My Happy Place(s)

In response to my friend Mary's RFP for Happy Place posts. I do believe I've met the deadline!

I have four happy places and I am going to write about them all. I change tenses. Sometimes I am remembering. Other times I am really there. What a nice way to procrastinate this afternoon.

Sturdy bitch.

That’s the BP’s favorite term of endearment for me. He also affectionately calls me “a piece of ass.” I don’t mind. In fact, I’m flattered. I am quite vain about my ass.

My happiest place is the gym. I love to lift weights and I love to be strong. I feel like I can conquer the world and all my demons during a good, sweaty workout.

As I’ve said, I was never an athlete. For much of my life, I’ve felt awkward, clumsy, weak. Inside and out.

In the weight room – squatting, benching, rowing, pressing - I am fluid, focused, sexy, strong. I am beautiful and I am alive (if not fully awake; I usually fit my workouts in at 6 in the morning). For me, it beats Prozac.

With my earbuds in, I am transported. A little hip-hop lite – Kanye or Black Eyed Peas – I am a starring as a video vixen. With the theme from Rocky or the NJ anthem – Springsteen’s Born to Run – I am in training for the fight of my life; I push hard. Aaah - Guns n Roses, Peter Gabriel, – I am again a young woman, with responsibility to no one but myself.

Baking.

Nothing feels better to me than to be embraced by the warmth of the sun. I imagine this is what it feels like in the womb. On a cloudless day, near to noon, with the sun directly overhead, I feel as close to the Higher Being as I am going to get while still breathing.

Even better – I am sweaty and delirious. Sunbathing in Las Vegas in July. The ticklish sensation of the beads of sweat spilling over to form tributaries down my neck, between my breasts – I know I am near nirvana. Or perhaps just dehydrated and on the verge of sunstroke.

At the Ballet.

Everything was beautiful at the ballet
Graceful men lift lovely girls in white
Yes, everything was beautiful at the ballet – hey!
I was happy…at the ballet (from A Chorus Line)

Actually, at the New York City Ballet, it’s not about the tutu. Lourdes Lopez, Wendy Whelan, Nikolai Hubbe…some of my favorite dancers from the 90s. Before kids, I was at the State Theater twice a week. The music, the athleticism, the beauty of bodies in motion, artists giving of their gifts and passion. Magic. In the left wing I literally bumped elbows with Baryshnikov. My God.

My happy place is not in the 1st ring, the orchestra or even backstage (did you know that nearly all ballet dancers smoke?). It’s the edge of the fountain in the heart of Lincoln Center plaza, where the sound of Broadway traffic is muffled, the air always feels fresh and crisp, people are crossing everywhich way like ants, and I can fantasize about running into Damian Woetzel and having him sweep me into his dressing room and bend me over the barre before he takes the stage.

Not always in solitude.

Generally, I am my own best company. But I do have one happy place that includes others. On the front porch “down the shore.” We’ve just returned from a day at the beach, with several hours of baking for me, if I’m so lucky. We may still have sand in our suits, or perhaps our hair is dripping from an outdoor shower, the sting of the sun still fresh on my cheeks. Some of us are parked for the evening, enjoying the first of many chilled beers, fresh off tap, and bowls full of lime-baked tortilla chips. (I indulge in neither. I’m a teetotaling, recovering alcoholic and take the BP’s word that those gritty chips are “like crack cocaine.”) We gossip, poke fun and send the kids inside to fetch more beer. When they start to whine that they’re hungry, we send them to the corner to pick up some pizzas. We call out to the neighbors walking by, or biking back from the beach (how does he pedal and balance a surfboard like that?)

As dusk sets in, the neon fish is turned on and the tunes get louder. My life has a soundtrack, and the Summertime playlist works on these evenings. Janis Joplin, Sublime, Bob Marley. We’re still laughing; there are so many things to laugh about. Maybe tonight we’ll get a lightning storm – better than fireworks! One by one we head inside for bed; hopefully the kids before the grown-ups. Tomorrow we’ll sleep in and start the day with hot coffee and Taylor ham and cheese sandwiches. Only in New Jersey.