Category Archives: Spiritual Health

Liebster, Revisited: Part 3 of 3: How I Met the Hubs. And Shoes.

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For those of you just tuning in now, this is the third and final installation of the challenge presented to me by sonofabeach96, who kindly nominated me for the Liebster Award:

liebster3(You can find Part 1, and Da Rulz, HERE.  Part 2 is HERE.)

Eleven simple questions, eleven long, convoluted answers.  Okay, I swear this is the final chapter in this disjointed series.  Then we can move along to something interesting, like politics, paint drying, taxes, or landscaping.

<snurk>

So, the rest of the questions:

What is your favorite vacation destination, and where would you want to travel if money were no object?

I actually haven’t really had many vacations, other than to see family.  Which, as much as I love them, doesn’t count, because being around family requires you to wear heavy, impenetrable armor, and after a few days, it just wears a gal down.

But I do have a couple of dream vacations.  I want to visit the West Coast (the last time I was there, I was sorely tempted to cancel my return ticket) and see mountains, ocean, and giant redwoods.  (Oh, and yeah, a few wineries.) I want to take a cruise to Alaska.  And I’d like to eventually visit Hawaii, because it’s both warm AND beautiful.

But the thought of being on a plane for four or five hours exhausts me – I’ve had several jobs where I’ve had to travel a lot – like 75% – and they’ve sucked all the glamour out of travel and basically ruined me for airports for life.

If money were no object, I’d sit in first class, and I expect it’d be a heckuva lot nicer.  Plus there’d be no hurry to return.  So maybe, in that case, I’d squeeze in a side jaunt to Australia.

BECAUSE KANGAROOS.

If you’re married, how did you meet your spouse?

The story behind my “starter spouse” is, unfortunately, not all that interesting.  We were in college together and married right after graduation.*  Very typical, very average.  And, just like everyone** else, we got divorced a few years later.

*Technically, I was three credits shy of graduation.  Details, details….I did finish three years later.

**I actually only know one couple who married right after college and stayed married.  Actually, she was my roommate and he was my ex’s roommate, so they spent a good bit of time together somewhat by default, and eventually decided to be a couple.  We always thought they were really odd together – culturally, spiritually, physically, personality-wise – they just never appeared as a matching set.  As the Brits would say – cheese and chalk.  But then again, who really had a good man-picker in college, anyway?  Clearly not EVERYONE ELSE who wound up divorced.  Twenty-plus years later, I guess they WERE the odd couple, at least in tenacity.

The story behind the hubs is much juicier.

Fast forward a few years.  I’m going through a divorce and juggling a new job.  In the midst of dividing up a life’s worth of possessions and trying to establish a “new normal”…I met someone.

It was a lousy time to begin a relationship – all the experts on divorce recovery will tell you “take time for yourself” and “don’t rush into something new.”  But I was never great at following a vague “they say” (or, for that matter, any voice of authority.)  Plus, I was enjoying my freedom – I had recently come to discover that my first spouse was mentally abusive (and likely suffering from some sort of personality disorder.  We flunked out of three therapists (which is a story for another time) so I never found out for sure.  Suffice it to say that if it walks like a duck, it ain’t a donut.)  

And this was not the relationship to start, for a number of reasons.  In addition to the fact that it was a long-distance relationship, he simply wasn’t available, and neither he nor I knew the difference between drama and love.  So while there was admittedly a lot of passion, it was the over-inflated extremist version that would rival any long-running soap on afternoon TV.  And I hadn’t learned enough about relationships to understand that while, on paper, he appeared to be the polar opposite of my ex (physically, politically, socially, etc.,) the reality was that they shared some startlingly similar personality traits (controlling, belittling, demeaning) that I failed to recognize until the bitter, melodramatic termination of the relationship.

And we pretty much had nothing in common, save loneliness.  Hard to build a long-term bond on the absence of something.

I didn’t marry that guy.  (Although, we looked at rings, and I bought a dress – which, after several moves, is currently sitting in a local consignment shop, tags still on it, ready to complete YOUR dream wedding!)  But I did endure about two years of emotional highs and lows, the soaring and plummeting of which would earn the envy and admiration of amusement park thrill ride engineers globally.

To further complicate matters, I had just been offered another job 900 miles away, in this guy’s metro area.

Kismet!  This was MEANT TO BE!

(Maybe.)

And then we broke up.  Again.

My sister decided that enough was enough, and perhaps I could try to meet someone else.  With renewed resolve, I reactivated my online dating profile (it had been created, utilized, and deactivated several times between our frequent breakups and reconciliations – you know, for added entertainment and histrionics -) and changed my location to my pending address.

Ahhhh.   A fresh start, a new city, a clean slate, a whole new buffet of man candy.   My sister and I clicked through profiles, evaluating and reviewing each one.  (Side note:  Online dating is like shoe shopping.  You can sift through a ton online, but until you walk in them a while, you really don’t have any idea whether they’ll actually work with your wardrobe and your lifestyle.)

A profile popped up.  “Ooh!  He’s cute. His ears are kind of big.  But he’s cute. Click him!”

So I did.  And I liked what I read:  He sounded intelligent and honest.  Plus, he was cute.  Waaaaay out of my league cute.  But…what the heck?  My last boyfriend was fond of saying, “You miss all the shots you don’t take.”  So I shot.

I composed a message – I commented on a few things he listed in his profile, and closed with, “I think peeling some mental onions with you could prove interesting.”

He said he fell for me right there.  (Aww.  <barf>)

So what happened to the other guy?  Well, he did try to get me back.  (No one saw THAT coming, right?)  His argument was – I kid you not – “We weren’t really broken up.  We were just taking a break.  We were supposed to get back together in a couple of months.  You weren’t supposed to meet someone else and fall in love.”

(Sorry.  Couldn’t resist.)

I’m embarrassed to admit that he and I briefly got back together one more time before the hubs and I became exclusive.  But our final breakup was empowering – I used my words, and my voice, and by ceremoniously dumping him, I was able to purge my soul of both him and my ex-spouse, and define how I deserved to be treated.

(Odd how it sounds like much of my eating disorder.  Like I “had” to stuff myself with pizza and ice cream one last time before I started The Official Diet.  Hmm.  Gonna have to think about that one.)

After the final fireworks died out and the audience went home, I emailed my now-hubs, told him I’d love to see him again, and the rest is history.  And while we’ve had some challenges over the last year, it would be unfair of me not to mention that he’s been absolutely amazing lately. He’s trying so very hard and has put in some tremendous effort after I was clear with him about what was so troublesome – especially lately.  (Funny how that works in healthy adult relationships….you rationally and calmly state what you need, and you get it.  It really can be that easy.)

P.S.  The dating site I used?  Don’t laugh.  Plenty of Fish.  It’s free.  Which means…well, you know what it means.  The hubs often tells people that he found me in the “FREE” box at a yard sale.  <snort>

Describe your personality and what type of people are you drawn to?

I think I’m drawn to people who have the traits I like in myself.  So, here’s my list:

  • I like funny people who can laugh at themselves, but not at the expense of others.  (Well, maybe a little.) <snurk>
  • I like people who have opinions they’re not afraid to use – as long as they use their ears and their brains as effectively as their mouths.
  • Bonus points if you have great shoes.  BECAUSE SHOES.

Speaking of which – here’s my latest haul.  Enjoy!

shoerunning

My most expensive shoes are my running shoes….

shoegold

GOLD SHOES. TWELVE DOLLARS. SCORE.

shoepinkpatent

These just make me happy. Lipstick for the feet!

If Ya Can’t Be Normal, Be Paranormal

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I’ve mentioned before that, when it comes to TV, the hubs and I struggle to agree on what to watch.   But one of the topics we DO enjoy viewing together is the supernatural/paranormal. We’re both fascinated by psychics, ghost hunting, and the occasional UFO or Sasquatch sighting.

Of course, we differ on the big question of “what happens when we die?”  I believe in God and in heaven, whereas the hubs is atheist/agnostic.  But we both find ourselves with a lot of unexplained loose ends when we watch “ghost hunter” shows like Paranormal State, Ghost Lab, or Ghost Hunters.  We’re completely mesmerized as temperature fluctuations are documented, objects inexplicably move, and disembodied voices are captured, all with no logical, rational, explanation.  (Except the “explanation” that it’s all fake.  If this is your position, you can skip right out of this post.  Fun killer.)

I am totally on board with believing that ghosts are actual dead people.  But I am open to the possibility that there’s a solid scientific explanation for all this.  After all, the brain is a complex organ – one we’ve only barely begun to understand.  It’s entirely possible that these phenomena are simply weird bursts of electricity – like clouds – that our brains, desperate to relate them to something familiar, turn into “ghosts.”

Or, perhaps this “evidence” is coming from the investigators themselves – the (not dead) people who are wandering around in the dark might be sending off brain waves in the form of electricity that we can then capture as voices, cold spots, and occasionally as a chair flying across the room.

(This plays nicely into my other theory that we are actually ALL psychic to some degree.  Think of psychic ability like a muscle – some people are born able to do pushups or run triathlons, while most of us can’t do more than jog a block or lift a beer without extensive, dedicated training.  So if someone is psychic, they’re just better at interpreting energy clouds than the rest of us are, but we could ALL be better at it if we went to, like, psychic bootcamp or something.  Wouldn’t THAT be amazeballs?)

So I have two experiences to share on this subject:

First one:  Let’s go back to when I was about nine years old or so.  A little background:  I was raised Catholic; therefore, we observed Lent, which is the season six weeks before Easter where you give up a food you love (like chocolate.  Dad always gave up cherry milkshakes, which he hates. Yeah, he told that joke every year)  and you don’t eat meat on Fridays.  (I know it means more than that – it’s about spiritual sacrifice and cleaning up your soul a bit – but it wasn’t when I was nine.)  My dad hated fish, so the meatless meal was invariably pizza.

Pizza was my favorite thing to eat IN THE WHOLE WORLD, so naturally I looked forward to dinner on Fridays.  And dinner was always, ALWAYS, at six o’clock, which is when Dad got home every single night, like clockwork. The routine was to order the pizza at 5:20 so we could pick it up and be back home by six.

At about 4:45 or so on this particular Friday, I whined to Mom about being hungry.  She reminded me that Dad would be home at six, like ALWAYS <read: so shut up.>

I said to her, “You better order it now.  Dad’ll be home in like ten minutes.”

Mom chuckled and went back to her crossword puzzle.  But when Dad unexpectedly walked in the door at 4:57, Mom wasn’t laughing anymore.

(I think she was a little bit afraid of me after that.)

Second: Fast forward to when my daughter was born.  Like any new mom, I was exhausted.  My new baby NEVER slept (seriously.  As a newborn, she slept 11-12 hours in a 24-hour period.  When my son came along and clocked 20 hours a day, I thought he was broken.)

At night, I’d nurse her in the rocking chair I placed between the crib and the bedroom door.  While I was rocking her, I’d turn off the bedroom light, but leave the hall light on and the bedroom door open.  That way, the room would be dark enough for my baby to sleep, but just light enough for me to see where I was going when I got up to lay her in the crib (and light enough so I didn’t fall asleep and drop her to the floor.)

Sometimes, I’d be so tired that I’d start to doze in the chair.  And when I started to drift off, the bedroom door would slowly close.

I’d reach out and push it back open – I needed the light, and I didn’t want to drop my baby! – and resume rocking.

Once again, if my eyes started to shut, the door would gently drift closed.

This would repeat until finally, exasperated, I would say something like, “please leave that open” or “knock it off, I need to stay awake.”

Only after I said something out loud would the door stay open.

Kinda spooky, yet cool, right?

Cooler still – I actually have a picture of my ghost.  This picture was taken by my then-mother-in-law; she was standing behind me and took it facing a mirror my daughter and I were looking into.

The only folks in the room were the three of us.  Yet…look closely:

ghostheads

Do you see the face?  The eyes are pretty much in the center of the pic; I can see a nose below it (he’s sort of looking to the left of the pic) and I can make out an ear on his left.

And then, beside his ear, there’s ANOTHER DUDE.  Only part of his face is there, but you can totally make out a beard and eyebrows.

No.  Really.  Look again.

<sigh> This may help:

face1 fACE2

See?  SEE?!!?!?

I have no idea who these dudes are.  But, interestingly, they do resemble the ex’s side of the family.  It’s not my ex, or his dad…but no one would throw them out of the annual family reunion.

So why am I bringing this up now?

Well…there’s been some…unusual activity recently that I can’t just shrug off.

1. Early this week, on our morning run, I had a song stuck in my head.  Later, when I turned on the car to head to work, guess what song played?  (Okay, it was a pretty popular song, so that was probably coincidence, but….)

2.  About halfway to work that day, I butt-dialed my sister.  Except the phone wasn’t in my pocket.  It was IN MY PURSE.  My phone magically dialed my sister while I was tooling down the highway belting out Adele at the top of my lungs, completely unaware that I had an audience.

3.  When we run, I take my iPhone along.  I use it to track the activity via MyFitnessPal (you know, so I can eat back the paltry 303 calories I burn RUNNING 3.5 FREAKING MILES…life is unfair.)  I also usually turn on my music halfway into the run (because by then I’m either dying of boredom, or just plain dying.)  I have 1,117 songs, so it’s a good variety.

I’ve mentioned before that the hubs and I disagree on a lot of things.  Music is one of those things.  Several times, he’s mocked a song that I love, making fun of the lyrics, the vocalist, or both.  One of those songs is The A Team, by Ed Sheeran:

It’s a song about drug addiction; the lyrics are dark, but the music balances that with folksy, upbeat guitar and vocals.  It’s poetry, beautiful and sad….But all the hubs hears is something about angels flying and crumbled pastries and that’s it, the song sucks.  (Men. <eyeroll>  And yes, I’ve asked him for an example of “good” lyrics, and he changes the subject.  WHATEVER.)

When this song was popular, so was this argument – we’d repeat it every time the song played.

The odd thing?  This song has come up on shuffle EVERY DAY WE’VE RUN for the last two weeks.  Every morning, without fail.  It’s one of five or six songs that pops in – OUT OF 1,117 POSSIBLE SELECTIONS.

(Suffice it to say we’ve been discussing this song a lot. And this morning, he actually said he was coming around a bit to appreciate it.  <stunned silence>  Now watch – it’ll never come up on shuffle again.)

4. In a prior post I mentioned my coffee addiction – to support it, I have a monthly subscription for coffee delivery.  I have two bags of fresh beans delivered every month from Velasquez Family Coffee (African Cinnamon and French Vanilla, but they’re all awesome, trust me.)

During this past month, I’ve been hitting the java a bit harder than usual, and was running low on supply.  I figured I’d just add a bag of coffee to this month’s delivery to bring my stock up.  Unfortunately, I never got around to ordering that third bag.

Last week, my monthly delivery was at my door.

There were three bags of coffee.

Confused, I emailed the supplier…ya know, I’m old busy, maybe I actually DID order the third bag, and just forgot?

Nope.

No one else was missing a bag.

No order for a third bag was placed, and

NO BAG IS MISSING FROM THEIR INVENTORY.

I did offer to pay for it, since I MEANT to order it.  They told me to keep it since it didn’t appear to be missing.  (YAY FREE PSYCHIC PARANORMAL COFFEE)

So what’s going on here?  Sunspots?  Hormonal imbalance causing me to send sixth-sense brain waves to the universe?  String theory got tangled into some bizarre game of Cat’s Cradle?

Whatever it is, it’s been an amusing and welcome distraction from my food issues.  So, even if it’s nothing more than coincidental entertainment, I’ll take it.

I know I haven’t talked about my food issues in a while.  I was going to today – and I’ll be getting back to that shortly, I promise.

But in the meantime, everyone likes a good ghost story or psychic experience, right?

Do you have one to share?  (Hint, hint.)  🙂

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 3: Ride Away from the Fat Wagon

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So about…uh…two weeks ago, Chelise from Caterpillar to Butterfly nominated me for the Love/Hate Challenge:

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

And this challenge has dragged on for awhile, partly because I procrastinate, partly because it’s summer, partly because I haven’t been traveling (so I haven’t been stuck in an airport with absolutely nothing to do but dodge creepers, germs, and crappy food), and partly because I can’t keep it short once I DO start. (Like here in this post I already have over 100 words and I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED ACTUALLY SAYING ANYTHING YET.  Man, I am exhausting.)

Part of the problem:  If I feel passionately enough about something to LOVE or HATE it, there is NO WAY I can explain that in less than a bound dissertation.  I mean, if you truly HATE something, how on earth do you adequately describe THAT in under 200 words?  Or under 500?  If it’s only one page, isn’t it more like “slight irritation”?

Anyway.  Taking another swing at the verbal piñata and makin’ it RAIN, baby….

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order) – PART 3:

6a.  I hate butter.

I can hear the <whoosh> of people rushing to click “unfollow” now.  Yeah, I know.  It’s pretty much un-American to not like butter.  But hear me out.

It’s Oprah’s fault.

I was a fairly normal, butter-loving kid, who grew into a butter-eating teenager (well, when I was eating at all; at that point, if I remember correctly, I was in the middle of my 900-calories-a-day diet.  So I was quite aware of the calorie bomb that is butter – but I still ATE it, because sometimes ya gotta.)

It was November 15, 1988 when everything changed.  That was the fateful day that, despite a schedule chock-full of band, choir, AP classes, and boys, I just happened to be home from school, and just happened to be watching TV, when Oprah strutted out on stage with a black turtleneck, size 10 Calvin Klein jeans, and…this.

Anyone else remember this? (If your answer is “No, I wasn’t born yet” – shut it.  You can watch the clip HERE.)

As a teenager who, at the time, barely moved the big weight to the three-digit notch on the doctor’s scale (slam some water and wear boots and a sweater so the school nurse gets off your back, you know the drill) – this was life-altering.  I was HORRIFIED.  The Radio Flyer Lardcart was a GIANT DEATH WAGON OF BUTTER that, in addition to being un-heart-healthy and just plain nasty, WOULD MAKE ME FAT.

And ever since then?  Every stick of butter brings me right back to…

Mmmmm…don’t you want some TOAST right now?  <gag>

Looking back on this now – with the perspective and experience of twenty more years of dieting since then – some thoughts/observations:

1. Oprah lost the weight after four months on a liquid diet.  I seem to remember it was Medifast, but I can’t find a source to confirm.  What she DID share:

“I had literally starved myself for four months, not a morsel of food, to get into that pair of size 10 Calvin Klein jeans,” Winfrey recalls.  “Two hours after that show, I started eating to celebrate, of course, within two days those jeans no longer fit!”

1a.  It took you TWO days to grow out of those?  Color me impressed. I can bust a button in a week, but two days is ACHIEVEMENT, yo.  Not that Oprah is known for doing things halfway.  But still.  !!

2.  It’s a little mind-blowing to realize that you can be one of the wealthiest, most socially dominant women in the WORLD, with every resource and support available to you, and still not have whatever it takes to have a normal relationship with food.

That’s…powerful, yet humbling.  Depressing, yet oddly reassuring.  I mean, if SHE struggles with this…doesn’t that give me permission to, I dunno, maybe not beat myself up quite so hard if I can’t do it?

Folks, this is Oprah.  She can do ANYTHING.

And she’s just as human as the rest of us, putting on her pants (and Spanx) one mortal, flawed leg at a time.

I don’t know whether to high-five her, or give her a hug.

You can read Oprah’s Weight Loss Confession here.  It’s a little stilted, and I detect the faint smell of false bravado from her accounting of it all, but what struck me was this quote from her trainer (Bob Greene):

“She didn’t really learn how to be happy. I think she learned more survival tools and not how to be happy,” he says. “That’s where Oprah has a lot of work to do.”

Well.  Huh.

That’s why I started this whole blog dealio in the first place.

Because that’s where I have a lot of work to do, too.

3.  Size 10?  Are you kidding me, Calvin?  They’re AT MOST a 6, prolly a 4 nowadays.  Gotta love vanity sizing.  <eyeroll>

OK.  On to a “love”….

6b.  I love riding my bike.

Generally, I support the principle of physics that states, “An object on a comfortable sofa stays on a comfortable sofa.”  (Or starts to LOOK like the comfortable sofa.)  Suffice it to say I’ve never really been a fan of exercise.

But I’ve always loved to ride my bicycle.

My first bike was a hand-me-down from one of my cousins.  How it worked in our family was that you learned to ride on THIS bike:

schwinn

Note: Not actual bike. Pic borrowed from http://ratrodbikes.com where some dude named “dogdart” was selling it. But he’s in PA so it COULD HAVE BEEN MINE YO

…and then, on your 10th birthday, you got a 10-speed bike – NEW, from the little bike shop downtown, which incidentally was owned by the dad of a girl who rode my bus and sat next to me in band, and we weren’t really friends because she was popular and I was fat, so she was only my friend on the bus for the four years her parents forced her to play clarinet.  And her dad was also my parents’ tax accountant, and eventually he went to jail for tax fraud or something, and his daughter dated the high school football captain who ended up calling her a slut and breaking her heart, so I guess being popular isn’t all glitter and unicorns.

But I loved that bike.  It looked a lot like this one:

Photo from http://www.sweatershoppe.com/

Also not actual bike. Original is currently mummified in my parents’ basement. Photo borrowed from http://www.sweatershoppe.com/

That bike was my ticket to freedom.  It was my getaway car – I’d hop on that thing and be off on an adventure.  It wasn’t unusual for me to take off for four, five hours at a time, just riding along, stopping to pick wild blackberries on the side of the road or catch crawfish at the creek.

Later, when I got a speedometer, I got to see how far – and how fast – I could go.   I grew up in PA, which is very hilly – those gears came in handy, and the payoff was zooming downhill, at 30mph.  (Without a helmet.  Between that, riding in the back of the station wagon without seat belts, and sleeping in death-trap cribs, how did anyone survive childhood in the 70s and 80s?  Never mind roadside pesticide blackberries, copperheads under the rocks at the creek, and generalized Stranger Danger.)

Once I got to high school, I quit riding so much.  But years later – after college, marriage, two kids, and a painful divorce – I got a gift:

Actual photo. You can tell by the craptacular background.

Actual photo. You can tell by the sucktacular composition and the general lack of housekeeping.

It was another hand-me-down bike…but it was in pristine condition, purchased by a friend who had more money than ambition (she also smoked a lot and drank a lot – while I don’t judge, I suspect this hindered her desire to hop on a bike.)

I didn’t use the bike much at first; it sat largely unused for several years.  But recently, I’ve rediscovered the sorts of things you can explore while you’re escaping from the world for awhile:

Lake1

At the top of a hill in rural Wisconsin. A REALLY BIG HILL. #worthit

bikeflowers.

Like a little firework burst.

bikeflowers2

I love these. They’re like little snowballs. IN SUMMER.

swans

Tucked behind a small bend.

On a bike, you’re not focused on exercising.  The goal isn’t necessarily to burn calories.  (Yeah, I track them.  When an hour of hard riding burns off like four Oreos, you take credit every calorie you can get.)

When you’re standing on the pedals to kick a hill’s butt – when you’re flying down the other side, drinking in the thrill of the speed and the relief of the breeze – when you’re taking in, free of charge, all that nature has to offer – you’re not worried about the size of your thighs and the bulges around your waist.  You aren’t beating yourself up over the amount of space you occupy.

You can just…be.

You’re free.   At least for a little while.

Even if it’s temporary – even if life keeps me tethered to a lot of heavy, messy, cumbersome things –  I’m so very thankful that I can remember what it feels like to fly.

Six down, four to go.  Light.  Tunnel.  ONWARD!

Today’s victim select recipient is Mermaid in a Mudslide – she has such a variety of topics, I suspect she’d be all over something like this.  Plus, her posts make me smile.  🙂

The Courage to Change, The Patience to Persevere, the Guts to Grow

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I am thankful today to have not one, but two, nominations from the gracious Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly.  I’m thankful because these awards and challenges give me something different to think about – and therefore WRITE about.  They give the repetitive, demanding voices in my head a new sound bite to discuss.  They’re a nice respite from thinking simultaneously about how fat I am and WHAT IS THERE TO FREAKING EAT IN THIS PLACE YO

Sigh.

This first nomination was super-sweet of Chelise, because while I’ve been trying to pull myself out of a lifetime of food issues, and sometimes I feel like I’m making progress, it’s certainly not been a beeline target.  More often, on good days, it’s like I’ve been sitting on a precarious perch in a dunk tank, blissfully oblivious to the pool of denial swirling below me, until life lobs a hefty, matted tennis ball squarely at the target, sending me plunging back into the muck and leaving me to clutch at any floating debris I can find.  Sometimes it’s a life preserver; others, it’s a crocodile.

Two steps forward, one step back, and sometimes, all we can do is keep treading water and looking for a safer buoy to cling to.

But that’s what makes us courageous – it’s the ability to keep going.  It’s what gets us through the day, worn and weary, but alive.  It enables us to get out of bed the next day to face the same demons and confront the same pain.

Yeah, sure, some days we don’t actually GET out of bed.  And that’s OK – because we’re doing we need to do to recharge for the next battle.  We’re still breathing.  We’re still alive.

Courage doesn’t mean you don’t rest.  Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t admit you’re tired.  I mean, even heroes need to take a break from saving the planet once in a while.

Being strong just means you don’t quit.  Every valiant knight and crusader has felt fear – they just haven’t let it stop them.  And sure, occasionally the bad guys – anxiety, fear, hopelessness – temporarily take us down, but the joke’s on them, because we’re slowly, gradually learning from each and every battle, bruise, and scar just how to throw a carefully placed sucker punch right back.

There are a lot of folks on WordPress who struggle with a variety of things. In reading the challenges of others, you see incredible strength.  It’s inspiring.  It’s contagious.  You also see the heartache – the beauty and the pain in the raw, unfiltered honesty.  And that’s where we all support each other – if we all lean on each other in a circle, nobody falls down.  (Or we all fall down.  Especially if wine was involved.  But at least we do it together.  And it would be freakin’ hilarious, as long as no one spills the wine.)

couragetochangeaward

The “Courage to Change” Award

  • I want to acknowledge that it takes courage to put ourselves out there for the world to see.
  • It takes courage to work through the pain that binds us.
  • It takes courage to make changes in our lives.
  • It takes courage to leave behind everything you have always known (mentally, emotionally & sometime physically) and do things differently.

Courage is:

  • the ability to do something that frightens one
  • strength in the face of pain or grief

The guidelines for this award:

  • Award it to whomever you chose and let them know
  • No questions to ask
  • No questions to answer
  • If you receive the award, there is nothing you have to do but KNOW others support and believe in you! However, I hope you to pay it forward and encourage someone who is on their own personal journey to freedom (from whatever they may be struggling with).

My picks for the “Courage to Change” Award:

Nikki at Undiagnosed Warrior and Cass at Indisposed and Undiagnosed – these two young, strong women are very talented writers who have been kind enough to share their quests to get diagnoses for debilitating, undiagnosed illnesses.  Their strength, their perseverance, and their tenacity as they struggle to get well are amazing.  They are brave and show continued courage.

Zoé at gathering the pieces of me – I have said it before; this is some of the best writing you’ll read online.  Her writing is art; it’s poetry, and it’s raw and beautiful.  She has been incredibly inspiring as she outlines her struggles to be well.

THANK YOU, ladies, for putting it out there.  You help me, you help countless others – you make WordPress a better, richer place.  We’re all in this together – lean over when you need to.  I pray for peace, healing, and laughter for you every day!

Next up:  The Love/Hate Blogger Challenge!  (Thankfully.  I can only take so much of this warm and fuzzy goo.  Tree’s dry, no more sap for awhile.)  😉

The Unproductive Habits of Food Disordered People

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We all have bad habits.  Right?

I have a lifelong habit of biting my nails.  Lest you think I’m a freak – only fingernails, and only my own.  And more specifically, I’m really just chewing off ragged cuticles and evening out chips.

But still, I know it’s kinda gross.  It’s unsanitary (dude, hands touch EVERYTHING.)  Plus, I had braces not once, but TWICE as a kid – and I’m sure the gnawing and chipping does nothing for proper tooth alignment.  And, most importantly, try as I might, I can’t seem to find nutritional information for fingernails.  (Most likely because I haven’t looked.  Because if I look, I might find out that fingernails actually HAVE calories. And if this is true, I’ll have to log it on my food tracker.  And heaven knows I don’t need one more thing to obsess over in the eating department.  I can totally see me looking at my hands at day’s end, going, “I bit off FOUR nails today!” and proceeding to run maniacally around the block and frantically doing 50 jumping jacks to burn it off.  Or saying “eff it” and diving headfirst into a bag of popcorn and hating both myself and the fat sad sack I have become.  Yeah, probably the latter, since it’s bikini season.)

The hubs has noticed.  He knows better than to complain about it (Obviously, I bite.)  But one day, we were wandering through a drugstore, and he hands me something and says, “Look, honey – snack chips!”

snackchips

Har dee har har.  <eyeroll>

Part of the problem was that my nails just wouldn’t grow all that much before they made like fashion denim and ripped, chipped, and tore.  Once you have an uneven nail, or a ripped cuticle, you sort of have to address it, right?  I mean, it’s like having your slip showing, except on your hands, and it’s a ratty, tatted slip that really SHOULD have gone in the garbage, but you forgot (read: fell asleep in front of the TV) to do laundry, so….Easiest answer is to bite it off. <snap> <ptoo>

Over the years, I’ve made several attempts at ending the phalangical feast.  And I am proud to say I am doing better:

growingback See that ONE ragged cuticle there?  I DIDN’T BITE IT OFF.   yet  GO ME!

(On a side note – I had some stomach/malabsorption issues a few years ago; I was pretty low on a lot of vitamins, iron, etc.  After over a year of testing, poking, prodding, and biopsying, my doctor threw up her hands and said “Try giving up wheat.”  And after about six months of a wheat-free diet, the above pic is how much the whites of my nails have grown in about eight days.  So, while medically, I very clearly didn’t have celiac….something was glitched up in glutenville.)

As I work toward recovery for a lifetime of food issues, I have come to realize that I have a ton of really unproductive food habits.  I’m going to list them here – one, for self-awareness; two, to hold myself accountable…to some of them, anyway.  (I’m not freaking Mother Teresa – give me a C for effort here.)

1.  Eating in front of a screen.  Yes, I know what all the studies say – if you eat while you’re doing something else, you won’t “notice” your level of satiety.  But, darn it, I LIKE entertaining my mouth when my brain is pigging out on the televised version of junk food.

Plus, during the week, I eat my lunch while I’m working – I can get out of the office a little sooner that way.  Since I often have to work until 7, every minute of daylight counts.  So, in the spirit of full disclosure, I won’t be working too hard on this one.

However…when we bought our house, we actually built an addition on it to make sure we had ROOM for a dining table.  The construction loan’s paid off, so maybe I should use the space for more than storing Kohl’s coupons and scrapbooking supplies.

I don’t cook every evening, but on the evenings I DO make dinner, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill me to sit at an actual table with the hubs and eat, undistracted, and chat about our day.  Heck, it might even nourish our marriage a bit.

So how about I shoot for two dinners a week at the table?

2.  Eating out of a giant bag.  Curse you, Costco, and your ginormous sacks of salty and sweet munchable deliciousness.  Some of your snacks are packaged in such a way that one bag has- wait, lemme look….

ZOMG

TWENTY-TWO SERVINGS.

WHAT.

HOW IS THIS EVEN LEGAL.  Didn’t Obama pass something addressing this with the Affordable Care Act?  I mean these suckers are larger than most airlines allow for a carryon (and NO, I will NOT be checking my popcorn, thankyouverymuch.)

Give me a standard, grocery-store bag of popcorn, and I can EASILY chomp my way through it in a single sitting.  NOT EVEN A CHALLENGE.  Chip clips are for QUITTERS, yo! This means I can do some SERIOUS damage on Costco’s monster face-troughs that I swear I am NOT BUYING THIS TIME but somehow inexplicably make it into my house anyway.

While I haven’t plowed through an entire bag in one sitting yet, I can certainly polish it off in two sessions, and I think the only reason I HAVEN’T finished one in one swoop is because I’m mortified that I actually COULD.  (Plus, here’s what happens when I get dangerously close to doing so.)

So what I’m trying to do is not sit down with one of these things, because that’d be like sitting on the sofa next to Adam Levine and promising to look, but don’t touch.

(Adam Levine…mmmm….did I mention I bite?)

<cough> Sorry.  BUT HE’S SO PRETTY.

Anyway, I’ll measure out a reasonable portion and sit down with that.  One day, maybe I’ll just haphazardly pour out a bowl WITHOUT measuring it….but that will be after the genie grants me three wishes (a billion dollars, the ability to fly, and the ability to cancel out calories on any foods I wish.)

3.  It’s all or nothing.  Ladies?  You’ve done this, right?  Meticulously followed the diet for several days, and then dared to sample a Hershey’s Kiss or a peanut butter cup, and the entire dam broke, flooding your gut with whatever you could rapid-fire throw down your pie hole?

Why do we do this?  I mean, when I get a flat tire, the smart thing to do is call AAA.  The stupid thing to do is pull over, get out my gun, and shoot out the other three tires, the headlights, and the windshield.

BUT WE ALL DO THIS.

While I think AAA has had stranger calls, I won’t plan to bother them with my tales of unharnessed gluttony.  But I do need to find a way to interrupt the broadcast.  I can:

  • Go for a walk, a run, a bike ride.
  • Drink water (see below.)
  • Plan out the next day’s healthy food.
  • Go pull weeds.  (There’s ALWAYS something to rip out of the ground….)
  • Do my nails (hard to eat with wet nails!)
  • Whine about it here.  🙂

4.  Drink enough water.  During the week, I’m pretty good about this.  I drink two twelve-ounce glasses in the morning, adding a third if I went for a run.  I drink 20 oz of herbal tea and 20 oz of hot water (because I’m chronically freezing) while at work.  I’ll try to get 1-2 more glasses at home in the evenings.  Also, I need to keep up the fluids on weekends (besides wine.  WHY CAN’T THAT COUNT <sobs>)

It’s been said that it takes 21 days to break a habit.  Frankly, I call BS on that (and so does this article, which states it can be upwards of 245 days or more.)  And I’ve been trapped in this food funhouse since I was ten years old, so maybe it’s me, and not the habit, that needs breaking.

But if I can do just one thing a tiny bit healthier than how I did it before?  That’s progress.  Some days, I might be hanging by a fingertip from the edge of a cliff – but as long as I don’t let go – as long as I keep hanging on – I have a shot at getting two (well-manicured) fingers up there tomorrow.

I’ll get there one finger at a time.

Sanctuary on a Sunday

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Sundays are hard.

I don’t know why this is – I mean, I don’t hate my job, so it’s not a dread for Monday or anything.  Could be something as simple as a couple days off from the regular routine, I suppose – differing hours of sleep; variation in eating patterns (and more likely to be consuming things I shouldn’t be eating, like fat, sugar, salt, sugar, and sugar.  Oh, and sugar.)

So today, I was visiting the in-laws with the hubs and all of our kids.  I feel like I need to clarify something here – my in-laws freaking ROCK.  I married their only child, and they’ve totally adopted us – not only me as a daughter, but my kids as their grandchildren.  (Which means that my kids have way, way too many Christmases.  Three sets of grandparents will do that for you.  Lucky them.)

My mother-in-law is the sweetest person ever, and she spoils us rotten.  Unfortunately for me, this usually means she’s got our favorite treats prepared when we come to visit.  This weekend, for example, she had at the ready two batches of cookies, a pumpkin pie, a sheet of apple pie squares, chocolate pudding (the good kind that you have to cook, not that crappy instant pseudo-pudding that tastes like sad puppies), and vanilla ice cream AND whipped cream to top them off.  WE WERE ONLY GONNA BE THERE FOR 24 HOURS.  Sigh.  Oh, and there was wine. 

I walked into this temptation trap after a week of overeating – and yesterday, when I took a picture of my tattoo, I saw how fat and squishy my back has gotten, and…just…ugh.

Boom.  And there it goes.

It’s no surprise that I overate, right?

So today, I’ve been anxious and restless.  My mind has had more deer flies than the standing water in a swamp.

You’re so fat. 

Your thighs are HUGE. 

Look at that back fat. 

Everything squishes where your clothes touch you. 

You look pregnant in that shirt.  All the lumps show.

I tried batting them away, attempting to distract myself with something – anything.  But you can only swat so many away before you’re drained, sore, and defeated.

And, as bizarre as it sounds, while I’m degrading myself for taking up so much space, I simultaneously CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FOOD.  I want ice cream.  Popcorn.  Pudding.  Ice cream.  Pizza.  Cookies.   Ice cream.  Peanut butter.  ICE CREAM.

I’m in the uncomfortable, illogical dichotomy of wanting to eat and wanting to be thin.

I hate the wanting.

I decided that I needed to get out of the house for a while.  Because it was sunny and bright outside, and the sun makes me feel better.  It was really warm, which meant no one else would want to tag along.

(Side note:  Midwesterners are weird.  They’re absolutely stoic in January when it’s 26 degrees below 0 – they actually SIT OUTSIDE and go ice fishing and drink beer and stuff AND THINK THIS IS FUN – but turn the heat up above 80 with just a TOUCH of humidity and they wilt like a puff of cotton candy at the State Fair. I’d like to see them survive a DC summer, where we counted 90/90 days – over 90 degrees and over 90% humidity.  Being an orchid, that’s my kind of weather.  But the locals whine and complain, and I return the favor when the temperature dips below freezing.  Or below sixty.  Like I said, I’m an orchid.)

(Additional side note:  26 below 0 is stupid cold.  I mean beyond OMG and WTF.  This is a new level of cold.  You can actually throw a pot of boiling water in the air and it freezes before it hits the ground.  And one time?  A friend of mine took a deep breath outside on one of those mornings, and his PORCELAIN TOOTH SHATTERED.  Like I said.  Stupid cold.)

Recently, the hubs installed a trailer hitch on my truck, and we invested in a really good bike rack so we could take more rides in more interesting places than around our neighborhood.  I had brought my bike along for this overnight trip thinking that I might need some exercise (because food – see above.)

I was so glad I did.

I headed out, not having any clue where I wanted to go.  The in-laws live in a very rural area; while there aren’t really many landmarks, or road signs, if you don’t turn you can’t get lost, right?

It was hot, but there was a great breeze.   There were lots of hills, but the sun warmed my skin and sweetened the bitter messages my brain had been telling me.  I pedaled faster.

And it was a gorgeous day.  Plenty of gorgeous wildflowers:

lake2I saw some bulls – with REALLY intimidating horns – chilling right next to the road.  Clouds of butterflies and flocks of ducks scattered as I rode past.  A wild turkey crossed the road a few feet ahead of me.

And there were lakes everywhere.

Lake18.6 miles later, I felt a bit better.  With that sort of scenery, how could you not?

I’m home now, and unfortunately, I’m still fat.  I really need to hunker down and focus on eating healthy amounts of food, and eliminate some bad habits (OK, destructive patterns.  I’m trying here, people.)

But my journey to seek the sun nudged the beat-myself-up-meter just a little to the left. I’m disappointed in my body, sure.  I wish I hadn’t indulged in so many treats.  And I certainly am not looking forward to this week’s weigh-in.

But despite its flaws, my body did something well today.  I rode hard and rode well, uphill (yes, both ways were uphill, you weren’t there so you don’t know) in the hot sun.

I rode my way to just a little piece of sanctuary for my soul.

Despite all the things I still need to work on, I can be thankful for the ability to do that.

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 3 – Keep Swimming, Keep Treading Water…Keep Going

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LAST DAY OF THE 3 Day, 3 Quotes Challenge!

DA RULZ:  For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

Today’s quote kind of speaks for itself.  It’s one I started using years ago; to this day, I’m known for sharing it with my friends.

hellbrainThis quote is often attributed to Winston Churchill.  Although we aren’t entirely sure if it’s his, it may as well be.  You can read a lot of boring political and historical stuff on him, if you like – history isn’t my entertainment of choice, but it’s a pretty impressive list.  He made quite an impact for a dude of 5’6″.

Despite the historical snoozefest, he had a lot of interesting things to say:

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

“You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”

And my fave:

“I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.”

HAHAHA  HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS DUDE?

In my last post, I talked about the point in my life where I realized there was more to life, and to relationships, than emotional abuse, and had made the decision to leave my marriage.

What I didn’t fully understand when I made this decision was that the next eighteen months would be some of the most difficult days of my life.

First comes the challenge of separating yourself from an emotional abuser.  It’s a lot like trying to unscramble an egg.  You’re so used to the constant churning of the whisk that it’s tough to understand which of your muddled thoughts are yolk and which are the whites, and he’s always chucking in pieces of shell and other garbage to keep you second-, third-, and fourth-guessing yourself.

Even though you KNOW the yolk is yellow and the white is not, a champion manipulator that’s been chipping away at you for years can make you willing to accept that there’s no difference between yolk and shell, or that eggs are, in fact, blue and pink and pop out of a bloated bunny.

I threw a few additional stressors in my life, too.  For starters, I accepted a promotion and transfer at work; my new job was 60 miles away.

When I started my new role, I discovered that the plant was smack-dab in the middle of a unionization campaign.  From the Steelworkers.  In Pittsburgh.  (This is essentially fighting the enemy on their home turf; you’re battling tradition and “local values” in addition to trying to fix a broken workplace culture.  Ask an HR person how much fun this can be.  It’s not for the inexperienced, unless you relish being doused in A1 and set out for the wolves.)

And, of course, I had to relocate.  There were plenty of houses available – but the challenge was paying for one.  I was still on the mortgage at the house I shared with my ex; this significantly reduced the amount I could spend on a house.  And no, he wasn’t interested in refinancing, or actually divorcing, come to think of it, so I was stuck.

Finally, after obtaining a first – and second – mortgage on a property, I was able to move.  Then came the segregating of the household goods.  One bright spot:  my then-spouse was a bit of a hoarder, never getting rid of extra things, so I was actually able to pack up quite a few things we had never used (NEVER.  IN OVER 10 YEARS OF MARRIAGE) and other than buying silverware, I had a mostly-stocked kitchen.  But when the movers came, he refused to let me take either one of the dining room tables, even though I had purchased one set with a gift from my uncle.  Even though I was leaving all the antiques we had collected over the years.

It’s just stuff, right?  I was leaving with something far more precious – my soul.  It was bruised and battered, but still alive.

Then, as I arrived at my new house, I saw a note taped to the door.

It was a court order for alimony.  ALIMONY.  Because he hadn’t worked in years, and I had been the sole provider.  Yes, he was able-bodied; he had a master’s degree in education and COULD work…he just chose not to.  And now, I was legally obligated to support him.

There’s a “stress scale” that’s often referenced – if you have enough stressors at the same time, supposedly you’re at risk for illness.  You don’t have to be terribly good at math to know I was scoring pretty high here.

It was the tipping point.  I was ready to break.

I just couldn’t do this.

It was too much.

It was too hard.

I could go back.  I could cancel the moving truck.  I could get my old job back.

It would be easier, right?

I could give up.

No.  NO.  NO.

I could go back, but it would kill me.

I resolved to stay strong.  I stopped asking “Why me?” and instead shook my fist at the universe and said “BRING.  IT.  ON.”

I kept moving.

I closed on my house.

I negotiated a lower alimony.

I bought a keyboard instead of a kitchen table, because music makes me happy.

We defeated the Steelworkers by a two-thirds vote.

I was surrounded by flames, and chose to dance.

firedance

My divorce took nearly three years to complete – he fought me every step of the way.  Somehow, I kept going.  I kept my focus on where I wanted to be, and slowly made my way through the pricker bushes and rattlesnakes.

If you’re going through Hell….keep going.  It’s the only way out. The only way through.

There’s a new song playing these days; you might hear it on your local pop station.  The lyrics really caught my ear and reminded me how far I’ve come:

I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion

fireworks(Starting right now) I’ll be strong
I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care if nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me 

My final nominee:  kbailey374 at Walking After Midnight.  She’s legit in the water today so she gets to be today’s sucker.  😉

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 2 – Changing Direction, Heading Home

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Yeah, I know, it’s been a few days.  Nowhere in da rulz did it say three days in a row, so I’m just going with “the next three days that you blog.”  🙂

So, here’s Day 2 of the challenge:

For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

Today’s quote is one that I actually heard back in 2004.  I heard this quote at a conference, and I wish I could remember who the speaker was.  I suppose it doesn’t matter, really.  What’s important is that it stuck.

I was working up the courage to make a major life change – I had realized, after 10+ years of marriage, that my then-spouse was mentally abusive.  I discovered that my soul was a shriveled, dried-up fraction of what it used to be.  I was existing solely because I was constantly “in costume” – I focused all of my energy on being the person I thought I was SUPPOSED to be – the person I thought my spouse wanted me to be – not on who I actually was.

And I wasn’t sure who I REALLY was, anymore.  I didn’t know if any of the vibrant, outgoing person I had once been still existed.

I had the opportunity that year to attend a large HR conference. Now, if you’re an employer, and reading this, you should know that these conferences are a fantastic value – your HR professional will come back motivated, energized, connected, and informed.  The knowledge s/he will bring back to your organization will result in increased revenue, improved employee engagement, and capitalization of numerous efficiencies.

(If you’re an HR person, and reading this?  It’s one huge honkin’ parTAY.  Get your drink on and prepare to violate every company policy you’ve ever written.  BOOYAH)

That year’s conference was in New Orleans.  It was an opportunity for me to get away from my confused, stifled persona – a chance to shed the constricting, ill-fitting uniform I had worn for years, and step into something more comfortable…me.

For four days, I could just be myself – whatever that looked like.

So first, I decided I was a fabulous dresser, and bought a couple new dresses and shoes for the trip.  (OK. I was always a shopper, even then.)  The then-spouse was NOT fond of this – of the trip, of the clothes of any of the other changes I had been attempting to make.  In all honesty, my new things were very classy – but were, admittedly, brighter and shorter than anything I’d bought in the last ten years.  (He preferred to have me dress more “vintage” – if by “vintage” you mean Pilgrim.)

“Why’d you buy this dress?  Who are you wearing it for?”

Me.  I’m wearing it for me. 

“You must be meeting someone at this supposed ‘conference.’  Who is he?  Why are you doing this?”

I’m going for me.  I bought these dresses for me. 

I was excited for my trip.  Even my then-spouse, with his put-downs, frowns and scorny scowls couldn’t kill my anticipation.  I was looking forward to meeting my virtual network – a bunch of people whom I had only “met” online but had been communicating with for years.  I was eagerly awaiting the chance to wear my pretty new things at social events.

But most of all, I had a voracious longing to meet….me.  Myself.

The conference was a superior educational experience valuable networking opportunity

Dude.  It was NEW ORLEANS.  ROCKIN PARTY YO

It was amazing.  I made new friends.  I relaxed.  I had fun.  I wasn’t looking over my shoulder to ensure I was sustaining the approval of a controlling, manipulative spouse.  I laughed as loudly as I wanted; I drank more than one hurricane; I <gasp> danced until 2 AM.

My soul found water and light, and sprouted and bloomed.

I was happy.  I was ME.

Then the conference came to an end.  One more half-day of educational sessions, and we’d all be on our way back to our normal, everyday lives.

But I didn’t want to go back.  I had found my voice; I had found my light.  And she wasn’t going to quietly go back into that dark, confining shell very easily.

I had tasted freedom, and I didn’t want to stop drinking it in.

Right before I chose which final session to attend, a new friend asked me to sit with him at the session HE was attending.  I glanced at the description – something about a life coach.  Meh.  I doubted it’d be of value, but since I was, realistically, probably too exhausted to absorb anything that was actually educational, I figured I’d go along and maybe catch a nap.

The session began.  Instead of dozing off…my eyes widened.  I perked up as I realized that this session was right here, right now, at the right time, just for me.

Are you unhappy with your life?

Are you on a path that isn’t satisfying you?

If you’re alive, it’s never too late. 

turnaround

When I got on the plane, I laid out a plan.  I knew that I couldn’t go back home to the way things were when I left.  After a week of gorging on freedom and peace, my old costume no longer fit.

But I knew I was still alive.  I still had a lot of life left in me.

It wasn’t too late.

I turned around and forged a new path in a completely new direction.  What followed were the most difficult 18 months of my life…but I knew where I was headed.  The vision of peace lit the path in front of me like a promise.

The direction was clear, and I knew exactly where I was going.

Home.  Back to me.

Today’s victim nominee for this challenge:  lynneggleton at Lyma’s Life – because I love reading her stuff and just wish there was more of it.  🙂

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 1 – Artfully Plating an Opinion

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Earlier today, I was so VERY KINDLY nominated to participate in the 3 Days, 3 Quotes challenge by luvbearlvx.

<coughcoughjustyouwaituntiltheglittereyeshadowchallengecoughcough>

Ok, seriously, he is really quite entertaining, plus he has cats (one of whom typed his username, I think) so you should totally read his shiz.

So, the challenge:

For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

So…today’s quote.  I don’t actually REMEMBER a lot of quotes – once in a while, I’ll see one that’s been artfully crafted into a meme on Facebook; I’ll smile or chuckle, click “like,” and move on with my day.  The quote flits out of my life much like a butterfly tipped from its perch, quickly forgotten and sent off into the ether to make some other person’s life a bit more beautiful for a moment.

But this quote really stuck with me when I read it.  I liked it so much that I actually emailed it to myself so I wouldn’t forget it.  It spoke to me so clearly, I actually HAD IT MADE INTO A T-SHIRT YO.

“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.” ~ Paulo Coelho

shirtfront(Special shoutout to CustomInk for helping me create this.  Isn’t it cute?  It’s awesome and so is their customer service.  You should totally hit up their site and buy a lot of shirts with YOUR quotes on them.)

That’s not me modeling the shirt, by the way.  It’s the model on the site.  And this shirt runs small, so I had to order a <choke> MEDIUM, which would normally mean “I’m fat, I hate myself, and I fail at life,” but I like the shirt so much I DON’T EVEN CARE.  <gasp>

Until I read this quote, I had never heard of this Paulo Coelho dude.  I Googled a little bit, because I don’t want to accidentally support the quotation of, say, some puppy-kicker, or some a$$clown who chucks snow cones at senior citizens just for giggles, right?

I quickly found out that Paulo Coelho has a really, really difficult name to type.  (Seriously, try it. It’s not just me, is it?)  And he’s from Brazil, which probably means he’s pretty hot.  Beyond that, he’s a pretty interesting character, according to Wikipedia:

  • His dad was an engineer, and he was discouraged from pursuing writing.  (Really. I mean, it’s not like the kid wanted to be a wizard, or a penguin, or the Batmobile. Sheesh, let a kid dream a little.)
  • He decided to do it anyway, after researching and deciding that a writer “always wears glasses and never combs his hair” and has a “duty and an obligation never to be understood by his own generation.”   (SAID EVERY TEENAGER IN AMERICA TO HER PARENTS)
  • He escaped three mental institutions before the age of 20 (Misunderstood, yet creative and quite resourceful.)
  • He wrote a whole bunch of books that I haven’t read.  But probably should.  At least The Alchemist.  I mean, MADONNA read it.  And Will Smith.  If it’s good enough for Fresh Prince….?

So – why this quote?  Well, for one, it really explains my FAVORITE BUMPER STICKERS EVAH:

coexist

I like these so well, I put one on the back of my shirt:

shirtbackTo me, these mean something beyond “Live and let live” – they mean “seek, with love, to understand.”   Does it mean we always agree?  No, of course not.  But it DOES mean we’ll hear each other out and be respectful.

Your beliefs are as valuable as mine.

I mentioned in an earlier post that the hubs was, as of late, making some very impassioned downright hateful anti-religion statements.  I know I’ve said I find it hurtful…but even if I step outside of myself and my admittedly selfish, self-centered feelings, I still just cannot see that it’s doing anyone any good.

What’s the benefit of hate?

Does hate change minds?

Does force create converts?

I’ve never thought so.

But this works both ways.  ALL ways.  See, if you want someone to agree with you – if you want someone to listen to you, hear what you’re saying, and possibly adapt your viewpoint as their own – you have to make it appealing.

It’s like food.  You can slop a wad of mystery hash onto a plastic tray next to some cold, soggy vegetables, and bark out orders from under your hairnet to “EAT IT.”  Or, you can pull out some colorful Fiesta dishes, artfully arrange it on a plate with a grain, a bright veggie, and a playful garnish, and serve it with the airplane spoon.

No one will swallow your words if they’re not palatable.  No one will come back for seconds if what you’re saying is too difficult to chew.  Much like many a determined toddler, they’ll either refuse to eat, crossing their arms and staring you down defiantly, or they’ll shove just enough behind their cheeks to get them excused from the unpleasantness that is your dinner table.

You have to present what you’re serving with the concept that it’s a really, really good thing.  That’s the only way to get people to try what you’ve cooked up.  SHOW them that it’s wonderful.

I mean, if you’re presented a new dish, are you likely to relish tasting from a plate violently thrust at you with the command, “EAT THE DAMN SQUID ALREADY”?  I’m guessing notsomuch.  But you MIGHT be willing to dip your fork into the artfully plated broiled calamari with lemon cream sauce.

The human mind is a beautiful thing, really.  I love the incredible creativity and variety that cognitive thought has allowed us to experience.  We all have the opportunity to feed one another; let’s do so with kindness and compassion.  Let’s try to understand how poisonous words and attitudes can be, and instead work to nourish and enrich each other with a balanced, varied diet of thought, respect, and love.

Bon Appetit!

Whoops.  Forgot to select my next victim nominee.  I’d love to hear from Cass at Indisposed and Undiagnosed. I know she’s taking a break at the moment, but I miss her.

Step-Ball-Change and Jazz Hands

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There was one other thing that Dr. P and I talked about in my therapy appointment on Friday.

Dr. P asked me what else, other than the art fair, I wanted to do for my “birthday weekend.” (Other than weigh 15 pounds less and have my husband pay attention to me, you mean?  Sigh.)

I mentioned that I had been toying with the idea of getting a new piercing.  I love body art – I have two holes in each earlobe, a helix piercing, my navel’s done (yeah, I know, that’s SO 2003) and I have two tattoos. I’d been thinking about getting something else done – maybe a second helix piercing, or the tragus (here’s a chart – I like to SOUND hip, but in reality I always have to look up the actual names of the ear parts.) But what I really wanted – and have wanted since I was 18 years old (which was about 150 years ago, I KNOW) – was to get my nose done.

Dr. P was enthusiastic about this.  Overly so, in my opinion.  I threw out the usual excuses (i.e. I work in “corporate America”; not everyone is as free-thinking about body art as I might be.)  However, my current workplace PROBABLY wouldn’t mind…maybe.

Dr. P encouraged me to go for it, reminding me that the worst that could happen is that they ask me to take it out or cover it up.  True.  I do, however, work in HR, and as luck would have it, I JUST updated the company’s dress code LAST MONTH, and one of the (many) changes was to replace the “no visible piercings or tattoos” part with “piercings and body art must be tasteful and in line with the company’s mission and values.”  All of the executives heartily approved the policy, but if I run out two days after I issue it and get my nose done, they’re gonna feel like they were set up.

I said I’d think about it.

I mentioned in my last post that I was going to the art fair.  It went about as I expected.  The hubs came along – eager at first, of course! – and I have to admit he was a trooper.  I actually got about 3/4 of the way through it before he actually said out loud that he was bored.

But, kudos to me and for standing up for MY needs – I told him he could go home if he wished, and I’d call him when I finished.  He actually opted to stay…and I actually opted NOT to feel guilty or rushed about taking my time to enjoy MY day.

Go me!

Despite a gloomy forecast, the weather was BEAUTIFUL, and I found some gorgeous things at the art fair, so I’ll give the artists a shout out here. Yes, of COURSE I bought jewelry. But, like a grownup, I ALSO bought art.  Legit art for the walls.  Wow, I’m so, like, sophisticated and fancysauce here. <raises pinky>

So here’s the haul:

For the bedroom, we bought three prints by Mary Johnston (the ones with trees and leaves, in three different themes/color schemes.)  Our bedroom is lilac (hey, the hubs picked THAT color out!) and these will look really sharp above the headboard.

We also bought Joy, Peace, and Perpetual Motion by Chris Ann Abigt.  Scroll down on the page, past the trees and the rocks, to the whimsical paintings at the bottom.  The colors are amazing – they remind me of Dr. Seuss!  They will be lined up side-by-side over our TV.

I know bupkas about art, but these make me smile.  So they’re mine now.

And for jewelry….it was so hard not to buy ALL THE PRETTY PRETTY SPARKLY THINGS.  I showed an impressive amount of restraint, thankyouverymuch.  After much deliberation, I finally selected an Open Circle pendant by Spirit Lala (side note: that is ACTUALLY her name. FOR REALZ.  I mean, how could you be anything BUT an artist then?)

These are really unique pieces – the fronts are original drawings, and the backs have motivational or inspiring phrases.  The pendant I bought has several colors – orange, red, yellow, blue – on the front, and on the back it says, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

A good reminder, I suppose.

I hope I can do more than just wear it.

P.S.  Oh…one more thing.

I DID IT.

nosejob

I recognize that this may be what we refer to in HR as a CLM – Career-Limiting Move.

But F it. It’s my birthday.  🙂