Food for Thought (Organic)

Brussels sprouts? Gross. Or at least that’s what I used to think. I don’t know why I thought that though because I have no memory of ever trying them. They look like baby cabbages, and who likes cabbage? Not this girl. And, I mean, I’m all about babies, just not eating them. I guess I didn’t really know much about Brussels sprouts. Like, I never knew it was spelled Brussels sprouts. I thought it was brussel sprouts. Spelling has never been my strong suit.

You know what is my strong suit though? Cereal. It’s what’s for dinner. Or what would be for dinner, every night, if it was allowed. I have a secret love affair with cereal. Any cereal will do but if you really must know, I’m all about the Fruit Loops. The smell. The taste. Just thinking about them makes me smile. I am a grown ass adult, in a serious relationship, with Fruit Loops.

It has been brought to my attention, however, that “everything goes better with kale”. Actually, it’s a bumper sticker. On my fiancé’s car. Whose name is Kayle. I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in. Much like Brussels sprouts, who knew it could actually taste good? I once asked my fiancé if he thought it was ironic that kale likes to be massaged. I asked him that as I was elbow deep in a giant bowl of kale and avocado oil. He was as amused with me as I am with his bumper sticker.

The fiancé is a big proponent of all things organic (including kale and Brussels sprouts, but I’m 99% sure it’s not possible with Fruit Loops). Organic is not just good for your greens though. I am a control freak. When I want something to happen, I need it to happen in a certain way and in a certain time; that time usually being right now. “Patience is a virtue”, my mom would always say. “Yes. A virtue I do not have”, I would reply with as much adolescent vigor as I could muster. What happens when you let go, when you allow, when things are given the space to unfold naturally? Those things are strong. Those things stay. They are the things that take root and remain. They flourish and give way to more; they multiply, they affect. That has been a hard lesson for me to learn, but I have seen the fruits of that labor and have become more and more convinced that organic is the way to go.

 

 

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Dedication sucks. Until it doesn't.

30 days and 30 nights.

Or just 30 minutes. It seems as long sometimes.

 
When I’m half asleep and don’t have words.
 
When I’d rather just Instagram a photo of me writing than actually write.

When I’ve left the warmth of a comfortable bed for a cold hard chair at the table.

When I lace up my running shoes and pretend to be a runner.

When my neighborhood is more incline than I realized.

They say many things about time.

It goes by faster than you think. It’s on your side. Time flies.

Dedication sucks. Until it doesn’t.

Until it really does feel like time has flown by. Like time is on your side.

When you look back and realize how far you have come.

When you see that where you are right now would never have happened

without those 30 minutes.

“In just 30 minutes a day, you can change your life forever!”

Infomercial magic.

What if it’s true?

What would happen if you dedicated 30 minutes a day to something? Anything.

30 minutes doesn’t seem very long. If it doesn’t work, nothing is wasted,

30 minutes compounded over time is a mountain. Substantial.

The minutes turn into days and nights. Weeks and months. Years.  

A life time.

 

* * *

Clearing out the fodder.

Sunday, the day of rest. Or the day of cleaning house, grocery shopping and prepping for the week ahead – as it has come to be in my house. Part of me enjoys the process of getting ready; cleaning, organizing, feeling prepared. The other part of me begs to rest and let someone else do the chores. I know somewhere in there is a happy medium. Balance in all things.

I have so many goals; health goals, writing goals, workout goals, life goals, etc. I continuously question if it’s too much. Then I ask myself “Am I enjoying each of these things?” and “Do I remember why I set out on this particular journey in the beginning? Is that still serving me?”

As important as it is for me to remember why I do these things, it is also important to ask if I am doing them with ease, or if there is a better way, a way that feels less cumbersome or burdensome. Is there a way for me to continue pursuing all of my goals that feels natural, organic, even fun?

Writing can seem arduous. What starts as a passion becomes a task with boundaries and rules and requirements. When I remove that, when I allow for free form, I am able to re-connect with my heart, which is apparently where I store all of my words. When I create space to clear out the fodder, everything opens up again; there’s a new sense of life and grace in the movement.

I can say the same for each of my goals. When things start to feel rigid or forced, I take a step back and give it room to breathe; take a day off that vegetarian menu, do a completely new workout or none at all, write a bunch of words on the page that make no sense, yell and scream into the void until I feel heard and can let it go. Maybe that is what rest looks like for me.

And so here I sit… with the bathroom cleaned, dishes washed, floors vacuumed and meals half prepped, thinking about all I’m setting out to do this week. How can I do it with more ease? Can I flip it on its head and see things from a totally fresh perspective? Can the Dodgers pull off this win, down three in the top of the 8^th? (Maybe I should turn the TV off during my writing sessions.)

All of the questions give birth to more questions and I have to real myself back in, remembering that I’m trying to create space here. At some point I allow everything to be just what it is, so that I can breathe and let it go. I’ll start a new day tomorrow, cleared of all this jargon and mess, with a rested spirit and goals to conquer.

 

 

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Writing Challenge. Day 6.

This writing challenge is going well. I mean, the perfectionist in me says it’s not. I haven’t written every single day, but most days. One or two of those days, my writing session was under 30 minutes. I haven’t written “post worthy” (let alone submission worthy) material every day but I have written. I keep telling myself that’s what matters. A writer friend kindly reminded me that it doesn’t have to be War and Peace every day.

I’m learning that writing about things that interest me is the only way to get words on the page with ease. I am fully capable of writing about things that don’t interest me. I’ve done it before and actually got paid for it (sort of). But it wasn’t enjoyable and turned writing into something I began to dread. I don’t ever want that to happen.

My fear is that if I am ever able to write for a living, it will become more work than play and I’ll end up loathing it. Then again, there are those people (few, rare people) who love what they do and say they feel like they never have to work a day in their lives. How does one get to that point? How do you keep loving what you do from becoming work?

When I think about the things I love, things I’m passionate about, that I could write forever about, I think of things like yoga and writing and reading and the inner workings of my heart and mind and how that’s connected and comes into play with my relationships with other people. That’s some fascinating stuff. I am just narcissistic enough to think people would want to read it.  I’m also just insecure enough to fear that they won’t. It’s in that place where I sit, torn, paralyzed.

So I remind myself that it’s all about just showing up, every day. And I gently remove the pressure of having to write War and Peace every morning. Just show up, see what happens.

 

 

* * *

I love me a funny woman.

When I grow up, I want to be like The Bloggess. Yeah, you heard (err, read) that right. The Bloggess.

I don’t know if I like her so much because (a) she’s a badass, hilarious writer or (b) she got away with calling herself the Bloggess or (c) she has just as much of a twisted sense of humor as I do.

She basically writes about herself and the daily ins and outs of her life. But she does it with a funny, no shits given kind of way that makes you snort when you laugh. She also uses a lot of profanity, which I love. She writes like she doesn’t give a fuck what you think. #lifegoals

Blogging is such a great phenomenon and she’s used it as a creative avenue for publishing two books, both as funny as her funniest blog (mostly because it’s kind of comprised of her blog posts). She’s gotten the kind of success that makes me think I can just email my blog link to a publisher and they’d go ape shit over the amount of amazing material they now have to publish.

I love it when other people let their guard down and show off their crazy. It makes me feel not so demented, although I know I am. Anyone with this kind of morbid sense of humor gets my vote every time. It’s also encouraging to know that when I wave my freak flag high, it won’t be the only one up there. And so I publish profane, funny, strange little articles in solidarity.

Anyway, she’s fantastic and you can find her online here: www.thebloggess.com.

 

* * *

Good Morning

I have never been a morning person. For most of my adult life I have let that make me feel guilty, like somehow it makes me lazy to not enjoy the pre-dawn hours and running five miles before the neighborhood wakes up. Then I realized, if the neighborhood isn’t even awake yet, why do I feel like I need to be? Because all the self-help articles say that the most successful people are morning people. Are they though? And does that, by default, mean I’m not successful?

Regardless.

I hate to admit it, but I do feel better throughout the rest of my day when I have gotten up a bit early and done something, anything really. Get up and have breakfast, or read a book, or workout, or write, or just sit quietly and watch the sun rise. There is something to be said for rising early and putting the time in.

There are some mornings my mind and body, my soul, just need to rest though. And I have come to the conclusion that it’s okay. It is okay to listen to yourself, to trust yourself, and to take care of yourself without the internal judgements of being selfish or lazy. We all need rest. We all need down time. Things will still get done.

It’s all about balance. I think sometimes we swing so far one way out of a fear that we might end up going too far the opposite direction. We can’t miss a single workout day because we might end up a sloth on the couch binging on potato chips and ice cream until we can’t move any more.

But extreme is extreme is extreme. And we all need to recover. Even it out a little, let go a bit, lighten up and let things work themselves out. That’s scary to a control freak like me. I’m not good at loosening my grip, much less going easy on myself. But when I am, when I do manage to find ease and trust that things will unfold as they need to, it’s so much nicer than white knuckling my way through the day.

So maybe it wouldn’t totally kill my spirit to get up a little earlier each day or hit the snooze button one less time. It also won’t ruin my life to sleep in when I need to and allow myself extra rest. I’m slowly learning the fine art of listening to myself while simultaneously silencing my biggest critic: me.

 

 * * *

The Hangover. Not just a movie title.

I’m not 25 anymore. My body likes to remind me of that, especially on mornings after I’ve gone out and had a few too many drinks the night before. My head throbs, my stomach is sloshing around and I find myself actually swaying. I start asking ridiculous questions, like, was I on a boat last night? Did we party on a mother fucking boat? Because I feel like I’m still on a boat.

I start to research the quickest way to cure a hangover, as if I don’t already know that answer is Mc Donald’s. I always think I’m going to find some crazy concoction I’ve never heard of before and it’s just going to wipe away all the bad things. You know, hit clear on the old internal hard drive of past poor decisions.

If and when I do get out of bed the next day, the house is just one giant crime scene and I become the great detective as I walk through, assessing the damage. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to the couch, shoes in the hallway, a five dollar bill and a book of matches on the counter. I don’t even want to discuss what was found in the kitchen sink. The front door was only partially locked but I commend myself on at least getting it closed this time.

I attempt to sort things out and put stuff away but just end up curled in the fetal position on the couch, clutching the Netflix remote, hoping it can take me to a better place. I start to wonder who I can talk to about making Mc Donald’s deliver. And I wonder why the hell no one has thought of that by now. Surely I’m not the only one who has found the hangover cure on their breakfast menu. From the looks of people in their drive through on Sunday mornings, I know I’m not alone. Those sunglasses don’t fool anyone, lady. It’s fucking raining.

I start to make all sorts of promises to myself about the future but I know it’s all in vain. I remind myself that Netflix and Mc Griddle sandwiches will always be there for me, and I take solace. Like everything else as you get older, fun is expensive and you don’t always pay monetarily. It is what it is, they say. And you only live once.

 

 

 

* * * 

Empowered.

Remember all the funny things you used to write in your friend’s little grade school year books?

 

K.I.T.

Keep in touch.

Stay cool.

BFF’s 4 Life.

Have a cool summer.

 

Everyone had that crazy feeling like we may never see each other again. And that if we did, everything could be monumentally different. We had an entire summer to get through without each other. An entire summer.

 

Somehow we went from eternally long summers to years flashing by in a blink of an eye.

 

And now? What’s in a year? 365 days that, although might go by slowly when you’re in each one of them, collectively go unnoticed until you unexpectedly reach a mile marker and look back in disbelief.

 

That seems to have happened to me a few times recently. I just wrote our rent check for April 1, 2016 and realized that it was a year ago today we moved into this wondrous little lake house. It literally feels like it was yesterday. (I have been saying that a lot, too.) I had spent a great deal of time packing up and labeling boxes before I went off to California on vacation. Meanwhile, the fiancé started moving our stuff into the new house, about 10 miles away. (I know, you’re thinking “Wow, how convenient that you went on vacay while the fiancé stayed home to do all the heavy lifting.” No. My OCD was off the charts and I got back in time for the heaviest of lifting, which I watched the fiancé and our friend do. But I paid for it months later when I ate it while carrying a BBQ up the concrete stairs. It all came back around, don’t worry.)

I also realized that it’s been just over a year since I completed the 30 days of Yoga program with Yoga with Adriene. I had been into yoga here and there prior to that, but it was those 30 days that paved the way for my daily practice. I was shocked to realize it was only a year because I feel like I have come so far, learned so much and uncovered so much more that still needs to be learned, within myself and in the physical practice. I would have guessed at least two, if not three, years had gone by, maybe more. I guess that’s the nature of time these days.

 

As I was reflecting on how quickly time goes by and how a simple 30 days can seemingly morph into a year, I decided to embrace it. I joined an online writing group and today marks day 1 of my 30 days of writing challenge. I like to keep things simple and I get easily overwhelmed (and quit) when things get overly complicated and stressful. So, there is only one rule to this challenge; write for 30 minutes a day. The idea is to just show up and see what happens. It’s the mindset I took on that 30 days of yoga and it’s a mindset I’m working on settling into for life.

 

Just show up.

 

See what happens.

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