Officially Unnoticed

Here I am, crossing the finish line, going entirely unnoticed.

As I have mentioned, I had a unique upbringing rife with dudes in lycra costumes atop various versions of an odd two-wheeled contraption.

My parents are ACTIVELY involved in the cycling community. They're famous even. As a result, we were always at bike races. They were so common place to me, that I thought all sports had a bell lap, and I didn't realize most men don't shave their legs until I was in middle school. I can barely remember a spring or summer that didn't include me going to a bike race.

I had a brief period in high school when I was "too cool" to hangout with my parents. When that stage hit, I opted to stay at home during several of the weekly races (at this time I think there was a race four days a week), but I still came out every now and then. When I went off to college I missed every race in the spring, and there was a couple of summers I had a job and couldn't go. However, I've been back, and regularly officiating or helping out for three years straight now.

At my greatest estimate, I've missed a cumulative 3 out of the last 26 years of bike races in Oregon. That being said, I seem to have gone unnoticed. I'm at these events all the time, and barely anyone knows who I am. This wouldn't be that surprising to me, if my siblings also seemed to be invisible to this particular community...but alas that's not how it is.

My older brother was absent from bike racing for a much longer time frame than I. He spent multiple summers at camps, and schools in other states. Now that he's local again, he's at easily half of the races that I am, but everyone knows who he is. When he and I walk the course together, people wave and call out to him while I walk alongside quietly making sarcastic comments. No one seems to notice. But, my brother is bigger and louder than I am. He has more of a presence than I do. So, I guess that makes sense.

Explain my sister then. Nine years older than me, my sister has been absent from this community for a long time. I have markedly less childhood memories that include her at the races. Then she went to college several states away, and worked in the Southwest over the summers. Afterwards, she lived in another state for years. She must have been gone from Oregon bike races for at least ten years. Now, she occasionally helps out, but she's by no means a regular. Despite all this, people still mistakenly call me by her name. I stand next to my parents, as people ask about her, and what she's up to. Don't mind me, I'll just take your registration fees while you chat.

How does nobody know who I am? My father's theory is that people do know who I am. He thinks that they don't acknowledge me because they find me intimidating.

That's really hard to type without laughing. I mean, I'm not exactly the pinnacle of intimidation. I'm rather small. Hell! Just last week, I bought clothes from the children's department, and they fit me perfectly. That's not very threatening. Well, my father thinks the reaction comes from an association with my parents. Okay, I'd agree...except for my siblings don't seem to command the same "intimidation," and they're not only equally associated with my parents, but they're normal sized humans!

None of it makes any sense. I'm around all the time. I'm often scoring your points races, or calling ties off the camera. I am usually the one with photographic proof that you've broken the rules. I'm a person you probably want to know (I like cookies), but sure! Go on thinking I don't exist. Keep wondering who that little girl at the finish line is. Step in front of me in the port-a-potty line, and bump me out of the way at registration like I don't know what's going on. Even more, continue to yell at me for trying to fix your number. You probably know more about it than I do anyway. It's not like I've seen 6 million numbers or anything.

It's actually kind of funny. I get to see and hear things that I wouldn't if people knew I was of the famed Murray family.



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Romantic Blindness

I assume that there is a man flirting with me somewhere in this vision test, but I just can't see it.

Apparently I don't know how to tell if someone is interested in me.  It's like a kind of blindness.  I just don't see it.

For years, I thought that no one had ever hit on me. Then I started thinking about this, and at the risk of sounding conceited (which I definitely am not), this seems improbable. I mean, it's a numbers game.  I don't exactly know the formula, but it must be something like (disclaimer the following formula is entirely made up and does not reflect any actual scientific laws of dating. I mean let's face it, I'm not exactly an expert here):

(my age + the amount of men living in my area ÷ by the number of times I go outside of my house) ± some quantitative value for social expectations with a margin of error of some extraneous variable.

With this in mind, I started looking for it more.  Which led me to the conclusion that I only attract weirdos. This could be flattering... except there was a brief period of time when I couldn't weed them out. This combination posed a serious dilemma for me.  I was out in the world, unable to detect attractiveness, and super susceptible to compliments. Looking back, I was probably an easy target.

Luckily, I prevailed with only minor tales of awkward encounters.  However, I hadn't really learned anything from any of these experiences.  I still felt as though there were no viable dating options for me out in the world.  I began to attribute this to a lack of interest on the part of most nice, attractive, age-appropriate men.  As you can imagine, this has been a blow to my self-esteem (which I have precariously placed on a shelf midway up my psyche).

What usually happens when I get like this, is the logical side of my brain has a little pep talk with the histrionic side. It explains that there's no need to feel how I do.  "I'm perfectly desirable," it says. Emotional Mindy doesn't care about this pep-talk. So they brawl, while I watch romantic comedies in my pajamas.

After the most recent brawl, I realized what's going on here.  I have a social blindness with regards to flirting.  I just don't know it's happening. So, it seems like I'm ignoring it, which sends all the wrong signals.

I'm still not entirely convinced that I get much attention from guys (or maybe just those that I find worthy) in the first place, but I'm willing to admit it probably happens more than I think it does. It just never goes anywhere because I don't acknowledge it.

People aren't much help either.  No one is going to do what I need, which is for someone to explicitly tell me "I'm interested in you."

Come on people!  I need some help here.  I'm not likely to send the right signals, because I'll probably be assuming there's no need. I mean, I've been known to interpret prolonged eye contact as a sign that my makeup is smudged, and I get nervous at the end of things. This means I usually bail on a date before any socially typical closure has occurred, and I miss the signs that it's not necessary.

What's a maladroit to do? How do I over come this?

Am I the only  person afflicted with this particular social blindness? Has anyone else had similar experiences? 




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Expose Yourself

There's a beautiful magic in being vulnerable. It's possibly the hardest thing to do, but when you allow yourself to be exposed that's when you get the most out of life.

It's from this openness, this bare and defenseless state, that the greatest things are going to happen. These events will be truly awesome, and if you place yourself in this position, the world will come to you.  You will experience it all.

People don't do this very often. It's hard to tear down the walls we've built for ourselves. It took years to erect them, but it's more than just that.

To think you can truly experience everything seems wonderful, but if you really give it some thought, you'll find it's rather frightening.

Everything is all encompassing. Good and bad. Magnificent and grotesque.

Those second options are daunting. They seem overpowering, and have the potential to be terrifying. One horrible experience can erase all the others. Suddenly you're living your life in fear. Waiting for the next bad thing, and missing all the good.

Head down, and eyes on the ground, you miss the miracles around you. Nervous for the future, you build a fortress around you. In doing so you deprive yourself of the connection with the world that you crave. It's a self-propelling cycle. You stick to your defenses. Call in the reinforcements, hug your core, withdraw from the nightmare you're worried about.

No doubt that's easier to do. Being vulnerable requires bravery. You have to look up from the ground. Make eye contact with the world. Spread your arms open wide, and bare everything. All the while, not knowing what will come at you.

It's scary because you can't take anything to protect yourself. If you do, it will indiscriminately defend you against whatever comes your way.

The bad, and the good. The grotesque, and the magnificent.




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Rebel on Wheels

OKAY! Fine! Let's talk about it.

I have a bike now.

If you actually know me, you can be classified into one of two thoughts on the subject. One of the groups is probably thinking something along the lines of: "so what?", "haven't you always had a bike?", or "why is this a big deal?"

The other group thinks this is really exciting. They think it's great that I've finally come around, and some of this group may even think I'm assimilating into bike culture. This group, however, may continue to be baffled by how someone of my pedigree has made it into adulthood without a bike (to which I respond -as if it's a defense- "I have a bulky old mountain bike that I keep at my parent's house and never use").

The back story here is that I've been around bikes and "bike people" my entire life. My childhood consisted of cramming into the backseat of a blue mini van named Pewee, or a red jeep with a porcupine rack loaded up with bikes of all types. We'd travel throughout the state listening to books on tape, and playing I-spy Alphabet, until we came to whatever location in which the lycra-clad were convening that particular weekend. At races, you might have seen me running around collecting rocks or pine cones to sell to my neighbors (no joke). Or I'd hop into the passenger seat of the follow vehicle with a My First Radio blaring the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast, in order to help my mom by writing down the numbers of riders who fell off the back. Heck, to this day the basement of my parent's house is like an episode of Hoarders: Cycling edition.

One SMALL corner of my parent's basement.

For some reason, my unwillingness to get on a bike and ride confuses people who know my past.  I think it's obvious.  It's like the summer that I discovered bologna sandwiches. I thought they were delicious!  I ate them every day for a ridiculous length of time.  Then, one day I woke up, and just the sight of that Oscar Meyer package started the bile production going. It may not be that extreme with bikes, but the point still stands.

Also, we can't discount the rebel theory here.  I'm a good girl, and I get along with my parents really well, but everyone's got to rebel somehow.  It's a natural part of life. But, how does a good girl rebel?

When you're a Murray it's simple.  Don't get on a bike.

So, about two months ago, I was sitting in my apartment, which seems to be located right in the center of Portland bike-culture.  I was reveling in the irony of my existence at this particular location.  - In my neighborhood I'm surrounded by hipsters on color coordinated fixies doing track stops at every intersection and acting as though they don't want attention for it. Well guys, I'm not impressed.  I've seen it all before. -  I started to come around.  I thought, "maybe commuting on my bike isn't such a bad idea."

About two weeks later, after consulting with my father, I wind up with, of all things, a modified track bike, that has been christened "Mindy's Man Chaser." -- The story behind that title is a bit long, but I may share it at a later date. Now, I'm tooling around my neighborhood, and running errands on my bike.

What has happened here? I'm experiencing some kind of identity crisis. For one, I'm a Murray.  That means I should know what I'm doing right? Wrong.  It means I know what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. I'm like the ultimate poser, and coming to grips with that has been quite an experience.

I am playing both the part of the official, and the dork with the big helmet and the older sister starter.  Check out my brother the speedster on the left though!

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And I Thought I was Studious

Image found here

It's the return of the exam experience.  Last Wednesday, I was given a take home exam for my research methods class.

"Yes!" I thought to myself. "I'll be able to work on this in my own comforting environment.  I'll sound like a genius!"

Think again.  I didn't get a chance to really look at it until two days ago.  I brought it to my parents house, with all my books, only to discover that I needed easy access to files on my computer.  Not there.  So, I scribbled down some notes, and wrote a half decent answer to one of the ten questions.

Yesterday I took the 1.5 hour MAX ride to school, and hungout there all afternoon in hopes that I would be able to get some stuff done.  I did, but none of the study rooms were open, so I was awkwardly balancing my stuff on a couch in the lounge, with no access to an outlet, and worried that my laptop would die.  Despite that, I answered one question, and jotted down some notes to a second question.

This morning I thought, "I'm gong to get this damned thing out of the way!"  I got up early, and rode my bike the the local library, only to discover that it's not open until noon.

GARH!

But, I was already out and about, so I figured I'll just ride over to the local coffee shop, buy something cheap (which I can't afford) and pound out some responses.

When I arrived, there were no open outlets.  Almost all the tables were full, and there was a damn toddler group happening in the corner.

Ordinarily, I would think this toddler group was the greatest thing ever. It's a man and a women dressed outrageously (one's a fire fighter, the other a pirate).  They're loudly reading books, and singing songs.  They're blowing up balloon animals (and subsequently popping them with their tiny little fingernails), and the cutest little tykes are running around squealing at everything.  It's fantastic...except when you're trying to write a take home essay, about research methods, with the hope of sounding at least partially educated.  Add to that the general coffee making sounds, and the fact that my battery is nearly dead.

I can't focus on this stuff.  I'm sure I sound like an imbecile, and I'm probably going to turn in something that my professor deems worthy of ejection from the program. At this point, I've fully answered one question, and written down some inattentive vague responses to two other questions.  I have 10 questions total, I only need to answer 8 of them, but at the rate I'm going, I'm probably better off answering them all.

Is it possible to avoid taking this exam all together? Or, you know maybe I could just catch a freaking break in the study department.

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Everything and Nothing all at Once

My life is a bit disorganized as of late.  It's probably a stress reaction.  I've noticed that when I get stressed out, I throw everything out the window and focus on relaxing.  As a result, I often don't notice that I'm tense. I mean, I'm spending most of my time relaxing. How could I possibly be worried about anything if I have the time to chill out like this?  I have to admit, it's a nice coping mechanism. Until...

I look around and realize that there's dirty dishes all over the place.  I haven't put away my clean laundry, and now there's nowhere for my dirty laundry to go.  There's receipts all over my car, and I haven't logged any of that in my financial tracker. Therefore, I don't really know how much money I have right now.  Then I start to panic.  Obviously, this means more "chill-out" time with my good friend The Couch. This begets the arrival of Murphy's law, and suddenly I'm locking my keys in my car with the engine on, and forgetting to take my Trimet pass to the MAX with me, and rent is due before I know it.

Unfortunately, this disorganization is not only external.  It took some self-reflection, but I have realized that my physical world is actually pretty representative of my mental world.  At the moment, there is a veritable whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my head. However, these thoughts haven't gathered themselves into anything coherent. Instead, they're leaving dirty dishes in the corners of my mind, and sprinkling receipts throughout the cabin of my brain. Of course, disorganization only leads to further disorganization, and pretty soon it's cognitive chaos.

It's a viscous cycle, and I've decided to end it today.  Right after I finish this cup of coffee I'm going to clean up my act, both literally and metaphorically.  I owe it to myself to organize my world.  I've got some pretty deep considerations bouncing around in my skull.  It seems there's the potential for a pensive revolution in here, if I could just clear away the junk.  So, that's what I'm going to do.


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