This past weekend was one of the best I have had in a long time. On Saturday, Bec and I drove to Cincinnati to have lunch with Tim, who was in town because Whitney was in a wedding in Oxford, OH. We went to B-Dubs and Tim and I each had mango-habanero and Caribbean jerk wings. They have boosted to spiciness of their sauce since the last time I was there, and my nose ran constantly as I smiled my way through all six, very hot mango-habanero boneless wings. It was a good last meat hurrah before I stop eating meat again tomorrow. I am still going to eat milk, but meat and eggs are history until I finish my dissertation. The challenge will be getting enough protein to keep running and to start swimming. I think I can do it if tofu is involved and if I use Will’s homemade seitan recipe.
On Saturday night, we went to Sarah and Daniel’s going away party. Andrea was unsure of herself as a hostess, but everything was fabulous, including the delicious Jimmy John’s subs and the cake. I had fun, reminisced about the past few years, and ate way too much…
which was okay because on Sunday, Bec and I started the day by walking the dogs, as we always do. Then we went on a 30-mile bike ride, which was more like 28 miles, but who is counting anyway. We rode from our house down the Cardinal Greenway to Blountsville. It took us about two and a half hours, but we did it and had a blast! We had great conversation and remembered how beautiful the trail is out in the country, winding through trees and past farms.We decided that before the summer is over, we are going to ride our bikes to Losantville to have pizza at the Pizza Shack. Riding back with full bellies will be the challenge!
Yesterday, I realized how non-compassionate I can be. So much so that I don’t really listen to the people around me. I hear them, but I don’t really hear them. I don’t take the time to listen to their pain. I have become so wrapped up in my own things this summer—comps, home improvements, my assistantship, etc.—I am not listening to people like I want—or need—to listen to them. I talk and write so much about being compassionate and being a listener that I don’t give myself the space to actually do it. I know this didn’t just start this summer, but it has taken this summer to help me recognize that I talk far more than I listen, and most of what I say is not part of any productive good. I find myself talking to hear myself talk, or to have the best story, or prove I am right, or to make people like me, or to spread things that I only hear half-way, or to complain about things that are out of my control. I really want to change this about myself, but it is so difficult.
Why do I do this? Good question. I am listening if you have any answers or any suggestions about how to tame the tongue.