Ch-ch-ch-change

Somewhere along the way, change became an accepted aspect of this life I’m living.  Somewhere along the way, I dropped the “I dread change” mantra and adopted the “change is good” mantra in its place.  Yet, along the way, there are some changes I wish hadn’t taken place and I know that’s because I don’t understand (e.g. haven’t fully accepted) the reasons behind and for them.

The changes I revel in are:

• my change of living conditions, which took place just over a year ago,
• my new-found understanding of how the powerful energy we are all made of and have at our disposal works
• my growing appreciation for the relationships that I thrive on
• growing into each passing year

The changes I remain fearful of are:

• the necessity of a new career and all that goes with that
• the ebb and flow of long-standing relationships
• the aging of my parents, siblings and friends (its okay for me to age, but not for them to!)

The career piece is such a double-edged sword!  I must earn an income and therefore must have a career … but what is it to be?  I am all over the place with the possibilities that exist and the skills I possess.  Having been officially out of work for 4 1/2 months, I can honestly say that I still don’t have a clue what I really want to do.  I half-heartedly apply for jobs that I’m suited for and which would put me back behind a desk.  I’m enjoying filling in at my friend’s store and the opportunities it affords me to get get out of my house, do my hair and make-up and wear pretty clothes.  What do I want to do, really?  Write.  Bake.  Sew.  Earn a living doing what I love and have a passion for.  And why am I fearful of that?  The risk and uncertainty and potential hardships and maybe even sacrifices that come along with forging that path.

As far as the relationship piece, it is a fact of life that as we age and grow, we change.  It stands to reason that our relationships will grow and change, too.  But I don’t like it when the growth leads to changes I perceive as uncomfortable (okay, not of my choosing!); when the warmth of the relationships ebb and the flow is different – changed; when I don’t understand why it must be that way, because surely there is a good reason for it.  People I used to talk to and/or e-mail every day don’t call or write and/or don’t respond to my calls and e-mails, which leads me to reflect that new behavior to protect myself from hurt, yet perhaps instigates further change.  Another double-edged sword.

I saw my Dad last week.  He was visiting from New York and I hadn’t seen him since January.  There was comfort in the familiarity of his features and the warmth of his hug, but in those there was also the hint of his advancing age; there were more lines and there was a slight sense of frailty when I hugged him that made me not want to let go, for fear I wouldn’t have that opportunity again.  I see it in my Dad, but I am denial about my Mom aging.  Maybe it’s because I see her frequently and talk to her even more frequently.  And there’s the fact that she lives 20 minutes down the road while Dad is 4 hours away in another state. 

When I force myself to think about that inevitable future change of my parents passing on, it is very nearly unbearable.  In my finer moments, it has occurred to me that I can use that emotion on stage; in my weaker moments, I am reduced to a quivering mass of flesh and emotion.  So why, on the rare occasion, do I go there?  Self-preparation.  A need to make certain that I can go on without them in my life, as terrifying as that thought is.

I’m in even more denial when it comes to my siblings and friends.  The only vision I can envision is a long, long lifetime remaining with them.  There is not one of them I feel I can do without and so I am supremely stubborn in my denial of any of them moving on … especially after losing one dear friend late last year.

So, to change in general – change that is specific to me and only me and doesn’t affect anyone else – bring it on!  I have learned to deal with it with relative grace and know to ask for help if I need it.  But to the type of change that takes the snowglobe that is my life and turns it upside down with its shaking, and in the process shakes up others’ lives … less is more; less is way more.

Weighty Subject

  Hi.  My name is Ellen and I’m …  Hold on.  Deep breath.  Try again.  Hi.  My name is Ellen and I’m obese.  There!  I’ve said it!  Not just overweight.  Not just chunky.  Not just fat.  Obese.  Morbidly obese, even.  God, what a horrible word: “obese!”  What a horrible phrase: “morbidly obese!”

  FYI, according to the American Heritage Dictionary, the definition of obese, which is an adjective, is, “Extremely fat; grossly overweight;” the definition of morbid, an adjective from which the adverb morbidly is derived, is, “Of, relating to or caused by disease; psychologically unhealthy or unwholesome; gruesome.”  Okay, so let’s put all that together, shall we?  Morbidly obese = psychological impairment resulting in gruesome overweightness (I know it’s not a word).  Right?  Yeah, right.

  I’ve gotten so good at not really seeing me, even when I study myself in the mirror, that it is shocking when I DO see myself clearly.  Passable face.  Changeable, green-to-hazel eyes.  Pale skin peppered with freckles and evidence of sun damage.  Small, nicely-shaped ears.  Hair currently highlighted, permed, and growing out.  Teeth that need a LOT of work, if not replacing (one of my goals is to get porcelain veneers, if possible!).  Pear-shaped body sitting atop thick thighs, sitting atop thick calves, sitting atop sometimes downright skinny ankles, sitting atop smallish feet which somehow manage to hold everything up.  Decent-sized breasts which, untamed by a supportive bra, are gravitationally challenged.  Small hands at the end of leg o’ mutton arms.

  I haven’t been able to buy clothes off the rack in years.  I shop online at places like Roamans and Catherines, which feature “extended sizes” that actually fit my frame.  And I will make things for myself, using my similarly-sized dress form to help be certain what I construct will actually fit.  I use my tape measure, too, but shudder at the numbers.

  So, the obvious question is, why don’t I “just lose weight?”  Well, I have!  Lost it and gained it back, plus additional pounds, over and over again.  Too many times to count.  Slim-Fast, Weight Watchers, Atkins, South Beach and Curves.  Most recently, I retained a truly amazing whole health counselor (Ellen Lalicata of The Spirit Garden – www.thespiritgarden.net) who, over the course of 14 months, succeeded in turning my head around big-time in regards to how I came to be <gulp> obese.  Even with all that support and knowledge, I’ve been putting on weight again and I know it’s through choices I’m making and signals I’m ignoring.  I have the knowledge and I know my body’s signals (originally I mistyped and had “bodies” in place of “body’s” – an interesting mistake, since my weight could easily be used to construct two people).  I’m very intuitive, I’m always stopping to check in with where I’m at emotionally, and yet … I’m obese and I’m truly not doing a damn thing about it.

  “Maybe you’re happy this way.”  Huh??  Maybe I’m happy being the one trudging behind, trying not to let on how winded I am from a walk that for most people is a breeze?  Maybe I’m happy pretending I don’t know how strangers on the street, in the grocery store, etc., look at me and – come on, admit it! – judge me?  Maybe I’m happy avoiding certain situations and venues when I’m not certain I’ll be able to fit my substantial hips into a seat?  Maybe I’m happy knowing that I’d be the person required to purchase two plane tickets for my one body and ask for a seat belt extender?  Ummm … No.  No, I’m not happy this way.

  “You must have a good body image.”  Again:  Huh??  A “good body image?”  Are you on crack???

  Last night, at my youngest brother’s birthday party at my parents’ house, we were all sitting briefly down in the air-conditioned comfort of the living room.  A discussion about Archie Bunker’s truly funny bigotry led to Sally Struthers, which led to one of my sisters-in-law mentioning she’d heard from someone that Ms. Struthers (in her own substantial glory) frequented a restaurant in York, near Ogunquit Playhouse (at which she does summer theater; just finished playing Golde in Fiddler on the Roof ) and was rumored to be on the eyebrow-raising side of soused.  After the chorus of semi-interested “reallies” had passed, my sister-in-law (who is overweight, NOT obese) went on to say how offensive it was to her that Ms. Struthers, at her size, was the spokesperson (at least in the past) for an organization that sponsored hungry children.

  Without any defensiveness (seriously!), I responded, “Why is that offensive?  She’s a representative.”

  And the sister-in-law’s response was, “Because she’s huge and they’re starving.”

  I asked my question a different way:  “Why does it matter?  What does that have to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied with a blank face and a shrug of her shoulders.  “It’s just always bothered me.”

  Oh.  As I sat there digesting both dinner and the brief exchange, I checked in with myself and found it interesting how detached I was; detached from feeling anything, really.

  Having effectively ended that conversation thread, my mother ushered us all upstairs for cake and ice cream.  In the dining room, my sister-in-law approached me and quietly requested I step outside with her.  I knew what was coming but went anyway, saying as we went, “Don’t worry about it, honey.  It’s not a big deal.”  Great choice of words, right?  Of course right!

  Outside on the front step (stoop?) of my parents’ house, my sister-in-law said, “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t,” I assured her.  She really hadn’t … as far as I could tell from my emotion-devoid space.

  “I want to tell you that you really made me think about why that bothered me,” she went on to say.  “Just because she’s huge doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a big heart.”

  “That’s true.  And thank you for saying that,” I responded.  Just as I typed this last snippet of conversation, I actually laughed out loud.  I mean, come on … what IS this??  What WAS that???  What the hell does THAT mean?????

  Translation: “Just because YOU’RE huge doesn’t mean YOU don’t have a big heart.”  Wow.  That’s the kind of judgement I’m getting from my own overweight sister-in-law and I’m worried about what strangers think?  I need to narrow my focus and start small; pun intended.

  Our little tete-a-tete ended with a hug (warm on her end, luke-warm on mine) and we went back inside to have cake and ice cream … well, my sister-in-law had cake and ice cream (“a very thin slice, please; I like salty more than I like sweet … just a little scoop to try”); I had a regular-sized piece of the devil’s food cake with chocolate icing my Mom had made – “no ice cream, thank you.”  I didn’t say, “I’m cutting back,” but it would have been fun to if I was of that mind!!

  So, this morning as I was eating my breakfast of turkey bacon (love it), scrambled eggs (made with water; cooked with EVOO – extra-virgin olive oil), a slice of whole grain wheat toast (dry), and coffee (cream only), I thought about what I could do “this time” to get myself back on track.  HA!  This time?  Let’s get real, Ellen:  to get on track, period.  I’ve been thinking alot about “going Atkins” again, because it’s very effective at melting off oodles of pounds with relative rapidity – at least in my case!  That was followed by the thought that once I’d gotten rid of some weight, I’d REALLY begin to exercise; probably start walking.  I thought about all this while I caught up on some DVR’ed programming, and while I cleaned up my breakfast dishes, and while I filled my hot pink water bottle with iced green tea to bring up to my office, and while I downloaded and responded to e-mails, and while I updated my website.  I’m always multi-tasking, especially when something is bothering me!  I mean, why would I just stop and focus on the issue at hand in order to – imagine! – deal with it?

  And, obviously, I’m still thinking about it, in a strangely detached way.  I’m still not FEELING anything; I’m not recognizing any feelings attached to what I’ve just strewn onto this blank page, at any rate.  The fact that I’m committing any of this to my blog, knowing that anyone can read it, is HUGE.  Enormous.  Ginormous.  Obese, even.

Use Your Words!

  Why is it, with some people, it is possible to say exactly what we think or ask precisely what we want to know, while with other people we dance around such statements and questions?

  Why is it, with some people, we can say, “I am so pissed-frustrated-stressed-angry-sucky-bloated, etc.,” while with other people we say (with a forced smile, even), “I am well, thank you.”

  Why is that?  Why do we discriminate?  Why do we judge?  Because that’s what it is, isn’t it?  Discrimination and judgement.  We discriminate by not being as forthcoming with some as we are with others; we judge that some, more than others, are worthy/capable/trustworthy to receive the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  It actually sounds ugly and wrong when put into those categories.  Why do we edit ourselves?  There, that sounds better!

  Really.  Why do we do it?  Why do I do it?

  While I tell some friends exactly where I’m at (and, in turn, expect and receive the same courtesy from them), I tell other friends only an abridged and even softened version of those facts – if at all!  Of course, I must admit that several of those “other” friends have a lot going on in their own lives and I make a conscious choice not to burden them with my stuff and there’s another friend to whom I long to tell everything and pepper with a million in-depth questions (and get answers, of course!) but whose shutters prohibit such nonsense.  And I haven’t even mentioned my family, who basically all fall into the “other” category because I’ve learned they really don’t want to know the complete and unabridged version of my life.

  What would happen, I sometimes wonder, if I “let loose” with all of my friends?  What would happen if I opened up to all of them?  How would it feel to let go with no holds barred, no stone unturned, soup to nuts?  Would my full-throttle approach be met with empathy?  Sympathy?  Relief in the form of reciprocation?  The blank stare of a person caught unawares and looking for the nearest exit?  The quizzical half-smile of a person who heard what you said but simply couldn’t take it in, the inside of their brain screaming, “TMI?”  Or, maybe worse, a swift change of subject to effectively cover what has just been revealed?

  We tell children to “use your words” (and sometimes adults; try it if you haven’t!) when they are struggling with just that: the ability to articulate what is going on for them.  Couldn’t we give ourselves the same bit of encouragement when it’s on the tip of our tongue to answer that double-edged ”How are you?” with complete and utter honesty and let the chips fall where they may?  Couldn’t I take the risk (because it is a risk, never doubt it!) to reveal my true and complete self to the people who make up my family of the heart?  The consequences couldn’t be that harsh, could they?  Could they??  Or could they?  hmmm …

  And so I continue to wonder if I can truly use my words with all of my friends, and I wonder why I feel a need to.

Hello, Me.

  I had a very important meeting.  It came up suddenly and so I’d had no chance to form opinions or pre-conceived notions.  In that moment, the only option was to be.

   So there I was, being by a beautiful pond.  It was as serene as it was surreal; the lush green of the thick yet carefully groomed grass, the dense pine trees forming a perimeter around a good two-thirds of it, the deep blue of the sky as twilight neared …  It was so quiet and so peaceful that I could hear my own breath; my own heartbeat.

  Something caused a gentle “plop” in the middle of the crystal clear pond, which in turn caused a ripple effect.  The ripples, as gentle as the plop which caused them, made their way toward the edges of the pond; toward me.  My eyes grew heavier with each ripple and I finally gave in and closed them, relaxing as I sat in my comfortable chair at the edge of the pond.

  The sensation of floating began.  Even though my body hadn’t moved, I – my spirit – was floating above the ground.  I was aware of a golden yellow tendril between me and my body.  It grew longer as I floated ever higher, rejoicing in the freedom and the sensation of flying.  What great fun!  I soared higher and higher, far above myself and Earth until I was floating high enough to look back and see how magnificent Earth is viewed from space.  The colors!  Vivid and nearly glowing!  I ached to take a picture of it from that incredible point of view, but I had to get to my appointment.

  I envisioned – and in doing so formed – a second tendril to lead me back to Earth.  This tendril was a delicate pink and I anticipated what awaited me at the other end.  Landing back on Earth, the knowledge came to me that I was twenty years in the future and I accepted that fact as a matter of course.  I found myself standing in front of a beautiful English-style cottage.  The overhang of the roof was fairly deep on this charming one-story dwelling.  There was a picture-perfect picket fence lining the front yard, which was festooned with colorful flowers clustering happily by the cottage, cheerfully outlining the stone walkway and clearly making their way around the sides and to the back yard.

  There were tall trees behind the cottage and I could just hear what would likely be a brook running through the trees.  I wanted to see if I was right, but I needed to keep my appointment.  I walked up the stone walkway to the pretty and welcoming front door decorated with a dried floral wreath (perhaps constructed from the cottage’s flower garden?) and knocked.

  After a moment, the door was opened to reveal a woman.  Her brownish-auburn hair highlighted with white was drawn back into a loose bun; tendrils curled about her pretty face.  Her somewhat slender body was clothed in a pretty cotton blouse and a skirt.  She smiled a familiar smile and opened her arms to pull me into a warm hug.

  The joy I felt emanating from her nearly took my breath away.  I was filled with a reciprocal joy that was so intense it brought tears to my eyes as she drew me inside.  We settled ourselves into comfortable, non-matching arm chairs positioned on a colorful area rug.  There was a pot of tea and two tea cups on the table between us, which told me she had been expecting me.

  I asked her the one question that I knew I must: “What brought you to this place in life?”

  She smiled a smile that had the tears returning to my eyes as she replied, “Following my joy brought me here.”

  I had more questions, but I was suddenly aware that it was time to leave this place.  The tears fell from my eyes as I was drawn away and up the length of the pink tendril … far above Earth again until I reached the point where the pink tendril connected with the gold.  The gold tendril gently brought me back down to Earth; back to the pond and back to my present self.

  I was weeping; aching to converse more with that future self.  For that is who my appointment was with: my self, twenty years in the future.  That beautiful, joyful woman in the lovely cottage was me – twenty years from now.  Even now as I concentrate on that memory and vision of the future, I feel the tears prickling in my eyes so strong is my desire to know more of her.  But isn’t that the point?  I know it is.

  I remain in my present with an eye to my future and I know that in my future there is joy – so much joy!!!  With that knowledge, I am given the opportunity to make the choices which will best take me to that future.  And so I live in this moment but tingle with anticipation of what is to come … “Hello, me.”

Clean and Clear

  Sounds like a cleaning or, perhaps, a blemish product, doesn’t it?  Not the case.  Clean and clear represents my goal for my mindset, which will then be reflected in the physically viewable fields of my existence.

 I’ve started the process and it’s been rather dramatic as it has been a step that has taken up the better part of a week and still sports lingering threads to be resolved.  It’s the result of something which started out as a very good thing – involved yet positive and growth-oriented – but quickly became the equivalent of being impossibly tangled in a fisherman’s net.  It became all-encompassing to the point of nearly excluding all else in my life; the very things it was supposed to support (relationships, life goals) were being set aside in light of the tasks to be completed and the thought and planning necessary to implement them.

  It took me over two months to get into that net and it’s taken nearly a week (thus far) to free myself.  The remaining lines are soon to be severed once I complete a final task that, for myself, I must see to its end.  That will be by the end of this week.  When that happens, I will be one major step closer to being clean and clear.

   In the course of this process, I’ve been accused of being inauthentic; in essence, not real.  Ouch.  That was painful – okay, still is painful.  The fact that it is  painful indicates there is truth there.  Being authentic is about being real; soul-baringly real.  Have I not been that with those closest to me?  Is it wrong that I perhaps wasn’t that with virtual strangers?

  I am reminded of Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s brilliant essay, The Invitation:  “It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.  I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! … I want to know what sustains you – from the inside – when all else falls away. … I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”

  Thought-provoking, isn’t it?  I am thoroughly provoked as I wrangle with the question of my own authenticity.  Do I like the company I keep in the empty moments?  Sometimes yes, sometimes not so much.  Is that me being inauthentic or simply being an authentic woman with all the requisite variables – hormonal and otherise?

 Clean and clear.  Simple, uncomplicated, to the point, uncluttered.  Freedom, clarity, openness, honesty; realistic, honorable, authentic.  Joyful in the present moment with a vision for the future.  That’s where I’m heading.  Care to join me?