.  To some extent or another, everyone I write about, or maybe I should say, everyone I write for is deep down inside my id somewhere. (Damn, I am esoteric!)  So, when I write about different people I am really just writing about some part of myself.  I am the young, good looking, high school football star Cal; and I am also the middle aged, overweight, balding, mean and obnoxious Mr. Samuel. (Both characters from Pitch Green.)

In real life, I am not young or good looking, but neither am I mean or balding.  I’m only a little obnoxious.  But both of these characters are inside of me, and I only need to bring them out and put them in the story to write about them.  I am not writing about people I observe, though I love to observe other people.  I am writing about myself.  No matter how different or unique each character is from the others, I’m there.

Of course, this begs the question: “What about the female characters you write about?”  (My sons will all stop reading this right exactly at this point.)  If I were really cool, and politically correct, I would claim to have female personalities along with the male personalities.  But I am only cool, not politically correct, and no matter how deep you look inside of me, you will not find a woman, or even any woman-type being.  My wife will confirm this.

This does not mean I cannot write for the women I write about.  Women are people, (that sounds so patronizing) and we overlap enough as people that I don’t have a problem writing from a woman’s perspective.  That is, as long as I have women, like my wife and daughters, who read what I write and tell me when I have it wrong.

This means, analogous with the way I write for the guys, when I write for women, I am looking out of their eyes at the world that is being created for them.  So, if I’m not part woman, (and there are a few bullies from my high school days who would claim that I am), the women that I write about are part me.  (I told you I was esoteric.)

The way this works, evidently, is that the guys I write for are all looking out my eyes as I write for them, but as I write for the women, I am the one looking out of their eyes.  Weird, huh?  But, that is the way it works, and for me, it works pretty well.

Whether or not this means I have DID, I don’t know, though it is probably indicative of a need to at least go to therapy.  Yea, well, I’m still not going.  Why mess with all those extra personalities?  I need them when I’m developing new characters.  After all, that’s how I write.

 

Brief Joint Bio of the Brothers Washburn:

We are two of 9 sons (16 children total) who grew up in the Mojave Desert near Death Valley.  Our father was a dentist, who built up a practice in Trona, California, a small mining town.  While we were growing up, he was the only dentist in town.  As the good citizens of Trona mined the minerals of Searles Valley, Dad mined their teeth.

When, in turn, Andy and I went off to college, we left the desert and never looked backed.  We thought we were done with Trona forever, but couldn’t have been more wrong.  For about 35 years, I was a business lawyer working for international commercial finance companies in the mid-west.  For about 25 years, Andy was a trial practice lawyer working in Southern California.  We both have many years of formal writing experience.  While we have kept our law licenses current, we are now having fun writing fiction full time.

After we each moved to Colorado for different reasons, we talked for some time about starting a business together.  We have always been story tellers, first to our siblings, then to our own children, and now to our grandkids.  Scary stories are a family specialty.  A few years ago, I started writing a young adult science fiction series, so when Andy also tried his hand at writing fiction, it didn’t take long for us to come together as The Brothers Washburn on a young adult horror series. The tale is of course set in Trona, California, the perfect setting for a horror series.

The general outline for Pitch Green, the first book in our Dimensions in Death series, came together in November of 2010.  We were attending a writer’s seminar in Manhattan, listening to panel discussions by top literary agents during the day.  One night, as we rode the subway from one end-of-the-line stop across town to the opposite end-of-the-line stop, and then back again, we mapped out the basic elements we would need to expand a favorite childhood scary story into a full-length novel.  Andy wrote the first rough draft, and then, in our typical tag-team effort, I took that draft over to edit and expand the tale.  In the writing of the first book, the ground work was laid for both the sequels and prequels in that series.

PBS in my DNA

I’m a full-time journalist and about to be a published novelist, and I’m just now realizing how much PBS made me a part of who I am.

My earliest years are a combination of “Sesame Street” and “Mr. Rogers Neighborhood,” both ingrained in me so deeply that lines from different segments will still float through my head occasionally. It’s a standard line now that both shows make education seem fun, but they also taught me things I never found in a textbook. Through those shows, I found out that words have a wonderful rhythm that can be as fun to play with as any toy. I found out that everyone has their own story to share, and you can find out the most wonderful things if you’re just brave enough to ask a question. I learned that it’s okay to be scared, but that things will probably work out if you take a deep breath and jump in.

Then there was Bob Ross. I’ve never really painted, and most certainly not with oils, but when I was a kid he was the only creative person I knew. In a way, he opened up the entire world of creativity for me. You could watch him paint these beautiful, complicated scenes, and he would break it all down into these simple-sounding steps that made it seem like anyone could make something that beautiful and complicated. I know Ross really believed that, and he was warm and encouraging enough to feel like the kindest, most loving teacher in the world. There were no mistakes, only “happy accidents” that you could turn into something wonderful. On a more fundamental level, the fact that he loved what he was doing radiated out of him every second he was onscreen.

Bob Ross might not have succeeded in teaching me how to paint, but he definitely taught me that making something out of nothing is one of the happiest, most welcoming experiences a human being can have. How was I supposed to say no to that?

Proving my worth

The kanji for worth (with thanks to about.com)

I forget things.

Sometimes, this is where on earth I just put the cordless phone I was holding five seconds ago. Other times, it’s the fact that, when I was in jr. high, I was so terrified about getting a good grade in a class I already had an A+ in that I seriously tried to steal my mother’s books to get extra credit. It’s survived now as a funny story, but at the time I was so desperate to get an A that the fact I already *had* an A didn’t console me in the slightest.

Looking back from the peaceful vantage point of relative well-adjustment, I can see that I was so desperate to be the smartest because I was absolutely desperate to prove my worth to the people around me. I couldn’t fit in with the other kids, and felt that the fact I didn’t even really want to – I was lonely, but they were stupid – was another flaw in me somehow. But I was smart. I was smarter than any of them. And if I could keep stacking up those As, I could show the world just how wrong they were to dismiss me.

Now, I’m not nearly so desperate anymore. I’ve found people who can see my worth without me having to prove it to them – not many, true, but as many as I need. More importantly, I can see my own worth clearly enough that I don’t doubt it anymore. And I wish more than anything that I could reach back in time and convince my teenage self of that very thing. Maybe even hug her.

She’d deserve it.

Making our own worlds

What you believe in determines the reality around you. Optimists do really live in a world where the sun is always just around the corner, simply because they’re so certain of this that they’ll see that sunshine in whatever ends up actually showing up. Pessimists, on the other hand, really do never have anything good happen to them, because everything that happens is seen through the filter of that pessimism. If they won a million dollars, all they’d think about is how much they have to pay in taxes.

Self-help gurus label this “The power of positive thinking,” or whatever the buzzwords are these days, and make it seem like belief can be changed as simply as flipping a switch. Things not going well? Simply imagine them changing, imagine a can-do spirit and a determination never to give up, and boom! Suddenly, this will all be true.

But the kind of belief that shapes the world doesn’t care what’s logical, convenient, or sometimes even what you desperately chant to yourself every morning as a life mantra. The belief that makes us who we are is deep inside us, down in our bones and blood and so fundamental that we don’t give voice to it for the same reason we don’t think about gravity all the time. It’s just there, either holding us steady or keeping us from flying.

It all depends on what you believe.