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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.

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.

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

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.

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.