Archive | September, 2011

Day 273: f*ing friday :: fireworks

30 Sep

TGIF.
Today continues the weekly series, F*ing Fridays, which will coincidentally occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few.

Last week I dove into the word Feminist.

Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the word:
Fireworks

As in, what does it take to start a fire?

I think I know.
Today, I felt the heat.  Being in a room of women, from the ages of 18 to 80, all charged up and energized around one idea: the fire within.

The kind of fire that grows inside your head, heart, body and soul.

The kind of fire that sparks dreams.

The kind of fire that keeps you moving forward toward that dream.

The kind of fire that reassures in times of agony and despair that there can be more: love, laughter, and life out there waiting. Just in case the life you’re living isn’t the journey you know deep, deep, inside you were destined to fulfill.

Today was Women on Fire Day.
And, let me tell you, these women were on fire.

As I looked around the room, I saw all shades of life in these incredible faces. I saw the unstoppable dreams of youth, the sheer determination of impenetrable passion for a dream, for a vision, a longing to step out into the world and make a mark or a change or a difference.

I saw the broken hearts of love lost, jobs lost, marriages lost, loved ones lost, children and dreams lost.  And, the binding strength that comes from surviving, moving on, taking a step forward, one day at a time.

I saw the wisdom that comes only through that roller coaster of ups and downs — of holding on through thick and thin.  I saw the quiet silence that comes in the form of a knowing nod that signals, yes, I have been there, done that.

I saw hugs and high-fives.
Uproarious laughter.
Tiny tears.

But, more than anything I saw fireworks.

The kind of fireworks that occur when women come together and listen, really listen to each, cheer each other on, and say “you, go girl!” — whether you’re barely 18 or almost 80 years old.

I saw all of this and for a moment sadly wished I had experienced this kind of love, support and knowledge when I was 18 years-old.

What a gift to hear that it’s okay to fail at a marriage, or a job, or an entire decade — and still be able to live out your biggest and best dreams.  What a gift to hear that it’s okay to dream big even if you’re just starting out, have no experience and don’t know where to start.  What a gift to hear that it’s okay to dream big when you’re turning 80 and everyone else is at the finish line.

And, that’s good for my head and my heart, even my body and soul.

Because aren’t we all just gunpowder wrapped in paper, with an fuse — just waiting for our moment, our perfect moment to ignite our spark?

And, that makes me smile, because I know, all it takes to light a fire is one moment, one move, one day.

Why not make it today?



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Day 272: taking a shot

29 Sep

I’m feeling a bit under the weather today, so my new friend Carrie Saba, who met me for breakfast while I am visiting Columbus, Ohio for the fabulous Women on Fire Day (tomorrow!!!), suggested I try something new.

A shot with a chaser.
Of wheatgrass followed by an orange slice.

They say wheatgrass juice provides the nutritional equivalent of 2 and 1/2 pounds of leafy green vegetables. It is also said to:

- increase red blood cell count

- act as an anti inflammatory

- rejuvenate the body

- reduce high blood pressure

So I took a double shot!
Who knows if it helped my head cold today or my body?  But, it sure was fun to try something new.

And, I can tell you what really eased my head, heart and soul today — connecting with a new friend.  Thank you Carrie!  It was so wonderful to spend time in your sunshine.

Thank you for introducing me to a fun new place (North Market) and thank you for listening and laughing too.

As I sit here tonight typing away, on the eve of Women on Fire Day, I can’t help but wonder about all the new friendships that will spark tomorrow in the presence of open hearts, warm, wonderful, and super dynamic women.

There’s one thing I do know for sure: it’s always worth taking a shot at making new friends.

Fireworks await.

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Day 271: the bath that makes my body work

28 Sep

What is the first thing you do when you arrive at a hotel?
As soon as I stepped foot into my hotel room in Columbus, Ohio today I hung up my clothes — next to the those big, warm, fluffy and yummy hotel robes.

It is actually easy to pack for road trips since I have been without shopping for the last 271 days.  My suitcase and I have the formula down-pat, there is a worn path where the black heels go.  I know exactly how to fold my Cibeline jacket, laying it gently on top so it doesn’t get smashed as I zip up the case.  There is little cramming, only space for essentials — like bubble bath.

I must admit: I love hotel rooms.
There’s something so clean-slate/fresh-start about hotels.

But, more than anything, I love a great bathtub.
I’m drawing my bathwater now.

I firmly believe that it is my bath that makes my body work.
Even just fifteen minutes in hot water soaking away my day gives me the boost I need to either unwind or rev up.  And, today, it feels vital with my sinuses stuffed up and my nosing giving the next presidential candidate a good run for office.

So off I go, to soak, and pop a few Tylenol Cold Multi-Symptom pills.

That, combined with bubble bath has to be good for my body.
If not just my nose.

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Day 270: waiting for a wake up call for a good life?

27 Sep

Today started out with a sticky September fog hanging over the island. Enough to blur the early morning roads and make me want to crawl back into bed.

Or, was that my sleepy eyes at 7am?
Either way, it seemed the day was off to a dreary start as I hopped in the car and battled the cloudy roads to go exercise.

My wake up call came when the kettlebells kicked in — or rather when Yvette, the kettlebell queen and Debbie’s personal trainer, kicked us both into gear at 7:45am.

And, my surprise?
Yvette presented me with a BIG-ger kettlebell (twice the size of the one in the picture above from Day 258) that she pulled out of her proverbial bag.

I guess Yvette knew I needed to push myself to the edge, all the way to that place where I would, yes, you guessed it … sweat.  And, I did.

By 8:15 I was fully alive, awake, alert and enthusiastic.
And giggling.

Giggling with Debbie as both of us took turns with the bicep curl thingamajig-rope-thing-that-hangs-on-the-back-of-the-door holding all our body weight while attempting to angle at 60 degrees and gently lift through the arms.

Trust me, it’s the smallest of moves that make the biggest difference.
The first being JUST getting out of bed.

Back on Day 185 I made a list.
It included many things I still wanted to try this year.  I have crossed off a few like yoga and kettlebells, but, I’m even happier to do them with a partner in crime.

It helps so much to have a workout friend.

For me, it’s the difference between showing up and rolling over in bed with a pillow over my head blocking out all rays of light and reminders to wake up.

A partner makes all the difference.
Because I know (most of the time) that the magic lives in the consistency of it all — building a lifestyle that supports my head, heart, body and soul over an entire life cycle.

And, hey, if it takes a friend to kick in my exercise routine, I’ll take it.  For today, it was enough to turn a dreary, blah, foggy fall day into a pretty kick-ass September surprise.

And, isn’t it about time we all wake up?
Just today I read how one study finds U.S. Health Insurance Costs are Rising Sharply.  How much money would we all save by getting our butts out of bed in the morning?  How much disease would be wiped out from a few more uncontrollable giggles before 8:30am everyday?

It’s worth waking up for if you ask me.
As one of my favorite songs suggests — this could really be a good life, a good, good, life.

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Day 269: get me to the taj on time

26 Sep


My favorite nail polish is Get Me To The Taj On Time by O.P.I.

Well …it was.

I just found Jane.
Jane is manufactured by Zoya and a pretty close match to my old O.P.I. love if you ask me.  But Zoya does things differently, like being formaldehyde free, as well as free of toluene, DBP (phthalates) and camphor.

(According to Esther’s Nail Center: DBP or ‘dibutyl phthalate’ is a plasticizer that makes nail polish flexible. Toluene is a colorless liquid used as a solvent. And Formaldehyde helps harden nails. All these ingredients are linked to cancer, developmental/reproductive toxicity and allergies.)

Personally, I have been digging pretty deep all year long and it’s clear to me that beauty is more than Skin Deep.

It’s a function of a few things really, including what goes in your body — ideally clean water, clean food, and clean air.  After a few months of cleaning up my act in a few ways, it seems there are ever more items to tackle.

Like nail polish.

Enter Skin Deep.
It’s their mission to provide information on health care products and the environment, including these categories:

  • Sun
  • Makeup
  • Face
  • Eyes
  • Lips
  • Skin Care
  • Personal Care
  • Hair
  • Nails
  • Fragrance
  • Babies
  • Oral Care
  • Men’s

You can use the database to look up companies or ingredients.  I found a few alarming facts on my old standby O.P.I. brand, but couldn’t find the Zoya details very easily.

Either way, just knowing more information about said ingredients and what is NOT in my new favorite color is just as important as what is in it.

So, sorry Taj, but that’s all I need to make a switch.
Because it’s good for my body.

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Day 268: you look just like gwyneth paltrow! what does that really mean?

25 Sep

Do you look like someone famous?

I heard this revelation from at least four different people on Friday:
“You look just like Gwyneth Paltrow!” 

It happens so often that I can sense the line before it ever rolls off their tongues.

Here’s how it generally goes:
First, an eye squint.
A look of confusion as the head cocks to the side.
And then, just as the bright light bulb goes off, Gwyneth’s name is spit up and out with sheer exuberance.

And, just what does one say to that?
Well, for starters, a big, huge, and humble THANK YOU.  It’s quite a complement and I take it in with open arms and much appreciation.

But, on the other hand, it’s invokes fear inside me.
So much so, it makes me hope Gwyneth never commits some awful crime or media blunder.  Because, right now while it may be more than acceptable to look like Gwyneth, I shudder at the thought of her doing something so terrible that it would be unrecoverable –  for both her and me.  Not that I think she would… but hey, just saying.

Really, Gwyneth, I’m serious, if you’re reading this, please take my plea to heart:  Don’t do anything stupid.

Don’t get me wrong, it is nice to be associated with someone considered so beautiful, especially for me — someone who started out in this world with coke bottle glasses, stringy hair and hovered a good foot above all the boys.

Here’s the real meat and potatoes of this topic:
Nobody EVER told me I was beautiful.  Well, my parents did, they were required, comes with the job, standard operating procedure.  Beauty was never something I associated with myself, because it was never something I was told, or felt.  Far from it actually.

I had pretty friends. They got a lot of attention for being pretty. I got a lot of attention for other things, like playing basketball or running for student government, or making people feel good, or having cancer.  And, let me tell you, nobody really gushes about your looks when your hair is falling out.

So, I must admit, it catches me off-guard when somebody says something so absurd as “you look just like Gwyneth Paltrow, the movie star.”

And, really none of that matters.

I firmly believe beauty comes from a different place.
A place so deep within each of us, only we ourselves can touch it or control it.  And, it is certainly not what we look like, or wear, or how we style our hair, makeup or wardrobe — rather, it is what we do.

And, I have proof.

I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.
And, not because she had movie star looks (I already shared her father’s painful words: it’s a good thing you’re so sweet on the inside because you’re so homely on the outside).

I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world because she was closer to Mother Theresa.  Not that she didn’t care about style or fashion.  She did.  Together, we had many mother-daughter magical shopping spree moments.

But, I saw the beauty she exuded in a different light.
She treated everyone the same way, with love, laughter and a hug.  You couldn’t get out of our house without a hug from Mama Sling.  Wasn’t possible.  Not happening.

I saw her do so many beautiful things.
Like never leave my side when I had surgery — she slept on a tiny hospital chair next to me for a week.  Or, like writing sentences for my friend Kari — when Kari was given an assignment that was too much for her to handle alone, Mama Sling picked up a pen and started writing out sentences too, filling the empty pages, matching Kari’s handwriting so no one would know the difference.

There were many little things my mother did without hesitation, everyday, for everyone she loved.

So, sure, it happens that people think I look like Gwyneth Paltrow.
But, the biggest and best complement I get is when someone points out that I act just like my mother.

Because, whether you’re famous or floundering, fixed or even forgotten, shopping or not shopping, beauty comes from a deep reservoir, a place we all control —  within.

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Day 267: the dog gone truth

24 Sep

I have always loved dogs. 
In fact, during my senior year in college when everyone seemed to be on pins and needles about that burning question — what will you do after graduation? — I always answered the same way: “I am going to get a dog.  And an apartment.  In that order.”

It was the only thing I was sure of before entering the big adult world.
Turns out, I found my way through many apartments, but never found a dog.  Not until fifteen years later when Pup entered my life.

So, I’m sure it is no surprise, if you read this blog with any regularity, you know I am coo coo for coco pups.  Or any pup for that matter.

And, they — our canine and feline counterparts — are as good for the body as they are for the soul.  On my way back to the island today (via car, plane, bus, boat and taxi) I had some time to catch up on delinquent magazine reading and was happy to have my suspicions confirmed.

Pets are good health.

According to an article in Whole Living, spending just 45 minutes with your pet can reduce blood pressure.  It’s proven.  The State University of New York at Buffalo vouched for the fact that the social support from our favorite animals counters mental stress.

So, I’d like to thank a few special ones tonight, for lending a paw over this last week as I traveled throughout the east coast and stayed at their house and ate their food.  (I didn’t eat THEIR food of course, I ate their human’s food.)

First up: Colby. 
She is a thirteen-year old Bernese Mountain Dog. Yes, I said thirteen, as in 1-3.  I believe Colby is spoon-fed love from her mama Jen.  I’m sure that’s why she has reached the ripe age of thirteen, quite a feat for her breed, actually OFF the charts for her breed.

Colby is the power of love.

Then there is Matteo.
New York City’s finest. When not hiding my silver shoes or intently watching TV with his mama, Holly, Matteo can be found meditating or even helping me edit this blog.

Not kidding.
Hey, if there were any spelling errors this week, talk to Matteo.

Then we have Lucy.
Lucy may look sleepy in this photo, but she is a force to be reckoned with and a sweetheart to cuddle. She lives in Boston, where EVERYBODY knows her name.  Even my dentist.

When I stopped in last week to have my tooth fixed and told my dentist I was staying at Sheryl and Webster’s place he asked me how Lucy was doing.   Apparently Lucy gets to go to the dentist for cleanings too, just as a companion of course.

And, that makes sense. It certainly would support the “lowering blood pressure” argument — especially in a dental chair.

Let us not forget Pup’s Doppelganger.
Pup is special, that’s for sure.  But, there seems to be a look-a-like living in New York City.  Every time I go to visit Holly in Manhattan, I see Pup’s twin.  And, EVERY TIME I try to get a photo and can’t quite put a handle on my camera in time.

This time, this week, I snapped a pic.
Sure, it’s fuzzy.
But, it’s proof.

And, that leads us home.
Back to #1 Pup, who sits on my lap tonight as I try to type this post. I’m sure my blood pressure is dropping by the second. Or, is that Pup snoring?


Fact is — animals are good for the body and soul.
It’s the dog gone truth.

And, I will give a high five to that.
(So will Pup.)

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Day 266: f*ing friday :: feminist

23 Sep

TGIF.
Today continues the weekly series, F*ing Fridays, which will coincidentally occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few.

Last week I dove into the word Forever.

Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the word:
Feminist

As in, Gloria Steinem.

This week I had the honor of sharing the same space with Gloria Steinem.

Okay, so I didn’t have a CONVERSATION with Gloria Steinem, or MEET Gloria Steinem, or even STAND in the same building as Ms. Gloria Steinem.  But, I did share a small bit of space with her, just a few pixels away from each other on my computer screen.

How?

Smith College, my alma mater, featured The Promise 365 in the Notes From Paradise e-newsletter this week — and Gloria also happened to be featured in the same issue.  For a Smithie like me, this may be the best it gets.

Ironically, I had JUST watched the HBO documentary, Gloria: In Her Own Words, a few days before.  For the first time I actually felt as if I got a glimpse into this woman’s real life, this icon of the feminist movement, this icon of my college heritage.

And, it turns out this icon is a real woman, with real struggles and a real life. While she found herself leading a movement, she also survived cancer. She lost her husband after only three years of marriage. All this, and, she tap dances too.

After watching the HBO special I thought much about what it must have been like to grow up in Gloria’s time.  Even though I majored in women’s studies, to be completely honest, I never really got it on the level that I GOT IT by watching this documentary.

I was too young to witness the full effect of Gloria, et. al. While there was marching, burning bras, starting a movement and a magazine — I had yet to arrive, be thought of, born.

When I did arrive on the scene, I grew up in a world where girls were expected to grow up and go to college, do everything, have it all, and turn into women with super powers.

Not that I didn’t suffer blatant inequality in the process.
I did.  Mostly on the field as a teenager.  I saw the empty stands at my basketball games, the lack of fans, cheerleaders, uniforms, funding.  But at least I had the chance to play.

And, not that I haven’t suffered inequality in the working world.
I have.  But, at least I had the chance to enter the workforce skilled and studied.

And, it’s not like I’m unaware of the work there still is to do in our world, on all levels, with all people, beings, situations, so that everyone has the chance to live out their dreams.

But, right now, in this little moment of my life, I am thinking of all the women who came before me, and what they did, embraced, lived, loved.  It’s a beautiful gift that we have received in the name of sisterhood.

Whether it’s feminist or suffragist or equalizer or supermom, or anything else.  All I really care about is saying thank you.

Because I’m f*ing grateful for all of it.
And, that includes you Gloria.


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Day 265: I’m not perfect and why it perfectly suits me (and you!)

22 Sep


Did you know?  There are only 100 days left in 2011.
What does that mean for you?

For me, as of today, officially known as Day 265 around here, it means a mere 100 days until I officially follow through on my promise — all 365 days of not shopping.

And, on this day, the beginning of The 100 Day Countdown to the end of the year, I thought a lot about clothes.  How can you not think about clothes in New York City?  There are shops, window displays and super finds everywhere.

That aside, I woke up all geared up for Day One of Media Mania at Tory Johnson’s Spark and Hustle event. Except for one small snag — my suit didn’t fit.

As I slipped into my black stand-by Kenneth Cole pantsuit I realized the benefit of not eating sugar for the last six months:  my suit was too big. 

Otherwise known as Saggy Butt Syndrome.
My pants hung around my hips and way past my feet (and let me tell you, that’s not an easy feet for my 6 foot frame).  The old Jamie would have ran out early in the morning to find AND BUY a belt that matched perfectly or —gasp — a new suit.  The new non-shopping-making-a-promise-for-365-days Jamie scrounged through her suitcase to find a solution.

The only real option to be found was a thin blue waist wrap belt speckled with silver rings that was never meant to hold up anything.  Its original purpose being more of a decorative sit-around-the-waist type of belt.

But, it had to do, it was all I had.
For a moment I relished in my ingenuity.  Then, for the rest of the day, I cringed at the total mismatch of the blue speckled belt with silver accents and my sleek black suit.

I spent most of my day pulling up my pants with every stand up or sit down, hoping my BLUE belt that totally clashed with my BLACK suit wasn’t peaking through or under my jacket.

Now, I’m not complaining, please don’t get me wrong, I am just as happy as the girl next door to shed a few of those booty pounds due to eating a healthy and clean sans sugar diet.  I just wasn’t prepared to realize it TODAY.  It didn’t suit me well, especially on a day dedicated to meeting, greeting and otherwise putting my best foot forward publicly.

And you know what?
Nobody noticed.  And nobody cared.

But, it did remind me of something I care about and sometimes forget: I am not perfect and I don’t have to be.

There’s much to say about pulling together the perfect outfit, matching all the pieces and dressing for success.  But, there’s something even more powerful, and that’s knowing you are perfect just the way you are.

Even with a saggy butt and blue belt.

Day 264: what are you not willing to do?

21 Sep

Start spreading the news.
I made it back to New York City today and can already feel the buzz of Big Apple energy running through my veins.  It may be a more efficient jolt than my morning cup of coffee (with no milk or sugar that is).

There’s something so very unique about New York City.
It seems you can find anything here, including all sorts of people, all sorts of languages spoken, and all sorts of very interesting conversations.

Here’s one that I hesitate to share.
But, given that this year is all about being open, honest, authentic and true to life, I must.

During my taxi ride from JFK to Midtown, the traffic slowed to a stand still.  Apparently it is a regular phenomenon when President Obama is in town.

What that means for New York City is insane traffic.
What that means for me is an inordinate amount of time stuck in a taxi ride.

As we stood still in a sea of yellow cabs, my taxi driver complained about everything from New York City traffic to the economy to the loss of jobs — all the way between Tribeca to Midtown West.

Then our cab and the conversation turned.  Fast.
As we drove to my final destination, my driver went on to describe how he observed the long line outside the clinic where his pregnant wife has check-ups.

“Did you know they pay $500 per donation?”
I was confused.  Donations?

“You know, sperm donations.”

No.  I didn’t know.

He then proceeded to outline how men could make more money making “donations” three times every week for a month than he could, than most people could.

He continued and I learned more about “donations” than I ever wanted to in a cab ride.

But, then, the real awkward moment occurred.
He shared what he believes is the best way to keep skin young and vibrant.  You guessed it — “donations” accepted as facial cream.

AWKWARD.

I have been open minded about trying all sorts of new things, exercises, and experiences for The Promise 365.  And, I know, I made a promise to dedicate everything I’ve got to my head, heart, body and soul over the course of this year.

But, for the record, this is one treatment, no matter how effective, that I just cannot — wait, let me be clear — I will not try.

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