Progress, Not Perfection

I think today is the 108^th day of 2015. (It might be the 107^th or the 109^th. I lack the requisite number of fingers and toes to do this kind of math without error.) Spring is finally here; the sunset is now in the 8 PM hour, giving us precious daylight that all but vampires have been craving since Thanksgiving; and New Year's resolutions are as far from most of our minds as friendship bracelets, jelly shoes, and Rubik's cubes. Simply put, those New Year's resolutions you made with all the best of intentions about 108 days ago are ancient history. The interwebs disagree about what percentage of us actually keep our resolutions – some believe the number to be as low as 8% - but everyone seems to agree that resolutions fail more often than not.

Whether or not resolutions are doomed to fail depends on your point of view, and I would argue that no attempts at self-improvement should be painted with such a negative brush. My personal track record reflects a reality many experience – we're great at making resolutions but we falter in the execution. Every January, I'd create a list that rivaled Martin Luther's 95 theses in aspiration and scope. (Note – I'm not intending to be sacrilegious so if this offends you, simply pray for my salvation. Don't email me threatening hell and Old Testament justice. Please and thanks.) Once I'd committed my list of resolutions to paper, I'd begin shoulding on myself – and every time I failed to achieve one of the unattainable goals I'd set for myself, the cycle of shame began. Perhaps you're familiar with this tune? It goes a little something like this:

Voice in my head: "You should go to the gym and exercise. You should. You should do it every single day." Of course, the voice in my head is a great talker but a shitty listener – and is so busy shoulding on me and shaming me that it doesn't recognize all the other competing voices, telling me I should go to work and not get fired; I should pay the bills; I should walk the dog; I should shovel the snow; etc. And, after I spend an entire day trying to stay one step ahead of all the shoulds, I run out of time or energy to go to the gym and exercise. Cue the second verse – a little bit louder and a whole lot worse than the first – when the voice in my head starts in with: "You SHOULD have gone to the gym. Why didn't you? You must the fattest, laziest, stupidest person on the planet. Could you be more selfish and disgusting? How hard is it to go exercise? Other people do it all the time. What is wrong with you? Epic fail. EPIC. FAIL."

By 2015, I was tired of hearing that same old tune, and I decided to change the channel. Instead of shoulding all over myself, I'd eschew resolutions and I'd try a new tactic. I adopted an anthem and started an experiment. What might happen if I decided to focus on creating my best life instead of spending my time trying to fix my "broken" parts? What if I stopped shoulding on myself and starting "coulding" instead? Would I sing a different tune or would I fall back in to the same pattern?

My anthem is pretty simple – but it's more than just a pretty slogan that someone crafty might embroider onto a pillow. It's a mental model and it's become the framework I use to make decisions in my own life. Do I have a perfect track record? Of course not. But what I've learned is that if you focus on progress instead of perfection, you'll exceed your own expectations.
Speaking of progress, here's the latest report from the field:

Give Up: After an estimated 108 days, I've given up on all the easy stuff and it's harder and harder to identify areas where "give up" is the right response for me. After I gave up on the idea that perfection was my goal and after I gave up shoulding all over myself, everything else pales in comparison. I still suffer from negative self-talk and I still should on myself more often than not – so the challenge is not to give up in more areas of my life but rather, to stay the course on the big things I decided to give up when I embraced this anthem.

Give In: I know a lot of people whose vision of the good life includes a big, beautiful home; the right luxury automobile; a closet full of designer clothes; and lots of blingy accessories made by Rolex and Tiffany and Cartier. As Sheryl Crow says, "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad" so I don't judge. But I'm different. I don't want a big house that I can't live in. I like having dog and cat hair all over everything and I like that my house feels lived in. Yes, I do have a cat condo in my living room – and I'm not ashamed. (I don't love the floor to ceiling mirror situation that makes our living room look like a 1970's porn set, but it's not annoying enough to take action against.) I don't want a car so fancy I can't figure out how to drive it or that cost me so much money that I'm terrified of scratching it. I'm a terrible driver. I will smash it. I don't understand the point of jewelry – it gets in the way and it doesn't cover your kibbles and bits.

It's easy to look around at other people and think, "if they want this, shouldn't I?" Sometimes, when I visit my friends' or colleagues homes, I feel like an imposter and I wonder if I should get my ass to Ethan Allen immediately to remedy the situation. But I've given up on trying to keep up with the Kardashians, the Joneses, and anyone else. If a pile of dirty laundry threatening to escape the confines of the closet offends you, that's okay. You don't have to live like I do. I display Sesame Street figurines in my dining room. And if you think this is tacky, I don't give a flying fig newton.

Give It All I've Got: One of the things I'm embracing is trying new things – and when I do, I give it my all. I recently had the opportunity to try acupuncture for the first time. I've always been curious about Chinese medicine and when I discovered that a college friend runs an acupuncture clinic, I had to check it out. My college friend, Julie, has always inspired me. I had a" girl crush" on her from the first time I saw her on campus with her sassy blonde bob and her badass black leather jacket. She is effortlessly stylish and unapologetically her own person.

I saw her for the first time in maybe 20 years this week – and she is as sweet, tough, and cool as ever. After catching up on life and giving me a quick tutorial on Chinese medicine, she stabbed me with needles. It was a really powerful experience. After she carefully placed the needles (which did not hurt at all, FYI), she left me to relax for 20 minutes. I felt both relaxed and energized. My limbs tingled and when I left, I felt both euphoric and more calm and peaceful than I can remember. My specific "complaint" was excessive fatigue. One appointment didn't turn me into superwoman, but it I do feel different and I will be back. I'm supposed to be taking some Chinese herbs, too, and I promise that I will start, but they smell foul and I fear they will taste even worse. However, I can't really chalk this up as 'giving it my all' if I'm afraid of some tiny herbs . . . . I suggest you get yourself to Selby Acupuncture and experience this for yourself. I will start the herbs today, I promise.

I also decided to become more active in my community, and I was recently sworn in as a committee member on our local human services fund committee. This committee plans and holds fundraisers and events to raise money to meet human service needs in our community. Last weekend was "Run the Valley" which is one of our largest fundraising events and I was lucky enough to be able to volunteer here. You can see the highlights here, which include some unflattering shots of me in no makeup with a baseball cap on. Because that is how I roll in my community, people.

A few other notable news items include 109 days of successful food tracking on MyFitnessPal. I also log my exercise and my weight, and I have finally turned a corner. Since January, I've lost just about six pounds and I am just about six pounds away from my goal weight. With mindful eating, diligent tracking, and exercise, I am confident I can be my healthiest and best self. Although I have completed my Thrive Eight Week ExperienceI'm still "thriving" and I do find that these products are helping me in my quest to be active, energetic, and healthy. They aren't miracles the way some of the promoters want you to believe, but in my experience, they are a helpful part of my total regimen and I'll keep using them until I feel otherwise.

With each day that goes by, I remind myself of my anthem (it's posted in my cube at work) and I know that incremental progress is underway. Sometimes the pace of personal change feels glacial in the moment – but when I look back at where I was just 108 days ago, I can see how far I've come on my journey already. Pretty sure the best is yet to come!

© 2015 Princess D

 

The Beast on my Payroll

Although I like to think I'm all-around awesome at life, you only have to watch me attempt to perform simple tasks to realize that it's my genius and innovative outsourcing strategy that allows me to masquerade as a functional adult. For example, I'm a terrible and lazy cook. Left to my own devices, I'd subsist on the "all cereal and Lean Cuisine, all the time" diet. When my husband and I first started dating, he opened my refrigerator and was appalled to discover that it contained some aging condiments, a hunk of cheese, a takeout container, and bunch of beer. (Looking in the freezer didn't help the situation – there, he discovered my ice cube collection, some Klondike bars, and my Lean Cuisine stash.)  When we got married, I carefully negotiated the cooking situation and explained his options. He could take over the kitchen situation; we could eat out every day; or we could outsource meal preparation. That, my friends, is how Let's Dish became an integral part of how we eat in this house. We use the "dish and dash" option and have, in essence, outsourced our dinner preparation. While my hubby is actually pretty clever in the kitchen, even he appreciates the efficiency of this option. (If you're not a current Let's Dish customer, email me for a referral to save $ on your first visit!)

Other things I suck at include shopping and dressing myself. If it was up to me, we'd all look like those people of Walmart, wearing pajama pants and slippers all day long. True confession – even my pajamas don't match. I just grab things that look comfy and put them together. I have a closet full of clothes, yes, but without the help of pictures and a personal shopper, I'd be a full on fashion disaster. You can't blame my shopper for my current horrible outfits either – it's not her fault that my weight fluctuates or that my feet hurt or that I hate all my shoes or that I don't feel like shaving my legs.

Since I can't cook, eat, or dress myself without professional assistance, it's no surprise that I'm also a disaster from a physical fitness perspective. My grade school gym teacher was a short, rotund man who hardly role-modeled fitness for us. Instead, he represented the worst hour of every day for me. I actually would not enjoy having my peers pelt me with projectiles that I'm intended to dodge, thank you very much. I lack the coordination to jump rope or turn a cartwheel, and I'm too lazy to run unless being chased by wolves or serial killers. My remedial physical fitness competence is at odds with my desire to not be fat – a bigger risk now that I'm no longer existing on Lean Cuisines. When I decided to make health and fitness a priority, I knew I couldn't do it alone. Scratch that . . . I knew I wouldn't be able to do it alone. I embraced my outsourcing strategy and I hired a personal trainer. Technically, I hired several because they kept losing their minds and quitting on me – but that was more likely due to the cut-rate gym I joined.

After losing my 4^th personal trainer, a considerable amount of my disposable income, and any hope of getting my ass in shape, I stumbled upon Big Bad Trainer Aaron. I'd seen him around my bargain basement gym – he's hard to miss – but just the sight of him terrified me. He may be four inches shorter than I am, but he doesn't have an ounce of fat on his body and he is HUGE. Like, terrifyingly huge. I assumed he was a scary beast who looked down on the rest of us chubby peons and who probably never succumbed to the swan song of a doughnut. I was breaking in my 5^th personal trainer, who was shaming me for eating an apple fritter, when Trainer Aaron magically appeared and engaged me in a discussion about the merits of Target brand apple fritters. I fired trainer #5 and began working with Big Bad Trainer Aaron right away.

He's been my trainer for a little over a year now – and yes, I am in better shape than I imagined possible. But what's amazing about Aaron is not just his physique (which is pretty damn amazing) – it's his passion and his commitment. Coupled with his humility, his kindness, and his intellect – he's pretty inspiring. You might look at him and think he's just another meathead. And you would be so very wrong. I'd love to tell you his story, but his sister beat me to it – and she did a better job than I ever could. I encourage you to check it out, and side note: if you are looking for a great book to read, check out Rebecca Kanner's novel, Sinners and the Sea.


While I'm struggling to embrace and achieve my anthem – give up, give in, or give it all you've got – I am truly lucky to have Trainer Aaron as my role model. He lives his life by this creed – probably unintentionally – and his example motivates me on those days when I want to give it all up altogether. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this video is priceless.

While I haven't won any bodybuilding contests, I'm sticking to my guns and I'd like to think I'm doing a pretty good job of knowing when to give up, when to give in, and when to give it all I've got. Here's my progress report:

Give Up: I haven't given up much lately . . . which might be a good thing. With my handy outsourcing strategy, I gave up housecleaning and had a professional come in and polish the palace. It was worth every penny, and although it wouldn't kill me to run the Dyson over these hairy floors, the house is still fairly clean even two plus weeks after the cleaner left.

I've also been trying to give up my nighttime snacking habit. This has been only marginally successful because I love snacks. A lot. Rather than give up snacking entirely, I've been replacing my naughty snacks with more healthy options, like fresh fruit.

Give In: I finally made and kept a dentist appointment to get my teeth cleaned. Given the amount of anxiety this caused me, I had to take an entire afternoon off work, lest I go completely postal. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that although I might want to take up more regular flossing (I am a sporadic flosser. Sue me), my teeth had a clean bill of health. I would like to thank my Phillips Sonicare toothbrush for contributing to this successful visit. As some of you know, I am not a model dental patient and I frequently bite the hand that cleans my teeth. I'm not a fan of my current dentist, as she often drops dental instruments (which are sharp, pointy, and dangerous) on me while working on my teeth. She also is partially responsible for the emergency dental surgery that left a gaping hole in my face a couple of years ago, While cleaning my teeth, my very kind and gentle hygienist, who was filling in but who normally works with another dentist in the practice, suggested I switch dentists . . . so I did. Wait – does that count as giving up or giving in?

Giving It All I've Got: I'm sure there are more things I could list, but rather than a full essay, I'm going to give you the headlines and highlights. Here they are:

• 96 day streak on MyFitnessPal! Mindful eating more often than not . . . it's a good thing. Friend me (dlamere2) on MyFitnessPal and I promise, you'll feel better about yourself. I've been known to call wine and M&M's a meal.
• Stepped on the scale today and it's a pseudo-success story. I've lost over half a pound since my last weigh-in a couple of weeks ago (yay) but I'm still a couple of pounds heavier than I was six months ago, and more importantly, I'm about 10 (well, 9.4 if I use today's weigh in) pounds from my goal. This is progress, though, and progress is a darned good thing so I'm chalking this up as a win!
• Although my cuticles have looked better, hooray for me to conquer my nail-biting habit! It's been almost 100 days since I've chewed a fingernail.
• Worked out five of the last seven days and made sure I got my strength training and my cardio complete, so I'm not shoulding all over myself but instead, I'm getting it done.

Bottom line – life is good and I am so lucky to be surrounded by people who inspire me to be my best. That's the essence of giving it my all. Happy Easter!

© 2015 Princess D


 

 

You Have the Right to Remain Stupid

People are always telling me how smart I am, which demonstrates one thing quite clearly . . . people in general must be really stupid. I'm actually not particularly smart, motivated, or hard-working. I'm simply practical and I have more common sense than the average bear. A smart person wouldn't be perplexed childproof caps; sweaters without head holes (www.stitchfix.com – I'm still not over that incident); plungers; and lawn mowers, to name a few forms of personal kryptonite. For years, I believed that all cows slept standing up – until I moved to cow country and noticed many cows prefer to sleep in a seated position. Thus, I'm also still confused by cow tipping. These are not characteristics of the intellectual, folks.

What I do have in abundance is common sense, and I occasionally find myself indignant at the sheer lack of civilized manners that exist in our society. You need look no further than your local airport to witness this in action. In spite of the posters, television ads, and verbal warnings, there are always people dragging Big Gulps and giant cans of hairspray through security. These are the same people who "forget" to empty their pockets; leave their shoes and belts on; and generally need a minimum of three tries to get through airport security. Now, I'm confident these idiots are not terrorists or up to any nonsense, because a real criminal would be a lot sneakier. Of course, I accidentally tried to bring a corkscrew through airport security last year (I didn't realize it was in my bag) so I get it. Stuff happens.

In general, I try to summon up as much patience and graciousness for life's idiots as I can. It's unlikely, after all, that these people are waking up every morning with the sole objective of making me lose my shit. Thus, I typically take a deep breath, allow for a quick eye-roll, and deal with it. Most of the time, this tactic works. However, there are times, places, and behavior I find so egregious that I feel compelled to confront it. It's as if Boss Hogg descended from the heavens and deputized me in these moments, and I am obligated to do my civic duty. I have been known to pick up litter and chase after its bug to return it with the helpful phrase, "I think you dropped this." If my gym refuses to enforce their own rules of 20 minute limit on cardio machines while others are waiting, I shall police the elliptical machines on their behalf. I'm not going to wait while you clock an hour on that machine, Grandpa Tiny Running Shorts. Move along. My particular hot button, however, is uncivilized rudeness.

Newsflash: no one wants to wait in line. Lines suck. Waiting sucks. But if I have been waiting in line for 20 minutes and you suddenly show up in all your entitled glory and cut the line in front of me, don't think you're not going to hear about it. I observed a prospective line cutter at the airport the other day. When the thought bubble above her head started flashing in neon, I suggested that she rethink her plan. This suggestion was not well-received so I then encouraged her to obtain permission from each of the 50 people she was cutting off in line before making her choice. (Ps. The only way she was cutting in line on my watch is if she stepped behind me.) She did not care for my helpful suggestions but eventually went to the back of the line where she belonged. While waiting in line, she must have been stewing and coming up with some righteous comebacks, because about 10 minutes later, she and her horrific teenaged offspring returned like a recurring nightmare. Teen Spirit was quite disrespectful to her elder (me) but with such a lousy role model, I overlooked much of her sauciness. And honestly – if "bitch" is the best you can do, I'm hardly offended. I know I'm a bitch. I hear it all the time. Tell me something I don't know.

I wish this story had a better ending, but unfortunately, everyone else in line was a big pansy, and since I didn't think fisticuffs in the airport would get me to the front of the line any faster, I was left with nothing but my impotent rage when she returned and eventually cut in front of me in line. This would have been an excellent chance to embrace my anthem and give up or give in. I tried. I really did. But this asshole family was in my way everywhere at the airport. At one point, I wound up in front of them in yet another line, and neutered husband leaned in and said, "See? You beat us after all." Oh, sir. No. I want to beat you senseless with my shoe, but that will merely get me arrested and placed on a no-fly list. So, instead of giving him the beat down he deserved, I leaned in, patted his arm in a patronizing manner, and said in my most seething tone, "Oh, sir. You seem confused. We're not in a competition. It's not about who gets there first, it's about the rules of living in a civilized society and it's about having common decency and manners. It's a shame that you can't role model this for your children. They're going to grow up to be real assholes. Enjoy your flight."

That should have been the end of the story, but because I am karma's bitch, I ran into the Real Entitled Family of Philadelphia again at the gate, because of course we were on the same flight. At that point, neutered husband must have retrieved his testicles from his wife's purse, because the two of them sat near me, glared and me, and loudly talked about me in front of me. At this point, my rage had dissipated and I was more amused than anything else (although, given the chance, I would have gladly slapped the crap out of them) so I stared back with a smirk on my face and prayed to God that I wouldn't have to sit next to them on the flight. Spoiler alert: We were seated in opposite corners of the airplane and there were no further incidents.

So . . . anthem update.
Give Up: Yeah . . . I tried. But sometimes, giving up is harder than it looks. The only thing I gave up on recently was sleep. Between daylight savings time and a trip across time zones, hours were lost. I'm tired.

Wait, wait – no! I lied. I also am giving up on housecleaning. The palace needs a good deep cleaning. When the pets are constantly licking the floors, it's a sign that your filth has hit a new low. Rather than should all over myself and feel shame at my terrible domestic capabilities, I scheduled a housecleaning. Cleaner will be here on Monday and I assure you, it will be about the best $100 I'll spend this month.

Give In: I think the fact that I didn't leave the airport in handcuffs shows that I am capable of giving in when required. I also gave in and said goodbye to my favorite pair of Franco Sarto black ankle boots. These boots go with everything and were a fall and winter wardrobe staple for the past two years. Well-loved and oft worn, they've seen better days and are falling apart. We parted ways on Wednesday and now, I'm looking for a replacement. I also gave in and paid the IRS for my 2014 income taxes. This is only a partial victory as I owe the great state of MN significantly more money and I'm bitter about it, so I'm waiting until the last minute to pay them. Governor Dayton – I think I know where this budget surplus is coming from . . .

Giving It All I've Got: 81 day streak on MyFitnessPal. It's hard to log all your food when you're on the road, away from home, and eating in restaurants a lot. I did the best I could and clearly, overate this week. I'll be staying off the scale for now, thank you. I've also been reading Stop Eating Your Heart Out, which is an interesting look at binge-eating and emotional eating disorders, with an emphasis on developing skills to alleviate the shame, guilt, and fear associated with a dysfunctional relationship with food. Parts of this book resonate strongly and others, not so much. One thing the author recommends is (drumroll, please) keeping a food log/diary and she outlines the benefits of doing so. I guess MyFitnessPal and I are doing something right!

One of the excerpts that resonated most strongly with me is when the author addressed the concept of "shoulding" all over yourself. She recommends that we "change our shoulds to coulds." Instead of saying, "I should go to the gym" or "I have to eat more vegetables", she recommends that we reframe this by saying things like, "I choose to exercise" or "I choose to eat broccoli." She goes on to explain that "the word choose dissipates that poor-me voice and the feeling of being a victim and leads instead to feelings of self-empowerment." I'm still practicing this – unlearning a life of "shoulding" doesn't happen overnight. By the way, I could exercise more than I have been lately. Ahem.

I've gone 80 days without biting my fingernails and to celebrate, I had a manicure and went wild with dark red polish. I can't stop staring at my hands and I suspect that I am wildly gesturing while talking to others just so I can get a glimpse of my pretty digits. I'm hooked on nice nails!

Lastly, and while it may seem like the kind of thing Captain Obvious would share, I am giving all I've got to documenting my journey. Writing is cathartic and although I don't always have something interesting to say, the act of sitting down at my laptop and letting my words out helps create both a sense of peace and some joy in my life. And that is really what giving it all you've got is all about.

 
© 2015 Princess D

Beware the Ides (and the rest of) March

True confession: March has never been my favorite month. From Mother Nature's mood swings (Snow, rain, wind, ice, and melting all in one month? That's crazy!) to losing an hour of sleep due to daylight savings time to my seasonal allergy attacks which will kick in every single time we have a small thaw, leaving me snotty, breathless, and mainlining Claritin to cope with my sinus headaches to the way that March deposits a heaping helping of fresh grief and loss on my doorstep, March is the time of year when I feel less like a princess and more like pee. Lest you think that was either a Freudian slip or spell check error, let me be clear – I feel like actual urine. That was intentional.

On March 14, 2001, I learned the true meaning of grief. If you don't answer when grief calls, don't worry. Grief leaves a voicemail. And if you don't respond to that voicemail immediately, because you're busy being a very important corporate drone and you decide to return the call when it's more convenient for you, grief will join forces with her BFFs guilt and shame, and the three of them will wait for you and they will deliver an ass-kicking that will stick with you for the remainder of your days. Like most of the lessons I've learned, I learned this one the hard way and I have the invisible scars to prove it. When I finally got around to returning grief's phone call 14 years ago, I remember feeling annoyed and put out that I had to respond to this likely annoying voicemail – until I heard the words that would break my heart into a million pieces and change me forever. Nate was dead.

Nate was the embodiment of love, of laughter, of light, and of life – but where there is love and light, there can also be darkness lurking below the surface. Nate's struggle was epic – he fought the demons of bipolar disorder and depression quietly and alone for many years. He won many battles but ultimately, mental illness won the war when he took his own life on March 13, 2001. He was my best friend. Why didn't he confide in me? Why didn't he tell me how bad things had become? I couldn't reconcile the idea of a guy who was too gentle to kill a spider with this man who bought a gun and used it to end his life. How did this happen? Why didn't I know? Why didn't I stop it? Lather, rinse, repeat.

On St Patrick's Day 14 years ago, we said our goodbyes and buried Nate – and I said goodbye to my dear friend and hello to my three new companions; grief, shame, and guilt. The four of us spent a lot of time together in the ensuing days, months, and years – mostly late at night when the rest of the world was sleeping. My three new companions would gang up on me; tell me horrible things about myself; and they pushed me to make lousy life choices. So, no, March – I don't particularly care if you decide to go in like a lamb, a lion, or a loose cannon . . . I just plain don't like you.

Of course, time marches on (pun not intended but awesome nonetheless) and since it's not socially acceptable to take to your bed for an entire month just because it's not your best time of year, I continue my efforts to give up, give in, or give it all I've got. Here's the latest:

Give Up: I gave up an hour of sleep – but so did everyone because daylight savings time is here. I also gave up part of my weekend to take my niece (aka mini-me) on some college visits. There is nothing like spending 36 hours with a 16 year old to make you feel older than dirt. I remember the day Mini-me was born, and suddenly we're filling out college applications and looking at dorm rooms and talking about college majors and careers. She has a drivers' license, an opinion about everything, and such a bright future in front of her. I want her to take advantage of every opportunity and shine – and not make all the mistakes that my dumb ass made, but I also know that screwing up is part of growing up, so instead, I bite my tongue so hard that I taste blood and do my best to be a good role model, mentor, and champion for her while trying to remember to buy Geritol and Activia because I. AM. OLD. How the hell did this happen?

Give In: I love living in America, and I know that part of the deal of living in this great land is that I have to pay taxes. Yet the annual income tax routine makes me sweat, itch, and panic like nothing else on earth. I am terrified of the size of the check I will need to write my uncle, Sam. Occasionally, I get a small refund but more often than not, I'm writing a check with a lot of zeros. Last year, I sold a house and made a profit (on paper) so I feared the worst. After almost chewing off my nice-looking fingernails from anxiety, I decided to suck it up and the hubby and I called our tax dude. The short version of this story is that yes, I owe some money. It's a lot less than my worst nightmare and we'll be filing this week. Am I thrilled to write these checks? No. But it could be a lot worse, as I learned in previous years, so I'll write the checks, lick the stamps, and shut my pie hole. And that, my friends, is the very definition of giving in.

Giving It All I've Got: I have 69 days of mostly honest and complete food logging on MyFitnessPal, which is both a personal record and quite an achievement. I'm terrified to step on the scale to determine if I'm making any actual progress, so I am relying on the positive affirmations and proactive shaming I receive from MyFitnessPal on a regular basis to define my success. Thankfully, MyFitnessPal has not yet figured out that I occasionally replace entire meals with wine, so it has yet to provide me with the shaming I so richly deserve, "Wine is not one of the four food groups" or alternately, "This much wine consumption is only going to lead you down the road to inhaling a family size bag of Pirate's Booty before the day is done." I jest. I only had wine for dinner one time. I promise.

I'm finishing up my Thrive Eight-Week Experience. Have I lost weight? Only my scale knows for sure and I am certainly not going to hoist my fat ass onto that digital nightmare to find out. Do I have more energy? I think I do. Do I feel pretty good most of the time? Yes, actually – which is no small feat considering March is generally the time of year I go into a deep depression that no amount of sleep, chocolate, wine, or Lifetime movies can cure. One of these mornings – preferably not a morning after I've smashed an entire platter of onion rings (also known as last Thursday) or a large pizza (also known as the prior Saturday) or a gooey chocolate-peanut butter Rice Krispy treat (within the past 72 hours) – I will face my demons, step on the scale, and get an official progress report. Until then, I'll keep Thriving because it's probably not hurting and frankly, sometimes that's the best I can hope for.

Not only have I been religious about seeing Big Bad Trainer, but I think I might be getting stronger! I frequently flex my biceps at home in front of the mirror, the cat, the dog, and my husband. None of them seem too impressed. I huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf's twin sister when Big Bad Trainer puts me through the paces, and the thought of lunging or squatting makes my hair hurt. And maybe Big Bad Trainer is playing head games with me, but even he has mentioned that I seem to be getting stronger. You've been warned.

I've been sporadic about my cardio workouts – but, I did pack my sneakers on my weekend road trip to Fargo, ND – and damn if I wasn't in the hotel gym at the Candlewood Suites getting my sweat on early Saturday morning. I'm not giving it all I've got here but I'm giving it something which is better than nothing, right?

I am pleased to report that I do not have to move out of my little community. My volunteer application to serve on the human services committee has been approved and I am supposed to be sworn in by the city council next week. I attended my first meeting tonight and I'm looking forward to being in a position to make a small difference in the community where I live. My husband is happy that I'm not going to move out, as I threatened to do if I was not selected to serve. What can I say? I'm a vengeful person.

It's been at least 65 days since I last chewed my fingernails. I do still occasionally pick a ragged cuticle but I'm not going to lie to you – my nails look pretty good. I have discovered the shellac manicure which has been basically life-changing, and I frequently admire my own lovely nails. Because I can.

Finally – in the spirit of giving it all I've got, I'll be remembering my dear Nate on Friday, March 13^th. While I remember him every day, on Friday, I'll be taking special care to "give it all I've got" to paying it forward and honoring his memory. Don't be alarmed if you get a phone call or a text from me. Will I be handing out hugs? Doubtful. But hey – stranger things have happened.

© 2015 Princess D

Count Your Blessings, Not Your Problems

When I decided to give it all I've got, I wasn't actually referring to completing the transformation to total psychopath. Unfortunately, in my current, "go big or go home" world, half-assing it is not allowed. If I'm going to be an ass, I'm going to be a whole giant one. And believe you me when I assure you, the ass is in!

I'm used to being the mayor of Crankytown. It's a role I'm comfortable with and I enjoy ruling my kingdom with an iron and cranky fist. I'm not used to channeling Cher songs whereby my "words are like weapons, they wound sometimes." I don't know what happened on Friday night, unless it was a unique combination of Neptune rising, workplace stress, wine, and premenstrual syndrome. All I know is one minute, we were having a lovely conversation on the couch and the next minute, I was threatening to ram a screwdriver through my husband's ear, and at one point, I believe I shouted, "If you don't get in here and watch television with me right now, I'll divorce you!" Who does that? Hint: I do. And it's not my proudest moment.

In addition to giving my all to becoming a complete and total ass – a feat which took up a surprising amount of my time and energy because it's not like being that horrible came naturally to me, no matter what you may have heard – I also spent some time giving all I've got to other areas of my life. For those keeping score, here's the latest tally:

Give Up: According to my husband, I gave up good manners and took rage to new levels over the past few weeks. I can't argue his point – I've been itching to pick fights with anyone and everyone. Note to those in the service industry: this never ends well for you. Letters were written and mailed to restaurant general managers who wronged me; online surveys indicated my displeasure with the enthusiasm in the greeting I received upon entering your establishment; and cashiers who failed "Bagging 101" class were loudly reprimanded for doing it wrong. Attention, bagging personnel: you do not need to put items that have built-in handles into a bag. If I can't carry the milk jug by its handle, the flimsy bag (paper or plastic, it matters not) is not going to solve the riddle for me. You should also avoid placing all the heaviest items together in one bag, leaving me with one bag weighing more than a bowling ball and another one that feels like it contains feathers. And for the love of all that is holy, you are making the Baby Jesus cry when you put cleaning supplies in the same bag with perishables. Get it together, people! I'm half-blind, lack depth perception, am spatially challenged and even I can bag correctly. If you're not sure if you're doing it wrong, you probably are. But check out this handy guide to correctly bagging groceries and perform your own self-assessment.


There is a follow-up rant in my future where I'll discuss my extreme displeasure with the way cashiers provide your change on a cash transaction - so you have something to look forward to.

Give In: In 2007, I purchased my first hybrid car, a 2008 Honda Civic hybrid. While it doesn't have any bells or whistles – it has doors, windows, and a horn, thank you very much – it does get about 37 mpg and more importantly, I haven't had a car payment since 2010. In fact, my Honda is one of the very few items from my "old life" that I've carried over into my new (happily married) life. I've had that car longer than I've known my husband. It's been stuck in snowbanks; it has crashed into inanimate objects; and there was one instance where it drove up onto someone's lawn. It's been crashed, smashed, and it bears the scars. It also has a furry pink steering wheel cover (yay) and just under 110k miles on the odometer. While I can't park it to save my life, this car has served me well. I'll say it: it's the most reliable car I've ever owned.

And . . . it's time to let it go. Minnesota winters are hard on cars, and rust is starting to eat away at my beloved vehicle. The self-inflected dents and dings I was too cheap to repair look like rust-colored bruises. I am giving up on my car and giving up on my debt-free living, and I bought a new car. Not only did I buy it, I drove it home tonight! My new ride has bells and whistles that are probably way too complicated for a Luddite like me to figure out – but it's cute, it's a turbo diesel, and more importantly, my little Honda has found a grateful new owner. Take good care of her, Ted. 

Giving It All I've Got: At the risk of sounding like president of my own fan club, I've been giving it all I've got all over the place. Here are the headlines:

• I raised my hand in my community and expressed interest in serving on the human services committee. I interviewed with the city council last week and although they didn't "hire" me on the spot for this volunteer role, when I inquired, "What are you looking for in a new committee member," the answer was, "Someone exactly like you!" I took that as a positive sign, since I fit that description pretty well, and I look forward to giving back to my city and its residents in this way.
• 56 day streak on MyFitnessPal!
• Lost 0.9 lbs. since my last weigh-in on MyFitnessPal, making me 3 lbs. heavier than when I signed up for MyFitnessPal in the first place several years ago. It's progress – I'll take it! In all seriousness, my experience with food logging shows that, once you make a habit of it, it will help you eat mindfully and you will be able to s-l-o-w-l-y return to your fighting weight.
• Although my nail polish is chipping, my fingernails look pretty damn good. Not one person has inquired as to whether or not termites have been chewing on my digits, which is another positive sign. I haven't picked or chewed a fingernail or cuticle in almost 60 days.
• I finished my stupid work paper, turned it in, presented it, and survived! I re-read the paper this morning and was pleasantly surprised at how smart it sounded, and this afternoon, I got some feedback from a bunch of very important people at work, all of whom agreed that it was written well. As an aspiring author, it was nice to hear that I may have a talent for storytelling.
• I even had a performance review that didn't suck!
• Two weeks shy of finishing my Thrive Eight Week Experience and while I'm not going to be peddling this stuff myself anytime soon, since taking the supplements, I have felt zestier and more energetic than normal. I almost never want to lay under my desk and nap midday anymore. I will likely continue taking Thrive after the eight weeks are up. I haven't missed a day yet.
• Missed a workout with Big Bad Trainer, but made up for it with a self-induced cardio butt-kicking. And I'm back in the strength-training saddle starting tomorrow.
• Did I mention what an asshole I've been lately?
  

Do I still wish I was younger, smarter, thinner, less freckly? Of course. I also wish I was a millionaire, a natural red head, and living in a warm climate. But I've got to tell you – since I'm giving it all I've got, I'm spending more time being grateful and appreciating how amazing my life is. If you're looking for me, I'll be drinking a beer and counting my blessings.

© 2015 Princess D


 

 

 

Show Yourself Some Love

Isn't it ironic how time can move both quickly and glacially at the same time? Consider the conference call that just won't end at work; the time spent thumbing through a collection of germ-infested decade old magazines while you wait for your health-care practitioner to call your name; or the meeting you have with the guy who does your taxes as examples of the latter. On the former, it's how you seem to blink and suddenly you're a year older; the way that the dirty laundry seems to reproduce while you're not watching; and the sense that no matter how hard you try, you'll never have enough time to do it all.

It's Valentine's Day, which means that February is half gone and March is just around the corner. Apparently, 2/3 of us have already abandoned our New Year's resolutions and are either wallowing in a pool of guilt and shame or are celebrating that we can now eat gluten or carbs or sit on the couch watching television with our mouths hanging open with reckless abandonment. But . . . 33.33333% of us are sticking to our guns. We're still in the game. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to count myself among the fighters since I publicly eschewed resolutions in favor of an annual anthem, but since I feel like a winner, I'm going to count myself in these statistics.

Yesterday was my first official paid day off in 2015, and since old habits die hard, I had this incredible list of "shoulds" concocted to fill up the hours I'd normally spend at the office. I'd go to the credit union; I'd complete a required financial transaction; I'd go to the gym; I'd clean the house; I'd pick up groceries; I'd walk the dog; I'd do laundry; I'd go to the gym . . . You know what? All I wanted to do was take a nap. So, after a trip to the credit union and a required financial transaction (the whole reason I took the day off), I came home, had a snack, and napped like a baby. If my dog hadn't been so offended by a garbage truck traveling down the street – he expresses his displeasure through a series of painfully loud barks – I might be sleeping still.

So, here's my Valentine's Day progress report:
Give Up: Maybe it's just me, but I harbor a vague sense of guilt when I take time to do things for myself. I feel like I should be busy saving the world or at least making sure my household has clean underwear and a well-stocked refrigerator. Perhaps I'm imagining the conversations I'll have at the office on Monday when people ask how I spent my day off. Will I be ashamed that I spent a good portion of the day in bed? Perhaps, but why? My colleagues don't care how I spent my day off. They're being polite and making small talk – and I bet that each of them secretly wishes they were napping anyway.

I've tried to give up the shoulding all over myself, but 40 years of bad habits don't change overnight. It's a process. So, instead, I am giving up on feeling guilty for taking care of myself. If I don't, who will? Besides, there are fewer greater pleasures in life than snuggling in your warm bed with a fluffy cat and a big furry dog.

Give In: Oh, was I a crankypants this week! I don't know if it was sleep deprivation, stress, or just general witchiness, but I was unpleasant to the core. I was the kind of horrible that feels like an out-of-body experience – where you can actually see yourself being a crazy bitch but you can't do anything to stop it. Innocent people tried to ask me questions and instead of answers, they received vitriol. So much vitriol.

Sometimes, I'm not nice. And when I'm feeling horrible, it usually means that I'm failing in some other aspect of my life. In this case, as I gave in to my inner bitch, I realized I was neglecting my self-care. And apparently, when I am not fed, watered, and rested appropriately, I become hazardous to your health. You've been warned.

Giving it All I've Got: I still haven't missed a single workout date with Big Bad Trainer . . . which may not sound like a real accomplishment, but I assure you, it is. I normally train twice a week after work – which means that I've been up and at 'em in some way, shape, or form for at least 11 hours before I head to the gym. There are days when I'm so tired that I don't even want to walk from my desk to my car, much less participate in whatever heavy lifting antics Big Bad Trainer may have up his sleeve. Wednesday was one of those days and I debated whether or not it would be okay to miss my workout – until I realized that I'd have to confess my sloth to one of the four people who read my blog and it was that shame that propelled me through my workout.

I'm on a 46 day streak on MyFitnessPal, even though there was an incident with some peanut butter M&Ms that I'd rather not discuss. MyFitnessPal knows all about it, and provided the appropriate level of fat and sugar shaming already. I haven't been on the scale in February yet, since I'm still reeling from seeing those very large numbers the scale reflected back at me in January. I suspect we're in a holding pattern. Or worse. But what I don't know is unlikely to cause me to fling my iPhone or my expensive scale out the window. Besides, it's really cold out and we probably can't afford a new window.

I'm continuing my Thrive Eight Week Experience. Since I refuse to get on the scale, I can't really provide any insights on whether or how well this is working, but I have not missed a day of vitamins and protein shakes. Since I'm not promoting, selling, or making any money from this experience, my assessment is likely the most honest you'll find. I have some more energy and I am less prone to snack attacks, so it's doing something. Is that worth the price tag? Unclear until I know whether or not we are seeing any results on the scale I'm terrified to stand on.

I'm still trying to figure out my purpose in this life. After being rejected for several volunteer positions, I received a call recently inviting me to interview for a role on the city's human services committee. My 15 minute interview is on Tuesday evening, and I've already explained to my husband that if they reject me, we will obviously sell our house and leave the city immediately. (He is less convinced.) Since its inception, the city's human services fund has allocated over $1.4 million to community agencies. This year, they will allocate almost $50k to organizations like Second Harvest Heartland; the YMCA; PRISM food shelf; and others. I'm studying for my interview! Wish me luck – I can't handle being rejected for yet another unpaid position. There is a fine line between humbling and humiliating, and I don't think we need to cross it.

And – thanks to the guy in my basement, who is a lovely person and a frequent volunteer – I have been invited to volunteer at the Marie Sandvik Center tomorrow. I think it is important to be of service to others for so many reasons – frankly, it's an entirely new blog – but most of all, I think we can all benefit from changing the channel in our own heads from the "all me, all the time" show to the "focus on someone else" hour.

Last but not least, there is my writing. While I don't update this blog on any kind of planned or predictable schedule, under the guise that would be awfully close to shoulding on myself, I am writing. I don't know if writing is my hobby, my therapy, or something else but I do know that when I write, I feel better than when I don't – so giving it all I've got seems like a good choice.
Although it's the kind of cold that even polar bears complain about outside, the sun is shining, and I've banished should from my vocabulary for the day. We'll see what happens – and tomorrow is a new day to tackle that which doesn't get done today.

 
© 2015 Princess D


 

 

 

 

 

Whoooosh . . . there it is!

If you listen really closely, you'll hear a deep whooshing sound. That's the sound of me releasing the breath I've been holding for the past few weeks; exhaling the self-doubt, the angst, and the feeling of being an imposter in my own life. In retrospect, I didn't exhale all at once but rather, like a helium balloon with a tiny leak, slowly released the breath I'd been clinging to since the calendar turned to 2015.

A few things you should know about me. First, I'm terrible at math. Second, I'm incredibly vain and also shockingly immature for a person who generally goes through life with a giant stick crammed firmly up her backside. There's an entirely different blog and lucrative retirement opportunity for the therapist who wants to help me unravel that mess. Thus, I am frequently shocked when I wake up in the morning, do the math, and realize that I'm 40-something years old. It was a minor relief to discover that my remedial math skills are so poor that I'd incorrectly calculated my age as 42 . . . until I realized that I am, in fact, 41 and will be 42 in a matter of months. This discovery led to two immediate actions; first, I scheduled a shockingly expensive anti-aging facial that promised to take years off my appearance. Second, I went a little bananas. I'm almost 42 years old and what have I done with my life? What is my purpose? Is this all there is?

The facial was both expensive and quite uncomfortable. In all honestly, I think I look about ten years older and a lot more gullible for the experience. Perhaps the results will improve over time? Or maybe I'm just stuck with the face I've got and I should deal with it. What was more disturbing was the sense of existential angst I was wallowing in . . . but after I finished what I hope is the final damn draft of that idiot paper I'm working on at work, I was able to calm down a little bit, and like the self-proclaimed princess that I am, I decided to take my own medicine and anthem the hell out of this! Yeah – that happened. I made anthem a verb.

Here's the latest "anthem update" for those keeping score:

Give Up: I caught myself almost giving up a few times lo these last few days and weeks. There were times when I doubted my own ability to persevere, let alone succeed . . . but then I remembered my damn anthem and instead, I decided to give up my fear (of failure, of embarrassment, or whatever it is that is getting in my way) and I gave up on giving up more often than not. And I even learned something about myself in the process, which I know you're dying to hear, so I'll share it with you. Giving up is the easy way out in the moment, but when you give up, you are stuck wondering "what if" for eternity. In my personal experience, it would appear that giving up is what I do when I am under extreme stress and/or feel doomed to fail. I'd rather quit than fail. What's fascinating about this is that, last time I checked, I don't have psychic powers so I am actually not able to predict the future. Before I give up and throw in the towel, I'm trying something new. I'm pausing – just for a moment – to think about the reasons why. Sometimes my reasons are valid and in those instances, you bet I'm giving up. But more often than not, the act of pausing and getting really clear about my reasoning and rationale helps me make a different and intentional decision to keep on keeping on.

Give In: There's something about the phrase "give in" that just sounds negative. And yet, giving in is part of the human condition. If no one ever gave in, life would be an endless series of temper tantrums, slammed doors, raised voices, and random acts of violence. If we never gave in, no one would drive the speed limit, no one would pay their bills, and believe me when I tell you that more than one person would have been trampled to death by my shopping cart in a SuperTarget. Just like giving up, giving in is one of those things that is best done intentionally and mindfully.

There is a thin, thin line dividing giving in and shoulding all over oneself. For example, my mother-in-law is in the hospital, and I knew I should visit her. Because it's the right thing to do, blah blah blah. I really, really, really didn't want to. And I did it anyway. I gave in because it was her birthday, she's family, and if I didn't go visit her, I was just going to take a nap. However, the long list of things that I know I should be doing right now (laundry, vacuuming, walking the dog, going to the gym, organizing my closet, preparing my taxes, booking a hotel for my upcoming road trip to Fargo, ND . . .) and it's driving me nuts. I still haven't figured out how to give in without shoulding all over myself and if I do . . . you'll be among the first to know.

Giving it all I've Got: Because I've been pretty careful about setting realistic and reasonable expectations, I feel pretty good about where I've given it my all. Here are some examples of my commitment:

1. MyFitnessPal tells me that I have logged my food and exercise religiously for 40 days! 40 days without skipping or lying or pretending that I've lost my phone/laptop so that I don't have to confess my food sins to an app! While I've yet to shed a single pound, I am more thoughtful about what I eat (and don't) and am starting to see some rhyme and reason to my food consumption and overconsumption. This is a habit that, while annoying to others who are forced to watch me fiddle with my phone in restaurants, coffee shops, and bars in an effort to log my food real-time, I'm happy to keep up.
2. I decided to cut myself a break on the fitness front. This is actually an example of giving in and giving it all I've got. I am choosing not to spend all my free time at the gym because I have some other things going in my crazy, wild, colorful life that I'd rather give my time and energy to – so I made a deal with myself. I refuse to miss a single strength-training session with Big Bad Trainer Aaron – no matter what – and when I'm there, I am pushing myself as hard as I can. This is evidenced by the profuse amounts of sweat and the horrific grunting noises I'm emitting. (See also: big checks I write to my trainer.)
3. Now that I'm almost done with my paper for work, I find that I have more time on my hands for other activities. I want to do something meaningful and helpful, so I've applied to be a volunteer at a couple of places. Unfortunately, no one seems all that enthusiastic about my offers to volunteer at their homeless shelter or their job clubs. I've filled out applications, been interviewed, and had my references checked. It's humbling to realize that I may lack the appropriate skills to work for free. If you know of an organization that would like someone like me – I'm tall, I have my own car, and I can be nice when it's required – to volunteer a couple of times a month in a role that doesn't require a lot of hand-eye coordination or crafty abilities, please let me know.
4. Thrive by Le-vel Eight week experience. This is the pyramid marketing scheme I'm involved in where I take some vitamins in the morning, drink a chalky tasting low-calorie protein shake for breakfast, and wear something that looks suspiciously like a nicotine patch on my arm. I'm just over halfway through my eight week experience and while I don't think I'm going to be recruited to provide a personal testimonial, I will tell you that I continue to notice my increased energy and decreased appetite as happy side effects.

Also on the horizon of things I "should" give all I've got . . . networking and getting more involved in the local human resources community. I'm not quite ready to take this leap yet but am considering recruiting some friends to join me in this endeavor. Ask me about this again in a few weeks.

Sure, the groundhog predicts another six weeks of winter, but I predict an early spring . . . because I am continuing to spring into action and attack 2015 with a vengeance!

© 2015 Princess D