New projects, old projects

In my work, there's a concept (that I never say out loud to them, lest they find it to woo woo) called kaizen. It's the Japanese manufacturing performance improvement concept of constant, tiny adjustments. Or something like that. It's also, as far as I can figure, the meaning of life.

I don't really hide the woo woo very well. I do try to refrain from yelling KAIZEN at meaningful intervals, but I think you only have to glance at me to see the woo woo. Or, you know, a quick google search. Because here is the list of tiny adjustments I'm working on, and some updates to the old projects.

Woo1.
I'm working on self-acceptance, based on this Martha Beck article in Oprah. WOOOOO. Yep, I just typed that out. I mashed it into the Happiness Project checklist, and every day I update my status of self-acceptance, love, value and esteem. Good lord, that sounds crazy, but I swear to you it's very useful, calming and effective. I've been at it two months. It's like an economy journal, in that I only have to write 4 words if I want.

Woo2.
I have been eating lots and lots of fiber, on the advice of Full Plate Living. After flaming out in the workplace weigh loss challenge, (the team leader emailed out our totals - I was the last on the list, at 3.2 lbs or something), I decided to do something for myself, and do it my way.

It kind of started with The Sugar Experiment. The experiment was going quite well. I moved the candy out of my desk, put fruit in my own plain yogurt, actually measured the maple syrup for my oatmeal. But it wasn't magic. I needed to add more oomph to my plan.

Enter the Full Plate Living plan. It's so simple - add fiber to your meals, eat what you like. And it's not like "add fiber powder" - it's real, whole foods. Just last week I figured out a key piece - fiber in itself is good, but fiber suspended in water (you know, like oatmeal, fruit, soup, etc.) is best. I look forward to slowly shrinking.

Woo3.
I'm done with the apple cider vinegar, and now I'm brewing kombucha. Ironically, the last batch, when mixed with apple juice, tastes exactly like apple cider vinegar. Go figure.

I do find it incredibly amusing to brew (aka, ferment) this tea. There's a crazy mother on my counter! I love the word symbiotic anyway, and the brewing is all done through the SCOBY (symbiotic combination of bacteria and yeast).

And if you're looking for results, I have stopped taking the acid reflux medicine. Woo hoo!

What are you up to?

She aint heavy, she's my mother

If you want to tie up all my neuroses, struggles, issues, and pathos into one tassel, it's probably my mother. I am sure most women feel the something like this to varying degrees. A lot of the things I do, I do for my mom, just as there are things I don't do, because of my mom.

(When I initially posted, I forgot to note that my mother died when I was 21 years old. She had multiple myeloma, which is not a kind cancer like mine, and because I was young and somewhat immature, things were not said before it was too late.)

For example: Belly dancing is for my mom. Actually, probably all dancing is for my mother. She was a very private, hidden-in-her body person. I feel her body-horror like a wall of flames, and walk through it. My childhood obsession with ballerinas she could not feed into. You're not built like a ballerina, she told me (although she denied that she meant I was too heavy). And she was right, I am not built like a ballerina.

Which is why it felt so rebellious 4 years ago to sign up for a belly dance class. And that class was fun! Grown women, risking ridicule (for trying something new) and shame (of not being good enough) but earning sparkles and grace instead, dancing together. As I continued with Joette at the West Michigan School of Middle Eastern Dance, group performance opportunities became available. What would Mom think? Oh well, here goes!

I dance because Mom could not, did not, but would have loved seeing me do it. Oh sure, she would have fretted about whether it was proper, or if it would damage my professional prospects, or if good girls use spray glitter. But I think she would have been thrilled to see me conquer fears she could not.

I've been a mess all day because it's Mother's Day. Lots of feeling sorry for myself, moping, posted a pathetic status update, went to the mall and the grocery store for some "retail therapy". I suppose it worked because what I eventually came to realize is that I don't have to do things to shock or impress my mother any more. I can do it for myself. And so I must.

P.S. Mom, that means I can also get a tattoo (something I don't do because of my mom). I don't have any ideas right now, but remember it doesn't mean that I don't love you. 

How to get a bikini body:

Put a bikini on your body.

I vaguely remember reading something like this on Jezebel, but when I search, I can't find it. I really want to give the creator credit, because it's brilliant, and true, and I've been thinking about these things a lot lately. I most recently read it as a photo clip of a facebook status of "someone" called Inner Subversion, and reposted by Photos of a Rabid Feminist. So, thanks, ladies. You've found a way to make me a million dollars.

It's MY bikini body plan. This million dollar value I will foolishly share with you for free. It's mostly a list of things you should NOT do, based on my own personal experience. And boy, do I have experience! As an (1) American (2) female (3) living in the Midwest who has read (4) 30 years of women's magazines containing (5) psuedo-scientific nutrition articles, I am unsingularly qualified to lead you on the path to the beach. So, before we chicken out and put our t-shirts back on, let's get started!

1. Do not join the workplace weight loss challenge. Your coworkers will lose weight differently than you, and you should not try to compete with them, even if there's a lot of money involved and you think you can win. (This was not my experience, actually. I did join, but I kind of secretly already knew that I am the slowest loser in the world and this was not my race to "win".)

But otherwise, kind of an awful experience. I've never been one to worship / fear the scale. It's a measurement, but only one and one of many, plus an invisible one to boot. Although the challenge was being run by the hospital, there was a great variety in the ability of the staff performing the weigh in to project shame. Who needs more shame in their life?

It seemed fun at first to be surrounded by "supportive" co-workers. But as those who lost a lot became the "experts", those who weren't doing as well (that would be me) lost the "support". Support came to mean peer pressure. In the end, I can't control the scale. The low-hanging fruit has already been sliced and mixed into my oatmeal. I quit drinking soda pop, diet and regular, at least 4 years ago. I might have lost the same pound 5 times during the last 8 weeks, which at least counted for my team because the point system didn't punish for gains, just rewarded for losses. So, the same on the scale, battered and bruised and smarter otherwise. Never again.

2. Do not follow someone else's plan. Counter-intuitive! And that means you can ignore this advice, if it doesn't work for you. But I am a rebel, and I'll never ever be understood. Or something like that.

Or maybe I'm more of a mash-up artist. I like to use the Nerd Fitness approach, with some Martha Beck Four Day Win, while pretending I'm as cute as Sarah Jenks. But here is the key - the only plan I paid money to use is the Martha Beck book, which I just happened to find at Goodwill. (Try the library! Rebellion is free!)

I really think I am the expert on how my own body works. But I'm not a doctor, or a psychic, or a behavioral psychologist, or even a new-age health guru. And being an expert in my own body took time (aging, whatever) and experimentation. It did not take cold hard cash, soft furry bills, or invisible credit card charges.

3. Do not look at pictures for inspiration. Or at least not THOSE pictures.

Now, this could take some cash, but you should go to a belly dance show instead. Because I am going to guess that what freaks you out about the bikini is your belly. I don't personally know any humans who   will confess to loving their belly. But all bellies (just like all babies!) are lovable.

If you go to the belly dance show, you may see that flat bellies are boring. Ribs are depressing. Even women who spend all of their time focusing on their "abs" do not have "abs" like that. And when you do achieve the belly that will get you on the cover of Sports Illustrated, you may only have that belly for a day or a year. Bellies change. Which is amazing!

My favorite, Mardi Love:

4. Don't worry about bikinis and the beach. There's a million kind of swimsuits.

Seriously, if it got me in Lake Michigan on a beautiful summer afternoon, I would wear a 1920 bathing costume. I find that once I get to the beach, I have forgotten about what I look like. Sand, sun, waves is what it's all about. Maybe some cherries in the cooler, La Croix sparkling water (I think lime would be good with the cherries!), People magazine or a good paperback. Don't let the umbrella blow away. I'm there already.

Am I going to wear a bikini on the beach? Not this year. I have scars I'm trying to protect from sunlight. Doctor's orders!

I am signed up to wear the equivalent of a bikini top in public while dancing at the Greek Festival this year, so you can't say that I'm truly chickening out.

So really, it boils down to this: To get a bikini body, put a bikini on your body. Can it get any simpler?

5 things I'm having trouble putting into words

1. I really thought I would be able to more expressive with the right tools. But you still have to have the thoughts in your head, I suppose! I'm not Seth Godin, darn it. I don't feel like all my thoughts are simplistic, and yet, I can't seem to go on and on and on and maintain even my own attention. Are we losing the ability to read anything longer than 5 points? Or is it just that I can't think of anything more layered than 5?

2. Empathy exercises, right here. Seriously, I love this idea. Can I offer free memberships at the Empathy Gym?

3. Workouts. The plan is dancing 3 times a week, some push ups sometimes, lots of walks and short runs. Only fun stuff. I hope to bring a similar approach to eating, because it's been my experience that forcing things and struggle only make things worse.

4. The Community. My fantastic group of ladies was discussing the concept of the Community. (Well, it might have started with gossip, but it ended up with goodness.) We have responsibilities to ourselves to help when we see a member of the Community in trouble. I'm not really sure what all the guidelines are yet, but that's the kind of place I want to live.

5. In the spirit of taking it easy and avoiding struggle, I am DONE with the Real Housewives. You probably didn't know I was into it, and I was in denial that I was paying that attention to it. I thought I was just mindlessly killing some time. But even televised, staged drama is too much for me these days. Less mindless, less killing time. 

Be kind, everyone.

The Boston Marathon bombs have only made it more clear to me - empathy is the most human  impulse. I had a entire screed written about the Real Housewives, but it seems petty now.

It's not that I want to feel empathy for the bomber, whoever that turns out to be. I'm more startled by the reactions of people I see every day. I walked away from a co-worker discussion about the torture methods they would like to use on the suspect. Sadly, they were discussing a certain rumored suspect that has not been charged.

It's not that I'm Pollyanna (well, except that sometimes I am) but I just don't see the point in fantasizing about torture. Of anyone. That's also why I don't get capital punishment, or "closure".

I can't speak with any authority that the good ones outnumber the bad ones, or helpers, or anything reassuring. I can only resolve to see another point of view and listen. I hope that we'll remember to be gentle with each other, and remember that we are all one. 

Real cancer

See, it is a real cancer. Roger Ebert's illness began with the thyroid, spread to the salivary glands, jaw reconstruction, the loss of his voice, etc.

Just this week, I had a follow up appointment with my endocrinologist, which felt kind of anticlimactic because there was no need to drive to Grand Rapids for some neck palpitation and bloodwork, and yet that's what they scheduled for me. I still bought my annual Anthropologie treat, a red/blue micro striped jacket with a pleated peplum and awesome yellow seam tape on the inside.

I love what Ebert said about technology. That just 20 years earlier, cancer would have really silenced him, but now there are technologies that can allow communication and expression to continue. And that's so amazing and encouraging.

So that's what we'll keep doing. All of us. I am also encouraged by the concept of having a point of view and supporting its even when "everyone" disagrees. Someone posted a clip of his review of Blue Velvet. If you're "cool", you're supposed to love this movie. Honestly, I haven't seen that movie since I was maybe 20 years old, so I can't really say if the current me would love it or not. But Roger gave it a thumbs down because it humiliated Isabella Rossellini for comic effect. Although that is obviously arguable, I LOVE that. (I vaguely remember agreeing with Gene Siskel more frequently, which is kind of interesting in retrospect also.)

But, it's Saturday. I am not yet dressed. No one will be bringing home groceries for me. I won't lean back in a precarious office chair, watching a tiny television with my dad in a filthy "den", noting the movies I will never see because they won't play in a smallish college town like this. Everything is different and the same.

The technology means I am typing with my finger on a tiny screen. I still won't see any movies on a big screen in this town, only if I remember to watch them on some other device. Some sort of opinion collation website will inform "everyone" as to what movie to consider "good". My chairs are more comfortable these days, and I clean more frequently. And it goes on. As it must.

5 signs that things are turning around

1. So the loss of my notebooks means that I got to start a new one. I purchased a lovely pink Leuchtturm1917 notebook. Instead of "catching up" the imaginary future reader on all the recent tribulations, I wrote about the desired future. And that has made all the difference.

2. The bucket on Gull Road has been disappeared. There has been a food service style white plastic bucket in the gutter at Gull Road and Harrison since December or January. I observed it every day on my way home from work every day. It had been moved to the park for a while, but yesterday it had either blown or been moved back to the gutter. Today, gone.

3. Yes, I could have picked up the bucket myself. It's just one of those things you don't fully realize until it's over. The bucket was a symbol of the status quo? I was never good at symbolism.

4. Spring is coming.

5. The 5th sign is that I am enjoying the optimistic viewpoint, maybe more than I should. But who wants Gloomy Gus at the party? We kicked that guy out. We will go forward, with flower wreaths. Or whatever we can find.