Giving

I have a confession to make: I think I stole money from a homeless person.

You're judging me right now, aren't you?

Fair enough, but allow me to explain before you call me horrible and condemn me to a life full of heartbreak and Nickleback songs.

Every morning, I run down Sunset Cliffs Boulevard past a church where people who are homeless gather in the morning to get breakfast. A few days ago, about half a block past the church, I found $5 on the ground. I stopped to pick it up, then looked back at the masses of people waiting to be fed and briefly thought about the fact that one of them probably had dropped it. But how would I figure out who? I didn't pause for very long. It was cold, and the contemplation was making me stiffen up as well as killing my pace. I clutched the money in my hand and ran away, giving thanks to God for the money, laughing at the poor sucker who dropped it.

 Okay, maybe one of those things I didn't really do.

The thing is...I seem to have a knack for finding money. It's like a special talent of mine, like how I can remember birthdays of people I went to Kindergarten with, or how I make jokes at the most inappropriate times (like when my friend confessed she had a new boyfriend and I asked if she had warned him about the side effects of her depression medication and she told me she regretted telling me about the medication and my reaction was to laugh awkwardly, not immediately say sorry like a normal person would).

But I digress.

The point is...I wanted to give that money to someone else. I reasoned that, while the homeless are certainly needy, they were at least being fed and wouldn't miss that $5. So I ran 5 miles with it in my hand, contemplating how to give it away.

I settled on dropping it at the local coffee shack, telling the baristas to buy someone a coffee and give themselves a tip. Less than two hours later, someone brought me a coffee, proof that Karma really does exist...or maybe just that I'm good at guilt-tripping people into bringing me coffee at work because gosh I just work so hard and get up so early and do you see these bags under my eyes I need all the caffeine and some really good concealer, please.

Just two days before that, that awful Monday after the time change, I had set out for my run, thinking about how tired I was, both physically and emotionally. I thought about my job teaching at an inner-city school and how much energy it takes. I thought about the girls in my girl's group and how troubled some of them are and how sometimes it's just this huge life-sucking battle because maybe they don't really want the help, or are just not ready.

And I realized something...I can't save everyone. I can't save anyone, in fact, because that's not up to me. It's up to each person to decide their own fate. And I guess I'm just no longer willing to spend excessive amounts of time, money, or energy on people who aren't interested in helping themselves.

Now, before you judge me further, know that I believe there is a place for helping the needy. Of course there is. We all deserve basic rights and privileges. We should all have shelter and food and love and at least three (or in my case like 100) pairs of shoes to choose from on any given day.

That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about how I want to make the world a better place given where I am in life. What I know about myself is that I'm happiest when I'm helping make other people happy. I believe when we are happy it is contagious. Happiness fueled by passion can spread like wildfire. It's a ripple effect, like how when the butterfly flaps its wings in Africa it causes a storm in California and that's the reason I didn't blow dry my hair in the morning. Then again, some might not call that the Butterfly Effect. Some would call it sheer laziness.

The point is, I wanted to magnify the effects of that $5, and in my mind, maybe whomever received that coffee would do something kind for someone else...and then that person would do a nice act etc etc etc and now the world is full of sunshine and people with jitters from too much free coffee.

I have no idea if that's what happened, but I like to believe it is.

I like to believe that it's okay that I feel my focus on helping people isn't necessarily on feeding the hungry, it's on uplifting those who just need a little push...so that maybe, just maybe, they'll go on to uplift someone else and collectively, we'll all climb to this magical place where everything is gold, where having beer and cookies for dinner doesn't make you fat.

So maybe I'm judging homeless or needy people here, thinking they're not in a place to help others. But I know so many people in the world are there to help them that I want to help elsewhere. It's on a different level, but it's still giving, right? Maybe helping people doesn't have to mean just feeding the hungry or giving clothes to those in need. Maybe for me it means teaching a young girl how to have a voice. Maybe it means buying a stranger a cup of coffee. Maybe it simply means smiling at those I come in contact with and just treating everyone like they matter. \

I'm writing this not to make myself seem bad or judgmental, though maybe I have succeeded in doing just that, but to maybe spark some conversation or thought in all of us about the level of how and where and why we give. On knowing ourselves and our unique skill sets and talents, and seeing where that fits into raising the world's vibe. On thinking about what are are contributing as citizens of the world.

Tis the season, after all.

Strength

I grew up on a farm. I was 14 when I was finally able to chuck an 80 pound hay bale into the back of a pick up truck. I am petite and a lot smaller than most people, but I never let that stop me. I prided myself on being strong, fast, and tough. Maybe even more so than physically strong, I prided myself on being emotionally and mentally strong. I could work 80 hours a week, no problem. I could finish college in under 3 years. I could get hurt and not cry. This, to me, was strength.

But this was also not really living.

I never let myself feel, and I definitely never cut myself any slack. Cue perfectionist tendencies, aka anxiety and stress. Cue sleepless nights and control issues.

Cue a couple of years of soul searching, tears, and heart breaks. Cue break downs.

But the beauty of break downs is that they lead to break throughs.

Sometime over the past year, I began to unravel the belief that I had to be the best at everything, that my imperfections and weaknesses made me less than others. That, in fact, these are the parts of me that make me relatable to others. Brene Brown says that vulnerability is the first thing we hide about ourselves but the first thing we look for in other people. That is authenticity.

And only through authenticity, through living through our hearts, can we truly be ourselves and relate to others on a level that is real and genuine.

Being strong doesn't mean being invincible. It means having the courage to own up to imperfections and failures and trials and push through. It means letting other people--not all people, but the right people--see these things about ourselves that we really want to hide. It means not being afraid of all of the pieces of ourselves. It means accepting all parts that make us who we really are.

It means we believe in ourselves and love ourselves no matter what.

For me, recently, it meant sharing the before/after pictures from the 60 day challenge that I did. I didn't want to show the pictures, because  even though I surpassed my goals and am okay with people seeing where I am now, I didn't want anyone to see and judge my before pictures. I didn't want to admit how far I'd let myself go, how far away from myself I'd gone.

But then again...maybe that's exactly what I needed to show. Not the end result, but the path. Not the final destination, but the journey. Because we are all on a journey somewhere, and the part where we help others is encouraging and acknowledging each other along the way. To know that we are all in this together, that we all have the parts of ourselves we want to display proudly, just as we have those we want to bury deep inside and hide. And that's what makes us human. That's what makes us real.

And if there's one thing I've learned about myself over the past couple of years, it's that being real--truly me--is what really matters.

So. I've shared these pictures, I've let go of the fear of judgment, and I'm asking you all to vote for me, if you're so inclined. Rock the vote, rock this day, and rock the real you.


Here is the link. Thank you.

Yikes

I didn't want to post this. I still don't. Because, while I'm stoked on my results, I am--frankly--horrified at the before pics.

I knew I was gaining weight last year. That's what Sunday Funday and Relax Friday and Whatever Saturday and kinda whatever beer or cookies or both for dinner whenever I feel like it will do over the course of a year. My friends told me I looked fine, most of my clothes still fit (albeit not very well), and I avoided the scale because what does that matter, anyway?

It matters a lot, 20 pounds to be specific which, in case you don't know, on 5'2" me, is a lot.

It matters because it's not the version of myself I envision when I think about my best self.

So I joined this challenge, and I followed it because I wanted the best results possible. After only a few weeks, my friends were telling me I was inspiring them, but I wasn't doing anything extra, just sticking to the commitment I'd made.

As of the challenge end, I had lost 27 pounds and over 30 inches. To date, I have lost 30 pounds and probably more inches. My mile time is down to 7:06, and as of yesterday, I can do 3 unassisted pull-ups.

But more than the physical strength I gained came the power of being true to and aligning with the person I wanted to be. The true strength came purely from just being me.

And part of being me means struggling. It is hard for me to admit that I let myself go over the past year. It makes me feel vulnerable and like I'm going to be judged. Except I also realize something..in the willingness to be vulnerable also lies real strength and power. I don't need to hide who I am or the parts that made me this way. I'm okay with admitting that I fell out of line with who I was...and that I needed help to get back to that person. Now I'm back to where I want to be, but it took pure determination and commitment to get there. It wasn't easy, but I did it.

And that is why, ultimately, I decided to share. I would love it if you would vote for me.

On Being Great

My run was slow yesterday morning, my heart weighed down by the collective somberness of what happened.

The burden of change, the apprehension of disillusionment.

The disquietude invaded my mind and I cried as I ran my daily 5 on Sunset Cliffs.

This surprised me.

The outcome hadn’t been pertinent to my daily grind.

And yet.

I felt it.

How humbled, shocked...frightened many were.

But. As the shock wore off, I saw before us a choice.

There is a choice to be scared, and there is a choice to believe. There is a choice to look out into obscurity, or look toward the sun. There is a choice to see that there is not darkness, merely the absence of light. We must feel around and find where our heart is, for therein lies the light, the brilliance we seek.

We cannot begin to bounce back until we recognize the boundaries. The bottom is nigh when we recognize it as such, and from there, we can choose to rise...or descend to another, worser limit.

Perception is everything. Change is inevitable, honoring our time and space and the dynamic we set forth with our intentions.

We can place our focus on our fears and our disavowing discourse, and that is what we will experience, or we can place our belief and faith in something greater, and that becomes our reality

We can be great. We can light up the world by shining from within.

On growth

I was sitting in a bikini feeling sorry for myself on a boat in the middle of the Snake River when I made the decision. I made it on a whim--though the momentum, emotion, and struggle behind the decision maybe meant it was inevitable and a long time coming--and there was a strict no refunds policy. So I, a true Gemini, a person who has a hard time making decisions or sticking to anything, paid the fee and made one of the biggest commitments I've made in recent memory.

I signed up for a 60 day fitness challenge, and it was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.

I've always been fit and active. I know how to get lean, stay lean, build muscles, and have rocked a six pack a time or two in my life. But. somehow over the past year, the wrong sort of six pack (have you ever tried blueberry beer? AMAZING) crept into my life, the seems of my pants became strained, and all my tomorrows--you know, the day you say you'll start something--turned into tomorrows that never came.

I needed help, which is something that's never been easy for me to admit.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The program consists of cardio twice a day, starting off with 200 calories each session (one of which must be HIIT), and increased by 50 calories per session each week. Attending at least 5 boot camps per week and a crazy low-carb, lean protein (ALL THE FISH UGH), eating plan were also part of the process.

At first it wasn't so bad. But as the number of calories I had to burn increased, so did the difficulty of sticking to it. Pretty soon, The Challenge was consuming my life. I was working out basically three hours a day and meal prepping non-stop. I stopped drinking during football season. I brought broccoli and 4 oz of chicken to the bar while my friends drank beer. I gave up green juice and, at times, my will to live.

I talked about it a lot, and that might have been the worst part, the part where suddenly I could relate to and no longer judge people who did crossfit, vegans, or Jehovah's Witness. It was all I could talk about, because it was my world, and like, didn't people need to understand how crazy it was that I had to do 100 burpess one day in class (YOU GUYS, THAT'S INSANE!) or that I cut my six-mile runs down to an 8:41 average pace?

But it wasn't all about the workouts or the crazy weight loss that was occurring. It was about pushing myself. It was about those moments that I wanted to slack, or not wake up at 3:45 a.m. just to get in cardio and boot camp before going to a full day of work. It was about those little choices I made every day that kept me seeing results, that had me doing things differently than I had been doing them. It became about that sweet spot between uncomfortable and impossible. Because that spot? That's where the growth happens.

For 60 days I counted down to when I could have my life back. To when I didn't have to post sweaty selfies on the Facebook group page, to when I didn't have to spend Sunday evenings running when I really wanted to be watching football and drinking beer. To when I could have my weekends back from the crazy meal prep or the mandatory team challenges.

But it gave me structure and purpose. It made me actively work and push hard toward my goals. It gave me a place to grow, a place to make better decisions that led to amazing results. It gave me a place to step back and reflect on my life choices and realize where I needed to develop better habits.

And now it's ending and I'm not sure I want it to, kind of like when I finished that first book. It consumed my life, yet I don't want it to go away. It's basically like Stockholm Syndrome, where the victims begin to feel sympathy or affection toward their captors. As much as I wanted to be done, I don't want it to end.

I thrive when I push myself. I have purpose when I'm working toward goals. I have three pairs of size 0 pants (maybe that's bragging but I don't care, I worked so hard to get there!) and I never want that to not be a thing for me.

It has been a long time since I've pushed myself in a way like this. It has been a long time since I've accomplished one of those dream goals, you know, the ones that float out there in our somedays waiting--sometimes endlessly--to come to fruition.

But it happened. And the biggest take away wasn't my pant size or mile pace time, it was my realization that if we aren't doing things every day to work toward our goals, they become impossible and unreachable. Making little choices every day leads to big things. The secret to your success lies in your daily routine.

I'm not sure what's next for me. I have to set new goals, at least as far as my fitness is concerned. I have to figure out which habits to keep, and which will ultimately make me go insane.

But what I know, what I want to remember from all of this, is how amazing it feels to grow. Even if it doesn't feel amazing at the time, it is all worth it in the end.

p.s. I will be posting before/after pics on Facebook soon and I need to ask people to vote for me and please don't judge my bikini shot but please do tell me I'm pretty because vulnerability, okay?

On losing my keys and finding my happy

The description does not define reality.

I mulled over these words, which I read in the book Trespassing on Einstein's Lawn by Amanda Gefter. The book is an attempt to discover how something (the Universe) came out of nothing (defined as a state of infinite, unbounded homogeneity). Not your typical beach read.


It's full of quantum physics and theories and fancy words and my brain is saturated with information, only about 60% of which I understand.

But it has me thinking, and my understanding is growing, and slowly, the pieces of information are relating to my life and clicking into place. Or maybe that's just what it feels like when your brain is getting ready to explode. Thank you, Einstein. E=MC pour me a drink because my head hurts.

And, in a seemingly unrelated event (though I'm learning that everything is related, down to the Planck scale, a millionth of a billionth of a billionth of a billionth centimeter, watch out for that exploding brain matter as you try to process that), I realized how the description of something does shape reality, but only as it pertains to us as individuals. True reality, at least as defined in the book, is only that which is invariable from all perspectives. So far, the only thing that has been proven to be invariable is nothing.

But I'm getting way off my story here.

The other morning, I was getting ready to go out and about. I had my keys in one hand and a sack of garbage in the other. As I hefted the sack of garbage up, it caught my keys and took them with it to the bottom of the dumpster.

I had just showered. In the summer, that's basically a bigger feat than understanding string theory, because jumping into any body of water counts as a shower, right?

I stood looking down at my keys, the possibilities of retrieval and of missing my brunch date running through my brain. Even if I weren't now locked out of my house, I couldn't think of anything I had in there to fish them out. And in the moment I accepted the solution was me climbing in and getting them--soiling my new romper, my clean hair, and my dignity--my neighbor, that chain-smoking old hippie from Unit 4 walked by.

I explained my situation, and he went to retrieve the wire coat hanger he keeps around for when his mom locks her keys in her car, which apparently is a frequent occurrence. So, while the smoke from the cigarette dangling out of his mouth contaminated said romper and hair, and the coffee in his other hand grew cold, he fished out my keys.

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, even if they're missing teeth and haven't showered since 1982 (see above for why that last part isn't judgmental because summer accomplishments).

I thanked him and as I got into my car sans dumpster filth and stank, I realized how lucky I was. Because, as we all know, little annoyances like this happen. Dropping your keys, losing your keys (or mind), flat tires, etc. As far as this situation went, I really believe the easiest scenario possible played out.

And for that, I am lucky.

I could have bemoaned dropping my keys in the dumpster, being late to meet my friend, having to stand by the dumpster longer than my senses and pride enjoyed, but instead I felt a moment of gratitude that it was all so easy.

I realized that moments like these are what shapes our reality. When we see a situation as lucky, then our world becomes one where we feel and therefore are lucky. It becomes the truth of our world--our reality--because that's what we make it.

Dr. Wayne Dyer says "Hostile people live in a hostile world. Loving people live in a loving world. Same world."

Which seems to be in direct contrast with the opening statement here, but somehow this came around full circle when I thought of it. I can't remember how now, and I'm going to leave it like that for you to ponder, comment, or not care at all, because I'm still in summer vacation mode and I'm far too busy enjoying my infinite, unbounded homogeneity to try and figure it out.

Humble

Halt, you tell the naked earth.
Let my spirit speak its piece.
But nothing ordinary
stops the world.
Yet you are not
but a snowflake still.

You open like a flower
to the sun, your nectar
for the bees on a summer's day
You close when winter comes.
And good or bad, you keep
only what you release.

Your soul stretches to the sky
or just in your mind's eye.
Your heart opens or closes
to harvest heaven or hell,
Love or fear.
Your love hangs on
this dainty thorn,
holds your crown there tight.