So, we're sitting in the living room this morning: Kris on the couch watching baseball (Oakland vs. Baltimore), I at the table programming.

At some point, I commented about something and turned to look at Kris as I spoke. He looked over a me with a funny look, then let one rip.

After a pause, I commented, "Subtle."

And then burst into song, to the tune of "Couldn't be Happier" from Wicked:

"Couldn't be subtler!
No, you couldn't be sub-tle-er!"

"Yeah. I really thought that was going to just slide out all silent."

Ah, the lessons taught to me this week, may I remember them next week, too.

Lesson 1:

"Top up or top down?"

"You live in California. Top down! I'll always say top down!"

Experience life. Let the wind blow through your hair.

Lesson 2:

"You know how her car was broken into? Well, nothing of hers was stolen, but we later realized that two of my bags were stolen."

"What?!? That sucks! What did you lose?"

"I lost ... but, eh, it's okay. I deal well with loss."

Material possessions can be replaced. If they're lost, accept their loss and move on.

Lesson 3:

"I think people are the greatest fun."

Alright, here's the big one.

I'm not sure when or where I grew into suspecting people first, trusting them second. Certainly after college (I'd have to guess Amerigon if I were to guess at the source of much of my cynicism and suspicion). I probably had seeds of mistrust born from the awkwardness and self-consciousness of adolescense, but they didn't take root until that first "real world" job.

But having those (even tiny) suspicions meant I immediately put up a barrier between myself and everyone I met. I certainly wasn't open to learning who these people were, what motivated them, what interesting problems they were solving, what joys they found.

When I started dating Kris, he was amazed at how bitter I was at the world. He would teasingly mock me for my bitterness: "Life's not fair. The world is out to get you. Blah, blah, blah. So, can we move on?"

Step one, in learning the world isn't so bad.

Why he stuck with me through that step is beyond me.

Eventually, I figured this place isn't so bad. Ultimate, with its open and welcoming community, helped a lot. The group of friends from ultimate, acquaintances through best friends, fluctuated, but was always full of amazing people.

Step two, in learning the world has some good people in it, if you know where to look.

And then there's this week's final lesson.

It's a lesson I was finally open to receiving. That I could stand a door and say hello to a hundred people I had no idea who they were (but who, for the most part, seemed to know each other) amazes me a bit. Doesn't surprise Kris, though, who seems to think I'm a social butterfly (at least when I try to leave from an ultimate tournament and it takes me 45 minutes to cross 3 fields).

I'm comfortable around people I know. But for the first time, perhaps ever, I was (almost) comfortable around people I didn't know.

I think step three of this week's third lesson will take a little longer to sink in. At least I've started.

The third lesson?

People are the greatest fun.

Best advice I can give to myself at this moment?

Walk away.

Just. Walk. Away.

Pretty much all through my public education experience, I detested gym class, recess, physical activity in general. Imagine the clutziest, most awkward, skinny girl you can imagine (don't forget the glasses and braces!), and you're pretty close to me.

*shudder*

The memories!

Ick.

Anyway, in junior high, I had, like all my classmates, gym class three times a week. The best time to have gym class was, of course, first period. Having it first period meant I could sleep until 7:40, roll out of bed, pull on my gym clothes, and walk to school which was all of 80 yards from my back door.

After gym class, I would take my shower (and I was the only girl who actually showered after gym class, complete with soap, shampoo and a towel that actually had to dry something), and head to class.

Maximum sleep. Efficient schedule.

One particular day, I had my gym shoes in hand and wandered over to the gym. I went to tie my shoes, they were like the early Nike shoes: dark blue with a white shwoosh, when I noticed something in the laces. Puzzled, I loosened the laces to look better.

Inside the tongue, between the laces was some crap I couldn't identify. It was light in color, maybe tan, soft, relatively odorless. I had absolutely no idea what the stuff was, but I couldn't tie my shoes with it in there, so I asked my teacher if I could go clean my shoes, and left to do so.

Oh, darn, I missed the first part of class while I washed out my shoes.

And I had to wash them out fully. Once I opened the laces, I realized the stuff was all over them, and even down to the toes. What the heck was this stuff? It was all over these shoes.

Puzzled, I went to gym class, wet shoes and all.

Fast forward 12+ years.

My mother, my little brother and I are sitting around talking about who knows what. At some point, we started talking about major illnesses and the like. Which, of course, turns the conversation to nausea and vomitting. Who knows why, that's just what we were talking about.

My little brother then turned to me and said, "Yeah, like that time I threw up into your gym shoes."

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

"You what?"

"Yeah, your blue Nikes. I tried to clean it up. Not sure how well I did though."

Mom was looking back and forth between the two of us.

"That was vomit?"

"Huh? I thought you knew."

"Oh, gross!"

For over a decade I had absolutely no idea what the heck that stuff was in my shoes. I cleaned it up and went on with life, only to find out many, many years later what the heck it was.

I had run in my brother's vomit.

From a post on rec.sport.disc, via Google Groups: