What’s August Happiness About?

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I’ve started tweeting with the hashtag #AugustHappiness and it occurs to me that maybe I should explain a little more about what that means to me in a space that allows more than 140 characters.

This first started with a few really difficult days. I won’t go into why they were difficult but I had felt the worst anxiety I’d had in years. In trying to cope with it, I tried many things: time with family, a glass of wine, talking it out with my husband, and eating whatever it was my heart desired. It worked, but only temporarily. I knew something more had to be done to soothe myself for a longer time than just right now.

So then an opportunity arose, last Monday, to go see Coldplay with some of my family. I happily accepted the invite and went. It was a miraculous experience seeing the use of technology and really feeling like I was part of it. I felt renewed in so many ways. It felt like the life and happiness that I loved was slowly being restored as the concert went on and the happy person that I know I am was restored.

We can make ourselves better by just knowing what it is that makes us happy. It fell into my lap that day, but going into it I knew that live music makes me happy so on some level, I knew it would help refresh me again.

If something that renewed me so much just fell into my lap, then surely I could make an effort to make those things happen, right?

We were on the brink of August anyway so I decided to begin my project called August Happiness.

My goal is to do something every day (at LEAST one thing, but it can be more) that makes me genuinely happy. Here’s how it’s been so far:

  • On day one, I registered for a yoga and meditation retreat.
  • On day two, I had a really nice lunch with one of my coworkers.
  • On day three, I spent the evening alone, centering myself, and watching a documentary called The Buddha.

These things may not be what makes you happy, but that’s the best part. Anyone who would take on this project would have very different things going on every day. That’s good. That’s okay. It’s all about you and your own happiness.

If you’d like, you’re free to join me for the remaining 28 days of August. Find something that makes you happy each day. Not that it will be easy for all 31 days of this month, but that’s part of the challenge.

If you’re on Twitter, please join me on the #AugustHappiness hashtag and we can talk about how our journey is progressing!

Don’t worry. Be happy.

Life’s Details: Volume 5

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Mostly nature.

  • I was driving through Arlington, Massachusetts on my way home and saw two men up ahead, both seeming very animated. As I approached, I noticed that their mouths weren’t moving. Their animation was sign language and I was reminded that language is an amazingly beautiful thing, whether spoken or illustrated with one’s body.
  • My husband and I were on a motorcycle trip to the Berkshires. We got up the morning we were returning home and headed to brunch. On our way, in a small patch of grass along the side of the road, I saw a deer having her breakfast. It was then that I realized how hard it is to smile inside a motorcycle helmet.
  • We live in an apartment complex near the Charles River so we have an odd mix of wildlife and city at our disposal. There’s a well mannered rabbit that doesn’t seem to be afraid of me that likes to hang out by out back steps.

    Bunny!

Commenting on Weight

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I made my weight loss rather public last year for a few reasons. The first was for my own accountability. If people were watching what I did, there would be some level of shame in either screwing up or not reaching the finish line. I think that part helped me to keep the ball rolling, especially at the beginning. The further I got into it, I don’t think I needed accountability as much but I still used it because now people were curious and paying attention. The second reason I talked about it was because I hoped that people would see, though my own success, that you really can do it if you work hard. You can go from obese to a healthy weight. It’s possible.

I have put myself into a position where people comment on my weight. A lot. In a good way. They ask how much I’ve lost and how I did it. I answer them (50 pounds and by learning about nutrition, respectively). I know that I put myself out there and let people see this process. I showed the difficult days and the knee injury. I showed my weekly weigh ins. I was out there. People were happy for me and they wanted to share that with me and it’s a rewarding reminder of where I’ve come. But the important thing is that I made a choice to share.

A couple months ago, though, a comment made me think. I overheard someone (male, I think this matters) mention that a woman had put on a few pounds. Not some imaginary woman but a woman in that room and only just out of earshot. I felt disgusted for her. If I had known the perpetrator more, I would have told him how rough it was to hear that, even if about another person. I thought about what people say to me and how they would never have said “Wow, you’ve put on so much weight! How many pounds has it been?” even though they will tell me “Wow, you’ve lost so much weight! How many pounds has it been?”

It made me think that when I did gain weight, people probably talked about it and how they were worried or wondered if I was okay. Maybe they even joked at my expense and maybe it’s hopeful of me to think that their comments were concern rather than something worse. He could easily have been talking about me a few years ago. But now that I’ve turned the tables they’re able to comment in a positive way and say it to me rather than to other people when I’m not there.

It has made me feel a little bit more weary about the comments I’ve been getting and I know that it’s wrong on some level to feel that because the people commenting positively really do mean it in the best possible way. They are genuinely impressed (or that’s what I’m told). But there’s just something about it that feels wrong because they would never have told me anything when I was in the process of gaining.

So there is a point where it feels strange to receive these comments. At least for me. And also for a friend of mine, except her situation is not like mine. She was not overweight and she isn’t now. The situation that she told me about that struck me was on the other end of the spectrum but very awkward and inappropriate all the same.

She is thin, but not dangerously so, and was commenting on how cold she was in the air conditioning when another person (male, I’m not sure if it matters) told her that if she ate more and wasn’t so thin, then maybe she wouldn’t be cold.

This bothered her because she eats plenty–she’s just naturally thin and okay with her own self. But why do some feel is acceptable to comment on her weight, even thought she is well within healthy limits?

I accept a level of commenting because I talk very openly about my own weight but her? She’s not. She’s just naturally thin and that is not a problem for her. I’ve never even heard her bring up her weight. So why is there negativity? Why is she made to feel as though her weight is unacceptable, even though she’s healthy? And even if she did put on some weight, I have a feeling that these same types would also comment (but maybe not so openly to her) that maybe she was getting a little chubby.

Here’s the point I’m driving at: if people aren’t talking about their weight and they are not harming themselves, then you probably shouldn’t talk about their weight either. It’s none of your business.

I talk openly about my weight loss because it’s important for me to stay honest with myself and for others, even just one person, to see what I’ve done and know it’s possible. But I still didn’t do this for anyone. I didn’t do it in preparation for a wedding. I didn’t do it because I was worried what others thought of me. I didn’t do it for you, or for my family, or for my husband. I did it because I felt like crap and I needed to change.

I welcome people to talk to me about it, ask questions, and figure out how they can achieve their goals. But others have to know that not everyone is me and not everyone welcomes comments on their weight.

So just, you know, don’t.

Treasured Words

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I was in high school and I thought I loved math more than writing. That would turn out to be skewed (not entirely wrong–I did love math and if I’d kept at it, could probably have gotten to a high level of study) but I was certainly not at a point when I was writing or reading for pleasure. I was okay with being a math nerd and I didn’t know it fully then, but there was something else stewing. I was mad. Mad at the world but not really at any thing in particular. I was mad at feeling weird and out of place. (Had I known that writing would have helped, maybe I would have done more of it but I’m not sure it helps to speculate on what I should have done when I was 16.) I’d tried to fit in but that made me feel even worse so I stopped. I cut my hair short, dyed it blue, and wore clothes from discount and second hand stores because thrifty was more me than Abercrombie & Fitch jeans that cost $100.

I surrounded myself with other weirdos and we were happy with that. Before the days of claiming my introversion, I just thought we were the only ones who liked to go to the beach at night, walk around, and silently stare out at the moon’s reflection on the ocean. We didn’t have to say as much but we all knew we were in the right place and we were happy to be in each other’s company. At the very least, I was happy in their company. The waves would crash in and I’d feel the cool, damp sand beneath my bare feet. I can’t remember any of what we talked about but I remember the sensation of feeling home. With them, I was not the strange girl. I was a part of it; part of something. It’s one of the few things that I think back on during that period without feeling the anger I’d embodied. It is a rare calm memory and it’s refreshing, even now. In fact, I still dream of it and feel peaceful when I do.

It was around this time when I was told by my friend Emma that I should read a book. I’d really love it, she said. It was called The Perks of Being a Wallflower. My math mind didn’t think much of reading for pleasure but Emma was a weird girl like me. If she liked it, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. (While Emma gave me this massive gift of life then, it’s strange that we didn’t keep in contact. It was the MySpace days, before Facebook, and I guess we never fully moved over together. Sad. Mostly because I think back so fondly of that time and that group of friends that was so short lived. Emma, Becca, Will, and me. It was a good one and I hope they are well.)

I read it. And then I read it again. I marked pages and underlined passages. The book was broken in and tear stained. I loved it and it spoke to me in a way I didn’t anticipate. I didn’t know what introversion was but I knew that I understood Charlie. I felt like he felt sometimes. I cried not only at the sad parts but at the parts that filled me with so much joy. I was overflowing with those very same emotions that Charlie was feeling. I couldn’t believe that there was a book about the weird kid and that I related so much.

So when another friend asked to borrow it, I let him. It wasn’t just a book to me. It was a piece of my life that I was passing along to someone else, hoping that they’d feel like I did. It was a dream that it would bring us closer as friends. If he read when I loved and saw the passages that I felt, then he could come closer to understanding why I am me. Idealistic. As angry as I was, I was still hopeful that people cared as passionately about the small things as I did.

Weeks and months passed. I wanted to retrace the pages I’d come to love but my copy had not been returned. I asked him about it, hoping to hear an emphatic “I loved it!” but instead, I was faced with a confused look of someone who couldn’t remember what book I had lent to him or where it was.

This piece of my soul had been carelessly shuffled away somewhere. Lost. My markings were gone forever. I was shocked that someone, who I thought was a friend, would treat a part of me so neglectfully. Of course, to him it was just a book. He had no idea that this book was me. Losing it, forgetting it, not caring about it was in turn doing those things to me as if planned and executed with malice. He didn’t do it intentionally but it didn’t matter. It felt just as bad.

If I’m fully honest, I don’t think I’ve lent a book to a friend since. At least not a favorite one. I was burned when I needed those words more than any other time in my life before or since. That’s not an easy wound to heal and all these years later, it still stings a little.

So why am I telling you this today? I’m reminded because I just discovered that there is a movie being made out of this book and I’d love to reread it but my copy was never replaced. It’s time to pick up a brand new version, unworn, and read it again. Maybe it won’t speak to me as much as it did then. Maybe it will. But I know that the girl who once read and cherished that book is still somewhere here, even if she has grown up and matured. She is still here–angry about her own weirdness. She is doing her very best to accept it and embrace it but the memory of then still lies deep inside.

Our weirdness is what makes us stand out, she says to herself. Blending in was never an option.

Weight and the Weather

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Boston is currently experiencing its first dose of real summer so far this year. It was in the 90s (Fahrenheit) yesterday and will be much the same today. What I’m noticing is interesting and I felt a bit of it last year as well but not quite to this extent.

I’m not as miserable as I used to be in the summer. What I mean is that the heat doesn’t feel as hot. I don’t feel like I can’t stand to be outside. It actually felt kind of nice sitting outside on my lunch break yesterday (albeit not in direct sunlight).

I’m coming to the conclusion that the weight loss not only affected my appearance and dress size but it also affects how I feel in different weather. Like now, I’m actually enjoying summer. I’m enjoying warm weather. I thought I hated summer? What’s going on?!

A nice day in the park.

I’m so mixed up, you guys. The weight I carried both made me uncomfortable in a bathing suit and made me warmer than I am now. It’s probably similar to how seals and whales carry blubber to keep themselves warm under water. I was carrying fat that insulated me in the winter but then made me very hot in the summer. It makes sense, I know, but it’s something that I didn’t expect. It’s a pleasant side effect.

It helps me remember how far I’ve come. I’m feeling so much better in so many different ways.

Happy Summer!

Life’s Details: Volume 4

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The mostly dogs edition.

  • I had left some supplies for work at home and was doubling back to get them when I got behind an SUV. This SUV had the back window open and a large bulldog was calmly staring out as they meandered down the street. That was all I needed to not feel like a goof for forgetting things in the first place.
  • At lunch, I sat by the open window of the restaurant and gazed out. As I was staring blankly at nothing, a gentleman appeared and he was walking 5 dogs. This wasn’t a normal dog walker, though. He was wearing a backpack like harness that the dogs were connected to. He had hands free and the dogs were very nicely behaved behind him. I didn’t know things like that existed but clearly they do!
  • Some camp sites only cost $6 per night and that is terrific.
  • Also, this:

PUPPIES!

 

Natural Affinity

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As children, my Dad would bring us on nature walks around Lily Pond. We lived across the street and had extremely easy access to the small walking paths that twisted through well rooted pine and oak trees. We’d look for deer tracks using my Dad’s hunting experience. Even though we rarely spotted anything, there was always that possibility and it was exciting as we tried to be quiet enough so we wouldn’t scare anything away. (We were never quiet enough.)

On these walks, I’d listen for squirrels rustling in the leaves or birds calling for others of their kind. It was mostly a quiet retreat into a place where we seemed to be miles from real life but it was just there–seemingly in our front yard.

The Charles at dusk.

Recently, I was very restless on a particularly warm evening and I needed to do something. I walked to the bank of the Charles River and took a seat. It was dusk and I reflected on the nature walks that I went on with my Dad as a child, as well as all of the family vacations we took “up north.” At the time, I never appreciated our quiet and soothing vacations. I wanted to do something. But that night, as I sat by the river listening to frogs croak, I might as well have been far away by a lake in middle-of-nowhere Maine and I realized something extremely important.

I had managed to find a place to live that offered me the same type of escape from reality in nature that I had grown up with.

We all carry some deep rooted values that we learned when we were kids. For me, it’s that it’s okay to just observe nature. It’s okay to be quiet and listen. It’s okay to think about something or nothing. It’s okay to just be and let things be around you.

It has become a very valuable resource as life gets busier and more complicated. There are ever more things to think and worry about. There are so many times when knowing how to feel better is essential. And I have the tools. I have nature to help me refocus on who I am and what really matters. Thank you for that, nature.

And thank you for showing me all of this, Dad.

Snow White

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My only prior experience with Snow White was the Disney version. It never struck a chord with me and I’d never have even listed it as one of my favorites from the famed creator. (If you’re wondering, my all time favorite is The Little Mermaid.)

With the recent release of Snow White and the Huntsman, I knew I had to see it. It’s a story that seemed to have been badass-ified and who doesn’t love that, right? I didn’t do any research about the film nor had I looked up reviews. I was just drawn to it. I didn’t even know why but I soon discovered:

Snow White inspired me.

She’s the fairest of them all: beautiful, innocent, and pure. She is also brave, fierce, strong-willed, and the leader of men.

She can cry as she’s wearing battle armor–the quintessential strong woman. It speaks volumes that she can do both. Being emotional doesn’t preclude her from wielding a sword or leading an army. There’s actually no conflict at all regarding her womanhood and her ass kicking. It’s not even a thing. Reassuring, to say the least.

“She is life itself.”

That line struck me. These qualities that she possesses are parts of life and she grows into a powerful person because she embodies what it is to live. She inspires men to follow her into battle not just for her beauty but for the hope that her very existence gives to them.

She can give life and happiness to everything around her just by being. I guess you can’t really get more powerful than that, right? Yeah. She’s intense. Maybe even more intense than yours truly.

On hard days, when I encounter tough situations and negative emotions, I’ll just pretend that I’m Snow White (I’m pale enough, right?). Unlike Snow White I’m not a personification of life itself but that doesn’t make it less fun to pretend that I am.

Facts can get heavy on one’s shoulders and mind from time to time but even a few minutes of escape, whether it’s thinking about being Snow White or gazing out a window, can make all the difference.

Aside: Maybe part of why this movie hit such a deep corner of my being is because it’s about a strong woman. She’s the focus. It’s so much like all of the superhero movies that are being produced these days but most of those are focused around strong male characters and the women around them are gratuitously sexy but not always as strong. Snow White was what those male characters always present as but female. And that makes a huge difference sometimes. She’s now a character that makes me smile and I’m thankful for having been pulled to the theater for this.

We’re Alone; Together

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Motorcycling was something I never expected to enjoy. Maybe more accurately, though, it wasn’t even a thought in my mind.

Then my husband got his first one about two years ago. I was definitely not interested in joining.

As he became more engrossed in his mode of transportation (he is a motorcycle commuter even in weather that would deter others), we made an investment in a BMW bike. And that’s when I started to get curious. It was easy for me to write off the previous vehicles–they weren’t very prestigious. The new BMW was interesting, complicated, and expensive. It was clear that we were going to be in possession of this type of bike for a long time. Why not give it a try?

I’ve slowly taken to riding with him. It took time but I think I would consider my interest to be in the “budding enthusiast” category now. (A massive change from my previous “no way, no how” philosophy.)

I feel like The Stig when I’m all geared up for a ride.

The wonderful thing about riding together is everything.

We are a team.

When we go through a corner, we lean together. When we stream down the open road, we’re hearing the wind rush past us together. We hate slow cars and red lights together. We even put on our gear and take it off together.

And at the very same time, we are each alone.

Aside from a tap on the shoulder or a short conversation during a stop, we don’t speak. We don’t communicate verbally and we don’t have to. Bodies can say a lot without words when we’re in constant contact and that’s all we need. We are each inside our respective heads and I quite enjoy the lack of other stimuli. There’s no radio and no conversation. We can just be silent together and wander through our thoughts independantly.

We are alone and we are together.

It is beautiful and an experience that I never expected when I previously thought of motor-sports.

Now, I’m excited for every weekend at the prospect of just going somewhere. Anywhere. Camping, or a night in a cabin on a lake, or a quick trip to Taco Bell–they’re all made many levels more interesting if we’re riding.

The Introvert Epiphany

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Last fall, around Thanksgiving, I took a personality test called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (test can be taken here, Mr. Curiosity). I know I took it before but I didn’t put much stock in my results. I don’t know what I tested as those years before but this time I took the test, it impacted me greatly.

While the results are four different letters–four types of our individual personalities–the one that has affected me most deeply was the first.

I.

Introvert.

I had, somehow, gone 26 years of my life thinking I was just insane and weird rather than realizing I was an introvert. I needed education!

My salvation came through a book: Introvert Power. Not only was I not insane, I was powerful for being this way. (Whoa…)

As I devoured the pages of Introvert Power, I had eerie realizations that I wasn’t the only one like me. Passages about general traits or possible experiences and reactions described me exactly. I was reading a book written in another time and place but it was about me. I was able to dive in and feel whole. It was a truly eye opening experience that the author, Dr. Laurie Helgoe, could absolutely know and understand me on a deeper level than I understood myself.

The more I realized this about myself, the more I realized that I could use certain tactics to prevent myself from feeling overwhelmed after a day at the office or a party. I could take lunches all by myself with my journal. I’d have just enough down time to be able to return to the office, refreshed for another sprint.

At a party, I could remove myself from the situation and interaction for a little bit to recharge before going back in. Or, if that failed, I could go home. And that’s okay!

This discovery and realization has completely turned my outlook on life around. It is not a weight dragging me down or something that I need to get past.

It is okay. It is good to nurture my introversion. I’m not mentally ill in some way. I’m just me and it’s okay.