Friday, December 27, 2013

What will you gain?

I haven't watched TV in over 20 months. I would occasionally watch half an episode here and there of something-or-other if I stayed in a hotel, or with a friend. However, I can count those instances on one hand. Apparently, I've missed out on a lot.

Or have I?

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't have anything that needed to be done this afternoon, so I plugged in the TV and flipped through what I could find. I've been away from TV so long that all I wanted to watch was a good rerun! Then I started feeling awful.

I remembered why I chose to turn the television off in the first place.

The commercial tried to make me think it was loving. They tried to get me to think they really cared about ME, who I am INSIDE and about my well-being and joy. I should have known it wasn't true; I've known for a long time that the media lies, but it required me to abstain from it for almost a year. But today I saw a commercial that gave me some hope...it only lasted for 25 seconds. In the last 5 seconds, one single commercial reminded me of why I will refuse to give up discovering absolute beauty in EVERY body regardless of size, shape, weight, or appearance. Special K started out trying to convince me that there was more to women than size. Their recent #FightFatTalk campaign asserts that "we've been defined by numbers since the day we were born," and that it's time to stop that. Yet the commercial ended by asking women to write to them and "tell us, 'what will you gain when you lose'?"

In my opinion, their campaign to "end fat-talk" fell apart right there. They just started talking about it with different words. How about a campaign to end body bashing, body snarking, and body hatred? In my experience, the only things that I gained by "losing" were directly opposite to what this commercial seems to be assuming! If I'm honest, losing weight caused me more suffering than the entire painful process of regaining it and learning to accept it ever has. If I had greater self-esteem at a lower weight, it lasted only a brief moment until the intense comparisons to EVERY other woman I saw set in. Then I was miserable and overwhelmed by constantly comparing myself to the appearance of others. And joy? What the hell? There was absolutely no joy in constantly worrying about what the scale said every day! A piece of plastic and a few springs held my joy captive! Let's talk about real joy. Let's talk about REALLY learning how to love ourselves for every curve, bump, scar, and beautiful inch of self there is! Those are the gains I want! And if those come about by having to "lose" something, can it be from losing hatred, fear, and anger instead of weight?

It's true. We have been defined by a number since the day we were born. However, I think we have forgotten that despite these numbers, there are SO many other things that have defined us since the day we were born. Was it your weight or length that defined you in those first few moments when you arrived here on earth to your mother or father? Not at all. They waited in an anticipation that seemed to last forever not to hear how big or small you were, but rather to hear you take those first breaths of air outside the womb. They waited to embrace your little body and hold you close to their hearts to tell you through their tears and words how much they loved you. And you? You just longed to be held close and warm, and to be loved, and this does not change. Our whole lives long, we just long to be held in love, close and tightly to hearts that accept us for each and every breath we share. The greatest gift of all is knowing that we have the power to give this love to ourselves. When we do, we can freely share it with others who we know long for the same. And this my friend, has nothing to do with numbers defining us. If I'm defined by a number, please let that number be the number of hugs...and I hope it's too many to count.


Saturday, November 30, 2013

Ethics?




"I believe in people. I believe in people’s ability to change the world, even despite our tremendous mistakes and suffering. I believe in goodness and in hope. I believe in these things because I believe in the power of making and admitting mistakes, and in the power forgiveness.  Everyone has the ability and the power to forgive both his or her own mistakes, as well as those of others. Forgiving does not mean that these mistakes were justified or acceptable. In fact, just the opposite is true. Forgiveness involves acknowledging that unspeakable mistakes caused pain and/or irreparable damage. This is an active process involving self-reflection, courage, and commitment to honor the sacrifices made by others, in a loving dedication to learn from our mistakes. Forgiveness can both impede and allow great progress."

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Wipe out...

It took me about 15 minutes to reacquaint myself with the art of rollerblading this afternoon. The weather here in Wisconsin has been unusually beautiful (I am NOT complaining) for this time of year. Usually, October isn't quite this beautiful. I can't seem to get any homework done when it's so nice out. The warm breeze and the fall colors don't just whisper my name, they shout it. The smells of fall bring back so many memories for me. Not all of them are good. In fact, I have not enjoyed this crisp, vibrant season for many years because of memories. Research tells us that our sense of smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. I didn't need research to tell me that. There seem to be a number of things that I thought I needed research (or at least some sort of tangible, empirical evidence) to tell me before I would accept. Gradually, this is becoming less and less necessary for me. Honestly, I can say confidently, in this moment, that there are things I simply neither need nor want to know. I am absolutely content in knowing only how I feel.

Feel. That used to be worse than the "real" "F-word" in my life. Now, I don't, and can't do things that don't feel right in my heart or in my body. I can't even pretend. Yet the most predominant feeling for me lately? Fear. Most people don't believe me. I am not lying when I say that about 85-90% of everything that I do, incites fear and trembling into the trillions of cells in my body. If you have the opportunity to know me in person, sometimes you can physically see or hear those cells quivering with fear. My hands shake, my voice cracks, and the reason I lock my knees so often, isn't completely because my body is accustomed from 15 years of ballet. No, many times I do it to keep my damn legs from shaking! However, most of the time, I am the only one is privy to my fear. I feel almost as if my breath is being dragged up and down a flight of stairs inside my chest, tumbling with uncertainty down each step or hesitantly resisting its next increment upward. I am thankful that I can really talk myself lovingly into just doing it and pretending I am not scared. True confession. 

Back to this afternoon and rollerblading. I have only successfully done this 3 times in the past year. That number reflects fear. I'm scared of looking stupid and clumsy, I'm scared of people looking at me and wondering why I would even try this, I am scared of seeing someone I know, I am scared of getting to and from the paved trails on my bike, and of course I am scared of falling. I'll really look stupid if I fall. I've been told my fears are "real, but not true." I feel them, but the things that I fear may or may not be true. Most of the time, they aren't presently true, nor will they ever come true. Once and awhile, I can smile into this fear and just let it be there and do what my fun-loving spirit wants to do. Today was one of those days. I was feeling pretty good as I biked to the trail I planned to cruise. That changed when I felt the awkward stiffness of the rollerblades. My shins staged a revolt and my balance was off. I had just about gotten a feel for the swaying, weight-shifting, and pushing off required to move smoothly across the pavement. When I relaxed my arms and let them play into the balancing dance required to propel me forward gracefully, I thought I had finally gotten it. Well, in my equation, I hadn't calculated a disruption in my velocity and forward motion. This disruption: a stick. Yep. Wipe out. Of course someone saw me. A man on a bike slowed a bit as he passed and gave me an inquisitive thumbs up, as if saying, "you're ok, right?" Truth is, I was. I had some pretty great "road rash, but ironically, the fall had not hurt. I confidently responded with a head nod and a firm thumbs up that said, "yup, I'm getting up right now." 

He continued on his way, but I moved three inches into the grass and looked around. I realized that the musty smell of leaves, and warm autumn breeze felt safer. The sounds of football helmets clacking and referee whistles screeching in the distance, brought a smile to my face instead of the familiar clenching of my jaw and fists. Those feelings had become so familiar in the past 13 years. I wasn't drifting rapidly into dark memories, even after feeling familiar shame and embarrassment in the wake of wiping out on the pavement. No, as I looked to my left, and directly in front of me, I saw how beautiful colors and smells were bathed in the bright, glittering sun as it began to drop slowly down in the western horizon. I had to fall in order to find the beauty in what was already right there. I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even thinking about my fear. The fall was just the way to where I really needed to be at that moment. Maybe wiping out is the way to wipe away some of this fear. I know it did today. And what I saw behind the fear was pretty spectacular, both inside of me and in the beauty that surrounded me.
If this is the view from the bottom--I love it

Sunday, October 6, 2013

the mirrors that show us

Despite the impressive grains and strides that I have made in improving the relationship I have with my body, one thing that can still really mess with my head is a good mirror. Or should I say, a bad mirror can really mess with me? The truth is...there is no truth when it comes to a mirror it seems. No matter if I like what I see or not, I'm still scared of them. Honestly, once I leave my house, I try to avoid them.

I like to think that I am realistic in my assessments of my body. Perhaps I am, but perhaps it's the willingness to embrace and truly love that this body is my body. This is ME. Me. What does it feel like to see all of me? Is that even possible-- just to see what is there, and not wish for more or less?

broken mirrors--broken lies.


I've avoided the mirror--I've avoided looking at the beauty that's there, because I was too scared of the flaws. What the hell, Mandi? The fact of the matter is, there is no single one of us that is either all bad or all good. End of story.

One of the most profound things that I experienced during my Nia White Belt Intensive this past July was the lesson in seeing all of life as art. Life IS ART! Art is meant to be seen, to be expressed and to be enjoyed. Art isn't just a painting. The way people dress is art, the way they walk with each other is art, the way we speak differently depending on where we are...it's all art. My eyes don't look exactly  like anyone else's on the face of this earth, and that astounds me and blows my mind.

There are more things that are right about my body, than are wrong with it, but every time I have looked in a mirror since I was 8 years old, I have looked for what is wrong  or to make sure it was ok. Who asked that piece of glass anyways? If I really, honestly don't care what other people think of what I wear or look like, then why do I care so much about what that glassy reflection says? It's because I've made it confirm the negatives that are in my head. I've made the mirror into the evidence that confirms the false stories that I tell myself about my faults. I am befriending the mirror from today forward. From now on, we shall only talk truth. We shall be as realistic as life...which means, there are far more amazing and beautiful things about me and about my body than the flaws and mistakes.

In order to teach Nia, I need to befriend myself--my true self--the self that I don't know too well just yet. So, I am going to break the rules of any body-image improvement strategy I've ever read. I am going to look in the mirrors now. I'm going to look at all the beauty that is really there, for me and for the world. I'm choosing to see my whole self, and what better way to do that than when I feel most like my true self--in Nia, present with my body, mind, spirit and emotions. To finally feel whole is the most indescribably wonderful feeling there is.

 

The Nia Technique-A sensory-based movement and dance practice that leads to health, wellness, and fitness of body, mind, spirit, and emotions. Dancing Nia was the way I found my joy!




Only if you dare


I don't know who you are out there. I don't know anything about you. But if you're reading this, you must need someone to remind you that you're strong, and that like me, you won't step down from a dare. So tonight, beautiful souls, I dare you...





In this game of Truth or Dare... you already know the truth, so I dare you...

I dare you to be the woman refuses to hate her body. The woman who says, "What? Of course I love my body! What's not to love? I can't believe you don't. You must be crazy!"

I dare you to be the woman who refuses to buy "tummy-shaping," "control top," "slimming," or "minimizing" anything. Ever.

I dare you to be the woman who refuses to participate in body-shaming, fat-talking, or good food/bad food debates.

I dare you to be the woman who dresses her body like a beautiful work of art, in whatever way her heart desires, every day without holding back.

I dare you to be the woman who dances even when people are watching because dancing through life brightens days and brings joy in its steps.

I dare you to be the woman with so much passion and confidence that she becomes the most magnetic and intriguing person in the room

I dare you to be the woman that loves and treasures herself so much that her love for others and to the Earth flows freely and without condition or expectation of returns.

...and now I double, even TRIPLE dare you;

I dare you to be the woman who makes a difference with her beauty. For when beauty lives inside you, deep within your heart-that's the kind of beauty that can change the world!










Sunday, September 29, 2013

Space

I've been a writer since as far back as I can remember. No matter how many different teachers, friends, therapists, mentors, and even strangers I have encountered throughout the various transitions of this life, the comments about my writing persist. A second-grade teacher was the first one to tell me that I was a storyteller. I still have that piece of prose. I used powerful and flowery illustrative language even at 8-years-old.

I don't know if I am really a writer, a storyteller, or just a careful word-chooser.

I do know one thing for sure. In the past year, I've realized that I am an artist. My art takes various mediums and forms depending on the day, the weather, the season, or my mood. I don't think of being an artist as a hobby, occupation, or even a lifestyle. My art is life. I just see things differently. I hear different words, and I look for the things that others miss. Life is the artist, and I am just its mirror...I capture moments and pieces in tiny freeze-frames that people call "art." I can't take credit for that.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Remember.

I was old enough to be terrified on September 11, 2001. It's hard to believe that it's been 12 years.

For the first time in 12 years, I did not watch even one second of TV on September the 11th. I know what happened.  I had nightmares about it for years. When my 11th grade Economics teacher turned on the television in our second period class on September 11, 2001, she no more than had stepped aside from the television set when along with Peter Jennings, ABC News, and any other American watching at the same moment, 25 teenagers watched as the second plane careened into the World Trade Center on live television.  I remember feeling as if I heard and felt the collective gasp of disbelieving horror across the country. I felt it in Peter Jennings' voice as it cracked on live TV. I swallowed tears for people I never met. Until that day, I had honestly say I didn't even know what or where the Pentagon or the World Trade Center were. I vividly remember leaving school that afternoon.  I stepped out into a warm, cloudless September afternoon, and looking up into the sky as I walked to the parking lot.  Nothing was there. No clouds, no planes, and no answers, I thought.

Every year, I've watched memorials, tributes, and remembrances on TV. Every year, watching footage takes me back to the day I first saw it, and feeling the profound grief and shame as I wonder how humans have this horrific capacity to carry out such hatred and harm to each other. Every year I feel the urgency to change the hearts of my fellow humans. And every year, I am reminded of the peers of mine who joined the military in the post 9-11 surge of patriotism, (I was 17) and have died fighting the elusive war on terrorism, or come back so badly wounded emotionally and/or physically that goes seemingly unnoticed. This thirteenth year since the attacks begins today. I didn't begin it this year with the images of hate, but instead with a yoga practice, a Nia class, and a beautiful conversation about change and transformation with a dear, heart- friend. It isn't hopeless. Don't think, "who am I, I cannot change 'the way things are?'" It may be small, and it may be only in my own heart somedays, but love and healing exist, even in the midst of our confusion.

Friday, August 30, 2013

I hope there are corn fields and cows in heaven...

Growing up, I spent a lot of my time with people that were much, much older than me. It happens when you grow up in a really conservative, German farming community. A lot of the family farms were owned by family's in which the father was the last one who would ever "own the farm." His sons and daughters likely went to college and moved away to get a job that paid better than staying on the family farm. I am one of those daughters, but in my heart there will always be a place for those old farmers...the cousins, aunts, and uncles of my grandparents, the wise old Germans.

I loved every one of them. I loved their stories the most. I loved the way their eyes captured mine when they told their stories. As I listened to them, pictures always flooded my mind full of nostalgic events and younger versions of the beautiful souls that stood or sat in front of me. I could see them in their stories. I could hear their joy, their fears, and even their warnings. Even as a little kid, I valued their wisdom. Even then, if I had to choose between my "older" friends, and friends my own age, I wouldn't think twice about it. I would rather spend my days listening to stories. 

I am thankful for these memories. I learned to play cards and joke around with my grandma's cousins as I fumbled to learn the rules of Rook or Sheepshead. I watched how they played tricks on each other and made comebacks in German. I didn't know what the words meant, but I watched. Affection and care are the same in whatever language we speak. They would tease each other just as my siblings and I tease one another too. 

One of these cousins has always been especially intriguing to me. My heart holds a special place for this one, as he was unlike the majority of his compadres. (Speaking of switching languages...) He died this afternoon at a nursing care home in Watertown, Wisconsin. He was 85-years-old, and never married. He was as my father says, "a bachelor his whole life, and wouldn't have it any other way." German Lutherans are very traditional, so the fact that he never married, made him one of my role models. Many people in my family "worry" about me that I "don't have anyone to take care" of me. I'm almost 30, and well, I'm not married nor am I in a relationship of any sort. I doubt I will ever have children, and frankly I enjoy being non-traditional. Albin farmed for his whole life, until recently. He also fixed his own tractors, owned land, and worked at the cabbage-canning factory. He still went to church every Sunday, socialized with friends and family, and always told a great story. He was also a bit of an inventor and a trickster from other legends I've heard. He did just fine. He left a mark of influence on this world, made it a happier place with his care, jokes, and uproarious laughter. He made light of life, even when being serious was necessary. Those of us touched by his influence will spread it into the world in our own ways. No one is ever truly "gone." The way we see them just changes. 





The patch of land in the woods behind my brother's house will always be "Albin's land," and so will the bright, shiny blue tractor he bought so that my brother could cut the brush with it. I hope there are cornfields, foxes, and cows for you to tend in heaven, my friend. We'll keep yours safe for you down here. Thank you for sharing your life with me and being an example of non-traditional success. I'll swim against the current in your honor until our paths cross again. 
Until then, peace.
Mandi

Monday, July 29, 2013

Nia is in my life to stay!

Pure joy--a Nia class!

Spear Fingers! One of  Nia's 52 moves, one of our favorites--Our LOVE guns!

I might be part of a very small group of people who can say that I really do not want to change anything about my body. Nothing. There's nothing wrong with it, but it's not perfect either. It's just "average." Although, I might be slightly taller and more muscular than the average American 28-year-old. I stick out my rear-end a bit more than most people I know, but that's a bad ballet habit. I don't care. I love my 9 butt muscles. They're pretty awesome. Not only do I not care what my body does or does not look like, I actually love it. For the first time in my life, this isn't a lie, or me telling someone something that just "sounds good."
I've been taking Nia for 7 months now, and when I noticed that the body hatred I had harbored since the age of 8 was slowly melting away into nothing but appreciation and gratitude, I knew that this was way more than just dancing. A part of me didn't want to know, though too. Dancing had become magical again...like it was when I was a little, little girl. Then when I started sobbing after a class in my car driving home, I knew that just dancing wasn't going to suffice for my answer. Parts of me started to show themselves that I had NEVER seen before. Extroversion. Fun. Light-heartedness. Laughter. Self-Compassion...self-compassion...self-compassion.

Tears come to my eyes just writing that. I'd blamed myself for every hurt that had ever fallen down on me. I'd beaten myself up for every bad choice I had ever made. It was safe to say that I hated myself, inside and out. I started noticing "cheesy" things coming out of my mouth. I should say, things that I used to poke fun of because I didn't understand concepts such as self-care, or nurturing. I thought curling up with a warm blanket and reassuring myself was ridiculous because I could only intellectualize that. I couldn't feel anything below my neck (in terms of emotions and feelings). I just ran away from them and starved them into exile. Then after I had "recovered," I thought feelings would kill me, so I tried to therapize them away or take more medications for the anxiety. Then I stared Nia, and somehow I needed less and less medication and didn't really fear my tears anymore. What was going on?!?!

So, I decided to take a Nia White Belt Intensive. I am nothing short of amazed by what I had mistaken for "just dancing." There is no possible way that I can hate my body anymore. I learned so much about the benefits of exercising in the way our bodies were meant to be moved, that I can't possibly abuse mine with that type of over-use and abuse again. I can't imagine not having FUN when I exercise ever again! Underneath this superficial layer of imperfect skin is an amazing, complex, and intricate universe of muscles, tendons, bones, and nerves that function perfectly by design and symbiosis with each other, my emotions, and my brain. It's amazing. To say I am awe-struck would be an understatement. Nia is about more than just dancing and exercising, although it can be. No, a phrase that stuck with me throughout the 6-day training was "sacred athlete." Sacred means being set aside, or designated for one sole and important purpose. A sacred athlete will realize sacredness of the self and only want to exercise in such a way as to create joy and purpose for a healthy and energetic life. Not to mention, there is some pretty amazing music in Nia too! A vast array of songs and routines with amazingly planned choreography that NEVER gets boring, but is comprised of only 52 carefully studied moves. Each move has been designed to create joy of movement in specific bones and/or muscles. All 206 bones, and probably all 640 voluntary muscles get attention in Nia. How cool is that? How can I not want to be a part of this? I do. As if I wasn't hooked before, I am now.

Then there's the profound realization that came to me near the end of the training! We were asked to close our eyes for a minute, wait, and in a few words, describe the most impactful thing about the training for us. What came out of my mouth astounded me. I know it came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere where my brain couldn't tamper with its truth and purity. After less than a minute, a warm smile started in the middle of my body and traveled up my spine. Out of my mouth came a very child-like statement of wonder and appreciation: "That the Body is an amazing and beautiful place. It's not scary at all. It's actually a really cool place to live." It took me until I was driving back home to Milwaukee to realize just how meaningful this is for me. I described it later in my journal like this: 


“If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

-- I have realized that "home" means something totally different to me now than it ever has before. I can't help but think of this quote (the Wizard of Oz is my favorite movie, but I've misunderstood this quote since the very first time I saw it). Wanting to feel "at home" has never really been about a physical location, a building, or even the other people around me. My longing (and many times, painful aching) to be "home," came from the fact that I never realized that where I LIVE, is inside my body. It's already right here! I ignored that, and thus never, ever feel like I belonged anywhere. Now paying close attention to it, caring for it, listening to it, loving it, and actually taking pride and ownership of it--suddenly it's not hard to hear my heart's desire or feel like I'm right, exactly where I belong. It's actually a pretty amazing place to live. It's so much more than just a shell. It houses something pretty great...in each and every one of us! Each one is a house and a home to unique and individual talent, beauty, and potential. Like Dorothy, I never lost it either. I didn't have to look so hard...it's always been right here. It's a really cool place to live. I'm never leaving home ever again. Thank you body for never leaving me.



Saturday, July 13, 2013

Can you walk in my shoes?

I despise wearing shoes, and if I don't have to, I don't. So, I wasn't wearing any yesterday and I think I stepped on something and it is now embedded in my right heel. So, I'm favoring that foot, wearing shoes, and trying to discern whether or not to let this play out a few days and then go to a doctor, or if my heel is just sore from walking around barefoot. Either way, it's currently excruciating, so I am wearing the best pair of shoes I own for awhile--my running shoes. However, I am doing NO running. I hate running. I just like running shoes because they're the most supportive kind of tennis shoes out there, and if I'm going to be walking a lot, or in one of those places that does actually require shoes, I can have comfy ones. These shoes are as loud and obnoxious as I am--neon yellow, pink, and electric blue, with hot pink laces. Loud. Bright. Obnoxiously impossible to color coordinate to any outfit. Thus, they are perfect.

I decided to bike to the pharmacy tonight instead of drive. It's probably no more than 2 miles away, it's a perfect, summer night, and I was sick of driving today. I don't particularly care for driving much either. Today was an exception. I would have driven much further for this cause. Today was the National Eating Disorder Awareness walk in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. When I was even just still debating whether or not I wanted or was even capable of fully recovering from anorexia, I could have cared less about awareness, prevention or advocacy. I really didn't believe that recovery was anything I would ever truly experience. I couldn't have been more wrong. Lo and behold, I take any opportunity I can get to promote research and prevention for these life-sucking, relationship-demolishing, and joy-killing disorders. I want dieting to be a word that kids learn about in history books, not health classes. I want eating disorders to be diseases that can be prevented, and I actually HATE talking about the depths and dark places. I don't believe in talking about my eating disorder...I'd rather talk about how to let kids be kids, eliminate weight stigma, and promote body gratitude and positive body image. The walk was a success. I saw people in all stages of recovery. Some have left it far behind them, and others walked around scanning and comparing bodies. In some eyes I saw longing and aching for freedom from this, in other eyes I saw fear, and in a few I saw fire. In the picture a friend snapped of me and one of my lovely, kindred-spirit, ballerina friend, I saw in my eyes for the first time in many years, the fire that I thought had burnt out for good. I don't know yet for what that fire burns, but I'm content in waiting for now.

When I left the pharmacy tonight and stood outside the door searching through my bottomless pit of a bag for my bike-lock's key, a woman (a stranger) approached me, and stepped right up to me, touched my shoulder (causing me to look up, startled, from my searching), and said, "Those are some really happy, bright-colored shoes! They just look like really happy colors. I really had to tell you that." I was astounded that someone would actually approach a noticeably preoccupied strange young woman, break her concentration, and compliment the colors of her shoes. It seemed like a lot, and somewhat risky, just for shoes. Then I remember why I like bright colors. I like them because they represent how I feel inside. Loud and obnoxious, perhaps, but mostly just beaming-ly joyful. And there's a funny thing about being joyful; no matter how much of it I give away, I always end up with more than I had when I started. So, if my happy-colored shoes can be an excuse for me to share my joy, bring it on.
NEDA walk 2013 (I'm on the right, my friend Melena is trapped in my hug!)


Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Someone told me last night that it's not even realistically possible to love yourself 100% without regard whatsoever to your personal appearance, weight, shape, or size. She said that expecting this would be in itself a form of perfectionism; thus making it unrealistic. Perhaps I tend to be somewhat perfectionistic, but I'm also idealistic--I believe that being content and joyful is indeed possible without regard in any way for my physical appearance. In short--it's my mission to teach myself, and those around me that this is possible. I want to prove her wrong. Mostly, I want to prove society wrong.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Maybe I'm starting to get it...

Am I happy? Yes, absolutely. Is it genuine? Completely. Everyday? Actually, yes. Does that mean I live in a little bubble or in denial or avoidance of real life? Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite...

Today I realized that something is much different. No logical or intellectual explanation that I used to thrive upon seems to explain this-- I found myself in tears, several times today either for my own hurts or for those of others, but every one of those times I cried, I had a thought come into my head that had NEVER been there before--"I'm so thankful, and even sort of glad, that I am exactly where I am, with who I'm with, and feeling like this. It's actually ok. This sorta sucks and hurts, but deep down, I'm still actually really happy. I'm still ok."

In fact, I think I'm learning true compassion. It starts inside and radiates outward.

Monday, May 27, 2013

Sweet Joy

My newest friend is a three-year-old, who today at an indoor Memorial Day picnic, wanted to get every last bit of melty ice cream from her bowl. She tipped it up, licked as much as she could from the little plastic bowl, set it down with a sigh of delicious satisfaction, squinted her adorable little eyes as she looked up and exclaimed, "Yum!" I giggled at her pure delight, but before I could even blink, she crawled on to my lap and gave me a sticky, ice-cream-faced kiss on my forehead. The well-meaning grown-up (not me) who was sitting alongside her looked at her and asked, "really? Was that necessary?"

She gazed at him innocently--which provided a very effective, pensive and dramatic pause, and very articulately stated, "Yes. Completely."

My heart melted just like that sticky ice cream at the bottom of her bowl. Such a wise and innocent little reminder that life means so much more when you get the most out of the sweet moments, and know without a doubt that your behavior was intentional, purposeful, and yes, completely necessary.

Ice cream is delightful. I love it. It goes perfectly with rhubarb/strawberry pie from my German heritage that made me quite a few friends today! I'm learning more and more every time I bake or cook that food really does do something more than provide our bodies with energy. I've been able to experience the deep connection between souls that food seems to bridge. There aren't words to describe this...it just sort of happens if we let it. Food was never meant to be evil. That was something that got distorted by evil thoughts and words from evil people.

I found joy through food today--and without the changes both mentally and physically that have taken place in my body, I would never have had that experience. The journey is worth it. It really is, even if only in the small flashing moments like I had today. 

---Peace, my friends.
Where is your joy?
 I do not know who most of you are--but for some reason it was on my heart tonight to wish peace, love, and healing to those of you who have taken the time to read some of my thoughts. I send love and joy to all of you!

Owls and Lace

I have very few memories of my great-grandmother, Frieda (Buss) Rupnow. She died when I was 5 years old. I remember the day she died, though. My mother was wearing a burgundy & blue Mount Mary College shirt and cut-off jean shorts when the phone rang. It was my grandma. My mom sat on the staircase as she held the phone to her ear and I heard her say, "I knew I should have gone to see her yesterday." She died in the summertime, and hers was the first of many funerals I remember attending. I remember looking out at a sea of headstones, wondering what they meant. I didn't ask. I just watched. I didn't really know what "dying" meant at that age. I knew it made people sad, but that was about all I knew. I just have a very vivid picture in my head from the cemetery that day. I've been to the same corner of that cemetery many times since then...to lay the bodies of three of her four children, and the wife of one of those children, close to the bodies of Frieda and her husband, William Sr.

I believe that only the bodies lie there in that cemetery. That's just the place where we can go to remember them all in one place. I do not know for sure, and I suppose no one here on this earth can tell you with 100% certainty, either, where the spirits that once inhabited those bodies truly are. Only faith explains that one--and that is as far as I'll take that. Mortality, fate, and eternity are not my area, and I prefer it that way. I will leave that to one who's knowledge far exceeds my own. However, regardless of what you believe or do not believe, we all carry something of our ancestors within us. It lives in our thoughts as memories, our hearts as feelings, our spirit as emotions/temperaments, or even very literally in our very cells as DNA from those whom we call "family." I think I must have a lot of my great-grandmother's DNA then. From stories, artifacts, and my own few memories, I have ascertained that she was a woman of delightful wit. My mother is constantly quoting some of her most notorious one-liners and anecdotes. My personal favorite is hearing both my mother and my grandmother quote her (with an accent that I cannot replicate in mere typeface), "Well, it just is what it is." (if I were to attempt to replicate the accent, the pronunciation would be, "it just 'eees, vat it 'eeees") In German "w"="v" sound, and vowels are much longer than English. Nonetheless, I love that philosophy. I find myself living and finding a great deal of comfort in that phrase. It calms me. To me, it helps me to remember "let be." In my life, I struggle so much with trying to force things to go my way, to change them, or to prevent them. Most of the time, this leads to frustration at best. More often it leads to that proverbial feeling of banging my head against a wall. It is what it is, and it will be, what it will be. Rest in that, and trust it. We are held in a love and compassion that can sustain us through the changing ebb and flow of the things upon which we cannot force change. My very wise great-grandmother understood that...or reminder herself and others of it often, too.

Me and Frieda both love owls. I have two, retro ceramic owls that I "claimed" when we cleaned her house after she passed away. (Mind you, I was 5) Somehow, despite moving countless times since college, I always have these owls. They're actually sort of ugly, but they're wise. They're spunky. They remind me that no matter where I am, how hard life is, or how bored I am--I have the same feisty German spirit that refuses to let anything stop her. When Frieda didn't know how to do something, she figured it out. When a doctor asked her how old she was, she transposed the numbers to make herself younger. She weaved countless rugs from old, torn clothing. When she was bored, she crocheted beautiful lace-like trims and blocks of gorgeous tatted stitching. My mother kept these things after she died, and I create artwork and design clothing inspired by these. She was a short, stocky, and strong woman with wispy, silver hair that was nothing more than a few strands by the time she died, but from all of the stories I have heard, she never apologized for who she was.
"It is what it is."

I love the owls and the lace. There's more of her inside of me than a shared admiration for elegance and wisdom. Her strength, humor, stubbornness, wit, and determination inspire me. Her energy and wisdom infuse themselves into my cells.

Yes. More now than ever before, I proudly say, with my great-grandma Frieda, "It just is what it is." My heart rests with joy in the simple, "make-do-with-what-you-have" present moment.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Beautiful darkness

Shadow...

What's the first thing that you think of when you hear or see that word? My guess is that most of us would agree that shadows signify darkness, or the part of ourselves that we try to keep others from discovering. Shadows lurk in dark, creepy alleys that we don't like to walk through at night. Shadows represent fear and darkness.

I used to agree. My past is littered with dark and scary spots. I sensed that darkness following me around all the time. I tried to hide it so that no one would ever see how truly dark it really was. A lot of the work I've been doing in my own life has revolved around changing the way I view things that I'm scared of or uncomfortable with. So, I've tried to re-frame my perception that the "shadow" side of me is dark and scary and needs to be kept hidden. It has started to sink in, and I am starting to like looking at things this way. My shadow is my friend--always following me and trusting my lead. Now the question is, how can I rest myself in that same serene trust that my shadow has in me? How can I trust my heart?

What joy can be found in my shadow? It's amazing, and totally blows my mind most of the time, but I think that is why it's amazing to consider this: there really is joy in all things. Intellectually, this makes my brain scream, "what the hell, Mandi! You're an idiot." No, I'm not. That's why I love it. It's the things that make absolutely no sense at all that are the most comforting to me lately. I can be incredibly sad and grieving, but also have joy and love in my heart at the same time. It's an amazing and comforting feeling to rest in the assurance that once you've felt joy, and let it settle within your heart, NOTHING can take it away. It's there to stay. It's like feeling home in your own heart--whatever state its in.

I don't know when I first discovered my own shadow. Do you? I'm talking about your shadow in the most literal interpretation of the word--the area of darkness that results from light's inability to pass through the physical mass of your body. You probably don't remember when you discovered your own shadow, unless someone has told you a story about this discovery. Developmentally, this usually occurs around the same time we discover our own reflection in the mirror, which is usually around the age of 18-24 months--an amazing time of discovery. At that age, we're just shy of being able to form long-term memories yet. This occurs around age 3. So, for as far as our memories serve us, we've probably always known about our companion shadow. We have an underlying knowledge, that as long as there's a light source, our shadow is around us somewhere. Our shadow is a subtle reminder of our relationship with light--the light doesn't pass through us, it's absorbed. We soak it in...

I actually find a shadow to be very amusing..fun to play around with and see how it changes and shifts with the various movements of my body. (Think shadow puppets...or Peter Pan trying to glue his shadow back on with soap) It's more forgiving than my reflection in a mirror for some reason. I've never criticized myself in front of my shadow, as I have so many times in front of my reflection in a mirror. There's something more compassionate about the shadow. My own shadow is a constant, very visible and personal reminder of my presence--even at times when I feel the most disconnected from my bodily existence. We all do this disconnecting from our own bodies sometimes. We temporarily leave our bodies (we sort of "space out"), distracted and lost in our thoughts, pasts, worries, or faults. In some of us this disconnection is very real and very strong if we've been abused or unloved. But, no matter how fast I run, how long I spin, or how often I wander, a quick flash of that shadow reminds me, in a very visceral way to come back. If my shadow could speak to me, it would speak to that scared part of me that is hesitant to trust my heart that wonders if I matter enough to exist or take up space in this world...

 No my dear, right now, you are right here. See? You're absorbing the light that is here right now. Your body uses it in whatever way it needs at this moment, and this one...and now this one, too. Watch and see as your shadow shows you just how you use this light, changing, shifting, moving, breathing. You are very much alive, present, and soaking in this light of life.

So my child, how do you choose to live and relate to this light of life? Will you ignore the shadow by your side, striving to change by frantically doing more and more, or paralyzed with shame of moments of the past, or dreading those to come? Or, my dear, will you embrace me, the very reminder of your miraculous aliveness in this moment? Can you feel the music of life and dance for joy for the the light and your life right now? This is your choice, my beautiful girl. But know that as your shadow, I will always be here to remind you how absolutely worthy you are to be here, present and alive right now. All you have to do is look down, and there I will always be. So stand in the light, feel it warm your heart and nourish the breath inside you. Open your eyes and dance with me! Take the lead--I promise to always trust your lead and follow you closely.

So, I've decided that my shadow, no matter how dark it is, is beautiful. For it truly has been through my darkest moments that I grown to become the strong, confident, enthusiastic, and reinvented person that I am today. Without those dark moments, my life would be a very empty place and I would never have discovered that I really capable of feeling and living joy! So, yes. I can dance with that beautiful shadow of mine! Will you?
photo courtesy of Pinterest

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Wandering

I don't know exactly why I do it, but I wander--all the time! Perhaps it's my ADHD, or perhaps I'm just one of those "thinker" types.

I joke about being a little obnoxiously talkative sometimes, not quite knowing how to stop talking when I need to sort of thing. It's not really always true. I like to just wander around sometimes and think...all alone, with no one to tell me, "Mandi, let's go! I'm bored!" Most of the time, I love to wander outside. I love feeling the breeze (or in today's case, the howling wind) on my face, listen to the trees & grass respond to the wind, and feel the earth under my feet (most of the time I prefer bare foot walking, but unfortunately it's still too cold for that!) I would have loved to squish mud under my bare feet today, but I had to settle for my sister's pink rainboots.

I'm fascinated by trees. For some reason, I admire their intricacy and beauty. Even when everything is still dead and brown waiting desperately for spring like the rest of us, I find it breathtaking. The designs that the branches of the trees make against the cold, cloud-filled April sky make me dizzy if I stare for too long. I went searching for grapevine branches today on my parent's farm. We have acres and acres of land behind the house that my brother and sister-in-law live in, and the woods is one of the most beautiful, silent, and peaceful places I've ever visited. The woods are so thick with trees as a result of little to no human undertaking to thin out the vegetation and brush. This and its position on a high, glacial formation hill make it a fortress from the whipping, howling, icy wind--even when the trees are bare. Oh, and in case you haven't guessed, my interior decorations are aimed at bringing the outside into the inside. Home decor is often comprised of sticks, twigs, pinecones, and occasionally...rocks. Interspersed with some artificial flowers, leaves, and ribbon or burlap, makes it look just perfect. This is sort of a contradiction for me. My decor of choice is always natural and neutral, calm and earthy, but when it comes to dressing/decorating myself? None of that! My closet displays clothes from one end of the color spectrum to another, with very little black, brown, or gray.

I found my sticks....my decorations. However, I also found myself "lost in the woods" for over an hour. I saw sticks missing bark from where animals had gnawed it for food in the long winter. I saw tiny sprouts of vegetation poking through the fallen leaves, just waiting for the warmer spring days to arrive. I found more colors than just brown. Even though the woods looked somewhat like a war-zone with the fallen, uprooted, rotting, and dying trees, I found it beautiful. I walked in one side of the woods, and out the other. As I returned on the muddy, cold, wet path I scanned the field and found beautiful rocks that had showed me of billions of years of sedimentation and glacial movement. The wind blasted cold air onto my face causing tears to form as a result of its force and coldness. The tears ran down my cheeks without even being noticed, because when I got into the house, my sister said, "Mandi, were you crying? You have mascara all the way down your cheeks!" Oops, I guess I didn't even realize that the wind had made my eyes water! I'll show you a few of the pictures I played with.

Who would have thought to find such bright red?

This was the "war zone"

It looked so fuzzy; I almost wanted to touch it--but I left it 

See what I mean? the lines? the designs?

More color contrast. The bark on that fallen tree is completely stripped. The tree in the crux of the fallen one has grown up always being held by that fallen tree. If left like that, it will continue to grow and either bend outward away from the log, or it will grow around the log and envelop it. Only time will tell.

Animals are getting hungry for real food...not just bark off of saplings. The only eat the bark off of living trees...they won't touch the dead ones. They're smart, they know where the nutrition is...and it's not in dead food. We could probably take some lessons from the rabbits...eat your food fresh. 

Messing around with the focus and coloring on the photo. Yes, even dead trees fascinate me.


It looks like an oozing sandwich. But the lighter parts are actually granite that has been squished in-between the limestone.

Same tree, just the actual non-edited photo. Overlooking our barren fields. In a month or so, my dad and brother will be frantically planting corn and soybeans...and my sister and I will be scrambling to "rock pick" all of these fields. (driving a tractor with a wagon, up and down the lengths of the fields, picking up any rocks bigger than our fists so that they don't wreck the machinery in the fall when the crops are harvested---we hate rock picking. Thanks to the glacial formations in our area, there are fascinating different kinds of rocks, but always LOTS of them...and every year when the snow melts and the the frost heaves the ground upward, more rocks appear.)

Saturday, April 13, 2013

laugh it up!


As I went to text to my sister asking her if we could have a play date today, I stopped and re-worded it to sound more "grown up," because I'm scared she might think I'm crazy if I say that. Even though I joke around about my silliness and lack of desire to grow up/act my age, etc., but I love making people laugh and smile just as much as I love it.  Here's why:
Being silly can actually make us healthier (and happier too, but that's a given). Acting silly, laughing, smiling, and playing are actually GOOD for you! Laughing, or even just smiling, signals the brain to switch out of the sympathetic nervous system (the nervous system that controls our fight/flight/freeze response) into the parasympathetic nervous system (responsible for calming & relaxing our bodies). Oh, and guess what? Our bodies can't tell the difference between a "fake" laugh/smile and an authentic one...the effects are the same! (So cool!) Laughing also makes us breathe more deeply and thus get more oxygenated blood into our hearts...and that's always a good thing! So...laugh until you're gasping to catch your breath! It's good for you! Or, just give the "ha ha, funny lame joke" laugh--your body will thank you either way! Just in case you don't believe me--here's a link.
Go do something fun today--I for one am going to blast my music and sing/dance to myself ALL the way on the hour+ drive to Ixonia. And yes, I hope somebody sees me looking ridiculous! No, I will not stop...because I bet they'll laugh at me. Then I've done my good deed for the day!



Here's a great link, just in case you want to know more! It's acutally quite fascniating!
 http://www.heartmdinstitute.com/v1/heart-healthy-lifestyles/mindbody-connection/laughter-medicine

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Falling





I once tried to climb a massive tree that was calling me to sit up in the cradle of it's branches. In my excitement, I forgot to realize that pulling myself up on two branches that were only about as big around as my thumb, would probably end in disaster. It did. The branches snapped, and I was abruptly reacquainted with my old friend, gravity. As I laid on the very hard, lumpy, apple-strewn ground trying to find where my breath had gone, my sister leaned over me, laughing hysterically and attempted to inquire about my well-being. "Are you....ok.....Mandi?"
Even though I couldn't yet catch my breath, I was laughing as I looked up at the sky through the branches of the tree I'd tried to climb. Somehow, I wasn't embarrassed, hurt, or even remorseful. As I laughed at my falling, all I could think, "that was fun." The joy that my realization that I was indeed bound by the law of gravity brought to the face of my sister made the failed attempt to ascend the tree not a failure at all, but in fact, a much more profound success. I found and shared joy and laughter.

Falling can be fun.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Please, please, please...don't run away

On two separate occasions tonight, I found myself in tears thinking about lessons I have learned or acceptance and genuine friendship that I have felt from friends who are often overlooked themselves because they are "just kids." If you don't think your teenager "gets it," or cares, think again. I promise you, if you're willing to stop, sit down, and really listen, you might see what I've seen. There would still be an empty, dark place in my heart if it weren't for friends almost a decade or more younger than me who weren't scared to ask or care.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Rainy Day Mystery

"As I grew to love ALL of who I am, life started changing in beautiful and mysterious ways. My heart softened and I began to see through very different eyes." -- Kim McMillen, When I Loved Myself Enough

I no more than opened this book and BAM-- there it was! Words to match the feeling that I hadn't quite been able to describe yet. I'm learning to love this life I've been given (trying to abandon the notion that I am sinning by loving life--those old patterns are deeply rooted), and in doing so I have never been so slow. Yes, slow.

When I was little, I used to shuffle my little feet to make noise with my shoes and scuffs on the floors (yes, I did this purposely--sorry mom), I liked the sound of the 'click, shhhhhwoooop, click, shhhhhhwooooop, clip'  of the different types of shoes I would wear. (To this day, this is the ONLY reason I will wear heeled shoes--I like the "important" sounding click, click, click of the heels) Needless to say, in a family of go-go-go-get-it-done-er's, shuffling along was obnoxious and impeding the speed of productivity. I constantly heard, "Mandi! Pick up those feet! Quit poking along! Pick up the pace, etc." I think I was just observing...but I don't know. I was too afraid of getting in trouble for "shluffing" along to continue. For years it was a constant effort to speed it up. I was always the last one. I blamed my poor attention span.

I'm finding myself shuffling again. However, this time for a much different and much more conscious reason. I've been missing out on some of the most incredible beauty around me for my entire life! I'm sick of hurrying up to get everywhere, or to get something done, or to just be done. There is no joy in that. Today I made a list of what I discovered while "shluffing" along in my favorite boots--rain boots, pink rain boots.

  1. the somewhat silly "thwup, thwup, thwup" noise that the top of the boots make as they collide with my calves to the rhythm of my walking pace. This isn't something you hear with snow boots.
  2. The intricate patterns that water droplets make as they glide off of the surface of my slick, pink rainboots.
  3. Rain and spring smell like worms. Yes. Worms. Worms sort of smell like wet dirt. Rain smells like wet dirt.
  4. It takes my frizzy, unruly hair about 15 minutes after going inside from the rain, to begin to curl in on itself. 
  5. Closing my eyes and letting the rain hit my eyelids. Why doesn't rain feel like tears running down my cheeks? The sensation is very different. 
  6.  No one looks up when it's raining. How come?
  7. Sometimes when it stops raining, the opaque, white sky is brighter than a clear, sunshine-filled sky. It makes my eyes all squinty.
  8.  Best of all...I was the only one who was actually searching for the puddles through which to drag my feet. A grown adult made a conscious effort to yes, stomp through the puddles. Not just stomp--a triple jump. Both feet, squat, arms-reach back, pull forward, and follow with the whole body...once! twice! three times! jump....jump...jump. Pure delight. Embarrassing? Not one bit. 


What does this have to do with loving myself? Everything. I loved myself enough to listen to the urge to slow down and notice a beautiful rainy day. My deep, blue, and wide eyes haven't seen this kind of beauty and mystery in a long time.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Just a thought...

I can't seem to decide if I am easily amused, or just unusually grateful. I'm not sure that it really matters. Perhaps both are just fine.

Most 20-something-year-olds aren't spending their Friday nights like I am. I just spent over an hour listening to classical music (Baroque, actually. Bach was mostly a Baroque-era composer) laying on my bed, staring at my bedroom ceiling. For the most part, I did just stare at the ceiling. That is, until I discovered that when I moved my arm, the light from my lamp cast the shadow of my movement on to the ceiling. I was intrigued. I continued for some time to be somewhat mesmerized that moving my arms in different ways created beautiful, fluid, and interesting shadowed silhouettes on the ceiling. The lyric-less music made the movements seem almost magical as they floated across the ceiling. I never realized how cool shadows really are. I've never slowed down to notice what a little light can do. I must admit, I am amazed.

So, yes. I wonder. Easily amused or profoundly grateful for the little things? Yes, and I think both are perfectly beautiful.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

You aren't going to find yourself here...

Do you ever think about something so long, that you wonder why you can't get a certain idea or thought out of your head? This one has been on my mind for the past few days.

 Mirrors. Personally, I always approach mirrors with extreme caution. It's almost as if I'm bracing myself against seeing something horrible. Yet, I always know who is going to be there when I actually do look at it. If I'm looking, I'm always there. Always have been, always will be. So then, why have I said so many times, "I don't even recognize the person who is staring back at me..."? Yet, I continue to stare...it's almost as if I'm trying to convince myself that one day, I'll actually see the the real me in that cheap piece of reflective glass. I think I have been wasting my time--and lots of it.

I started thinking, the only person I've ever looked at in a mirror is myself (for the most part), and I bet most people would say the same. We spend a lot of time looking in the mirror, but has anyone ever "found herself" (as in the self-actualized kind) by looking at her reflection?  I can't say that I've ever discovered anything profound about who I truly am by staring into a mirror. Staring into a mirror is for the most part, a solitary and quite lonely experience. I don't think I have ever realized how much of my "me-ness" is actually based on and even defined by the connections, interactions, words, feelings, experiences, and expressions that are far beyond what can be captured in that momentary, reflective glimpse offered by the mirror. A mirror will always only show me a one-dimensional picture this life.

Let's face it, the mirror's capabilities will never change, I can only expect so much from a piece of glass. If I want to discover (or explore) the other vast dimensions that comprise who I am, I have to turn around and quit looking at myself. It's time to look up and look out at who, and what is out there. That's where I am going to find the self that is inside the picture offered by that mirror. The mirror offers an incomplete and imperfect picture of who I am. A picture is good for some things, but not the whole story. What is my story? Where am I going to find the words for the story? Maybe they don't have to be words, maybe there are more pictures? Maybe there are more characters, more authors, more adventures, more something---

I posted a little sticky note above my mirror. "For further information about yourself, turn around. You won't find it here."
Corny? Perhaps, but for now, I think it works just fine.


Monday, April 1, 2013

Food Makes Me Feel Better...

Duh. We like pretend this isn't true.

Why is it not ok to talk about amazing things that we can do with food? Why is it taboo to say that we LOVE food, LOVE eating, or LOVE desserts etc.? Our whole society is scared to love food. Actually, I think most of us are just scared that anything that tastes good is bound to be "bad for us." Fuck that. (Sorry, that's the only thing that worked right there...) The only way it seems that someone can say that they LOVE food is if it's a known fact that he or she works out regularly or is just "naturally thin." It's not ok to say that you love food or eating unless you have a perfect body. Saying it without an ideal body seems to make people think (and then gossip), "maybe she shouldn't love eating and she could lose a little weight." Insert my previous expletive here. That's absolutely wrong.
Give me that funny, head-tilted look of confusion when I tell you that I love my German food, and I promise you, I won't keep quiet. Nope! I'm not a small person. I'm not skinny, I know that. And I don't want to be anymore, either! I wasn't happier OR healthier that way. I am healthy, and that's more than I can say I've been in a long, long, long time. I couldn't do 85% of what I LOVE doing right now when I was "skinny." No graduate school, no dancing, no yoga, no friends. Not to mention, I looked like I was dying, my hair fell out, my joints started degenerating, I passed out all the time, I couldn't think, I was depressed, and I could never sit down for more than 10 minutes at a time. Oh, but I was so normal. No thanks. I'm not willing to give up discovering the spirited, bright, quirky, and creative ambitious life I have right now. I'll learn to love the slightly bigger body I have now, thanks.

We're all convinced that we can only like food that is "good for us." NEWS FLASH: All food is good for us. If you hate food, or pretend to hate food you're going to miss out on so much of life that has NOTHING whatsoever to do with food. Somewhere along the line, we've tried to disconnect food from vitality and quality of life.

I realized this when I felt a sudden urge last week Friday to make a traditional German pastry "just because." I was feeling bored, and a little bummed. I didn't think it would turn into a teachable moment for me. As I finished baking and cleaning, I noticed that two of my roommates and I were just standing in the kitchen talking about life, funny dreams, and of course, food. I noticed that I was smiling and I was laughing. I was totally comfortable just having a conversation with two other people. Believe it or not, spontaneous conversations used to be off-limits for me. I was too uncomfortable and anxious about what to say. In explaining what I was making to my roommates, I thought about how it was baking that created that delightful moment of normalacy for me. An example of how capable I actually am to have normal conversations with people was brought to light through food. This was the first time I had baked anything in over 2 years.

Gratitude. Another lesson I've been taught by food. On the farm where I grew up, my dad is the neighborhood driveway snow-plower guy. When it snows, he gets up extra early (at about 4:30) to plow 3 extra driveways for neighbors (in addition to the 2 driveways that he has to plow). We aren't talking small 2-car driveways either. These are farm driveways. 2 of them are probably over 1/4 mile long each. Nonetheless, he does it anyway. He doesn't charge money, and doesn't really even expect anything in return. However, how have I always known my neighbors to show their gratitude? Food. So, naturally, I showed my appreciation for my roommates by baking one of the pastries for them! I can't tell you the sense of accomplishment I felt in hearing, "Mandi! This tastes really good! Thank you! That was so nice of you." And you bet I ate my fair share of the yummy, buttery, flakey pastry! (Friday AND yesterday)

Accomplishments, socialization, gratitude, lessons, life---all of this from baking a pastry! The pastry is long gone, but what I learned will be around forever.



Peace!

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Am I as Good as Myself?

Stand Still, Look Pretty
--The Wreckers--2006
I want to paint my face
And pretend that I am someone else
Sometimes I get so fed up
I don't even want to look at myself

But people have problems that are worse than mine
I don't want you to think I'm complaining all the time
And I hate the way you look at me
I have to say
I wish I could start over

I am slowly falling apart
I wish you'd take a walk in my shoes for a start
And you might think it's easy being me
You just stand still, look pretty

Sometimes I find myself shaking
In the middle of the night
And then it hits me and I can't
Even believe this is my life

Ever felt this way? Yeah. Thought so. 
Now, turn it around--how many times are you guilty of looking straight passed someone else's mask, wished you were her (or him), and began feeling sorry for yourself? I'd be lying if I said that I haven't.

I can't tell you how many times I've compared myself to every other woman in the grocery store, the workplace, the gym, and let's be honest, even in my own family. I've always wanted to be my sister. So many times, we waste precious, beautiful moments, hours, days, years--some of us our whole lifetimes, in comparison. When we strive so hard to change the beautiful things that make us unique we usually have an image of someone else in our minds as the goal toward which we are striving. We want to look like so-and-so, or wish we could be like what's-her-name, or some variation of those people. How do you know they're not lying awake at night hating their life, sobbing bitter tears of regret over an unfulfilled life? You're right, you don't. 

When we stop comparing and judging ourselves against someone else whom we have chosen for our standard of measurement for beauty, popularity, success, etc. there isn't the debilitating pressure to "act as if." Being true to ourselves gives others permission to do the same. Think about it... We know when we have to "live up" to what others expect of us, we feel like a failure if we aren't living up to what others expect of us and we are pressured to fake it. We fake it, and fake it some more, and pretty soon we're staring at someone in the mirror at someone we don't know. By that time it's too late. "What if they find out that I'm really not this perfect? They all look up to me," etc. runs through our minds as we lie awake at night wondering how life got this messy. Life is woven together in funny ways like this. Our comparisons create the pressure that crushes us. 

It starts inside. One of the wisest things I've ever heard is this:
"The only person to whom it is worth comparing myself is myself. I only have to be as good as, better than, or just like myself." 

Amazingly, the feeling that comes from the permission to be myself has made me relate to the last verse of the song in the most wonderful way.

Sometimes I find myself shaking
In the middle of the night
And then it hits me and I can't
Even believe this is my life
 
As cheesy as it sounds, as I've learned to accept, love, and discover my true colors, I actually have laid awake at night with a joyful uncertainty that wonders, "is this really real life? Can this be MY life?" The answer: yes.

Monday, March 25, 2013

525,600 minutes


Wondering what's with the photo? This could be any blonde, frizzy-haired little kid who is smiling with with the eyes-squinted, cheesy smile that takes up her whole face. But it isn't just any cute little girl, it's me. I was 5, and this was my first day of kindergarten: August 27, 1990. I was so excited to go to school. That hasn't changed a bit. I could probably take a picture like this on EVERY first day of school!
This is my famous," I'm-so- happy-my-eyes-get-squinty-when-I smile" feeling! My dad has it too. That's why my dad has to be serious in pictures...because if he's happy, he can't keep his eyes open! Neither can I.
Oh, and in case you're wondering about the title, and what it has to do with anything--well, really nothing. I just found it interesting that there are 525,600 minutes in a year...

How many of those 525,600 minutes will I waste this year? Ok, probably quite a few of them. My German grandparents used to love telling me, "Mandi! Quit your 'keeter-putting' and get to work!" Keeter-putt was something that they called someone who we'd call a "slow-poke" or someone who is ALWAYS behind because they get distracted by this, that, and the other thing and can't get anything accomplished. I have perfected the art of Keeter-putt. My outlook on it has changed, though. I'm not wasting time, I'm using it wisely to notice and appreciate details. I'm done wasting time on the things that may or may not happen. All I have is today, and I'm going to appreciate what I have. I have everything I need, and more. It's easier to get through life this way.

No, I don't have an easy life, or nothing to worry about. And no, I'm not ignoring things that need to be done like paying bills or taking care of my health. I allow myself to worry, but because I know that I do struggle with anxiety, I know that I could worry all day! (I've done it before, and lost whole days, paralyzed in fear of doing something wrong) It takes practice, but I literally set a timer for 20 minutes everyday with a notebook and allow myself to worry as much as I can for 20 minutes. I write down what I need to. When 20 minutes is up, I close the notebook and turn on my favorite Pandora station, which is usually something bouncy and catchy. I focus on how much music makes me happy, and pretty soon I'm usually smiling, dancing around my room like an idiot, or even singing (like an even bigger idiot!). When the anxious bubbles in my belly are gone and my shoulders aren't tucked behind my ears anymore from my worry session, I get on with my day. I wasted a lot of those 525,600 minutes in a year in worrying about EVERYTHING for years and years. I'd rather have more moments of goofy, squinty-eyed smiling than of that anxiety. Maybe this year I can keep the worrying down to 7,300 minutes this year? (That's 20 minutes x 365 days--in case you wondered :) )

No, I'm not delusional in thinking that we can always feel happy. Life doesn't work like that. But remember, FEELING does not equal BEING. Feelings don't last forever. Who we are, our character and who we are to others is our BEING! Beings can have feelings, without identifying with them. For me, as my true self, is that of being happy. I don't always feel it, and sometimes I feel downright awful, cranky, sad, or hurt, but deep inside is a relatively unchanging little glow of happy. The happiness that comes from being grateful for my life, just as it is--mistakes, flaws and all.