Trying To Be More Healthy!

On my way, I've been following a list of cool new blogs about running and NOURISHMENT...I am ordering some You Bars and Amazing Meal because of them...check them out
http://fortheloveofhealth.wordpress.com/about/
http://eatliverun.com/
http://balanceisbest.wordpress.com/

Task # 70

“30 Year Old Women don’t sit around working on puzzles,” the first few words were stressed, with a slight upturned “not when they should be out there trying to find a husband.” While her statement could be verified in a certain light, I also didn’t see a lot of puzzle passion sweeping across any US demographic, save for the slobbered, bulky shaped puzzles that are gifted to Einstein toddlers. People just don’t have the inclination to clear offexpansive flat areas in their homes for such a feat. They don’t seek out opportunities to dismantle tiny pieces in order to merely put them back together again. Adult life has enough of such serious, oftenfrustrating, business. But the times when I do get swept up in popular hobbies, don’t always deliver on their promises. In fact, they often ended in disaster, despite their reputation (one word: perms…the fear should be revered).
I am not a patient person. I do not tend to notice details. I do not like stopping at GO to collect my prize. But I had never put together a puzzle before, and this appeared to beas good a time as any to resolve such a horrific hobby deprivation. Not puzzle making was akin to being robbed of the throng of a plastictube circling around one’s pliant middle or the exhilaration ofjumping through orbiting strings while one skipped musically.
There was no planning beyond the goal: complete a puzzle. The 1000 piece pattern did not overstimulate. I didn’t cherish the pattern. It merely was “there,” but not in a distracting sort of way. I purchased it figuring completion would take a long weekend. That bubble burst when I ferreted out the border pieces that first Saturday morning (3 months ago!), expiring hours as the pieces grew and the simmering border proliferated larger and larger, demanding more and more surfacearea. Who knew tiny pieces would mass together to occupy such significant space?My method was haphazard—rooting through the box first for edge piecesand then sorting them into somewhat similar colors. Frequent distractions (such as, “I think I saw that piece over there’) impaired my intuition to establish some kind of technique. I often shoved pieces together in desperate attempt for connection in those earlystages because just turning pieces over didn’t satisfy enough. Aftermore than a days work, the enormity of the task dandruffed plans for a quick completion.

This was going to take longer than I expected.

The process of puzzle making demands release of a checklist mentality. Moments of satisfaction glowed when an expected connection occurred,when my fingers upturned a piece randomly and its unintentional orientation triggered instant adherence. Futile efforts wasted time by my narrow focus, my forced precision often impairing progress. Whenthose little cardboard units audibly clicked, my right forearm wouldshoot up in celebration. Who knew making connections warranted such physical recognition? Within this process, I uncovered unknown reservoirs of faith. Not just with being okay with not feeling like I was making progress, but trusting the effort as valuable nonetheless. The puzzle underlines the ageless wisdom that the journey IS the destination. And the chaos of the unexpected way refines direction. In an age where out sugar-rush hobbies promise immediate gratification, in a time where we are all in a hurry to produce something of tangible worth, this 30 year old single woman found asimple pastime that feed more than a desire to be entertained. In puzzlemaking, connection is the key. It nourishes engagement---literally. And isn’t that what husband-seeking is all about?

I think I sense a new fad coming on here…

Task #21

Pay off one of my student loans~Achievement!

I paid off my private loan from my Harvard master’s! How awesome is that? For all of us overeducated ladies out there, who pride ourselves on our formal learning accomplishments, this goal signifies a validation of some sort...that I am a woman that honors my debts. Month after month of putting away extra chunks here, of cutting back on cable there, of not going out to eat or analyzing whether a movie was worth $10, I am now out of the high interest rate loan I had to take in order to enroll in the program.

. I had full scholarships for my undergrad, and thus wasn’t upset about taking loans for the master’s…but the federal loans didn’t cover all of the costs. When I decided to go to Harvard, I was very distressed that my parents couldn’t help me financially…so, I took a personal education loan at a 8% interest rate…

Of all the loans I’ve taken to complete the PhD and other masters’, this loan is the most sentimental. The loan served as a token that I am supremely blessed to be born a woman at this time in history, in this country, to obtain multiple higher degrees and be trusted that I will “pay” it back both economically and socially. But since I did it on my own, it signifies that I am capable and quite competent, to find the resources necessary to meet my goals. And PAY them back WITH INTEREST.

I might not be able to meet all of my needs, all of the time…because there will always be wanting, the bitterness always tangible….

What I take, I give back….and I give back leaving more than I took….

Ah, what a life well lived.

Task #20

20. Buy 20 dollars worth of flowers and give them away to complete strangers

I have been visiting my hometown this past week and seized the opportunity to hang out with my oldest friend and her new young daughter. I've known her more than 15 years, and when I am with her, am amazed at how we grow and change (she's got nursing "assets!") and how we stay the same (she still despises her hair). I love the fact that I am my most comfortable self around her, goofy, but sharp and witty, and not having to prove myself to her. Thus is the magic of a long, shared and seasoned history.

When she asked what I wanted to do, I came up with this task.

She was hesitant. "People will think we're weird."

"So what?" I explained it was about our intention, our energy, not their responses.

So I bought $20 of Gerby Daisys and purpley blooms and arranged them into 6 different bouquets with lables like "Wishing you Laughter," "May you feel hopeful," and we walked up and down a local outdoor shopping area trying to find people to leave them with.

Some blustered in guardedness (a new mom in a stroller), others in shyness (a pimply faced 16 year old boy selling hot dogs) and some in delight ("A co-worker walked out this morning, are you serious?).

The point remains: people can be surprisely closed off to receiving love, to the opportunity to be touched. And yet, a tiny bit of persistence chips away at that wall, and pushes beyond our comfort zone, to confirm "we matter to each other."

Perhaps the boy tossed those blazing pink sunbeams. But maybe he didn't. Maybe this morning he is waking up to them, feeling a little bit more pleased with himself.

I certainly am!

Do you talk to strangers?

Playing Dress Up (#85) & Drink Pink Champagne (#37)

I played dress up for the for the first time this week while drinking pink champagne. There were no formal costumes, and the bubbly really hued a deep merlot…but after you’re thirty, colors start bleeding and you’re already avoiding the lighting and cumbersomeness of dressing rooms. The combination, like Fun Dip and Road Trips as a child, sent my inhibitions into a tizzy. My senses perked awake, and the burden of perpetuating my normal practical approach to my appearance evaporated. I wasn’t myself. No, I was Bubbly…hyper…ready to get somewhere…excited about what energy I might bring to the destination. I wanted to be seen. It wasn’t as if my choice on the outfit involved deliberate selection. What I was out to do was to generating a feeling of upending my typical calculation White wig, a shirt long enough to function as a dress, but short enough for people to wander (is that a dress or a?) some black knee boats, and a mood that floated. That sparkled. That did not doubt or question or leave room for other’s opinions to stamp it with approval. Here’s the thing, when I put on that wig, the spunky, confident, I don’t-give-a-fig-what-you-think-cause-I-know-I-am-hot K emerged. The kind that doesn’t rely on being noticed in order to sense her inherent worthiness. More on this theme later: the trap of getting noticed. For now, I remember that wig, that champagne, as a fond celebration of all the Ks that have been---that critter who always forgot to pee before beginning the road trip---and is, the professional who smirks imaging that the wig might come in handy to facilitate other tasks on my list: ask a guy out on a date, make a toast in a bar, go skinny dipping… And while we’re at it, a little champagne doesn’t hurt either. Check out other 101 Task Insights…

Task #6: Raise Money for a Cow!

The punch line: are women/married people/religious people more generous?
I had a goal in mind to celebrate my big 3-0.....getting 30 people in 30 days to toss in enough money to buy a cow, supporting Heifer International.The philosophy behind this organization is to bring sustenance and resources into a community, educate them and then require the recipient of the animal to give offspring to neighboors in need. While explaining my campaign to people, their faces lit up, conversations turned toward other acts of generosity, and all in all, people were surprisingly energetic in support.Many people I donot know well, and others I know intimately. Yet in each, positvitiy reigned. In this economy of restriction and a climate of depravity, 30 people contributed more than $650 for the effort...the price of a cow AND a goat. From $2 to more than $100, people pitched in. And honored me by praising the endeavor.It just goes to show how generous people can be, when placed in the right circumstance.
See my blog for more thoughts about this one...

Tasks #88

"If something should ever happen to me" No one will talk about my eventual death with me. Eyebrows furl and voices turn icy. Conversation dries up like Popsicle drippings on concrete during the summer…the comfort evaporating and sucking out easy being. When you speak about your upcoming demise to others, people move away from you. Don’t get me wrong…I haven’t been given a timeline by any outstanding authority or anything. It’s not like I’ve caught some outlandish plague from all my traveling. I don’t have cancer. But a very close friend of mine is scared right now, and her experience is a signpost for me to honor my mortality. In my line of business, I am bombarded daily with stories of woe. Lately, I have taken up the daily affirmation of naming something MISSING from my life for which I am grateful. It starts out like this… I am happy I DON’T have: a cheating husband a venereal disease a yellow sweater a job with the AGI I am happy right now that I don’t have a disease (THAT I KNOW OF). Yet. I am also very much aware that I am on borrowed time. Perhaps it is my past and recent relationships, exposure to cultures that don’t pretend that death is somehow an avoidable family gathering, or maybe I’ve inherited some death gene. What ever the reason, I know that I am going to die. Which doesn’t make me drink gallons of Jack Beam, shoot up powder into the fragile rivers of my nasal cavity, or pick up men with facial hair in bars for mediocre nightly romps. Instead, I tend to gush out heartfelt in-case-something speeches akin to diatribes acted out in lukewarm syncopation on Days of Our Lives. It makes sense that I wanted to create a letter to my loved ones if “something-should-ever-happen-to-me.” I am sending a hard copy to three people I trust just to hold onto when the event occurs…What went into this letter? A whole lot of gush. Click here if you’d like a teaser of the letter… In all honesty, writing this thing took months! Not because I tend to run from ambiguous situations (what can be less ambiguous than death?) but because my words never satiate the gathering mass of emotions continuously multiplying regarding living in this world, regarding loving you. Words insufficient. The things I don’t say as gracious as the ones I choose. Perhaps I’ll revisit this creation from time to time to pay homage, or edit in effort to accurately capture any recession or growth experiences along the way. Perhaps I’ll let it gather the wise barnacles of a time capsule wafting on an ocean floor.
What would you say…if something should ever happen…to me? To you? Simply: I tried to love

Task 77: Watch Three Foreign Films

I don’t go out to see movies all that much, maybe 7 or so a year. Going to see a movie, now costing around $10, maybe a bit shy of a ticket to a community theater, is an occasion. When I do, I usually stroll over to The Grand Cinema, a nonprofit extremely small co-op film house within a mile of my apartment. It’s even rarer to see a movie with subtitles. But, then I saw The Diving Bell and the Butterfly last spring and was awed. When it came to comprising my list, I wanted to open up my endorsement of modern arts by watching at least three foreign films at home. I started this task numerous times and failed. It appear I am too restless of watch foreign films at home. Alone and left to my own devices, I get up and out of my seat so many times that I miss too much, thus explaining my interest (I did make it through Cheuking Express in August). But for some reason, this weekend, I nailed out three foreign films: From France (Avenue Montaigne) Afghanistan (The Beauty School of Kabul) and Senegal (Binta and the Great Idea).

I am now hooked. The French film surprisingly bubbled. The love scenes sparkled with creativity, yet realism. I cheered for the drama queen. The Beauty school reminded me how women’s bodies can unleash healing, and simple acts, like a shampoo, can tip the scale of transformation, giving freedom, offering empowerment. And then there was little Binta…Binta and the Great Idea. The movie entails a young girl attempting to figure out how to help convince her cousin’s father to send her to school. The film weaves themes of diversity, and community through the universal hope discovered in children. Context Matters.
In a scene where Binta is coloring wide sweeping scene, she says”
I like to use the color green
But I like yellow a lot, too
But my favorite color…(and here the camera zooms on a filling in stick figure)
…is the color of skin
The words glued themselves to my core.
.
I am more in tuned with characters of foreign films, noticing their body language, the ecstasy or despair emanating in their eyes, the nonverbal unrequited interest or assertive denial. It is easier to empathize. To feel. Not to think or analyze, but purely experience it. Watching foreign films demands my entire attention, that I remain presently processing each moment.
Yep. Context matters. Where you are impacts Who you are. When is the last time you took a step out of your preferred medium?

#46!

Task # 46: Buy a frivolous kitchen gadget
Frivolous: –adjective1. characterized by lack of seriousness or sense.2. self-indulgently carefree; unconcerned about or lacking any serious purpose.3. (of a person) given to trifling or undue levity.4. of little or no weight, worth, or importance; not worthy of serious noticeI defy this word, actively shaping my behavior throughout the day to avoid anything that may be possibly stamped with such embellishment. Give me black coffee. Shoes that I can slip on. One handbag for work, one for the weekend. Sure, I stray in some ways (aka: cereal addiction…I have 5 boxes right now) but for the most part, call me Practical. Functional. Even Frugal.Simplicity appeals to me. Prone to imploding happiness via analytical discourse, paring things down into essential parts often prevents anxiety. Research has shown that the more choices we have, the more likely we are to worry, to feel unsure, and not to recognize our values when they are present.
Being single may foster easier access to simplicity. My routine syncopates around my self-designed routine. My goals and intentions are unencumbered by the immediate needs of others. Friends who are married and/or with children require more stuff, and definitely have intentions to do X or complete Y thwarted. With more bodies in the mix, one must acclimate to complication. So many of these friends then pontificate: “THIS IS THE TIME TO LIVE FRVIOUSLOUSY!” I respond by asking if being single means I should be doing things of little importance? Or that once you don on the responsibilities of family life simple pleasures evaporate?
Life, no matter what stage you are in, is too short to take too seriously, and too long not to live purposefully.The 101 list engenders the extraordinary. For me, I need more trivialities. Bring on the trifles! Where’s the fribble around here?I am even tempered in many of my passions. An avid cook and recipe sluether, I don’t own a blender. I have three cooking ware pans. So I bought a microplane a few weeks ago (okay, almost a month). I just brought it out a few nights ago, looking over my shoulder for a grandmother or something tsk tsking…this little product makes zesting (a lemon) grating (cheese) or pasting (ginger/garlic) a snap. With a little more work, I can do these tasks without such a device. But WOW! I am now in love! I am making fresh ginger/garlic paste with undue levity in a root vegetable roast, grating lemon in yogurt, slivering reggiano on my tofu soup. I swing the thing around like a scepter…queen of the facetious.Isn’t it funny in a task about frivolity I tweaked out purpose? Ah…bad habits die hard

Confession

Since writing about flossing...I haven't flossed until tonight.

Task #71 Buy Something from ETSY

Growing up, I ignored any interest associated with “home economics.” It wasn’t just that cooking, sewing, arts and crafts didn’t seem relevant to me, it was also that I wasn’t good at them. The only B I earned in high school was in Ceramics. An ugly, robin egg blue letter holder perches somewhere on a kitchen counter in Montana as a testiment to K’s inadequacy in this domain. An attempt to redeem myself four years later in a community ceramics class ended in similar ruin. Overcompensating, constantly fueling my analytical nature with various interests and distractions, the possibility of my hands suffocated.

Let’s be honest, most of self-epiphanies occur when we observe other people doing things that appear to work. I could use the word “influence” but really, it is peer pressure that led to my interest in creative endeavors. Living in a community during graduate school intentionally geared for interaction, creativity blossomed around me A best friend passionate about beading ignited a little stint where I collected wires, clamps and clasps and little rainbows of seeded beeds. I lavished in examples of homemade projects surrounding me, where people valued the visions of their spirits. I attended events where the guests each brought a craft project, and we left with a half dozen homemade scrubs, potholders, junk drawer organizers and scarves. Some embarked on their interests with ease, some with painstaking skill and attention. Some defied my assumptions, such as numerous examples of masculine crafting; Oxygenating a value in objects generated from one’s heart, and shaped by one’s hands. My Life was Fuller.

The week I designed this list, I spent a weekend visit with one of the priestess of creativity. She told me about Etsy, which offers people a place to be recognized and rewarded for their handmade gems. (Note: this is also the woman who informed me about Google Reader and helps me with my html, which just reconfirms the mosaic of our human interests and dismantles the notion of rigid female archetypes). The site is my new E-Bay. First of all, I believe that where we put our money is an ethical endeavor and social statement. Let’s support independent businesses. Second of all by purchasing these items I announce a vital role creativity plays in fueling my happiness. These things are unique. Don’t get me wrong, I love buying socks and soaps at Target, but digest these products with an uncomplicated savoring.

Such a fun task! It took me MONTHS of deliberation to decide upon my new lunch bag on ETSY, my interest gestating at the same rate of the growing tummy of a prego buddy. So it is with pride that I announce its arrival here. The material forgives spills (a daily diatribe for me) thus meeting my criteria for functionality, and infiltrates brain centers responsible for satiet, thus fulfilling my criteria for pleasure.

Awww…isn’t she adorable?

Let’s just be thankful it is ceramic.

#50! Floss Every day for a week

I know, I know, many of you might assume that I would be a person for whom flossing would come easily. The more you know my nature, however, you will be able to detect that I am not that great at details. Plus, as mentioned before (sympathy, please!) I have sensitive gums, which bleed anytime they are poked and proded. In short, I HATE flossing!

But armed with my new Christmas present, I set out on christmas to finish out 2008 with floss. Sexy, right? Of course, the endeavor included batteries and a mild vibration, but still, no glamour or sensuality lies in the habit of flossing.

First of all, it is about removed tiny grime from tiny crevices between bones. You have to wonder: what did our ancestors do? Well, they didn't a) do sit ups and b) floss. and I have a little rebellious theory that if they didn't do these things, why should I? But, alas! They also usually didn't live past 35, and didn't drink wine...so my theory falls apart quite quickly.

And evolution, observed in our rampant electronization of anything without batteries, doesn't necessarily mean PROGRESS. By sunday, the electric flosser grew a little tiresome and I resorted to traditional string, which took less time but probably was less thorough. Sure, it prevents tooth decay, and doing it as a habit "is good for me." In actuality, it prevents bacteria build up and stinky detrimental inflamation. So why is it so difficult for me to adopt? Sure, I really get a kick out of completing these tasks, but flossing just isn't in my DNA.

I am a creature of habit, but and even after a week, I woke up thinking "I don't have to floss today! Thank GOD for 2009! If I would have set out to floss for a month (do I sense a challenge here?) perhaps I would develop this good habit with a little more ease. Perhaps my gums would be a littl less bloody by Valentine's Day.