Beauty and the Blog--A Fitness Journey

Reclaming Your Heart in ONE Easy Step

2015-10-09T09:47:00.000-07:00

Only one step! You, too, can do it now!

Everyone's blog has some article in it about getting over a past love. If you google it, you will find a bazillion other people who have something to say about it. Usually lists. 1. Throw away the pictures. 2. Throw away your full bottle of Xanax. You see where I'm going. But, it's all such trite crap. Do and don't do this, do and don't do that. Most people who feel broken want someone, somehow, to see inside their hearts and souls and somehow validate their experience. And if possible, help them make sense of it and assist them in seeing a future that doesn't include a gaping, almost physical hole in their psyches. People want someone to tell them it is going to be okay.

Okay is relative. Okay is existing, breathing in and out, taking care of business. Okay is functioning. People want something better than okay. People want some sense of peace. Something that allows them to relax. To stop running toward a future or a person that no longer exists. People want to quit thinking about those fragments of human experience--that, with a loved one, are truly imprinted and conscious. It is hard to push them down, and maybe it isn't even good to push them down. Maybe those tiny fragments of past bliss bubble up forever. What people really need and want out of a "how to heal your broken heart" article is something spiritually true and something tangible. The magic key that makes everything better than okay.

Some people are better than others at letting go of those fragments of stored bliss, those tiny bits of consciousness and shared experiences. So many things can form a memory--moments of intensity and connection, moments of spiritually connected and shared space. Some people, through iron wills or superhuman discipline, push their memories down, down, down, and they forget. It seems to me if something was truly full of bliss it's worth remembering. No Jim Carrey's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for this girl, no. But the tricky thing about intense memories is while recalled there is only a memory, but there is also the resulting feelings and thoughts that surround it.

For example: Let's take a man who had a lover. This lover was someone he believed to be the love of his life; that one person who transcended time and space and was somehow with him since the beginning of time. That was who this man believed his lover to be. Over time, as happens with many lovers, they go away. Sometimes they die, but often they just change. In the case of this man, he watched his lover change to him over time. He watched his lover turn against him, bit by bit. He listened as his lover explained why she was no longer a good fit for him and how she wanted her space. He tried to be who she needed him to be. But to no avail. It simply wasn't possible. He couldn't be the person she wanted him to be, because at the end of the day, he was still himself.

Why did she change? Why did she move from perceiving him as the love of her life to viewing him as someone of zero worth? Well, if popular psychology or anyone's best friend is correct, she changed because she found someone else. She was otherwise engaged and a coward. She didn't have the courage to tell the horrible truth to this man. And even if this was an act of mercy in her mind, there is a axiom of human relationships that I believe will always matter first and foremost. EVERYONE deserves the total truth. Because we always know. Sure, people manage to pull up their drawbridges and stock their moats with alligators, but the truth is always there underneath the surface like an ugly boil. This woman might have destroyed him with the truth of her other love interest, but at the same time she probably would have instantly freed him. At the very least she would have given him the respect of giving him the whole truth.

But at this point he will never have the truth. He will only and forevermore have conjecture. He will look for clues and find paths that lead to doors, he will turn handles to find them bolted shut. He will do it again and again until he is old and tired. Or he will give himself his own truth. And this is the truth that is missing in every "heal your broken heart" article I have ever read. If you insist on having a number, let's call it the number one thing to do in a list of one thing.

1. REALIZE:

If someone discards you it is God's greatest blessing. It is the universe freeing you from a person who treats you poorly, who doesn't see the magical, amazing, lovely, brilliant, funny, adorable person you are. Period. You must never weep and wail over someone who doesn't see you and adore you. Weep and wail over the loss of people who adore you and run into buses, or who adore you and die in battle. Weep and wail over the right people. The sadness many people feel at the end of being dumped is the incredible put down they received. They are reeling because their lover said they are worthless. Most people get stuck in misdirected pain. They want that person back assuring them that they are loveable. They want to make it right. They want to reclaim a past that possibly was only smoke and mirrors. You should take your walking papers and kiss them ecstatically while singing "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" if you can remember the words of that old Elton John tune. And then step back from the cliff, take a deep breath and walk the other way, knowing you were saved.

And the memories? The undeniable moments of connection and bliss? Let then float around you like butterflies. Pretty, lovely even, but not something you need to chase or put into a jar. The world is full of moments of connection and bliss. Far better to have a real, true moment of bliss, now or in the future, than to hold an old one under glass, examine carefully upon a fingertip, and replace with caution and put away.

Real bliss is strong and hearty. It is in abundance. It is available. It is yours in a summer's sunset or the eyes of a baby or an amazing piece of music. It is yours in the arms of a person you haven't met yet. Believe in the possibility of an abundant universe with more. There is always more. Choose what you will have more of--and go find it.

And a note to my friends who are suffering: Everything I said here is true. But only if you give yourself a chance to believe it.

The Wound

2015-09-07T12:48:00.000-07:00

When someone wounds you, what do you do? Do you retaliate? Do you obsess about the circumstances of the incidents surrounding the great personal injury you suffered? Or do you let it go? Like a butterfly, wings gently propelling the memories and the circumstances away from your psyche until you find peace?

Technology makes letting go a complicated process. We are all so hooked in. We are notified if anyone we knows makes a move, bakes a cake, has an issue with their boss, their husband, or their neighbors. We see it in living color. Sometimes too graphic. And there it is. We simply cannot get away from the everyday ramblings of anyone we know--or have known.

There is incredible discipline involved in healing a wound. We have all had that tiny scab in an inconvenient place that, no matter how much we know better, we pick at. I have done it. Scratching a mosquito bite never ends well, if I can trivialize this for a moment. But it's not trivial. It's instantly possible to track the whereabouts and daily musings of anyone with whom we have ever had a connection. Even our arch enemies. Blocking aside. Blocking is only as good as your willingness not to outsmart the block you or another has set in place. Really, with all of the various ways to circumvent a block in most social media, a block is simply a digital "fuck you." Something in place so that the very first time (or tenth time) that person you used to know checks to see if that block remains, you can once again send a technological Hallmark of rejection. I block you. I block you. You can't come to my birthday party. You can't play with my toys. Anyone and anything but you is preferable to you. And so on.

It's a dirty business, perhaps even more so in the clinical sterility of it all. It's not the same as the classic playground scuffle--everyone angry, everyone running home--maybe even a fistfight. A fight on a playground involves real people in real interactions in a real place, engaged. Technology makes it far easier. It allows us to remove a person, a loved-one, a family member, a colleague, even a lover with a simple press of a button. The email "Dear John" letter has become a simple setting in a myriad of social networking applications. The very hollowness and inhumanness of it all makes it wound all the more.

You can be rendered a nonperson with the touch of a button. Click. You never existed.

And that is what has happened to interacting with fellow humans in 2015.

Think of the ramifications of this. Life becomes one big role play game. If you don't like the players, turn the game off, and walk away. You don't have to concern yourself with their feelings or souls or anything at all. You can erase them. Delete, delete, delete.

There's a popular song that says it well. "Somebody That I Used to Know" by Gotye. In the official music video a naked man stands against a wall describing his pain. As he sings, the wall is painted like a huge geometric puzzle, and as he continues to lay out the circumstances of his relationship-strife, he, too, is painted like the wall and eventually disappears. He becomes the wall. Later a similarly painted woman turns to deliver some sort of harsh judgment and basically it's clear to the viewer that everyone naked and painted geometrically is having a very horrible day.

But there is some glaring reality in this song. Something that made it a huge hit. It's starkly real. (Even though it quaintly refers to his lover collecting her record collection. Circa 1984.) But that odd reference, presumably because "CD collection" is a shitty rhyme whereas "record" falls trippingly off the tongue, there is some kernel of incredible pain here. It is the pain of being rendered nonexistent by the person who was so terribly meaningful to you. It's the click death of social media. You are blocked. You cease to exist. He goes on to lament, "You didn't have to cut me off...act like we were nothing." Therein lies the rub: People want to exist. It's a natural human urge--we are wired to it. We especially want to be remembered (even with scorn) by someone with whom we shared a great emotional attachment.

You know there are those old movies where a patriarch of a family says with harshness and an unmistakable sense of forever, "He is dead to me. I have no son." This father, in all his infinite evil, knows that there is no better way to destroy his son in absentia. He deletes him. It would be healthier for the son if his father raged against him. Hell, even went after him with a baseball bat. But deleting someone who loves you will always be the quickest way to leave your mark. You are never forgotten in your heartless, evil, and everlasting cruelty. If only the son in this scenario could wash his hands of "Pop" too and go blithely on his way. But it doesn't work that way. The first person to delete the other person wins some subliminal war of sadism. It is the antithesis of honoring our connections with other humans, even the ones that have died a natural death.

So I choose to honor those who have fallen away from me today. I honor their memories. I honor the time spent. I honor the love I felt and the time and energy I gave. I honor the energy and love and time I received from another human being. And in the cases where someone left my life a misery, I appreciate that relationship is a two way street--even the worst of them. We all participate. It's just too bad we can't all come to peace.

However, maybe there is peace in the realization that we are not actually deleted. No one is deleted. We are not blocked from life. We are not erased. We don't even have to stand naked against a geometric wall slowly blending into it, eventually disappearing, like some horrifying Fellini film. We can embrace ourselves. We can realize (even if we don't believe in God or fate) that there is usually some order to things. People come and go. Even Billy Joel knew it.

"So many people in and out of my life, some will last, some will just be now and then."

He was optimistic. He was pre-digital. He knew that reality meant that he might just run into a person again. And hopefully when he did, he was healthy, wealthy and wise.

I wish you peace in all your relationships,

Beauty <3

Save the Date for my Hugging Party

2014-12-26T14:30:00.001-08:00

Recently I fell. I fell on slick tile, wet with coffee. I fell because I was thinking too fast, and moving too fast, and hurrying along my always busy life. In fact, I had been informed of the coffee spill by my daughter, who was getting into her truck bringing her art work to her college final, and going on to her first day at a new job. She told me as I clenched her in an unusual and very tight bear-hug. As I stood in the early Fall light with my arms around this grown woman, who is not only my own child, but my favorite person on the planet, I didn't know, I couldn't know, that this was a very significant hug. It was the last hug. The last real hug for a very long time.

If you know me, you know this means something--I am a hugger. I love to hug. It's part of my DNA. I am an affectionate, touchy-feely person. I like to give hugs and I like to receive them. I am tactile. I touch. I also believe a transfer of love and well being and happiness happens when you hug. I'm a fan. So, when I sped into my house and did a Funniest-Home-Video type long, excruciating fall across first my tiled landing, then over a table, and finally rolling and slamming full velocity to the tile below on my shoulder, you should know I didn't realize then that what I was really doing, besides breaking my humerus in four places, bruising both knee and pelvis, managing to rip all the soft tissue around my arm pit, shoulder, pec, and whatever else is there, was moving myself from a hugger to a non-hugger in the world.

Bummer.

As I fell I had the time to state aloud four times, "Don't get hurt!" Interestingly, this didn't help, but it was a lovely sentiment. It does however help anyone who is interested gauge the length of my fall from inception to "boom."

So boom I went. Being alone I (well, alone except for five dogs, two of them very sympathetic, two rowdy and uninterested, and one dumb) ended up calling for help, and help not immediately forthcoming, I called the paramedics. Happily, the paramedics arrived and proceeded to be extremely lovely to me and extremely calendar-worthy. (My shock-state allowed me to revel in the sheer beauty of the four strapping men before I actually felt how hurt I was.) Miraculously my dogs had quietly exited into my backyard where they all sat like statues without barking. This is a first, and it also proved that The Dogs Know What is Going On.

My Paramedic Team

My husband arrived mid paramedic massage of shoulders and luckily took me to the urgent care. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a humerus break, and unreasonable fear. The fear was the urgent care doctor who detailed a horrible round of surgery and pins, and so on. I stayed calm and called the surgeon and went in the next day. I was fairly concerned because my arm, previously extremely useful, was then "flappy" and uncooperative. Well, I did the X-ray and MRI thing, and then I was told while I had a severe fracture, I could manage the first steps of my own cure by simply holding completely and unreasonably still for weeks.

So I did it. I held completely still. My body became extremely aware and self-protective of my appendage. I held it close to my side, I inadvertently tensed all the surrounding muscles as I protected the break, and I held still. This included not being able to lie down, and, basically, not being able to do a heck of a lot of anything. Because my break was my right shoulder and by the Grace of God I am left-handed, I could do a lot of the embarrassing personal tasks we are all loath to include others in--even family members. But, even with all these blessings (break on non-dominant side, no surgery, etc.) the extreme mental and physical discipline of holding still is something hard to fathom unless you have done it yourself.

Happily, if you move too far from still, your body provides you with a gentle reminder: bone searing pain.

So I began my own version of nesting. Because I couldn't sleep on the bed we developed an intricate way of packing me with pillows into a secure sitting-up position on a plush love seat sofa. Complete with a round airline neck pillow and a couple of Vicodin, I could sleep extremely poorly and interruptedly for hour at a time. My horrible cries for assistance to get up or even move position were met with exhausted, but loving, assistance from family members. This kept up for about 50 days. They told me I could type (I couldn't), they told me I could tolerate a bra (right. sure. hysterical.), they told me I could do "anything I wanted but lift my arm."

Taking this literally, I undertook a long trip to my writing workshop six hours away. We had to abandon ship halfway there and get me a hotel and drugs to make it through that night. Eventually I settled into a long and happy love affair with old sitcoms and not having to do Anything in Particular.

At first this was horrible for me. I am an "up and doing" person with something going on at all times. Eventually I began to see the charm and innocence of old sitcoms. (I watched nothing upsetting including talk shows.) I ventured into the Home Shopping Network a few times but because I couldn't type my credit card in the website in the early days of my injury I am still the proud possessor of a retirement savings account.

I can whistle this theme song now.

So, as my family went about their lives, coming and going to school and work, running errands, even leaving the house to take out the trash, I sat and watched Dennis the Menace. I watched Father Knows Best. I went through a series of old Gidget movies. I had no desire for anything current. I didn't want to see anything that could in the least upset me or even make me slightly nervous. I just didn't have the emotional capacity for suspense. In fact, I quit Facebook feeling like it wasn't serving me, I took Twitter off my phone, and I just retreated, feeling like I didn't have any real friends and in all the pain feeling exceptionally sorry for myself.

Hawaii was awesome, Rome, not so much.

In situations like this you get who is there for you really quickly. I began to understand through this reality check that while social media had its place and in fact, I have even renewed a few old friendships there and made some new ones, for the most part, your social media lists, including Facebook are not your friends. The people who are your friends are the people who pick up the phone. They are the people who show up. They are the people who send actual snail mail or text on your (gasp) phone. I got that I have about 10 great friends. I am unbelievably grateful that I have that many. I also have some amazing family. I am a lucky person.

The time I have spent with my shoulder broken has been a series of interesting ups and downs. I have noticed that people won't stop for you in the street normally but donning a sling they get unusually nice. I have noticed that strangers have a tendency to grab your shoulder in exclamation a lot actually, and that even when you are released from sling duty you have to keep it with you to alert crowds. I have learned that without a bra I am a hopeless fashion don't. Period.

This ad just says so much.

In some ways not being able to maintain my usual schedule of working out, dressing up and facing the world looking as good as possible was the worst part for me. I have hated buying clothes a size bigger for comfort and I have hated not being able to get my hair right. I have hated my emotional fragility. I have hated the crying.* That is until I decided I had to cry. And once I allowed myself to cry I have just kept it up. I am now officially a person who will cry every time I feel like it--hopefully forever. If you are with me I won't adopt my mother's old "put on your sunglasses" privacy stance. No, I will just cry. It prevents migraines. I will also laugh. Loud and hard. And someday when I am healed I will laugh like Santa and giggle and jiggle and bounce and fly across the room.

And while I fly across the room dancing and laughing and filled with amazing mirth, if you happen to be there I will grab you and we will twirl in a happy dance. We will twirl the way we did in the grass as 8-year-olds. We will laugh until we cry and fall into each other's arms and hug and hug and hug.

And that sounds like a beautiful time. Doesn't it?

Hugging.

Come to my Hugging Party.

So save the date. This is your invitation to my hugging party. I might send paper invitations to real people. There will be a crowd of less than 20 and the hugs will be the best part.

Happy Holidays!

Love--

Beauty

* If you have ever had physical therapy you know that crying is an every day thing--and in fact the thing that PT survivors recount the most when they discuss it.

You Just Don't Get It

2014-10-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

When I am looking for more Twitter followers, I post a saying that Buddha said. Usually this is in the form of a neat image with some sort of flashy picture with a saying superimposed on top: Buddha says, "Be cool." Buddha says, "Start being who you want to be today and release the past." Buddha says, "Get over your anger." One great thing about posting this sort of thing to Twitter is an instant increase in followers. Another, (and actually the real reason), is that all of these pithy sayings actually make sense. You should, indeed, let it go. You can only lose that which you cling to. You shouldn't believe everything you read. Including this. I figure if I post these things I will remind myself what I need to think about. I will connect with people who also want to remind themselves. There is nothing at all negative about it. My daughter (who is college-age and a bit of a cynic) calls me a "Namaste Hipster." That's okay. Namaste as a concept is something to aspire to, and certainly being a hipster gives me some level of street cred, even if it's only with myself. That's something.

But, I am blowing smoke. This isn't what I am here to write about today. I am writing today to talk about how social media is just a tiny keyhole into our real lives. That sometimes we post, thinking that people will see what we are posting, and "get" something we wish we could say to them, perhaps some information we want them to have about us. Something to improve their image of us, or to ensure them that we are fine without them, or let them know that we are missing them, or a myriad of other reasons.

The problem is, how the heck do you really know if they are stalking your social media on the level needed to grasp your veiled meanings? And like everything in text, veiled meanings and deep subtext are just rife with the possibility for misunderstanding.

I have a family member from whom I am estranged. That's an ugly sentence. It means that the relationship is so broken down, so damaged, so negative, that we have walked completely away from knowing each other. The person that I am estranged from has been, in the course of my life, a very important person to me. One of the people I counted as the inner circle, a friend of my heart. Until.

Until the break. Breaking off a love relationship--even a platonic, family relationship, is a serious thing. It is something you think about every single day. But as each day passes, the idea that you can just pick up the phone becomes more remote. The passing of time makes the gulfs between people wider and more complicated. Anger and pain seem to be more willing co-conspirators than peace and acceptance. People get cloaked and choked in their own stuff.

And sometimes you really do have to make a break for it. The person in your life is truly hurting you. They have made it clear they don't respect your life choices, they have has mocked what you love, and made it clear that they hate you more than they love you. You can't build a relationship out of someone's hate and disrespect and anger. You can't build anything. The best you can do is walk away praying that some day they will get it. That they will wake up on some imagined morning of the future and say, "Oh, my God, I was wrong. I need to call and say that I love and accept this person."

But that doesn't happen. People don't do that. People don't stay and work on it. People don't try to make amends, they don't try to see the value in those with whom they are estranged. The problem with estrangement is it becomes so self-aware and uncomfortable. The leap to communication is across a huge gulf, filled with hatred. A soul-sucking, defeating, soup of disrespect. Who wants to take a pole vault and try to make it over that?

Estrangement has another bedfellow. Time. Time and estrangement are in it together. They are in cahoots. Anger makes people forget to check their watches. To check their calendars. To check reality. And time is a thief. Time takes your hand and kisses you gently on the lips and then tosses your unsuspecting ass off a cliff. Just like that. Just like that.

Have you ever been so pissed at someone you want to write explicit instructions preventing them from attending your funeral?

Funeral notes: A live band with people singing songs I have written, a full dance floor. A seafood bar and a martini fountain. A slide show of my theatrical hits. A case with my Tonys displayed. A bouncer at the door to prevent (insert offending name here) from attending.

Anger makes some pretty elaborate plans. Love isn't so organized. Love says, "Come on. Whatever. Just be kind." Love says, "I forgive you. I know you didn't mean it. I know you have your issues as I have mine."
Anger gets bouncers. Love gives hugs.

Life is so very short. Life is a wisp of smoke, a flower that blossoms briefly and wilts, a shining brief instant, a falling star. Lovers and friends and siblings and children, and people who should love each other but have replaced their love with anger should consider taking heed.

Anger throws a casual arm around your shoulder and says, " You have plenty of time. You have pressing concerns! You have to work. You have to produce. You have bills to pay. You don't have time for people's emotional baggage."

Love knows you don't have time. And the time you do have is never going to be enough. You will never have enough time to hold the hand of someone you love. You will never have enough time for those side-splitting laughs. You will never have enough time to raise your voice in greeting, in excitement, in happiness, and in song.

So make the call.
Answer the email.
Book the flight.
Show up for coffee.

And, for everyone's sake, jump across the table and the scary gulf of hate and fear and clench people in those bear hugs that we all love to receive.

Get over the fear. Life is remembered by the moments of love and connection we share with other living beings. Nothing more. Even the greatest art is really only mass connection. Everything that we love and share is about connection.

So, here is my paragraphs-long Buddha post. Except I am the Buddha today. I am a living representation of spirit and as such I claim my higher self and speak those words to the people who need to hear them the most.

Everyone I love--let me take this time to tell you how I love you. How I remember our friendship and our childhoods and our moments of laughter and our deep conversations. Let me tell you I am honored and grateful for the things we have shared. I am grateful for the days on the beach and the glasses we clinked. The moments of recognition. The warm hugs. The happy hellos. The emotional reunions. I am grateful for the jubilation. I am grateful for the understanding. I am grateful.

And to me: Take your own advice. Just try.

Don't Bring Me Down!

2014-02-16T12:47:00.003-08:00

You've got the power!

Have you ever tried to change your life in some meaningful way and found that sometimes people who you think are supposed to be in your corner just aren't? Have you got "friends" or loved ones who say they are on your team but in reality are alienated by your attempts to change your life, reinvent yourself, or get healthy? Have you just assumed you were too sensitive, even though they were negative, or passive aggressive, suddenly just not interested in your progress, or downright mean? Have you assumed that it was somehow not them, but you?

Well, guess again. When you are actively looking to change your life and people freak out and suddenly act less positive to you it can only be a couple of things:

1. They are envious. Maybe they want to change something about their lives too, but as yet they don't feel ready. Instead of getting real with themselves your attempts for something better alienate them. People who are like this can often turn their own negativity about themselves toward you.

2. They fear that your transformation will take you away from them somehow. They fear that you will lose weight or get healthy or follow your dream and leave them. It's a fear-based reaction and not based on reality. People who we love hope we change for the better. They support and encourage our dreams. They cheer us on--even if they are not where they want to be in life.

3. They are rescuers and your ability to heal yourself and take care of yourself and show some gumption and resolve gets in the way of their need to fix you. Some people are into the "broken wing" syndrome. That is, they love fixing people, rescuing people, and helping others to the point that they don't deal well with those who hook into their own empowerment.

4. They are toxic and you didn't see it. People who love you empower you. People who love you are on your side. People who love you applaud your efforts and want the best for you. People who love you who are having their own problems have the grace to tell you that and make it clear that their personal issues are theirs, not yours.

Long ago I had a friend who gave me a short and sweet piece of advice: "Hang around people who like you." This is a golden rule and one to live by. It is also completely true. People who like you and, especially, love you should make you feel more good than bad. When you need them they should try to be there for you as often as they can. When you share your successes they cheer--they don't say, "Stop bragging." Look at how you treat those you like and those you love. Are you good to them? Are you doing the things you ask for in return? It's not a one-way street. You must be willing to give to them as well. You must give what you want to receive.

So, try something new this week. Just start paying attention. If people aren't supporting you or are acting hostile or passive aggressive to you as you start to change your life to live healthier, sit them down and have a kind and loving discussion. Ask for what you need. People who love you will always try to give you more of what you need, not less. Give people time to get on board. Especially those you love. Rome wasn't built in a day. But, after you have informed people gently and with love about what you need, make some good decisions for yourself. You deserve respect. In fact, you must insist upon respect. It's never too late to learn this or to change your circumstances.

The message for today is: Take care of yourself. Align yourself with people who help, not hurt. Align yourself with people who make you feel good, not bad. Do not allow anyone to make you feel the good things you do for yourself are selfish. Surround yourself with positive, nurturing, supportive people. Send those who aren't off to deal with their negativity and personal issues with your support and love, but let them have space and time to heal.

All of this takes incredible bravery and strength, but you will find, once you try it, that strength grows with every positive action you take for yourself.

Thank you for your amazing support and generous hearts!

Love--
Beauty

Paleo--In the Beginning...

2014-02-15T11:00:00.001-08:00

Well, I made it through the first day. I tossed out everything in my refrigerator, and because I can't stand to throw away good food, I have given anything I don't choose to eat to someone who will enjoy it. It was strange to see huge bags of trash coming out of my fridge, but maybe it's symbolic--this process is one of cleansing. Eating clean, starting over--and in a sense, resetting my body. A reboot of sorts. If you are reading The Beauty and the Blog for the first time--welcome! Please check back often to see my updates about the 90-Day-Challenge. Also, please join my on Twitter (BeautyNBlog) or TEAM GRACE on Facebook, and feel free to follow this blog too for instant updates when I post.

Yesterday I did a lot of research for Paleo sites online and they really run the gamut--from people who are trying to improve their health, or dealing with their children's auto-immune diseases, or dealing with their own ill health or diabetes, or like me, trying to get healthy which also requires a large weight loss.

Paleo, in short, is eating like a cave person. The theory is the more natural the better. So, if you see a huge list of ingredients that you don't recognize, don't eat it. If you can imagine yourself dressed like someone from the Flintstones gathering this food, or spearing it if you are more like Bam Bam, then, that is Paleo. A no brainer is looking at it like this:

Eat:
Vegetables
Fruits
Lean meats
Fish
Good oils (Olive, coconut, avocados)
Nuts and seeds
Don't eat sugar, dairy, gluten

I will include resources for you to read more every day, both here and on TEAM GRACE.

So, Day One Menu highlights included:
Lunch
An organic salsa and avocado omelet, served with baby carrots.
Snack
Dried banana slices from Trader Joes. Amazingly sweet, tasted like candy and low calorie.
Dinner
Grass Fed Beef with sautéed organic mushrooms
Organic spinach salad with tomatoes and avocado, olive oil, fresh garlic, and balsamic vinegar dressing
Cantaloupe and berries

Day Two Menu highlights:
Breakfast
A premeasured 170 calorie serving of raw almonds
1 cup coffee (yes, I am still using coffee, and may for the whole time, but I am thinking about this. I am a coffee addict and cutting down is a process!)
Lunch (Really more like brunch today.)
Organic spinach, grass fed beef and egg scramble
Fruit
Dinner
Swai
Sweet potato
Zucchini
a very small piece of 85% dark chocolate (people on Paleo generally allow this, and heck, it's Valentine's Day!

Water is vital. I am also almost immediately noticing that everything is tasting more intense. I feel like I am getting food and I am not terribly hungry. One nice thing is you can really have as much as you want on Paleo, the only thing you truly need to limit are nuts and seed and oils--while they should definitely still be enjoyed in moderation.

Check back later for my emotional check in--Getting Support.

PS Check out these sites for information on Paleo: http://www.paleoforlife.org/html/intro and http://www.nerdfitness.com/blog/2010/10/04/the-beginners-guide-to-the-paleo-diet/

Love-
Beauty

The A$$ is Half Empty

2014-02-04T13:38:00.001-08:00

These could be hearts, turn the computer over...

Kim Kardashian take a seat. Hell, you already have one! For some reason as I start this blog post today, I am full of stupid plays on words and even lamer one-liners about reality TV stars and the size of people's a$$es--but I promise there's a point. And the point is this:

I am starting my own hardcore weight loss program in a very, very ambitious way. I have joined my gym's 90-day challenge and I intend to lose 50 pounds during this process. (Or come as close as I can, working as hard as I can.) I will be working with a trainer and eating a method of clean that is known as "Paleo"--(read: Cavegirl).

Why?

Well, a couple of years ago I lost about 75 pounds. I have managed to keep most of it off even though I struggle to re-lose the last ten pounds of this about three times a year. I have managed to improve my fitness to a level where my blood pressure is holding (with meds) I can do 30 minutes on an elliptical about 3 or 4 times a week with no stress and I wear normal size clothes--although I am at the top of the heap in normal sizes, I am not in fat lady store land. So that is awesome, right? Sure it is, but (and the big but is) I am still overweight. I am still on blood pressure meds. I am still having migraines. In short, I am half way done. What seemed like amazing progress three years ago has now become the far thinner version of the fat me.

So, what to do? My gym (Lifetime Fitness) has a 90-day-challenge a few times a year. I tried this once before and didn't stick for various reasons, most of them not really good enough, and that was the best I could do at the time. But now, because I see myself needing just as many years on the clock as I can manage to pursue my revitalized career writing for the musical theatre, I don't see myself in any kind of "wind down" phase. In fact, I see myself ramping up. However, unlike Sheldon Cooper in my favorite episode of BBT, I don't have a Virtual Presence Device to take me around town while I hide in my my cozy bed protecting myself from the dangers of living in the world.

I just need to be healthier. I don't know about your family tree, but in mine we have heart attack and stroke and some cancer thrown in just in case that wasn't fun enough. I am not a child (yes, I know I am ageless), and I need to take control of my fitness and health now if I want to be the Betty White of the theatre when I am in my 90s.

So, here's my plea:

I need support. I want community. I would love it if everyone would join me on the quest and spend 90 days eating right and working out and doing whatever necessary to meet their own personal goals, but I understand not everyone is ready, able, willing or even needs to do that. I do. So what I ask of you is your virtual support.

So join me here, on FaceBook (Team Grace), on Twitter (BeautyNBlog), and heck if social media isn't your bag, baby, join me mentally. I can use support, I will be working my "a$$" off (apologies Kim K.) and I will report here. Maybe every day, certainly every week.

I have a friend who told me I am a very sensitive person. Well, perhaps. But I am as sensitive to good news and positive attitude and high energy as I am to anything else. I intend to start a fire. I intend to light my own candle. I intend to rock this. Who wants to come along? I have a party bus with many large, comfortable seats (sorry again, Kim). So get your yoga pants on and let your freak flag fly. We leave on February 10th.

Love--

Wilma Flintstone
(Yeah, it's me, Beauty) ;)

Being an Empath

2014-01-17T13:18:00.001-08:00

Never let it be said that I am not a highly sensitive person. In fact, let it be said that I am. I am very sensitive. When I was a young adult and my mother still graced the earth, she informed me that I was an "empath." If you have not heard that expression being bandied about as a thing you can be, it's simple: It is a person who is hardcore empathetic. If you are an empath, I probably just got your attention by mentioning the word. We are highly misunderstood, especially by our loved ones and sometimes even ourselves.

As a child I remember the exact moment in time that I learned empathy. And I believe that empathy isn't instinct but taught--nurture versus nature. The two next-door-neighbor boys had invented a rather suspect game. This game involved taking the tiny little golden brown moths that were flying happily around the flower beds and catching them, and then putting then through a series of "experiments." (These boys are probably testing pharmaceuticals on beagles today.) Anyway, I didn't understand that our game, which involved burying the little moths in the sand, digging them up, pulling various body parts off the moths, etc., etc., would harm them. I was simply too young and too inexperienced and too far under the age of reason to understand the ramifications of our actions.

My mother got wind of this little experiment and walked out into the front yard and took me aside.

"Teeny, (my childhood nickname) do you know you are HURTING the moths when you do that?
"I am?"
"Yes it hurts them. They cry when they can't breathe and when you damage their wings. They will probably even die. You will kill them. Some of them are dead already, honey."
Oh my God.
Seriously.

It is half a million years later, a lifetime later, and to write about it in this moment still upsets me. I can see my mother's sad face and her deep lovely eyes. I can feel her concern and her lack of anger toward me as she lovingly told me I had done something very wrong, even bad. She didn't yell, she wasn't sarcastic or mean, she didn't pull me away or scold. She simply and sadly and kindly told me the truth.

I could have been knocked over with a feather in that moment and then a millisecond after, I wanted to die. I couldn't believe the feeling that passed over me. I had willingly, willfully, and intentionally killed a helpless little creature.

Now, mind you, I didn't know that I was doing harm until that very moment and in that moment of intellectual and spiritual recognition my entire world changed. Forever. That teachable moment, that precious second in time and the loving and serious way that this lovely woman delivered her message made me not only get it like no other message has ever gotten through to me before, or maybe even after, but also, it changed me. I was altered forever in that moment.

The next time someone you know is considering putting their child in day care early or is getting flack from their loved ones about their insistence in spending as much time as possible with their preschool child instead of getting back to work, imagine what would have happened to me if my mother had not been there that day. Eventually, based on many factors, like for instance the fact that this woman was, indeed, my mother, I would have been able to discern right from wrong. More or less I would have grown up to be pretty much as I am, but isn't it true as we all look back at our lives we can often pinpoint those instants in which we are altered? There are so many considerations with this: How, we as parents and grandparents and teachers and even bystanders have so much responsibility toward each other, especially toward children. The value of kindness. The importance of empathy and compassion. The list goes on and on. Suffice to say, I remain eternally grateful that the person delivering the message was also the one I got lucky enough to win in the "mom lottery."

Flash forward.

I sit here in my office tonight and I think of many things. Of empathy and the sometimes incredible burden of being too empathetic. But what is too empathetic? I think of Jesus as the ultimate empath. I don't suppose he sat around bemoaning that he just cared too damn much about living creatures and it was getting him down. No. I think he was wise enough to see it as both a gift and a responsibility. I think that my mother (who was herself an incredibly spiritual person) not only taught me about empathy that day but also embodied empathy herself. She taught me that I had hurt a living creature while, in her moment of doing so, she had profound empathy for me. She felt my pain. She held me while I cried about it. She forgave me. And she helped me to forgive myself. She used to tell me that guilt wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. Guilt was an indication that you needed to change how you were acting. She also told me that pain and sadness were as much a part of life as joy--and that without one we could not fully appreciate the other.

We have a chance in every moment we exist on this planet to better it in some small way. We impact whatever and whomever we touch. We are mistaken if we say we are powerless. Indeed, the power to impact our world is with us at every second. We are magnificently powerful creatures-- creatures with minds and souls. We are given the ability to reason and to feel and with that comes the incredible responsibility to recognize that we as humans with souls are vessels. Each day we have a choice about how we fill the vessel. Will we fill ourselves with light? Will we through intention, avoidance, or even just plain denial, allow darkness in? Will we pay attention enough to know we have a choice and that everyone--everyone breathing and thinking--can and must move through the world with intention. And when we forget, we must remind ourselves.

Being alive is a miracle. Humanity is not a static condition. We are constantly able to improve what it means to have humanity. That is greatness. Greatness is just goodness with an audience, really. And while you don't have to be great and no one may ever know how you strike out against the forces of evil in your own small way in each and every moment, it will always matter.

Just like it mattered to Teeny and the Moth.

When Things Change

2014-01-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life is so good and so beautiful and so lovely that you want to clutch at it, wrap it up in a giant bear hug and never let it go. Sometimes you can stop for a moment and look around you and think, "God, I am so blessed because of (whatever it is, or whoever it is)--I am so lucky!" And then it changes.

Situations change. Tragedy strikes or, more often than not, the changes that occur seep into your life and you begin to see with increasing awareness that things that seemed to work so well have altered. Time has marched on, and while you wanted things to freeze-frame and stay perfectly in place, time has soldiered on. Time takes no prisoners, people change. Circumstances change. Everything is fluid. Things are always getting better or worse. There is no static moment in time--except in a picture that you post to Facebook or Instagram that you look at the next day and, by then, it's already ancient history.

That's why if you have a loved one or a partner or a person in your life who you enjoy completely and share an amazing bond with you should capture the moment with your feelings and your mind and your heart and your soul more readily than a camera. Because while it is nice to look at it on the Facebook scroll, it isn't the same as living it. While you are trying to get that perfect group photo you could be looking into someone's eyes--having a moment of recognition. You can love someone forever, but even with a love that lasts eternity you can be sure that one day, somehow, some way you will look into that shining face for the last time. You will have your last moment of recognition. Your last hug, your last kiss, your last shared raised eyebrow commiserating over something that is shared.

And we hunger for those shared moments. We eat them like candy, the best candy, but like all candy the box eventually empties. Doors close, days end. Experiences conclude. How do we deal with this? How do we avoid a perpetual state of regret?

Maybe we have to let go of our expectations of how it should be with everything and everyone we know. Maybe the job won't always be the same, the friends will come and go as people move and interests change. The milestones will serve to both unite and separate us. Maybe we need to face life with the knowledge that everything is fluid. This is brilliant for a horrible time--we can say, yes, it's just now and one day another good time will come, but it is less lovely for that moment that you feel the bliss. But bliss is a funny thing. It's a soap bubble of experience. You can see it and feel it and sense it, you can even hold it for just a millisecond, if you are careful and gentle and so very light with your touch. But it is just an instant. An instant. And then we must move on. We must leave the pain or the joy of each and every moment and move to the next one. Most days we leave one not-so- special moment and move to the not-so-special next moment--but it doesn't have to be that way. We can take the hand of our friend, our partner, or our child. We can look into people's eyes. We can be in the moment. We can be in this moment and then we can kiss it lovingly good bye. Send that last self, that self of a moment ago, off with the last selves of those we love, to play in the past.

What seems like it could be filled with overwhelming regret doesn't have to be that. Every new moment is absolutely fraught with possibility. We can have lots and lots of do-overs. Moment by moment, and all it takes is awareness. All it takes is a willingness to be aware, be present, and yes, not grab on too tight. Just loosen your grip. Let it be.

And maybe if we get outside ourselves on some level and think less about how it feels for us and what we are loosing and gaining in each and every moment and a little more about how everyone around us is thinking and feeling, maybe we will open ourselves to amazing new experiences. It doesn't mean you can fix things for other people--even though sometimes you can--it just means you can understand more, even if all you can do is understand and let them know.

When I was a little girl I remember a game that we played where we would lie, tummies down, on the grass and look at the little world we saw there. Tiny leaves and rocks and bugs--an ant making his way somewhere important. In an instant we changed the focus of our worlds and suddenly saw things from a new perspective. We are always free to do that, if it means focusing on someone else or something else for a moment or just changing focus. Looking at a book shelf in your house you have seen a million times without really seeing it. Remembering why those books and other objects are there. There are worlds of meaning in the smallest places and the smallest interactions between people. It's interesting to think about how you can change your perspective, pull away from a moment that doesn't please you just by shifting focus--in an instant.

But wherever you choose to focus your life, moment by moment, each moment passes and if we can embrace it more fully if we learn the grace of letting go of people and things to which we cling. If we can embrace the people in our lives without really holding on we will see more moments of bliss and more peace about each moment--whether it is good or bad.

I had a yoga teacher once who used to say, "Let go." She seemed to say it over and over and over again. In her class her gentle words would flow over me like a blanket of peace. She changed my life and I think, for me, it is important to remember those two words. And here are some more words that my heart is repeating that I want to share with you: Embrace and let go. Love and move forward. Live your life and look around you. Be and let it be.

Namaste--

Beauty

It's not you, it's me

2014-01-02T15:46:00.000-08:00

A woman I love dearly has been having a hard time. A man whom she thought she loved has unceremoniously and in fact, meanly, dumped her. And by dumped I mean the ugly, cruel, horrible way. This man said things to her to intentionally undermine her self concept, her femininity, her attractiveness and her self-esteem. He just went after her, balls to the wall, attacked her for no reason other than a personal outpouring of his own exit-strategy hostility.

Well first of all, this was completely classless and lacked any compassion and kindness and anything I could call "having a soul." It was an extreme example of the universe showing someone to be a complete asshole. The thing I have to wonder is, why? Why do people do things like this? Why are people so fooled about each other, and if they aren't fooled and there really was some context of love and good feeling there, why does a break up give anyone this sense of free reign to attack? The whole thing was like watching this woman slam into a brick wall of pain--except she didn't do it to herself, she just trusted someone who brutalized her. It was horrible to watch and we have all been there--I certainly have.

As humans we get terribly attached to each other. In love relationships we allow our partner to define us in some way. We let them into the most intimate parts of our being. We reveal ourselves on every level, and we put it all out there for them to (hopefully) love. In the case of doing this with someone compassionate and kind, even an ending has the potential for dignity and love and basic decency. But when someone misjudges their partner as being kind and then comes to find too late in the day that they were simply being "nice" while they were involved in the chase, the potential for disaster seems imminent and horrifying.

Watching my girlfriend go through this, I remembered the times this has happened to me. It is impossible for people involved in romantic love relationships to not have a yin and yang sort of give and take whereby they impact each other. Women especially create some level of their physical and sexual and feminine selves for and based on the reaction of the men they love. Women try to look good for the men they love. Men do this too. Everyone wants to be wanted by the person they adore--and wanted in every way. Victoria's Secret makes a billion dollar industry out of this need to be not only loved but physically adored by one's romantic partner.

So, as I sat and listened to my friend tell me of the hostility and brutality of her recent breakup, I offered to her that he didn't have control over her self concept and that her beauty was not defined by him. This is one hundred percent true, except it isn't. People in love, people who are in love and intimate are in a complicated give and take where they both affirm and embrace each other, where they adore and are adored, where they allow their partner to have an impact on their emotions--and thus, they give that person an intense power. The power to "complete" them and the power to wound them too. Is it wrong? No. Can it be incredibly destructive? Oh, yes.

I have been thinking about this a lot since we met for coffee the other day. I have been thinking about how it kills me to see my dear friend in so much pain and that all my platitudes (while true) about self-concept and personal power are not the whole picture. We give that special someone power over us. Power when they are given the key and let inside the Secret Garden. There is always a chance that the person whom we give a key uses their power unwisely. And that is when we must as individuals take back our power.

But that doesn't mean that there isn't that one special person who will never misuse their power (and it doesn't mean that lovers can't wound each other and recover and continue to love, perhaps even more deeply). But when people say they are looking for that "one true love" I believe they are saying they are looking someone they can trust completely inside their soul. There isn't a woman on the planet who isn't moved by the Carly Simon song lyric: "Hold me in your hands like a bunch of flowers." There isn't a woman on the planet who doesn't truly hope that this is the way she feels when she finally opens her soul to another being.

Whether a love relationship or not, we all have to be careful who we let in. The emotional lines between two individuals in relationship are always drawn in pencil.

I hope with all my heart that my friend will be alright. I have seen depression and I know it is nothing to mess with, and that a good friend can't assume their dear friends are okay, no matter what. That assumption is fraught with risk. People who care for each other need to be aware of each other's emotional health and safety. We need to watch our friends to make sure they are okay, we need to be aware of the pain of our loved ones. We must never assume people survive their break ups and flourish without loving hands and hearts helping them up.

Certainly to this man I would say he has done something truly evil. Sure, most people pass it off as an angry break up, but at what point are people responsible for how they hurt those who love them, or how they hurt anyone at all? I believe at every point. Compassion and kindness are part of everything to be valued in human interaction--beginnings, the long and sometimes troubled road of day-to-day existence and yes, even endings. We must always take care of each other. No matter what.

To my friend I wish an understanding of her own preciousness. I wish that for us all.

Assumptions, anger, bullies, anger, guns, anger, fear, anger and the wisdom of the Brady Bunch

2013-05-14T16:18:00.000-07:00

People have the general notion that you shouldn't make assumptions. I remember I had a high school teacher who used to stand in front of the class and say, "You shouldn't assume, it makes an ass out of you and me." (Get it? U and ME?) Well, anyway, this same teacher had a daily nervous breakdown and sometimes when we were particularly awful as high school kids can be if they sense a weaker animal, he would take his thermos and take some sort of pill--I imagined these were his heart pills or his downers (AKA Mother's little helpers) and that his complete disgust with us coupled by his pain about being stuck with us rendered him unable to cope without medical assistance. At the ripe old age of 15, I had very little pity for this man. And granted, he was a pompous, unyielding, unhappy jerk, but still. Today I have more pity for him. I know the feeling of just absolutely feeling stuck and stressed and like I just can't take it and I admit I have reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out something to make myself feel better a time or two (or 500). So even though today I see eye-to-eye with the man on his Xanax usage, I don't see eye-to-eye with him on his rigid, annoyed, self-righteous attitude. If he would have taken himself and the situation a little less seriously, if he would have seen it for what it was--a class of basically okay, probably a little bored, over-energetic high school kids in a pretty mellow time in the history of high school, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have needed those pretty white pills. Remember, what Alice said, "Feed your head," isn't necessarily the answer, but I digress.

This saint of a man's biggest problem in my never-to-be-humble opinion was that he was wrong. You can and should be able to make a whole helluva lot of assumptions* about life, your friends, your family, your school, the place you work, the people at the grocery store and the person walking behind you in the parking structure. Your assumption is and should be that all of these people are for the most part operating with good and harmless intent. They aren't trying to screw you over or hurt your feelings, they aren't trying to make you feel bad about yourself or insult you, they aren't trying to cheat you or lie to you or hurt you. More likely than not they don't have a wish to kill you or maim you or even cut you off in traffic. The probable worst they are doing is being stressed themselves, or preoccupied with their own stuff, or at the very worst, self-centered. At their best, they are opportunities for you to have positive and happy interactions, at their worst they are just not paying much attention to you. You can and should assume some basic things about most people most of the time.

If you know someone well, if you love them and they love you, you can be reasonably sure that they are not sitting around in their quiet moments planning rude and insulting things to say to you to push your buttons. You can assume that if someone loves you they are not trying to hurt you. If they are, they don't love you. Even if they don't love you in most cases they still won't try to hurt you because they have that special thing I like to call basic human decency. Most of us have this and use it with everyone--the loves of our lives and strangers. It's basic. It's common. It's a no brainer. If you are reacting, you better check out your own heavy load of emotional baggage first. Is it you? Is it me? Take a moment and own it if it's you. No one cares and the world will be saner if everyone has an actual fuse.

Example:
Person who loves me: Random statement. (I jump at this assuming they are trying to destroy me forgetting the entire context and history of our interactions, who I know this person to be, and how I actually know that they probably meant nothing by whatever random thing they said at all.)
Me: WTF? How can you be like this to me????? You suck. (bla bla bla bla bla bla)
Fight ensues.

Possible new example:
Person who loves me: Random statement. (I jump at this assuming they are trying to destroy me forgetting the entire context and history of our interactions, who I know this person to be and how I actually know that they probably meant nothing by whatever random thing they said at all. However, before I speak I take a moment and breathe. In. Out. In. Out.)
Me: Want a pizza?
Person who loves me: Sure!
Smiles and kissing, and whatever. Fade out.

So, personal and loving connections cured, let's move on to the rest of the world. Take technology, for instance:

Why do you suppose, in this instantaneous technological input age when nothing happens without everyone knowing in about five minutes, do we feel so attacked and at risk and afraid? My theory is we know too many bad things. In the long-ago day (any day, you pick, dawn of time to 1979), people just didn't have access to things as quickly. There were printed newspapers if you lived in a metro area twice a day. There was the evening news. People didn't walk around with a device in their hand that pinged them anytime there was a possibility of a problem. WARNING WARNING WARNING--something may happen. Look out Alice, look out, look out!

WARNING DANGER WILL ROBINSON~~~~~~~~

No, we went outside, we went places sans our parents, and in fact, here is just how crazy stuff was in our day: The other night I was watching a Brady Bunch rerun (please don't lie to me, you watch it too) and in this episode Mr. Brady told Cindy she could wait for Santa alone in the mall while he went to run an errand. She was six and she told him, "Get lost dude, I got this." And she did. My Brady Bunch watching companion exclaimed, as did I, about how totally bizarre this is today. Well, news flash people, she was perfectly safe (yeah, I know it was a TV show) but, still, she WAS perfectly safe, as were you when you went outside alone and rode your bike and played in the vacant lot and all the other stuff you did where you emerged unscathed--or maybe even scathed, but scathed is part of it, remember? Cindy Brady is a representation of the collective attitudes we used to feel in this country not so very long ago. Kids were safe. That's what we thought and they mostly were.

A couple of other things for you to consider about this reality. Things just have not changed that much. Kids are still mostly safe, we just think they aren't. And guess what? All our fear and assumptions that we have to arm ourselves and prepare to protect ourselves from pillage and murder or worse are just trumped up, jacked up, scary emotions in overdrive from just plain hearing about too much bad stuff all the time. The reality is and will always be sometimes bad stuff happens to people. Kids have been occasionally mistreated at the hands of strangers since the world began.
Mostly strangers will help a kid not try to string him up from the nearest tree. So all this fear is rendering life a very unhappy place for all these kids that we scare the crap out of every day. Life was bad enough as children, don't you remember? (Just coping with the emotional chore of finding a place in the world being a kid in ideal circumstances is hard for kids.) And our parents were mostly calm about our safety. Mostly unconcerned. "Look both ways" was about as scary as it got.

My Brady Bunch watching companion and I decided that Nancy Reagan invented the notion of kids being unsafe. She invented "stranger danger" programs and DARE. She made scaring kids about their potential for sudden attack, addiction, STDs and the idea that their parents should be watched to see if they are trying to slip them a Sudafed, a government-mandated program. She made it curriculum. I personally like Mister Brady's approach. Look both ways and wait for Santa. You will be okay.

Additional theory: I took my child out of many of the DARE program activities claiming religious issues. Yes indeedy, I had a religion and it was: not to guilt and shame and scare the crap out of my child every single day at school. I taught her to not do drugs, I taught her to drink responsibly and socially. I taught her about sex and her responsibility to protect herself not only physically but emotionally. It's called parenting. I don't think it has to be curriculum.

Kids today don't have a chance. They are strung out about what can happen to them. They are sitting in front of their computers 24/7 where they have instant access to all the horrible things that are happening around the world and their parents are either scared out of their minds and overreacting by following their children around scheduling every single second of their lives or joining hands together at we-need-our-guns-so-we-can-kill-potential-murders rallys.

Additional theory: No wonder all our kids across the nation are stressed out freaks killing one another. You can't cyberbully someone if you aren't on the Internet all day. Real life bullies in real life have a far better chance of being caught because they are seen.

Remember when you didn't have something scheduled every single second? Kids like that. And no they don't get the Anarchist's Cookbook and make bombs when they find themselves without a karate class or a chess tournament to go to. They can't even get that book without the FBI tracing it and arriving at their door because of the Patriot Act anyway. (In fact, using those words in this blog in this moment probably has me on a "no fly" list. For real.) Kids chill in their unscheduled time or they play or they read or they sit in trees or they imagine stuff or they draw or they bug their sisters or they spill things or they watch TV. We did, right? What was wrong with our childhoods? I can't think of a thing really. So why all these reactionary parents derived from kids who experienced blissful peaceful, relaxing childhoods? Nancy Reagan. She is my fall guy. However, not to give Nancy a way out of this, but we all had to drink her Koolaid. We drank the Koolaid. Every time we give in to the incorrect notion that the world isn't mostly safe we are drinking more of it. A wise person once told me that statistically speaking the most ordinary outcome will be the most likely. That is just mathematics. You will be okay today and so will junior.

So here's some anarchy for you: Let's give junior some time off for good behavior. Let's assume rightly that if our kids (and grandkids) aren't in a bazillion groups and play experiences, and organized events and bla bla bla they will live and probably thank you for it. They need down time, so do we. We had relaxing childhoods. Now many of us have kids who are having kids. How did we treat our kids? What did we assume about their safety? In this case, let me tell you something, my poor old teacher was right. Sometimes assumptions do make an ass out of you and me.

Additional theory: Down time in a house with guns? You do the math. How good are your locks and how excellent is your memory and when did you last leave the iron on or the stove or forget the location of your keys? Well, then you can't possibly guarantee the safety of your kids in your house with your guns. Oh, and for all you who are gonna give me the "home invasion" diatribe, I have lived through one, yes, I talked my way out of it using my wits and someone named Jesus (universal power, whatever you are naming it). I am pretty sure Jesus was happy I didn't open up with my assault weapon even in the midst of my own assault. Did I get emotionally scarred? Yes, of course. Was it better than murdering someone and the emotional ramification of that? Ask a (insert your favorite)war vet next time you pass him on the street begging you for money you won't give him because you are too self righteous. (Answer for those who don't get the sarcasm: Yes.)

For God's sake, do something peaceful. I'm tired of yelling for peace. It's counter intuitive. So don't go to the gun rally and don't be so damn worried about yourself, your kids, or your grandkids. I think it's time to get off the reality shows and back to a reality that is more like my favorite fantasy. Mister Brady will thank you. And look both ways, hold hands when crossing and don't overuse your Xanax. Good advice in any world.

Love--

Beauty

* Assumptions are like affirmations. what we think about expands. If you think it's all good, then a lot of it will be good, if you think it's all bad, well then, you know.

The Face You Deserve

2013-01-12T03:15:00.002-08:00

Mirrors are amazing instruments. The ultimate instrument of self-reflection. Through them we see ourselves, our faces. We see our expressions, we see what life is doing to us, what the elements are doing to us, what our health is doing to us, and what our souls are trying to tell us.

At 20 we have the faces that God granted us. Just the beginning of mood and personality leaving permanent expressions. Just the beginning of too much smoking or too much booze. Just the beginning of seeing our faces as maps, road maps of how we live our lives. At 20 a couple of nights sleep, a little sun, a little hydration and we are back in shape. We all have lineless, faultless faces.

But at 50? What do we have then? We have the faces we have earned. The battle scars, the abuse, the care, and what we have thought about, are all there to be reflected on our faces. The look in our eyes, the lines. The continual moods have begun to leave road maps that can't be erased. How have we lived? What have we thought? Who are we? It's right there to see. The world sees your face everyday. Every exchange you have, every person you meet, everyone you know, knows you by your face.

Put your best face forward. FaceBook. Face the world. Your face.

Have you looked at the standard face of plastic surgery recently? The other night I saw a commercial for Nutrisystems with a celebrity I have really always liked, Marie Osmond--but now she has purchased the every-scared-woman face. Plastic surgeons are all making the same woman, over and over again. And now Marie has the face. She gave her face away, she threw it away. Every woman who was afraid to let her own face tell the story of her life has joined her in her quest to do what? To appear young and beautiful--but at the cost of losing something that should have been precious to her--her own face.

So what is the story of my life? My face will tell you. Have I been mostly kind? Have I laughed? Have I slept? Have I let go of anger? Have I lived my life with an understanding that the cup is half full or half empty? Who am I? What sort of personal habits have I had? Have I smoked or drank a lot? Have I worshipped the sun? Have I lived with moderation? What have I done to myself? What thoughts have I concentrated on? How have I treated others? How do I feel?

What of aging gracefully? We aren't meant to remain 18. We aren't meant to look forever 29. We are meant to age gracefully and until society will allow anyone over 30 to be beautiful we will forever have rich plastic surgeons and women who trade in their very own faces for pretend masks that someone, somewhere, calls the "in" young face.

We are meant to get smarter as we get older. We are meant to get wiser. With that wisdom we are meant to get kinder and calmer and hopefully happier. We are meant to embrace ourselves as beautifully aged. Lovely, wise and kind.

Who sold us this bill of goods (especially in the United States) that there was only one way to look? How did we decide a young perfect face and an entirely too thin body was was the ultimate goal? I find it hard to believe that the advertising and fashion industries could dictate to the people of the world what defines feminine beauty.

I am constantly amazed at what people in the world find interesting and valuable. Case in point: I have been writing this blog for almost two years, during this time I have written 47 articles. Some have been enjoyed by multiple readers around the world, others have been widely received because of content (The Good Man for Kirk Knipp, for example), but no one article has had even close to the hits that the photo gallery of obese women has had. This one article has thousands of hits and my other articles hundreds. The search words have amazed me--"funny fat women", "no fat chicks", "fat humor". The reason I don't pull this photo gallery, which I obviously posted for far different reasons than it is used for, is that I live with the hope that one in every thousand people will read another post, or read my captions for that gallery. It is hard to not be discouraged with these numbers and what I believe they mean about who visits this blog. Is enlightenment so dear? Is human kindness so lost? Every time I look at all those hits I have a hard time not losing faith in humanity.

There is a snobby, elitist joke I have always found amusing: "When your IQ gets to a hundred, Sell!" The fascination that these some 12,000 people have at the pictures of grossly obese woman on my blog make me think of this joke. Who are these people? Who educated them? What can they be thinking?

So this blog continues to be my candle. My one candle in what I am hoping isn't a dark digital night. I urge you to share my blog with people who would appreciate it and even more, I urge you to be that light in your own life, to be the light and to reach out.

We have to keep trying. We have to keep striving. We have to let kindness rule us and we have to drive out the darkness. I don't care who you are or what God's church you have joined. Kindness is my God. Loving kindness.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

YOU are beautiful. Be YOU.

Reflect goodness. Be the light.

God bless,

Beauty

The Wax

2012-11-29T10:20:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: The following article is written expressly for my woman readers. This is going to get intense, guys, so if you secretly read on, you have only yourself to blame. BnB ;)

Ritual is a lovely thing. It implies that survival is under control enough to indulge in something a bit higher on Maslow's hierarchy. Beauty ritual is that for me. It is a way to state to myself and to the world that I have handled the emergencies well enough and effectively enough in my life to be at a place where I can think about adornment. It's not a superficial thing, no. It's a way of acknowledging distance from personal emergency.

Case in point: I recently had some dental surgery with what has turned out to be, yet again, another dentist I absolutely will not want to work with again. After feeling for several days after like I had been taken out in a back alley and beaten within an inch of my life, I went to the emergency hospital. A series of blood work ensuring I am not dying of a staph infection resulting in an uncovered 350.00 even though I have the "best" insurance on the planet, leaves me rethinking surrendering to any emergency short of flat lining. I am sick of problems, frankly. As people approaching midlife we are experiencing human frailty. We are seeing that we should have taken better care of our teeth, that we should have flossed. Or we are seeing that inactivity and sitting behind a desk has caught up with us, or that the human animal's original life expectancy has not evolved enough on an evolutionary scale to include parts that last. Illness in all of its forms just simply sucks. It is the ultimate time waster, I resent it. I resent giving my time and energy to it. I resent having it as focus.

So when it has to be a focus for us--whether my allergies or asthma, or dental work, or your ulcer or diabetes or anything else, it occurs to me that we are giving away the precious seconds to it. We are trading moment by moment our lives away. How will we focus? I would far rather focus on something beautiful, something above survival, just for the sanity it brings.

And who is to say that a positive focus doesn't change reality? I think it does. "That which we think about expands." I refuse to think about things I don't want in my life. That includes illness. So enough said, onto the WAX.

For about a billion years women have been adorning themselves. Cleopatra was no stranger to the henna rinse of the rings of eyeliner, Marie Antoinette had some pretty serious dos. Women have always wanted to gild the lily. I am all for it. Maybe it's spa mentality, maybe its just knowing that if I can take a moment to get a massage or do my hair, or fix my make up or buy perfume I am enjoying living in my body and enjoying the pleasure it gives me. It means I have some pride in myself, I have some healthy ability to indulge myself.

Now obviously this can be taken to an extreme. I just reread a recent news story that pops up occasionally about some twisted woman who has had multiple plastic surgeries in an effort to look like Barbie. In spite of the awesome shoes, Barbie, you are seriously plastic. However, I do commend her attempts to run a veterinary clinic, teach underprivileged children, pilot an airplane and keep up a dream house, all while working some serious damn "f-me" pumps. You go, Barbie. Now Barbie's real-life twisted sister with all the plastic surgery, naw. This girl is messed up and I have about a million different better uses for her money like first a great shrink and failing that a very large donation to a soup kitchen. So, while I am not about to get cut into pieces for a beauty ritual I might get dyed and plucked and sprayed a bit for the joy of enjoying my own skin.

Enter the WAX. (This is your last chance to leave, gentlemen, I suggest you do.)

I have been in recent years someone who has given up the eyebrow pluck. It is just a huge pain and as all of us ladies know in recent years it's a very tricky thing to see the reflected and offending eyebrow hair in a mirror clearly. So I have taken to eyebrow waxing. It's relatively inexpensive, its quick and easy, unless your stylist has some sort of DTs they can't mess it up too much (Ha, more later on this one!) In short, it's a great fix to an annoying problem. And Voilà! I am suddenly five years younger looking with these great big baby greens all open and wide-eyed.

So being a fan of the eyebrow wax it has occurred to me that being an animal I have lots of other interesting places I can wax. This alarmed me and embarrassed me. I had all sorts of preconceived notions about "who" did this and how they must look and that they were probably all porn stars or at the very least extremely young in un-lived in (but adult) bodies. I see everyone who has ever had anything other than an eyebrow wax as about 27 and a supermodel. Even though, I still really wanted to give it a go. I thought it would be a perfect bathing suit solution. I just had it in my mind that I wanted to do it. A friend of mine (younger, thinner, not sporting a post-baby body) did it and raved about the results. I thought I would do it when I reached some perfect pinnacle of perfection. I had some magic number in my head about weight, I had some ideal number of months of workouts being consistent in my life that would render me worthy of this beauty ritual.

And then I went to California on a trip and happened to see the waxing studio near my Massage Envy and I thought I could do this in an out of town location and if something horrible happened it would be like the ultimate in Vegas slogans--what happened there, stayed there. So I booked an appointment.

Now it is true that when I had the eyebrow portion of the treatment done an out of control wax brush dripped wax on my beautiful haircut and the technician was actually forced to give me a manicure scissors so I could cut the wax-covered wisp of hair near my forehead off myself. I am sure she was mortified and frankly I'm no snob--I have taken a manicure scissors to my shining glory for far less. I assured her it was no big deal.

The other part. Well, let me tell you. If you are going to get a bikini wax, a full or even the ultimate Brazilian, do not, for the love of God, watch people doing it or reacting to their first time on YouTube. There is such a thing as too much information. Do what I did. Take a number of Ibuprofen. Have a cocktail or if you object to drinking and driving take a half a Valium. And go. Don't judge yourself. These people do this for a living. They expect you to patronize their establishment. They don't think you are walking in to have your cards read, they know you want hair ripped off your body with hot wax. Live a little.

So how do I feel? I think it has been some combination of a silky mermaid swimming lithely through the ocean feeling the water move against my skin in some sort of natural whole-body embrace and a female superhero. Or maybe I feel like you do when you have incredibly sexy lingerie under your business suit. You know and they don't know, but the secret energizes you. It adds some subtle power to your movements; you are self aware in a luxurious, almost decadent, way. If I was candy, I would be Godiva. I feel seriously pleased with myself.

But more than the thing I did itself is the realization that I reached some sort of level of self acceptance where I suddenly felt I didn't need to hide, where I could revel in my body for itself with its flaws and its history and its own special tattoos of life experience.

Do I suggest you do it? Not necessarily, but I do suggest you do that one thing you have put off that you would really like to do for yourself, for your indulgence, for your body--and I suggest you do it today.

Love--
Beauty

Being Lost

2012-09-08T17:00:00.000-07:00

There are times in life when you feel lost. The things you valued before seem to slip away and the things you are currently focusing on don't seem to have the personal gratification they once did. Life seems to lose focus and days slip away. Something captures your attention, whether trivia or minutia, whether stress or illness, whether time-wasters or even focusing on others to the exclusion of yourself--and suddenly the direction and the motivation you once had seems to slip from your fingers. You don't even have the wherewithal to regroup and figure out what it is that draining your energy.

This lack of direction and loss of time flies directly in the face of something terribly important. Time is short. Jim Croce said it best when he said, "There never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do, once you find them." He was far too right about that sentiment. I imagine him spending the last moments of his life reciting the lyrics to Time in a Bottle and thinking, "Damn, I really have got to learn not to take everything so literally."

One of my favorite movies is Harold and Maude. I love over-the-top humor, especially if it's eccentric with an underpinning of sentiment and kindness and joy. Harold and Maude has all sorts of things for me. Harold is bizarre and creative and plays with his death and mocks his own and everyone else's life while taking everything incredibly seriously and with earnest amazement. Maude is a young/old soul in an ancient body who manages to be incredibly beautiful and sexy and earthy and insane and innocent and wise and loving and realistic at once. It's a love story full of breaking rules and the union of two lost souls, two quirky and should-have-never-met people who some how, some way find each other. We should all be so lucky to find that one-in-a-million love, that soul mate who reaches into the very depth of us and validates who we are, who sees us and with whom we share precious instances of pure joy. Gallows humor and joy and innocence and love and irony all go together in life. Harold and Maude fall in love and express it physically, making a taboo age difference irrelevant. What other people think about them becomes as ridiculous as forgetting your own name or that the sun rises or the smell of a rose.

I probably relate more to Harold than Maude today. I see something wildly amusing in pretending to hang one's self while sporting a Hello badge" with the message, "HELLO MY NAME IS: Goodbye Cruel World. He is all farce and yet deadly earnest as he doles out macabre punishments to his mother on a daily basis, punishing her for not seeing him, for not recognizing him and for having such detailed and exacting expectations about who he should be.

Add to that a Cat Stevens, pre-terrorist [!], score and suddenly the movie is filled with a radiant joy and some sort of supernatural understanding that seems only to happen in darkened theaters making you feel, if for an instant, that you have some perfect knowledge of How Things Should Be. It usually ends about the time the credits roll, but before they do there is an unmistakable and glorious sense of rightness with the world that just never lingers when the lights go on.

So back to being lost. Harold is lost, I think. I think he finds himself through Maude; a wise and loving friend who loves him completely and then leaves. She leaves to die. And even though, for some, this might be the ultimate betrayal, she knows something that Harold senses. She knows that life is eternal and simply floats away like a weary and beautiful butterfly. The lesson is that we all take responsibility for coming and going as we please in this life and that true compassion and love aren't about attachment but about loving while letting people live in your life with an open door policy of being invited to stay, but not your prisoner.

Maybe being found is really just taking the time to pay attention to yourself. In a world of stupid demands and really tedious circumstances it's easy to stop listening to your own decreasingly loud cries for help. Your frustration and pain and anguish and bitchiness are more often than not, just your own cries for your own attention. No one can hear you but yourself and if you aren't listening you are the architect of your own abandonment. The first place to get seen, to get heard, to get acknowledged and to get forgiveness, love, acceptance, and a friend is the mirror. It's not an act of narcissism, it's an act of self-preservation. We spend our lives shouting, "See me!" When really all we need to do is see our selves.

In this high-tech interweb world that I still think is the single most amazing thing to happen in my lifetime, we have a tendency to social media ourselves into personal submission. I think I simply ceased to be in my quest to be heard. I have gone away now to listen to myself. I have spent years trying to bang pots and pans together loudly and consistently enough to never, ever hear my own soul's pleading.

And so in closing, maybe something from Cat Stevens who I still think is a great tragedy of some sort that I can't quite put my finger on. If anything, just the fact that he stepped away from his music to focus on his religion seems confused and unnecessary. After all, music is a form of God in expression. I miss him. But this isn't the time or place to lose focus again and go off on poor Cat. Let him seek his own voice while we take a moment to listen to his heart:

Oh very young what will you leave us this time.

You're only dancing on this earth for a short while.

And though your dreams may toss and turn you now.

They will vanish away like your Daddy's best jeans, denim blue, fading up to the sky.

And though you want him to last forever you know he never will, you know he never will.

And the patches make the good bye harder still.

The short dance to me means it's high time to get my tutu on.

Love--

Beauty

Dreaming of Yoga

2012-07-20T04:12:00.002-07:00

They say dreams are symbols. That may be true. I certainly remember some of my dreams, and have throughout my life. Some are fraught with fear and make my pulse quicken with a sickening feeling of dread when I think of them even now. Others are funny and strange, or so symbolic it's actually laughable.

I remember once I dreamed I had a leaf-shaped key chain lying on the center console of my car, and with great dreaming awareness I turned it over. (Yes, that's right, turning over a new leaf.) I never have interesting dreams, not me. They are either terrifying or distorted—or so lame I cringe. I have dreams I remember since childhood that are vivid and horrible. I remember not only each dream, but also the resulting horrifyingly wakeful night, the rush into my mother's bed and my wide-eyed exhaustion. I remember my fearful focus on the bedroom window, wearily outlasting sleep to see the first muted colors of sunrise; the soft reassuring coo of doves outside signaling a safe moment to finally close my eyes.

I have sort of a running debate with my daughter about dreams. It's a family legacy for the daughter in any mother/daughter duo through the history of our family to be very into her dreams and for the mother to be resistant. The resulting debate: my daughter recites her dreams in detail while I remain steadfast in my position of uncomfortably advising her not to focus on dreaming at all. I wonder what the matriarchal dream aversion is in my family? Maybe it's just too many years of disturbing dreams. Maybe too many women in my family have suffered through years of prophetic dreaming and overly vivid imaginations. My dreams often seem like a forced acid trip might seem to a person in recovery.

For many years I have had what people call prophetic dreams. I have seen the face of someone in a dream unknown to me who I then meet the next day. I have dreamed that I would have a flat tire and the following morning, sure enough, yes. (My mother used to refer to this as my "psychic bullshit.") We matriarchs are also fairly circumspect about the psychic ability in this family as well. In my previous incarnation as a would-be actress in 1980s Hollywood, I even used to dream that my agent called and I needed to get in touch as soon as possible, and then the next morning would call only to find I did, indeed, have an audition.

Oh, yes, and then there are the recurring dreams. Do I dream that I am being followed through a labyrinth only to find a different way out each time? Of course not. I dream of floating trash. That's right, I am viewing trash as it is windblown through a car window. It's a recurring silent movie of floating trash. Fellini would have loved it. Ha.

So with all this preamble into the nether regions of my psyche, then why did I dream last night that I was doing yoga? Well, besides the fact that I have gotten out of my practice and need it, I am also screaming out for balance. You don't have to be a silent trash-viewing, leaf-turning matriarch of a great psychic-experience-denying family to get that one, baby. You only need the basics. Sometimes we dream about what we need. Sometimes we do in dreams what we wish we were doing in real life. (I can hear those three special friends who consistently read my blog filling in the words "Joe Manganiello" after the words "wish we were doing"—and shame on you.)

I wish I were in the balance and peace of yoga.

So where has yoga gone in my life in the last months? Yoga can fall away. I think for me it fell away through a long bout of bronchitis and then stayed away because of a feeling that I didn't have the strength to begin again. But I am forgetting an important aspect of yoga that many of us forget. Yoga is a personal journey. And I don't care how many “fitties” in your health club class sneer at you because you can't keep up or you’re clearly a novice. (They probably aren't actually sneering; they are probably victims of your own "self-hate-colored glasses.")

Yoga is personal. In the best yoga classes I have seen people who have been at all different levels, happily, comfortably, and peacefully. The best yoga teacher of my life started class by having us all turn around and face the back windows. No mirrors. She felt (and rightly) that yoga is not about judging. Yoga is about embracing where and who you are—right then, in that moment.

I remember when I got this. There is a lot of bending and twisting (writhing) in yoga. You get to see the parts of your body that you don't spend a lot of time contemplating. For example, it was in yoga that I first became very up close and personal with my toes. Not my greatest feature, and a source of consistent judgment and unhappiness in the litany of my-messed-up-body-parts song and dance.

So, one day while I was there bent in a position to very closely commune with my toes, and my teacher (guru) said:

“Let go,
Accept where you are,
Love and appreciate your body for being the vehicle that gets you here to yoga."

Suddenly, I got it, and I was filled with an embracing love for my previously considered flawed appendages. My amusing little toes and my 52-year-old live-in-them legs were quite frankly a miracle in getting my soul around. Amazingly useful, incredibly wonderful, particularly blessed toes. They stood me up, they made me walk, or run, or dance, or climb, or anything else I wanted to do. They rubbed the fur of my dog as she sat under the table, they squished sand in between them on a hot summer beach and they got me to yoga—in that moment.

A lady who can embrace her toes can embrace herself—warts and all. Our bodies are blessed amazing instruments and they are incredibly necessary. And hating them and hurting them and avoiding them and disregarding them can only stop at the moment we embrace ourselves and say, "Bless this little toe."

So here I am today with my bag of issues, my sack of problems, my hat full of worries and my pocketful of miracles. Loving ourselves enough to open the way to greater self-care starts small. It's loving the flaws first. It's just perspective.

Maybe we can all turn over this new leaf (sorry) and give it a try. Today my toes, tomorrow the world!

With all the love there is,

Beauty

The Summer of (Self) Love

2012-07-15T15:30:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit, Joni Mitchell, For the Roses

I am not sure how many of my readers were around to experience the real Summer of Love. As a child in the late 60s I remember it, however, I certainly did not have any of the awareness of a teenager or young adult deeply moved by that moment in history. I think this photo of Joni Mitchell symbolizes what I imagine personal physical freedom to be; what I imagine self-love to be in photo expression--a complete relaxation of self, unadorned, free, naked--feeling at home in one's body and soul and in harmony with one's surroundings. At its best the Summer of Love seems to have been a time of love consciousness. The concept is interesting to me as I think about what I would like the rest of this summer to be for me.

When I look at this picture of Joni Mitchell I can imagine what it would be like to be transported. On a rock experiencing the spray of the Pacific ocean and the heat of the sun immersed in a private and personal joy. I see someone who feels well and serene. Health is directly related to how we feel emotionally. Stress or sadness, emotional turmoil, or even negativity play a part in overall health. Why this is seems fairly simple when you think about it. Emotional pain is exhausting--whether it's the pain brought on by loss or just daily and unrelenting stress. Emotional pain can be about how we feel about ourselves. People live lives that are out of sync with their values. People often don't see themselves as worthy; they see themselves as flawed instead of as children of God. There are many reasons we can get stuck in emotional pain. Once we are stuck it seems like physical issues follow.

So, how to deal with this? The logical and easy answer is get over the pain, get over the exhaustion, move forward into a good attitude and healthy habits. For people in pain or experiencing stress that seems like a huge mouthful. Like someone saying, "Hey, just change your whole life and you will be able to get it together. Oh, and do it now. Oh, and I have no idea how. Gotta go."

But any task can be completed by simply breaking it into doable pieces. By making it underwhelming and manageable. When things are manageable they seem less stressful, when stress is reduced happiness increases. It's just a matter of giving ourselves the same rational and calm help we would give our child or a cherished friend. How do we treat ourselves with love while at the same time nudge ourselves into a workable, reasonable plan?

To metaphorically drop one's burdens of ill health and emotional baggage and stand before the ocean naked on a rock. This summer is about getting naked on that rock. (Yes, I am laughing, but it does have value.) How do we get to be our best selves, our healthiest selves, and how do we do it this summer? I am excited to see how. I am open to the new experience. Willingness is the first step.

Enjoy a Joni classic and have an amazing, sun drenched day--and a summer that makes you remember the peace of the Pacific Ocean and the paradise of California.

Love--
Beauty

Welcome to the Carnival

2012-05-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

I got an anonymous message last night from a would-be reader and commenter regarding the pictures of obese women that I posted in a previous article. The message was negative and cruel and stupid and a lot of other adjectives I could list. As I have the settings for comments set to allow me to review them before they are posted, you never have to see this as a reader. Lucky you.

After I posted the article with the series of pictures of obese women I noticed an interesting phenomenon. This article gets the most hits of any article I have ever written--by far. Clearly when people search on "fat people" or "fat women" many of these pictures undoubtedly come up and obviously some are linked to this site, but I think it says a lot about what motivates people that this is the one post that has had literally thousands of hits.

I thought long and hard about removing it. But I am operating under the optimistic and perhaps unrealistic hope that the occasional circus freak aficionado who travels to my blog with the idea of spending a few minutes laughing at other people will somehow, through my commentary about the pictures, have some kind of an "ah ha" moment.

I do realize, however, it is probably like the old adage: "Never try to teach a pig to sing--it annoys you and frustrates the pig."

In my writer's fantasy what I write has an impact for good--and I have the ability to make people think, if even momentarily, about my message. I am going to throw a thought into the universe that for every ugly soul who comes to gawk a few will be transformed into thinking just a little bit differently about people who are, after all, fellow human beings.

Compassion will always be the most important of human traits. While once I would have said that compassion makes us unlike animals, my recent experiences rescuing so many dogs make me say that I don't want to insult animals by likening them to humans without compassion. Humans without compassion are a breed unto themselves.

So to "anonymous" I say this: I am sure that my words can't touch you, but I am ever hopeful that the right person will see those pictures and take away a message of kindness. Thank you for reminding me that my words have value, even if not to you.

Have a blessed day.

Beauty

A Happy Man

2012-03-04T14:36:00.001-08:00

I am at my brother Chad's house in Florida. I am here because I am lucky enough to get to attend my nephew's first birthday. Today we spent the day in preparations. Sheila, his wonderful mom, baking a variety of different cakes to accommodate all the different dietary needs of friends--including the vegan kids--so no one would be without a cake to eat. I went from store to store picking up last minute items, buying out the stock of Fisher Price and basically having a blast. Tonight I had a chance to go to dinner with Raven who is probably my "step niece" but I make no distinction between step and niece. She is an amazing and beautiful young woman and it was a lot of fun to sit at dinner with her and my brother and watch how their relationship is evolving into a budding mutual friendship and a respect they have both actively worked at. Pretty amazing stuff for a man who up until his mid-40s never had a family.

So, now, because I am on Arizona time, I am awake while everyone else is asleep preparing for the big day. We have an unknown number of kids and parents arriving at one in the afternoon, a trampoline to assemble, a house to clean and decorate and some large number of dishes to prepare. It's going to be a very big deal tomorrow to get all this done.

I am thinking tonight of my own daughter, who is about to turn 20. I remember so distinctly her own first birthday and what a magical moment in my life that was--and how much I efforted to make sure it was all perfect. At the time I was a recently divorced mother and the preparations were all my own. I lived alone with my precious baby daughter and hosted a large gathering to commemorate the day. But up until everyone arrived, it was just we two. And even though between the two of us we generated enough love to light a small city, and I was doing what I needed to do to make the best and sanest life for my daughter possible, it was just less fun and loving not to have a great partner in the picture who could share in the joy with me. This is what I see when I look at my brother and his family. I see a family who loves each other and I see a man who realizes he is happy in the moment.

I think that it is incredibly rare for someone to realize they are happy and feel the gratitude of their circumstances in the moment. So many people live life with their family everyday and don't take that moment to acknowledge the gift of their family. The blessing of having found the right person to love, and the amazing fact of making a child through that love. It really shocks the senses to see it in action when someone is consciously aware of it--right as it happens.

Maybe it's that my brother waited a long time to have a child. His life experience and maturity might have some bearing on his awareness. I am sure it is partially that, but it's also that my brother, even while he lives his life in sort of one big happy, light-hearted joke that only he knows the punchline to, is really, beneath the humor, truly one of the best, most trustworthy, courageous and honorable people I have ever known.

As I am sitting here tonight while the household sleeps (there is some special peace about a house with a sleeping baby in it), I am taking it all in. Above me on the wall hangs a letter that Chad wrote to his family; his wife, his stepdaughter and his one-year old son. It is truly one of the most lovely, most loving, eloquent expressions of love that I have ever seen come from the heart of a man. I am extremely proud that the author of this loving tribute to his own family is my brother. He is taking the moments of his life and holding them to the light, second by second like pieces of crystal--watching with awe and amazement as that bright white light pours through him and around him. A man who recognizes his blessings as they are bestowed upon him has captured the elusive butterfly of happiness. It rests on his finger and he watches. He is a lucky man.

But more so, I would say, the lucky one is baby Carlos. Tomorrow he turns one year old in a family who love each other and know it and share it and are grateful for it in the moment. That is Carlos' biggest and most glorious birthday present. This is the real deal. The ultimate gift that won't come in a big bright box, but is more real than anything he will receive. And with this sort of family around him to nurture him he has every chance of growing to up to be a happy man.

Carlos, I love being your aunt.

Love--

Aunt Teeny

Comfort

2012-02-27T13:07:00.002-08:00

The last week shook my cage. As I reported here, I recently lost a friend very quickly and tragically to a fast moving cancer that shocked our community. I am still hearing from friends and blog readers who have reacted very strongly to his death not only because of the incredible loss such a great man was to his community, friends and loved ones, but also because of the sheer shock of the rapidity of the events. He simply was here with a lower back complaint and then gone to a terminal and totally destructive cancer. In 11 days.

While it almost feels like I don't want to continue to write my blog about something so seemingly trivial as my weight loss and fitness issues, at the core of these issues is my deep desire to live my life with as much passion and health as humanly possible. It literally is a fight for life--and while it's not dramatic on a day to day basis, it is at the core of my personal needs and desires. I basically spend each day focused on improving my health and my ability to live a long and productive life.

After some contemplation, I realize the best I can do to honor the memory of my friend is to live my life with as much intention and commitment as possible. So that is what I have endeavored to do this week. I knew on the day that I heard of his death that I needed to do something to ensure this news wouldn't turn into a down hill spiral for me--in essence, a food bender. When enormous loss strikes any life people react. Often the chink in one's armor is the place that falls apart first. Emotions, especially strong and sad emotions, often translate to the need for physical comfort of some kind--sometimes that of possibly negative and damaging behavior. In my effort to live without damaging myself I knew I needed a more comforting way to eat--at least for a time.

The way I have been eating for the last couple of years has been incredibly challenging. I have maintained a very low calorie diet using whey shakes as meal replacements to increase protein and eating "lean and green" the rest of the time. This works extremely well for weight loss but in my case I had become almost continually hungry. Unless I was hungry it wasn't working. It's hard to be hungry all the time. It simply hurts.

So last week I revisited Atkins.

In the long ago day my mother tried Atkins and loved it. She was the ultimate carnivore and this program allows for all the protein you could possibly want. Once called "The Drinking Man's Diet" the original literature about the program enticed potential dieters with promises of sizzling steaks, salads slathered in blue cheese and hard liquor. (As I write this, this actually sounds pretty good to me.) The new Atkins adds more non-starchy vegetables, low carb fruits, increases the use of good fats and limits calories--although only slightly compared to what I have been doing.

It works like this: If you keep your carbs under 20 grams a day and eat under 1700 calories for women and about 2000 for men, you will lose weight and you will not be hungry. This is heaven for those who can stick to it, but even a tiny stray in a carb--like nondairy creamer in your coffee or a donut will throw all your hard work to hell in a hand basket.

But for me, right now, this is what I need. It's allowed me to lose the pound I have been gaining and losing for a month as well as four more in a week. It has allowed me to feel optimistic and in control during what has been a very sad and emotional week. It's allowed me to choose something to consciously control and regulate what I was doing--which is vital for anyone who sees food as a way to deal with emotions. In short, it works--but only if you do it.

This week I have lived my life with personal commitment by honoring my goals. I feel very successful in the wake of some extremely tragic circumstances. I write this with the strong belief that my friend Kirk and anyone who cares for me would want me to live as well as I can with purpose--every day. While I might not be slaying dragons, I am fighting my own battle daily. This week I am winning.

I wish you confidence and personal power and a feeling of knowing you can keep your commitments.

Love--Beauty

http://www.atkins.com/New-Book.aspx

The Good Man

2012-02-21T16:36:00.000-08:00

In honor of our friend and classmate Kirk Knipp.

Yesterday I spent the day in a vague and depressed sadness. I have been carefully watching the updates about my friend from Costa Mesa High School days, Kirk Knipp, as he battled the last and perhaps most painful battle of his life-- that of metasticized cancer.

His illness was a shock to me. Even though we had not been close over the years I always felt his presence as a cheery lighthearted and lucid soul on this magical connection device we call Facebook. And in fact, once in the early days of Facebook "apps" I posted a list of people who were reading my page on a regular basis. He was one of them and his one word reply was, "Busted." It made me feel good to know we had that connection and that he enjoyed what I had to say. The feeling was mutual.

When I think back to Costa Mesa days I see him even then as a good man--a good young man. Someone who marched to his own drum, someone who was obviously raised well and was taught and cared about integrity and values. He wasn't showy, he wasn't loud or grandstanding. While he played sports (cross country) he didn't try to secure a place for himself in the popular crowd. He had a small group of loyal and intellegent friends and he went his own way. Being kind and being true to himself even then. He was someone you knew, even if you didn't know the details of his life well. I knew him because I have always been attracted to kindness. Goodness and kindness and morality are magnets that attract. He quietly walked the walk--even then.

When graduation time came around he and one other classmate had been accepted to prestigious military schools. West Point for Kirk. And that achievement showed his classmates that he had given 100% of his energy to making a success of his scholarship and he had not wasted his time in high school. That alone is remarkable for a teenager. That sort of focus and commitment is hard to come by in far more mature men. His achievement was a feather in our collective cap--he was someone we could feel proud of. And we did.

Later we all went our separate ways. We knew of each other through friends, we occasionally heard something about someone, but before social networking we were never truly connected to our class as a whole. But about the time we all made it to our thirty-year reunion for the class of 1977 we had figured out social networking and the reunions and gatherings brought us together. We formed a virtual high school of alumni who shared each others joys and triumphs on a daily basis. The sense of community for our school exists and is tangible because of Facebook. And in the last years of his life, this is how I knew Kirk.

Facebook gives us snapshots of a person. Unless we are close friends, we don't know all about them but we see their humor, the things that scare them, and bring them joy. The political and religious affiliations that they share with others and feel strongly about. We see bits and pieces of their daily life. That Kirk enjoyed sweets--a lot. That he made lighthearted and low key jokes that let you know he noticed what you were saying and that he was virtually waving at you. This is the truly valuable gift of Facebook. But more than the daily hellos we all share, Facebook allows us to have a clear and immediate access into each other's pain and heartache. More so than any other time in history we know when our friends and acquaintances are suffering, in pain, in fear, in need--and yes, dying. We see it posted on their statuses. Kirk posted that he had a "tooma" less than three weeks ago. A jest in the face of grave danger. That was how he lived.

I can imagine in his military career and from the posts others have made to his page that he was a kind and fair leader, asking those who followed him to reflect on their choices. It was clear to me that his light shined through, that his goodness shined through in everything he did. Every day. He walked the walk.

And even though it is quite clear to me that we had different feelings toward politics and perhaps even religion, we shared a commonality. We both believed in and tried to live with goodness, awareness, kindness and with a spirit of reaching out to others. I see his life as a short life utterly well played. He did life right in my opinion. I wish that he had longer to grace us with his presence, but knowing that I would never want him to endure the pain that he clearly was battling in the last few days, I can see his release as important for him and a good ending to a good life. No matter how tragic it seems to me today.

As I look at the surrounding community around Kirk I can see that most of his friends are very secure in their faith. I am sure that this amazing knowingness for them brings them great comfort. I, on the other hand, find this sort of thing to shake my faith. I have ahead the process of trying to put this in perspective. I have to grieve his loss. I have to realize the sadness and regret I am feeling is part of being human. It's part of the human experience. And while I am spirit, I am in human form and must deal with the pain. And today is an incredibly painful day to all those who simply wish he was here.

I keep hearing the words "only the good die young" in my mind. Although we aren't "young" I would say as a group we are certainly not at the end of our lives by any means. So, young to us is someone like Kirk. Someone who gave the world his absolute best and who we wanted to hang out with us--spreading his goodness as long as possible.

So, now what? His loved ones who can are there to mourn and celebrate him today as they supported him through life and through this last ultimate challenge. And his friends from the past and his Facebook friends mourn him here--in a digital format. On Facebook, in email, in blogs and on the Caring Bridge.

On Valentine's Day I sent him a letter while he was still lucid about needing to know why he wasn't fighting, why he was not choosing any sort of treatment, and expressing my wish for his happiness. He responded almost immediately thanking me for my loving and passionate letter and promising a response to all of us who were confounded by recent events and were hoping for clarity. His subsequent post made his dire situation completely clear. We could stop struggling and start moving toward peaceful closure together. And so we have all tried. We have all prayed, we have all thought about him. I am happy that his birthday just past was a day when he knew he was so totally loved and appreciated for what he brought to this big party called life.

Kirk's last words to me were to thank me for my "loving and thought-provoking letter" and "for my friendship and asking the hard questions."

My response to you Kirk as you make your amazing transition to a place beyond our time and space is--Thank you. Thank you for being a role model and a good man--and thank you for being my friend.

Love--

Grace

Help--I have fallen and I can't get up!

2012-02-03T21:25:00.000-08:00

My daughter has this video game called "Harvest Moon" that I was seriously addicted to once upon a time. In this RPG you played the part of a farmer or rancher and you had the chance to travel down the floors of a mine looking for hidden gems. It was a lot of fun but naturally being a video game it wasn't that simple. In the mine you tried to avoid pitfalls which would send you either plummeting down or spinning out of control back to the beginning, stopping your good progress and often taking you back to square one. The thing was no matter how you tried, no matter how skilled you got or how you practiced, pitfalls were sometimes just impossible to avoid. You fell down or you spun out of control and once you did you had a choice. You could keep playing and start the sometimes tedious and painful process of beginning again, or you could bag it and turn off the game.

Diet and fitness are just like that. I would even venture to say life is like that. Life is a series of journeys in which you get waylaid, sidetracked, trashed, sick, tired, confused, hurt, and lost. Each time you lose your way you have to determine how to get back on track. Based on your skill, your commitment, your overall energy, and anything else you have managed to store up in your bag of tricks for emergency usage, this can be simple or complicated.

I think everyone has their own private pitfall. That thing that takes them kicking and screaming by the scruff of the neck and tosses them down, down, down, until, in a crumpled heap on the floor, they beg for mercy. I would say life sucks, but I know it doesn't. More truthfully: circumstances often suck.

So how do you go on? How do you move forward from that thing that throws the monkey wrench into your happy little diet and fitness program?

1. Give Up Completely
There is a part of all of us that does this. For me it's the Pasta-with-Oil-and Garlic-Diet. You know what it is for you. Giving up can be a welcome release for a day or two, or even a week, but as a lifestyle I am pretty sure it won't work.

2. Create Peace--Even Artificial Peace
There is something to be said for getting back on track by creating a situation of peace. In my world it is hard to think past the barking, so every once in a while I have to create peace. Peace can look like a latte and a good book in a half hour trip to Starbucks (Nonfat short latte, 100 calories). Or, if you really need to bring out the big guns and you have the wherewithal, a short "spa vacation" can do wonders. A spa vacation doesn't have to look like Housewives of Orange County. Relaxation and renewal can be walking on the beach and resting in a moderate hotel, or walking in your own neighborhood and a good, uninterrupted nap. The point is, when you are hurting, when you have fallen and you can't get up, treat yourself as someone you should healthfully baby for a time; don't take a baseball bat and try to bludgeon yourself into improvement. Being angry at yourself for tripping up only adds anger to disappointment and guilt.

3. Remember Every Second is a Potential New Experience
Even if you have completely messed up, the next second can be the beginning of change. In my world up until recently I saw failure as something I had to emphasize for myself by continuing to screw up until I got that I was a failure. It's a sort of self-defeating thing I am great at and it can become a spiral of despair. But it doesn't have to. You can just start the next second with a different expectation of your personal reality. There is forgiveness in this. In order to move forward you have to forgive your failure.

4. Lower Your Expectations
This isn't a joke. Sometimes you have unrealistic expectations. Maybe drop the bar a bit. What happens if it takes a bit longer to get fit but you are happier during the process? What happens if you eat 1500 calories a day instead of 1200? What happens if you have a "free meal" once a week? I know! You end up happier and less stressed and less likely to fall down into some huge failure experience. It's okay to lower the bar. And it's okay to raise it. The key is your comfort and heck, even enjoyment. Life is supposed to be fun. Okay, it's supposed to be a lot of things, but if it isn't fun too, then something is missing.

5. Just Grow Up and Do What You Said You Would Do Before Your Regrets Multiply!
It is far easier to lose 20 pounds than 100. That being said, there is something to say for just pulling yourself up by your boot straps and doing what you said you would. Now of course there is a fine line between being a rational disciplined being and babying yourself into a corner of self pity. We are all looking for the path that works. The main thing to do is adjust until you have a comfy fit.

And momentum is a precious thing. Once you get yours back guard it carefully. Look for people and situations that support your goals. Look for motivation not criticism. Protect your fledgling positive attitude like a baby bird until it can fly again. Guard your positive energy. And remember you can get up--and you will. I wish you a lovely day, a renewed sense of what works, a hot latte and a hug.

Time to Wake the Hell Up.

2012-01-18T01:36:00.000-08:00

Friends--

Please read and sign.

https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/

Travel Fitness Fun (written at 35,000 feet for authenticity!)

2011-10-01T12:13:00.000-07:00

I have been fortunate enough to travel frequently lately. And while I used to look at trips or "vacays" as a time to throw in the fitness towel and paint the town red from a fitness debauchery standpoint, I have recently decided that I would take my commitment with me and make each travel adventure a fun and totally new fitness experience.

I definitely love to travel. Trains, planes or automobiles--I am in--I have an heightened sense of wanderlust. I like the idea of going somewhere totally new, I love a new city to explore with new people everywhere, I love that feeling that something I have never experienced before is just about to happen.

So instead of travelling with some sort of self-denying and Spartan diet regime I make a point of incorporating amazing local cuisine wherever I happen to be. Instead of worrying that I am missing my classes at home I find new classes to attend. I look for ways to move that aren't traditional exercise. I think about tourist activities as a chance to use the health and fitness I have gained so far--and even increase stamina. I go do it. Walking tours, body surfing, places to go dancing, and even mall and museum walking. It all counts.

Also, like most of us I don't have a spa-lady budget. My chances of blow-out spa weeks are pretty few and far between--but that's okay. I can make my own spa wherever I go.

Here are some of the practical things I do to make each travel opportunity I have a health and fitness one too:

1. Plan where you stay based on amenities. Almost every hotel--even motels--have fitness centers. And even if it's a two star fitness center with three machines, it will do. Full service hotels three stars and above can have very spa-like fitness facilities; check out where you are going on the Internet ahead of time so you know how to plan. You will need workout clothes, shoes and socks, possibly your yoga mat, a swimsuit, goggles and sunscreen. (I also cannot live without SwimEar--a rubbing alcohol concoction that gets water out of your ears almost instantly--helps prevent annoyance and swimmer's ear for about two bucks.)

2. BYOS--Bring Your Own Spa. There are definitely low-cost and fun ways to get your yoga on--or even get a massage without spending the hundreds of dollars a spa-day entails. If you belong to a local membership massage club like Massage Envy they are located across the nation in almost every strip mall in every major city. You can book a massage using an already-paid for membership massage almost anywhere.

The YMCA has really updated their fitness class schedules across the nation. I definitely got into the beautiful Brooks Family YMCA when I was in Florida over the summer. If you are visiting family it's very possible to get a guest pass or even a trial membership. If you are on your own, you can purchase a one week inclusive class membership for around 50 dollars. Even if you get to yoga three times for that 50 bucks you have saved money compared to walking into a traditional yoga studio or going to a spa class.

3. Don't forget the mental spa aspect. If you are doing as I do--traveling in a situation where you spend a lot of your time going solo--you have a lot of control over your experience, but at the same time you have to be willing to boldly go out and do it. Don't get stuck regretting a missed opportunity to see or do something because you are going alone. Revel in that alone time. How often do people get to explore cities at their own whim and in their own time? Moments of solitude can be amazingly healing times of self reflection and well, just peace. And when you have had enough peace you can always text your daughter away at college on your droid while you sip a latte in the sunlit cafe of your choice.

And finally give yourself a 25% margin of error. Have that dessert--you walked all day, have a cocktail, you hit the stationary bike. Or simply just declare some days "free days." I have realized that if I do the healthy thing for my body and my mind 75% of the time I am still going to make amazing strides.

And happy trails to you--until we meet again. I have a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale and I am high over Seattle (literally and figuratively). I will check in again from this trip and post a picture or two.

Here's to our health--and our happiness!

Love--
Beauty

The Healthy Soul

2011-09-18T13:30:00.000-07:00

Once, many years ago, my daughter who was attempting the amazing feat of not only trying to live through junior high school, but also trying to do it with a high frequency hearing loss, was talking to me about some kids in her class. These kids were treating her with a Saccharine-tinged form of rude-kid faux courtesy—candy-coated on the outside and, on the very transparent inside, just meanness. Meanness masquerading.

We all know those people. People who take your life challenges or even your wins and through their own baggage or simply their own mean spirits trash you while pretending to give you your props. It’s a disgusting display of manipulative passive aggression, and I have always loathed it. Give me a plain old rude person any day of the week over a sickeningly-sweet snake.

When my daughter encountered these girls (boys can obviously act this way too, but girls own the stock), they were in the habit of greeting her with exaggerated smiles and too-loud greetings making her feel like she was the mentally challenged character in an over-acted, poorly written play. I have always thought this sort of hidden contempt was the greatest form of cowardice. To counteract these mini-terrorists I gave her a few one-liners. And while she never ended up confronting these girls who, like dogs on a street, were eventually distracted by a car going by, or another cat, or a bug—it helped her to cope to have a retort at the ready.

I said, when they say, “HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! HOW ARE YOU TODAY!!!!!!?????” (Icky smiles, hair flipping, facial contortions as they over-enunciated), she should look at them coolly and say, “You can treat me like I’m normal, but thanks for saying hi.” This simple response was a way of letting them know that:

She got it.
She thought they sucked.
She wasn’t playing.

Lately in my own health and weight loss quest I have been reminded of this story about my daughter because I have encountered my share of these mean junior high school girls morphed into “adults.” And while my quest and my blog are most often met with sincerely positive and uplifting good wishes from fine people, the occasional small souls are still around doing the equivalent of what my daughter encountered albeit in more insidious grown-up fashion—good wishes that are not-so-subtly patronizing, prejudices laced with smiles, loathsome behavior wrapped with ribbon.

This doesn’t mean that people should stop applauding one another at the risk of appearing patronizing. It’s just that covert meanness and passive aggression are acts of hostility and people who do it should be aware that their behavior is doubly disgusting because of the pretense—and that no one is fooled.

I continually thank God that I was raised by a woman who didn’t manipulate, who wasn’t a game player, and who spoke her mind without fearing being told she was too (fill in the blank—loud, assertive, not sweet enough, rough, pushy, etc.) I am glad that I am smart enough to understand and be aware of covert behavior and passive aggression and that I have never engaged in it. I relish the personal freedom I have because I have I learned to speak my truth and to not be mean. These are qualities I value far more in the world than even my health and fitness. I believe they are signs of a fit soul—and I am grateful for them every day.

Because, after all, you can work out constantly, you can reach your goal weight, you can be in perfect physical health, but if your soul isn’t healthy, if your light isn’t one of kindness and compassion, then at the end of the day, you have nothing but an empty package. And if you have filled this package with passive aggression and meanness and smallness, then what?

Bodies are important—but they are, and will always be, just the vehicles. A healthy soul comes first—and will always be the most valuable thing that anyone can possess.

Lessons in the Sun

2011-08-04T12:11:00.000-07:00

Well it's over. I am on the plane back from Florida and I am considering the lessons learned at Camp Chad. Certainly three weeks is a very long time to be anywhere away from home on travel. It's a long time to be a good guest, it's a long time to remove yourself from everyday life and routine. But in spite of the stresses and exhaustion of travel I love it. I have often thought that I am happy going anywhere at all if it means I can hit the open road and explore. I like new places, I like local color, I like to remove myself from the way I usually think and I think this experience at Camp Chad facilitated that.

Of course you know, if you have been following my blog, I went to Camp Chad as a fitness and health excursion and I was successful. I definitely got a chance to improve my yoga skills and move from what I probably would have termed as a beginning yoga skill-level to an intermediate level. (Not that a true yogi grades his or her skill level that way, and I am convinced that the best part of yoga for me will always be the process of learning to be comfortable with myself and at one with the universe—the mind/body/spirit connection.) I realized with a great deal of happiness that my cardiovascular health has much improved. I can spend almost an hour on the most difficult running elliptical, I can master a very fast-paced aerobic hip hop dance class that was not only a blast but made me feel like I could be far more confident in what my body could do. I ate healthy (for the most part even though I did sneak away occasionally for lattes—I'm human—but I managed to stop drinking coffee after the early afternoon.) Oh, and I dropped 13 pounds.

But more than the active and intentional health and fitness changes I made and successes I had, I enjoyed the benefits of my increasing health and fitness. As a tourist in the amazingly romantic and beautiful town of St. Augustine I walked for hours. I saw museums I loved, strolled through amazing resort areas and landmark hotels, I visited the Fountain of Youth with family and strolled the grounds with ease stopping for a kitschy and amazingly relaxing presentation of the night sky projected on the ceiling of a mini and pretend planetarium with narration and sound effects that reminded me of a black and white film I might have watched in elementary school. I tilted my head back in the pitch black theater and let the campy, touristy experience wash over me like cool Ginger ale. I loved it.

I strolled from the hotel across the street from the Lightner Museum with my daughter and over a latte we decided to make our way to the marina for an evening boat cruise of the harbor. I thought nothing of making the mile or two walk in the high humidity, I bounced up the stairs of the small craft to the observation deck to take pictures without measuring my steps or making sure I didn't rush. In short, I forgot to be so worried about my every move physically because with my improved health and fitness I get to experience life without all the careful planning. Yes I can walk there, no I don't need to be dropped at the door. Yes I feel fine—even wonderful, etc., etc.

Also, I have been in Florida a number of times in the last ten years and believe it or not I never got to the beach. I went once when my daughter was little but was very uncomfortable making the walk from the parking lot to the ocean. I remember the strain I felt and I didn't enjoy putting on a swimsuit and lying on the beach or playing in the surf. Prior to this new experience it had been years since I could jump up and down from the sand to a standing position without thinking it through. Now I just do it. I walk down the beach in my swimsuit knowing that I am healthier than I have been in a long time and I am unconcerned with public opinion. I feel like I belong there and therefore I do.

My experiences at the Florida beaches were nothing sort of miraculous. If you are a California native—especially a Southern California native like me—you understand the call of the ocean. It's a part of me and probably represents home more than any other place on earth. Certainly I feel very much at peace there now. Prior to this experience when every step was an undertaking, when I felt ultra self conscious, when I was overheated and unhappy through the whole experience it just wasn't fun. I didn't trust my level of health enough to swim freely, I felt at risk. Frankly, I needed to feel at risk. That was accurate based on some real things. I was fat and out of shape past the point where I could safely and happily enjoy myself there. Well, no more.

As I sit writing this in an airplane seat I have the laptop perched quite comfortably on the pull-down tray in front of me and I fit in the seat well enough not to feel like I am encroaching on the space of others, and I know. I like to fit in the world. It's an incredible feeling of comfort that I will never take for granted again.

I am almost 52 years old now. I promised myself I would be in the best shape of my life when I reached the age my older brother died. I know now that I will still be in process, but I do know that my process is a wonderful, wondrous exploration of self and I do know that what I have done to change my life in the last couple of years makes me realize I feel like I am 39 again—not almost 52. I also know that we all have the chance to do this. If I can make these changes anyone can. If I can improve my health and fitness level enough to be enjoying my life I truly believe that anyone who wants to can make changes. Those changes may not be perfect, they may not always meet your original or “best-case” expectations but they will make anyone who undertakes them feel happier, more comfortable and more alive. And that's what it's really about.

So if you are reading this and you are having a bad day or month or year or, heck, decade about how you are doing physically, I am here to remind you today to realize it's baby steps. Do one thing and build on it. Make a small change in your life and applaud the hell out of it. You deserve your own praise. You deserve your own self-love and your own personal recognition. No one can change you but you. No one knows what is truly best for you but you. If you listen to what you need, to what you tell yourself quietly when the noise dies down each day, you will hear your own voice. That is the voice to give your attention to. Your inner knowing.Your true guide is really you. You know what to do. I am behind you 100%. I am proud of you as I am proud of me. I had a good time at camp. Thanks for coming along.

Love--

Beauty.