T'was the Night Before Lent.

Lent. It is one of those things I have always been curious about. I was raised Methodist. We did Mardi Gras. We did Easter. But Lent was just this thing in between that all of my Catholic friends did.
I have always wanted to try it. It kind of struck me as this New Year’s Resolution kind of thing but easier, because you only had to stick with it for 40 days. That’s about as long as my resolutions last, so it is kind of a no-brainer.
I decided this would be the year. I asked- on my facebook status one day- what I should give up. I opened up the thread as sort of a suggestion box for Lent.
While deprivation- you know, giving up candy bars and swearing and stuff- is part of the Lent process, it is just a small part.
What it is really about is getting closer to God. It is something my friends of all faiths, I have learned, participate in every year.
To get closer to God, my friends revealed they actually focus more on starting something, rather than stopping. Starting a new devotional reading or prayer or meditation each of those forty days.
So, here I am, on Lent Eve. I really don’t want to talk about what I have eaten today. I mean, it is Fat Tuesday, and I am going to do a fast of sorts over the next 40 days. I have a miserable sugar buzz. I know this deprivation will actually just benefit me. That is the selfish part of this whole season for me.
I will also write, read, meditate and converse with and about God. So, from now until Easter, this blog is really going to be junk I think about God.
I don’t know what is going to happen here. From what I already know in my dealings with God, that is how it is supposed to be.

One of my shrinks- yes, I have had a shrink, more than one. Go figure. Anyway, this shrink was listening to me as I verbally abused myself comparing myself to anyone and everyone under the sun. When she finally reached her limit, she interrupted me.

“What is the prettiest flower?”

I was knocked sideways, “what the? What do you mean? I don’t know. How do you answer a question like that? They are all different. I mean, I like lilies, but I think roses are pretty, but they are different. Huh?”

“Exactly!” She was all proud of herself, smiling like a little daisy.

At the time, I still didn’t get it. First of all, I was no flower. Second, I just did not get it. Messages about self-love and the beauty in our uniqueness flew over my head. I was an insecure teenage girl who really felt less-than. If I were to latch on to the notion of people being “flowers” on the Universe’s landscape, I would have measured myself somewhere in the Dandelion family.

Stop. Hold it. Let’s look at the Dandelion. Sure, some people may see a weed, but others see wine. Others see those white things that you can blow off of them once they “die”. They have covered nearly every lawn at every home I have ever owned in a fabulous blanket of yellow. To the person who took the photo attached to this entry, the dandelion is art.

Who am I to judge? Who are any of us to judge? But we do. Sometimes, the people we judge with the most critical eye are ourselves. If you think there is no harm in harsh self-judgement, I can tell you from experience, that just is not so. My judgement of everything in the world, begins with the view I take of myself.

Flowers do not worry about whether their petals are blue enough, big enough, fluffy enough. They do not question whether they deserve the raindrops. They soak up the sun and stand in plain view, unashamed, uninhibited. They also do not worry about other flowers. They just “are”. They do not know that on some human scale, they are categorized and rated and valued differently. They just come back, season after season, content to simply bloom.

Just to be clear. I have been thinking about all kinds of junk since February 21st- the date of my last post.
The emphasis here should be on the fact that I have been having junky thoughts. Meaning, not much worth writing about. Actually, this post is kind of teetering on the line. Just trying to stay ‘plugged in’.

I started a new business. Okay. I am actually doing direct sales for one of those companies that does house and catalogue parties. (How do you spell catalogue, by the way? All of my spell checks go after that word).

So, this side business has been fun, challenging, and just the thing to distract me from writing, and working through my various compulsions. In fact, this is yet another compulsion- the business, not this blog. The blog was a compulsion until I decided to give this business thing a try.

I am sort of ADHD and Obsessive-Compulsive. I am also passive-aggressive and other hyphenated, unhealthy things. Right now, in this moment, I have decided to embrace all of it. Aren’t we all struggling with our own brand of crazy? I mean, a shrink will never come out and say you are crazy, weird or any other such thing- but that doesn’t mean they are not thinking it. It also doesn’t mean that they, themselves, are not also weird and crazy. No matter. It is all okay, really.

I know this is a rambling post of little consequence, but I am trying to get back in the groove. It is not like I am going to fire myself for making a crappy blog post. I mean, this whole blog things is really just a symptom of my rampant narcissism (why is this word so hard to spell? I bet narcissists came up with it and intentionally made it difficult to spell so those of us who also have inferiority complexes would not call them or ourselves out publicly for fear of being called out for our own poor spelling skills.

It’s just an ugly little circle, isn’t it? I say, let your freak flag fly. We only have one shot at being alive- or maybe more, if there is such a thing as reincarnation but, we will not remember it, even if we are reincarnated, so we may as well make the most of this actual life and stop worrying about what is ‘wrong’ with us. What is wrong with all of us is that we are all right in our own way.

What the hell was in my crock pot today?

G’night.

My first memory of Valentine’s Day was fourth grade. Mrs. Calendar’s class, Jefferson Elementary School, Baton Rouge , Louisiana. Does the year really matter? It was long ago. Looooooooooong ago.

We all made boxes to collect our Valentine cards. It was an explosion of crepe and construction paper hearts.  It was fun. The best part was, at the end of the day, going through and reading those little cards. Every now and then there would even be a home-made one, but mostly they were those cards from the drug store. Superman.  Buggs Bunny. Scooby Doo.

I have heard sad stories about people not getting any Valentines from their classmates. Mrs. Calendar did not play that.   You served up a card to everyone- or you did not serve up any cards.  No broken hearts in that class. No bullying. No tears on Valentine’s Day.

It did not matter who sent the card, it was fun to open them and feel loved.  As I aged, Valentine’s Day seemed to take on a bitter tone.  There became this pressure to have a Valentine. The real pressure was to be in a romantic relationship.

Then it hit me:  maybe it is just me, but we are going about this all wrong.

We put the focus on romantic love, when the truth is,  a real romantic connection can never be made without a good foundation of love. I know about this. I know. It took me nearly 35 years to figure out, but I know this. 

The best love, the greatest love, the love I celebrate on February 14^th is just regular old love.  I do have a Valentine. He already served up the chocolate and flowers. He does it because he likes to- and probably because it is what people do on this day. I get him little treats and cards and it is fun.

But, in my big, pink, fluffy, crepe paper heart, I know that man loves me all year through.  This is just one more excuse for both of us to show each other- with treats!   

I also know that all of the love I share with my husband comes from what I learned about love from all of the other people- and other creatures- in my life. The best love comes from true, trusting friendship. I learned this late in life. I learned this from some wonderful people. I learned this from other women. I learned about honesty and respect and agreeing to disagree.  The greatest gift I learned from these friends is to love myself.  They helped me get there by loving me- unconditionally.

If you feel alone and lonely and like no one loves you, ask a question:  do I love myself? Am I giving love?  I have to tell you, about ten years ago, my answer to both was, “no”.  Learning about true friendship and sisterhood from female friends,  was how I finally learned the real meaning of love.

Putting all of our love eggs- um, or chocolate hearts- in one basket- or box- is one of the biggest mistake a lot of us make. If you have one person who loves you and one person you love- whether it is your grandma, your girlfriend, or your four legged friend, you have a Valentine. Start counting- you probably have a lot more of them than you think.

 This day is not about Hallmark- or roses- or even (gulp) chocolate. It is a reminder to me about the gift of love- and not just about receiving it, but how good it feels to give it away. If no one has told you they love you today, I do, Valentine.   XO

 

So, I am keeping up with my food journal. It seems so odd to have to write down everything I eat so that I do not eat too much, when there are people all over the world who don’t have anything to write a food journal down on, much less food to journal about.

That is awfully deep for a Thursday afternoon.

The point is: I am actually consistently keeping up with my food journal. I use “My Plate” on the LIVESTRONG.com website. I like that one because it will actually break down my carbs, protein and fats on a pie chart. Ummmm…… pie…

Now I have gone from mentally adding up calories based on how many I think should be in foods, to tracking and analyzing them. Oy. This is a big leap. Actually tracking and paying attention to- not judging- what and when I eat every day is paying off for me. No really. I have a much better idea of where the wasted calories are coming from.

I am also painfully aware of how much I have miscalculated how many “bonus” calories I can eat after a workout. My Plate has a workout calculator, too. Yeah, I have concrete proof that eating the largest size Blizzard Dairy Queen makes is probably an overcompensation for a 5 mile run-walk- especially when I pair said Blizzard with a Fred Flintstone-sized cheeseburger and fries.

Who knew? Well, actually, a lot of people. I have not only read and heard this food journal advice for years, I have written about it and encouraged people to do it. I was probably eating a reward cupcake while I was writing- one that I was also not going to physically log, but mentally track.

Again, my addict brain will try to tell me that this whole process is ludicrous, “the world is too focused on weight. You should be walking abandoned puppies, reading to sick children or taking a CPR class or something productive with all of your extra food log time.”

That may be true, but I also know that I feel better. I am not just talking about the obvious physical benefits. I am seeing this goal setting and reaching process with my weight pay off in other parts of my life. I am losing some of my fear of expecting to achieve what I set out to do. I have always been terrified to expect a miracle- or any of that hyper-optimistic stuff, because I consider it some kind of jinx.

The truth is, people do this all of the time. They do it every day. When I get in my car and back out of my driveway, I expect to achieve my goal of getting to work. (Let’s not get into the whole “on-time” thing and ruin my little analogy… k?)

If I set my mind to something reasonable and come up with a plan and truly do the work it takes to achieve something, I will be successful. It may not be anyone else’s idea of success, but that does not matter. In fact, the more I judge my outcomes on what I think someone else’s idea of success is, the more I set myself up to do just the opposite.

So, here I am, a solid 800 calories into my day. I am down 6 pounds, and working out at least 30 minutes each morning. I know what I was doing a year ago at this time- and, trust me, I am a huge success.

How is this for crazy: I set a goal to lose 5 pounds by my 45th birthday, and I hit it 2 and a half weeks early. I like this whole “small attainable goals” technique. “Go big or go home” is so two months ago.

It is really weird, but I am actually even more determined not to blow it by un-losing any of those pounds. Un-losing? Yeah, that’s what I wrote. Yeah, I know it is not a word or even a concept. You may even be thinking, “don’t you mean, gaining it back?”

Here is the thing: when it takes me two weeks to lose 5 pounds and I am able to gain back even one of those pounds within 36 to 48 hours, it is un-losing. The pounds are re-found or, at the very least, they were simply mis-placed to begin with. I am amazed at how eating like an ass for even one day can undo weeks of hard work.

So, the small, attainable goals thing is really important. Setting them, then hitting them, makes me even more determined to keep going. I do not want to have to get on here tomorrow and say, “um, about that 5 pound thing, well, it is actually just 3, carry on.”

I am not an expert blogger or motivator, but I am thinking that is not how you go about this whole thing. I have actually done that in a round-about way a few times since I started this thing and it feels the 180-degree opposite of what I am experiencing in this moment- with my five-pound victory racked up.

The big 4-5 is 2 and a half weeks away. I think I am going to revise. I am going to set a new February 4, 2013 goal. I will lose another 2 pounds by then. Two pounds do not sound like much, but when you are in your mid-40’s, with wonky hormones and all of the other creepy metabolism-bashing bastards that hop on board at this point in life, it is a lot. A whole lot.

So, yes, I will keep you posted.
You know I will. Till next we meet- and thank you to all of you who are following. It helps. You could be not-reading this, and it would still help- because I will think you are.