Meditations of Anticipation

Ahh, December 1st. The first day of the last month. We are here at last. Can you believe it? We’ve almost crossed 2018, another year. Another 365 days of learning more and perhaps wishing to have learned less. Maybe we achieved far greater goals than we set for ourselves. Maybe we didn’t even try to come close to them. Whatever the case may be, we are here in the greatest anticipation that seasons bring.

On my refrigerator is a Native American proverb that says, “Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.” I’m guilty for disobeying this proverb. Every morning, I mentally trace my steps from the previous day up until that very moment when I woke up. I take a good 30 minutes to do this and reflect on what I did. I write it down in my journal – what happened yesterday, every detail I draw from memory. I evaluate my own actions and, from those actions, I rid yesterday of the things that no longer serve me. Now, the refrigerator magnet, if it had a say in the matter, would disagree. I spend far too much time retracing my past in the morning when I could simply let go of yesterday and allow today to unfold as it may. Nevertheless, I am stubborn and stick to my own ways.

I’m not saying this a practice for everyone. This just happens to work for me. I make time for it, no matter how freaking early I have to be up. But this is the time to start learning more about who you are and anticipating what you are capable of in 2019, if you haven’t already. 

Needless to say, not everything has to revolve around work or your job. Enjoy this time with family and friends. My husband and I are excited to visit my family in California next month. I cannot wait to show him my childhood home, the beaches I went to, the friends I made at the dance studio and the city I grew up in. 

I cannot plan or anticipate each day to happen according to my expectations. As I grow older, I notice that I tend to latch onto the past just a little tighter. I give it a nice squeeze before I have to release it into another chapter of my life. As I write this, I realize just how difficult that is. Don’t we all tend to hold onto memories? We take pictures and frame them to share moments of the past, or share memories on Facebook. We tell stories of people we used to know, whether that be someone else or even ourselves. 

Who’s to say it’s not productive in looking back? We take many forms every year and revisiting that as we approach a new year makes it that much more enriching. It’s worth looking back on who we were then and who we are now. That within itself is productive.  

Most of all, love you. FOR you.    

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Bright Spots

Bright spots. Those moments we look forward to in life with the person who will bring us joy, courage, comfort and light. In isolation or separation, those bright spots become rather dim to see; sometimes nonexistent. The one thing that keeps us moving forward during time and distance apart can be a phone call, a private meditation practice, a cup of coffee – something.

When we are apart from loved ones, all we can think about is time. What time is it at home? How much longer until we see each other again? When will this heartache go away?

I experienced this personally last month when I was away from my husband. We’re newlyweds. I was fortunate to have only been apart from him for 30 days, while so many others are apart from their spouses for much longer. That’s tough. Being a service member, I understood what I signed up for. Distance is inevitable; I just didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did. The amount of negative self talk that I heard myself say was excruciating. Although I was in a class with other students, most of us didn’t socialize outside. I, at least, kept to myself with a book to read or Netflix on my phone.

While I kept in contact with my husband, I missed everything about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about when I’d be in his arms again. Every second apart from him felt like my heart would burst into a million pieces. I counted the days until I would see him again. Yes, we are fortunately in the day and age of smartphones – thank you, live video chat! But technology can only help so much. There were times when it hurt more to see him through my phone than not at all. Nevertheless, I am grateful that loved ones can see and speak to their family when they are states and even countries apart.

That was one of my “bright spots;” a live video chat with him. Just five minutes of seeing his face in real time made my stomach do a flip flop. A text message saying “Good morning” brought a smile to my face. Staying in contact with him through the distance was the best thing that propelled me forward, day by day. There were times, however, when I had to be creative and find personal joy in my solitary state.

One thing I did was set an early alarm to have a cup of coffee and dance before class. Yes…. dance. In my hotel room. Alone. In my pajamas. I put on Pandora and moved my arms, my hips, my legs. I didn’t care at all. It beat the hell out of going outside in the winter cold to go to the gym. On the weekends, I also took a drive through the country to see what was around me. I turned up the radio and explored. Google Maps failed me out there when I tried to find the nearest Bank of America and it took me to a veterinary hospital! That was part of the adventure and it was a fun story to tell my husband.

I took that trip as a learning experience. If I could go back and do it again (God forbid), I would’ve socialized and opened up more to company. I had no idea how critical human interaction was until then. I missed a friend’s wedding while I was there, and I waited in my hotel room by my phone for updates. I was miserable. All I could think to do was be patient and time would end my silent suffering. I thought updates on my phone of a wedding I wasn’t able to attend would bring me joy. It didn’t. I hurt myself more by not going out and sharing a drink or two with a classmate or fellow soldier.

Overall, January 2018 was miserable because I – not knowingly – made it miserable for myself. I am back home in Washington and feeling so much better, though. Not only am I back with my husband, I am back with a little more self-awareness in my back pocket. I know now that I found what can help me through isolation and separation.

It’s people. Good people. Surprisingly, good people are the proverbial few and far between. Good people who just want to share their humanness with one another and feel belonged. At the end of the day, soldier or not, spouse or not, we need someone to rely on or connect with, especially if you’re stuck in the same place together for a period of time. I guess everyone learns this at a younger age, but I’m not the fastest learner. Maybe I had to experience that little trip to make room for another one in the future and come home stronger, less vulnerable. I truly know now that the person to my right or left is sometimes all I’ve got to get through the day.

 

Thoughts with my younger me

If I could transport back in time and speak to my younger self, my seven-year-old self, I’d tell her how beautiful she is and to never lose that imagination. She loved pretending to be Pocahontas and run on the front lawn barefoot as if dashing through the forest. She played in a kiddie pool with her neighborhood friend. She loved dancing in her backyard to her boom box that played Britney Spears CD’s.

I would travel back to middle school and whisper to thirteen-year-old me that I shouldn’t insist that dad buy those boots that I’d never wear to the school dance.

To my seventeen-year-old self, I would tell her that her boyfriend would not be the man she’d spend the rest of her life with and to thank the heavens for that. I’d tell her that she will spend the next ten years of her life with all of the wrong boys.

“The man you’re going to spend the rest of your life with,” I’d say, “is with the wrong ones, too. Be patient, and continue on. He’ll find you when God knows you’re both ready.”

If I could check in with the woman I was five years ago, I’d tell her to be prepared for her life to take a giant turn.

I’d tell her, “The storm will come in and it will be fierce. But like everything, it will die down and you will find an even greater strength within you. You will be braver than you have ever been.”

Checking in with the woman I am now, I am telling her not to crumple up this page and throw it away. I am telling her to keep writing and believing in herself, because I know my seven-year-old self would tell twenty-six-year-old me to do what I love and get my feet dirty.

Seven-year-old Amanda is my guide as much as I am hers. She reminds me to embrace the imagination within me, dance when I think no one is watching, and stay in touch with old friends. Thirteen-year-old me whispers, “Dad will always have your back.” She tells me that in his eyes, though, I don’t need boots in order to be beautiful. Seventeen-year-old Amanda is on the verge of finding love and tells me to never give up on it when I have found the right one. I reassure her that I have indeed found him.  Twenty-one-year-old me reminds me that every day is a gift. Live it as though tomorrow won’t come.

Time collapses upon itself to reveal an untold story: the one I am living now and the one I will continue to live. I honor what me at seven, at thirteen, at seventeen, at twenty-one went through to get here.

This is where I am meant to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took joining the army to grow up.

Looking back on old Facebook posts and photos, I discovered one jarring fact about myself before I joined the army: I didn’t know what it meant to be an adult until I arrived at my first unit.

Before I was a Soldier, I was ambitious and eager to excel in English, following my love of writing and literature. Receiving feedback on my essays was almost addicting; I couldn’t wait to figure out my professor’s standards and exceed them with every draft.

I was a dance instructor, pushing myself out of my comfort zone of simply being the student. It was one thing to make it to a dance class and follow, but it was another to lead. Simultaneously, I studied and taught yoga.

Then I was a performer, joining a small dance company and participating in late night ballroom dance rehearsals.

I was a traveler. My best friend and I joined a tour group, enduring two fast-paced weeks of visiting seven European countries. Before then, I traveled to Ireland for one week with another tour group, having met no one before the trip. On domestic soil, I flew to Nebraska to read a research paper I wrote for the 2015 Willa Cather Conference.

I was a journalist, an editor of a local newspaper and intern at a Los Angeles based yoga and Ayurveda magazine.

All the while, I was still living under my parents’ roof and reaching my mid-twenties. Despite my hunger to embody what I loved doing – dancing and writing, I could never support myself or keep more than a few extra bucks in my checking account.

Flash-forward to now, I am still struggling financially. I predict that I will be struggling for at least another year, before I finally have it all figured out. I’m no longer under mommy and daddy’s roof; I’m under Uncle Sam’s.

I have much more growing up to do, milestones that have yet to be crossed. The journey isn’t black and white, though. I didn’t leave my childhood behind and begin adulthood when I joined the military. A new chapter began, furthering the tale of my existence that I hope to pass on to the children I hope to have one day.

Even then, I’ll never stop learning and exploring who I am, who I was meant to be, and who I am supposed to be with. I have faith in the journey and everything that is beyond my control.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My First Book

I was too impatient to find an agent, especially for my first book. The 51 page novelette is officially live as an eBook on Amazon! My first book. I’m super excited to share my story with the world. I hope my story inspires you and sheds some light on alternative forms of psychological, emotional and spiritual recovery from a traumatic event.

If you’d like to read a sample of the first few pages and see what it’s all about, here you go.

 

fighting through healing

Published in LA YOGA

 

Amanda Ridder Paratrooper Yoga

Breathe through Fear: Yoga for the Courage to Jump from a Plane

“The thunderous roar of the C-130 engines filled the inside of the huge aircraft that was in flight at an altitude 1,200 feet above ground. I stood with shaking legs behind three other jumpers. Every muscle in my body quivered in anticipation. What allowed me to stand strong in this moment was the clarity and focus I found in my ability to breathe through fear because of yoga….”

Read more of my story by clicking the link above in LA YOGA Magazine!

The Brick Room

My room in the barracks is a small space furnished with a few pieces of fake dark wooden tables with drawers, a desk, a very stiff bed, a fridge, microwave, red leather chair, and two massive closets.

This is the room I was given to live in, and it is an old room built of dull brick dating back to Vietnam.

Since I am only an E-4 and single, it would be difficult to get a waiver to live off post and rent a room in a house. Also, I would rather not spend the money to put a roof over my head when I really need to spend money on getting a car first to get on and off post efficiently.

It’s not the worst place in the world to live in, but it certainly is a huge change from the Doll Room in Colorado, and it’s pretty mind-dulling to be cooped up in here.

Regardless, I realize how ideal this spot is for writing. No roommates, no television, no pets…. just me and my laptop.

Just me and my thoughts.

Time to dig deep.