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!)

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.

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.

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.

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

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.)