Harvest moon howlin'.

I'm never so convinced that I'm a creature of water- than during a full moon.
A caveat: not saying I go 'crazy'.  I hate it when people blame their bad behaviour on things like the rising tides or their menstrual cycles.  But... I do feel a pull somehow.

This harvest moon makes me ask the question: What am I harvesting this year?  What are the things I've been tending to, taking care of and nurturing; that now need to be gathered and brought in before winter?

And alternatively- what are the things that I need to keep in the ground for a little longer?  Not everything needs to be such a damn rush.  Carrots always taste the best if you pull them out after the first frost, anyway.

And I do love me a good carrot.

Dormancy (we used to wait)

"joy of a fallen leaf"

Arthur Rackham

Whoof.  Where has the time gone? 

Summer has been a beautiful whirlwind.  For once I seemed able to take this time to appreciate moments as they came, instead of analyzing them from a removed perspective… and it felt great.  Time slipped in and out and felt neither fast nor slow, but instead oddly suspended.  My first true summer in the city feels like it was a complete success, but overnight the air and leaves have begun to change and I revert to some old friends— introspection and thoughts of the future.

There’s another reason I haven’t written lately as (oddly enough) since my last post on change life has been providing it at a rapid pace.  How to explain… it’s like something suddenly went *click*.  And though there’s a time and a place to scrutinize these moments in order to gain perspective, I opted to be in them as opposed to a spectator to them.  Somehow this seemed to give a little significance to the good fortune that’s come my way.  So the writing hiatus was long, but deliberate.

But let’s back up a bit.  A topic I’ve wanted to touch on for a while is dormancy, but it was hard to write about because I continued to feel stuck in—well—feelings of stuck-ness.  Then a few conversations and a random shuffle of Arcade Fire’s “We Used to Wait” prompted some thinking and eventually, writing, about how suddenly change can transpire.  It seems strange/How we used to wait for letters to arrive/But what's stranger still /Is how something so small can keep you alive/We used to wait.

What precipitates change?

In life as well as in acting— equal value must be given to the “moment before” the action.  However this time frame can end up seeming stagnant and unproductive since there isn’t a set end-date to this dormancy, which in turn can result in feelings of helplessness.  It’d be a lot easier to deal with the wait if there was an expiry date on things like job-hunts, love pursuits, and general feelings of ‘blah’.

Here’s an example.  If you’ve been following, you’ll know about my ongoing relationship with Amenorrhea (lack of a menstrual cycle for an extended period of time.) During this time doctors have told me my hormones are in a state of dormancy, some even going so far as to say I’ve reverted to a ‘prepubescent state’.  And let me tell you it became hard not to include my mental-health in that by proxy, and feel somehow emotionally stunted.  Over the last few years I’ve found it hard to remain open with people and at times felt it was impossible to meet someone new.  But (because I don’t think it would be a complete blog without advice from a friend) I was once given that dormancy doesn’t mean dead… it’s defined as something alive but not actively growing.  Animals have normal physical functions that in dormancy or hibernation have been suspended, or slowed down for a period of time as if in a deep sleep.

And this gave me comfort.  We need sleep to recharge, and we need dormancy—this rejuvenating— to reinvent. To evolve.  So it makes sense that this long period of dormancy has precipitated what feels like a time of exciting transformation.

I read an article months ago that I’ve been itching to write about.  So stick with me here…

I know we sleep—and animals hibernate—out of a basic and primal need; but what about an imposed dormancy as a physical reaction to a time of crisis?  I’m only going to refer to this through my experience (which is what I am learning to be a hibernation of hormones) but I’m sure there are examples of this in emotional and cognitive functions as well.  If you have 9 minutes and are keen, please listen to the CBC interview with Dr. Jacinta Beehner here.  For those interested you can scroll down the page to “Gelada Monkey Miscarraige” and it’ll give you a clear idea of what I’m driving at.

The gist of the interview is this: that a female monkey in a particular breed can actually pick up on the external cues of her environment (such as the dominance of a new and aggressive male) that “can cause her to curtail any current reproduction.” Which means that the gelada monkey can basically preempt a self-imposed abortion when she senses that her current situation will not be a healthy one for her offspring.  The example given is the act of introducing a new male coming into dominance.  These new and dominant males will often kill the babies that are not their own; so instead of suffering infanticide the mothers will anticipate this, and their bodies will essentially terminate the pregnancy to start fresh.

Touchy subject, I know.  Where I go “eureka” another may think I’m being insensitive by drawing parallels to a primate.

But because I’m not in a dangerous environment, I have the benefit of being able to comfortably ponder this notion of my own external cues.  What are they?  How does my body react to them? And how do the chimps DO this, anyway? 

It’s boiled down to a “combination of chemical and social cues.”  And to me— that seems like an incredibly beautiful, and intuitive thing.  And who’s to say we aren’t all products of these cues in one way or another?  In light of my personal experience, during the last couple years I’ve had the stresses of:
-moving
-creating a new life in a huge city
-going through a time of transition and loneliness
-financial insecurity, and the consistent ebb & flow of DOLLA BILLZ
aaaand the instability of an acting career.  To name a few.  If those are my cues, then why on earth do I think my physical and cognitive sides should cooperate… and agree to make a baby? Not that I’m ready for one—I just want to know that someday when I am, my body will be a willing participant.

I think if we all paid a little more attention to what our environments are, and how they affect us mentally, we could really get down to a much more holistic approach to health. Often I think our bodies know what’s best long before we’re ready and willing to admit it to ourselves… so maybe it’s best to let things run their course.   Or, best in my case at least.

And when the external cues change again— and a whirlwind summer blows in someone that shifts all perspective and makes the insignificant once again beautiful… that’s a pretty wonderful thing.  I guess sometimes it takes the complete closure of one door in order to open another…or to turn around and realize the window was open behind you, all along.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Crank the Bowie, y’all.  And Happy June!

A small update for my reptile-minded readers: I found the turtle a home! (to read about my imposed lesson in slow-ness, visit my previous entry here ) Craigslist never fails to disappoint.  A very nice woman and her three children came over one afternoon, and took my little turtle-laden Tupperware bowl away.  She emailed me later to say he was “running around the yard” (a humorous visual) and that the kids were enjoying their new pet.  I feel that my karma was complete for the month of May.

So a byproduct of my lesson in patience, has been another I feel can’t go unmentioned… Change.  This also could be due to the fact that my home has undergone massive renovations over the past 5 weeks (yes. five.) during which time; walls were literally getting torn down all around us.  You can’t get much more literal than that… ripping down the old, built up-stuff to reveal the skeletal foundation of what makes up a structure.  Call it metaphors of a bathroom.  But when exercising patience to obtain the things we want, one ultimately has to be prepared to accept the undeniable, unavoidable change that comes along with it.  Duh?  Maybe.  But it still comes as a surprise when I reach a goal, and my life takes an entirely new turn that makes me feel—well— just a little bit uncomfortable and more often than not… completely shaken.

This can come in many forms.  When I ended my five-year relationship, it was in the pursuit of being true to myself and maintaining “happiness”.  Going through that process was particularly difficult because it meant choosing nothing—over something.  Choosing the tangible, touchable, safe and comfortable present, over the unknown.  Was I happy in that relationship?  Sure.  We had amazing times that I’ll always look fondly on, and a large part of who I am today— I owe to our time together.    But there was something amiss; and though I had (and continue to have) no idea what the future holds for me… I concluded that taking a chance on the unknown would bring me closer to the person I wanted to be, than my lifestyle at the time.  That is a truly scary place.  Truly.  And anyone that chooses to fight that good fight… I give a resounding kudos and tight, true hug.  It means an incredible amount of intuition and patience, in addition to an acceptance that things are going to live in a place of uncertainty for quite some time.

Some say that our bodies change every 7 years.  It’s a fun idea to entertain, but isn’t exactly science— medical practitioners scoff at the concept, presenting evidence that cells regenerate at a variety of different speeds.  Part of me wants to believe it simply because it’s such a romantic notion… reinventing ourselves every seven years.  It kind of gives credence to the shit we go through in our 20’s, no?  I really like this website which breaks down each seven-year cycle into a tangible “type”. Of course this isn’t true across the board, but I certainly was doing a whole bunch of head-nodding while reading it… and think it’s particularly cool because it presents such an inclusive look at the whole picture.  It recognizes an emotional, physical and mental reinvention, which of course includes the physical body.  From a physical standpoint we go through massive adjustments over the years; through puberty and adolescence, into the adjustment phase of the early 20’s (combined with too many pilsners and Mr. Noodle- just me?) and from a more personal standpoint— into a time of leading a very body-conscious life. Which is why I get particularly frustrated when doctors “treat” me as though I should fit into a nice little box, or a dot found on a flow chart.  So if our physical makeup is—on whatever level you find believable and acceptable—reinventing itself every seven years, do our personalities change, too?  Are you the same person now that you were fifteen years ago? 

The interesting thing about change is that we rarely evolve in step with one another.  Friendships fall away.  Relationships fizzle out.  In order to make things work, there must have to be an incredible amount of listening, communication, and fortitude.  Not to mention a healthy dose of luck!  And whether you buy into the seven-year-theory or not; I like it as a jumping-off point for realizing our own instability.  Our evolution.  But why change is often given such a sneer negativity, I’ll never know…. “Oh, you’ve chaaanged”.  Damn right I should!  Change means you’re interacting with your world, instead of existing within a preferred bubble and norm within it. Though sometimes, we just evolve in the opposite direction as the people in our lives.  

But what gets left behind?

The older I get, the more aware I become of what is “needed”.  There comes a time for a paring down; and an investigation into my physical, emotional and spiritual foundation.  What makes me up?  What are my values?  What do I need and what can I do without?  Similarly, I think it’s important to occasionally cleanse the body.  I’ve typically stuck to mainly raw food diets accompanied with detox pills; and am always thrilled with the results.  My energy level is higher.  I’m more focused and productive.  And I can feel my sense of taste become acutely heightened, again learning to enjoy the taste of raw food without adding a bunch of unnecessary ingredients and additives.  By bringing my tastes back to square one, I have the clarity to see what I’d truly like to reintegrate as a necessary and fulfilling part of my diet— and lifestyle.  Cleansing the palate, like cleansing the soul… feels real good on from time to time.

But it’s not as though this evolution happens over night.  And I think the trick to all this lies in realizing the goal isn’t change itself, but the process of going through it.  As many yoga classes and one particular dear one have taught me…the posture never ends.  In terms of yoga, this means practicing with fluidity— by linking the poses together with the breath in a continuous movement.  In yoga, as in life, you can’t see the postures as a series of steps you jump to, with no focus on the time spent journeying in-between.  It’s impossible to get to the other side of the shaky bits if you don’t pass through them, but one can take comfort in the fact that even within that uncomfortably… there is always a gentle movement forward, onto the next posture.  “I was just feeling a really strong emotional awareness of friendship, and time that has passed.  Thinking, we don’t realize it but this is an amazing time.”

I’d like to wrap up by sharing another piece of wisdom from a friend I can always count on to enlighten, and lighten, my life.  Under the circumstances we were speaking about a recent audition, and that though my first run-through felt ok; after been given direction I felt much stronger about my performance.  The metaphor given was the Cooper Run.  I didn’t immediately remember it either— and kind of shuddered at the prospect of revisiting high-school gym class.  Remember the 12-minute run at the beginning, and then at the end of every school year?  It’s a physical fitness test, the point being to run as far as possible within those calf-searing 12 minutes… and then be retested at the end of the year to measure your (hopeful) improvement. 

This related to my audition because I was getting pretty wrapped up in the fact that I wanted to “start” from that strong place.  A controlled place.  But I was comforted by the idea that there’s also something to be said in terms of recognizing improvement, and the capacity to receive guidance to initiate change.

 So in terms of my audition, the position, and just livin’ life in general; maybe the road travelled it isn’t a test of endurance, as it may seem.  But instead a measure in how far we’ve come.

And patience, little turtle.  Change is afoot.  

Darryl and the Turtle

So in light of recent events, I’ve decided to share something different this week… I guess sometimes you’ve got to work with what the world gives you.  And honestly, you’re not going to belieeeeve the Victoria Day I had.  Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the body (or the Queen’s ‘diamond jubilee’ for that matter) I reckon one’s spiritual self can be pretty important when it comes to overall-wellness…. so.  Without getting too preachy on the matter, here’s a story.  “Darryl and the Turtle.”

Lately I’ve been struggling.  I say lately— but really it’s been ongoing for a few years now, with alternating periods of uncertainty and assuredness, despair and hope.  And guilt.  Guilt because there’s really so much to be grateful for; I lead a charmed life with many incredible opportunities and people in it… so I feel there’s no right to complain of this first-world-self-manifested-crisis. 

But yet— it’s all relative, right?  And being an artist is hard.

Anyway, I digress.  Lately it’s come to a bit of a head, which prompted some tough self-reflection and questions like “why did I move out here?  Do I still want to be an actor, anyway?  Do I need to make a serious change?  What if I don’t meet a partner to share this life with- am I ok with being alone?”  So I got down and dirty with the universe a few nights ago and did something that I admittedly haven’t for years… I prayed.   I hesitate to use the word; but even though it wasn’t “to” anyone in particular, and lacked any usual suspects like a sign of the cross or an Amen, somehow it still felt prayer-like.  Which made it difficult to start… how do you make it a formal talking-to, without an implied religion?  I didn’t want to light candles or anything, so opted to lie in bed and speak to the ceiling. Seemed acceptable for the time being. 

And it went a little something like this:
“Ok… universe.  I’m struggling right now.  Big time.  I know you probably get a lot of this—people only talking to you when they need something— but I feel like I’ve tried to lead the better part of this year with gratitude, and I’m still having a hard time.  So I want to ask a favor.  And I’m not asking for blessings, I’m not.  I am blessed, and know it.  But I’m confused, and beginning to feel very, very lost.  What I would like— is a sign.  A sign for love, and a sign for my career.  Do I change?  Come up with a different game plan? Do I continue along the path I’m on, or should I make a drastic shift?  I’m lonely and tired… and feel I could use a tiny bit of encouragement in the right direction.  I’m equally as open to either path right now, so any signal would just be swell.  Cool.  Thanks.”

And you know?  I woke up the next morning feeling a little lighter, so went ahead and did it again the next night, and the night after that.  And this is where things get a little oogie-boogie.  On the third night I had a dream that someone gave me a tiny baby turtle as a gift… a little toonie-sized reptile in my upturned palm.  But I dream a lot, so didn’t think anything of it and went about my business the following day.  Later at the gym a very cute paramedic asked me on a date, schwetty and all…. so that was neat.  (does this have anything to do with the story?  Not really.  I’m just stoked.) Then, on my ride home… I FOUND A TURTLE ON THE STREET.  Yes.  Just goin’ out for a Monday stroll was a pet-store turtle (specifically a red-eared slider, the same as my dream) moseying across the road.  I nearly hit it with my bike!  It seemed like everyone on the street had flung open their front doors to let the sun in that day, so I asked around to see if anyone had, erm, misplaced him—which was met with a few (understandable) chuckles of incredulity… I mean who ever hears of a turtle running away from home? 

So I took him home with me.  You think the story’s over, right? 

My home is in full-on construction mode right now.  Our bathroom has been torn apart, and walls are getting patched and re-molded, we have spices and bathroom supplies scattered willy-nilly all over the place.  This leads to a lot of strangers passing through, most of which have been pretty rad.  Anyway, while I was getting Turtle settled in some water—one of the contractors came through the kitchen and I called him over to check out the new little buddy.  To which he says “Wow- cool.  (Pause) Hey… are you religious?”  After a certain amount of uncomfortable bumbling and sweating he politely interrupted and said, “that’s ok… well I am.  Or, spiritual at least.  And, well— I don’t know— I was just wondering if maybe there’s something you might be trying to rush right now?”

“What?” I asked.  Not without a certain degree of WTF.

“Well, it’s just that turtles are symbols of patience, right?  Slow and steady wins the race.  So I’m just thinking that if there is something you’re trying to rush, maybe the world is trying to tell you to take it slow, and be patient.  You know?  Good things come, and need time to grow.  And you found that turtle.  I think the world's trying to talk to you.”

By this point I was full on crying into my coffee, and Darryl (the contractor) was making a slow backwards creep-dance towards the doorway.  But after I calmed down, took the time to pick my jaw up off the floor, and settled Turtle in his Tupperware bowl, I found Darryl again to thank him.  Does he know what a gift he gave me that day? As if #1 the dream, and #2 finding the thing wasn’t enough…. But the universe then gave a resounding *forehead slap*, shook it’s head and said “oh for god’s sa…. She still isn’t getting it.  Ok well hit her with a messenger then.”  Enter contractor. 

I know you can probably see signs in anything if you’re looking to find them…  and landmarks are everywhere if you just pay attention.  But if it comes down to me being the kind of person that sees a turtle for what it is- merely a turtle- or a person who can take a lesson of patience from it all… I choose the latter.  So ok— universe.  I’ll bite.  I’ll keep on keepin’ on, with gratitude and hopefulness, and as much joy as I can…with patience.  Maybe stick my head out of the ol’ shell every once and a while, and hope that whatever you have in store for me, is exactly where I need to be.  And oh, Thanks.

In the meantime, I’ve got a new task of finding a good home for spirit-turtle, while simultaneously keeping curious-kitty at bay.  Entertainment, abound.  And one more thing- my acupuncturist informed me that turtles are also symbols of fertility and blood.   All good things, right?? 

Part Three: Food and Body relations (of the non-sexy variety)

3) A conclusion…

…of sorts.  If you’ve read my last two posts, you’ll know I asked some close male friends about their relationships with a) their bodies and b) food.  My third and final installment looks at their responses to the last question c) what they think about the relationship between the two.  (I feel so science-y.  For the rest of this entry I’d like you to picture me at home in a white lab coat; swishing test tubes of snips, snails, and puppy dog tails.)

So what do you think about the food you consume, and how it translates into your physical well-being?  Seems like an obvious answer, but I’m learning that simple questions often result in the most interesting stories.  One friend commented that he thinks the two are “intimately and inextricably linked” and I’d have to agree there.  Since my cholesterol scare I’ve cut down on a lot of dairy-rich foods, which I know has translated directly into how my body feels and works.  I feel less sluggish and tired.  Just, cleaner— if that makes sense.  There are other, smaller food/body associations as well; like the caffeine headaches I get without a cuppa joe in the morning (a problem.  I’m aware) or the vivid dreams that come with eating cheese before bed. 

But when thinking about food, it seems to often translate into fuel.  I was given this story:

“When I was a kid they made an American version of "Speed Racer" that I watched because... well, it was on. The concept for the show is that this kid has a sweet car and he races it. There was an episode that I remember where the kid's coach had invented a type of super advanced fuel so the kid didn't have to refuel his car at all during races... the fuel was blue and solid and it came in a glass jar... I remember the image of the blue chunk of fuel...

So, let's pretend that my body is the kid's super awesome car and the Blue chunk of fuel is a well balanced diet... When my car isn't in a race it pretty much stays in the garage and when I take it out for a spin I just use cheap shitty gas. But when I'm in a race, like when I'm doing a show or have a string of auditions coming up I use the blue chunk of fuel so that I can win the race... You get what you put into it.”

I think this makes total sense.  But the trouble (in my case at least) is that more often than not life becomes busy, and I don’t “have the time” to use that blue chunk of fuel.  Instead, when I need nourishment the most, I rely on trailmix to get me through the day and then wonder why I feel rotten by the end of it.

However, here’s a strong argument for the alternative as well:

“I wish I could see the very simple black and white truth that food is fuel for your body. You eat bad food, you're giving your body bad fuel, your body creaks and cranks and slowly shuts down. But I can't acknowledge that because it means changing so much about myself. I could never have a whole bag of chips because I'm sad- if I lived the food is fuel connection, for instance. Honesty about my body and food would mean I'd have to really think about why I alternately exercise or don't, eat garbage food or don't, even watch porn and jerk off or don't. And I'm just not ready to question those parts of my life yet, while I can still get away with letting them slide.”

… which illustrates an important point.  Is the only positive means of fueling ourselves by eating our fruits and vegetables, while also avoiding anything high in refined sugar, dairy, hormones, or anything questionably “fun”?  Or can we instead say “…ok.  My car needs those fuggin’ Reese’s peanut butter cups to fuel my AWESOME sector for the day.  And you know what? I’m gonna keep it parked in the garage too— because it’s raining, and it’s cold, and I want to eat grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup…. and while I’m at it will someone just wrap up in a blanket and hold me please?!?”
I agree that good food (fuel) translates into generally feeling better— more often than not.  But I also won’t argue that a glass of Jameson and a piece of cheesecake can fill a certain void that a bag of organic carrots, just won’t.  Being honest about the times we’re eating out of emotions or boredom (or emotional boredom) is key. 

So to fuel, not to fuel.  Either way it seems to boil down—across the board— to the fact we love what we eat; I just wish that could translate more often into we love what who we are.   Sometimes people want to keep food and body as two very separate entities, like another friend who goes on to say “ … there isn't a huge relationship between the two for me. I mean I guess I view the body as "technology" which needs to be cared for. And food as sort of the "spiritual" or sustaining element of that.”

This resonates with me because even though taste is an immediate sensation, the benefits or downfalls we experience as a result of the food we eat— is something less perceivable.  Or less immediate at least… but even if you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.  Maybe it’s not as clear as stubbing your toe and feeling pain, or having an orgasm to feel pleasure.  But what we eat directly translates into a physical and mental component, the way same anything we “consume” does: the news we watch, the books we read, and the conversations we surround ourselves with.  It’s more like building a muscle, really.  Take the Doctrine of Signatures…  something that not only recognizes the health benefits that result from consuming particular foods, but that those foods actually mirror body parts, as well.

Ok.  So now I feel the need to draw some sort of conclusion from all of this, except that every attempt I’ve made seems like copping out.  But if I were to try, I guess I would say, hey—blog readers— we’re all different; wouldn’t it be nice to get treated that way?  And not only different, but always-changing!  So be easy with yourself.  Understand that in order to hear, you have to listen.  Or, when in doubt, just take a page out of this dear one’s noggin… utterly succinct in saying “Connection between the two? I was skinnier when I didn’t eat anything, and pizza gives my heart burn.” Maybe all kinds of heartache (excuse me- burn) and body image have the potential to be boiled down to a starting point that simple.  Other times, a+b…. just equals banana. 

Either way, touche, friend.  Touche.

Part deux. Food.

2) On food relations:

Holy moses!  Who doesn’t like to talk about what they eat??  To continue with the theme of my last post, I asked The Boys what their relationship is with food.  These gents described their noshing habits through a wide scope of careful, mindful, delicate and loving, as well as one of reward and punishment.  I’m finding it near-impossible to condense their responses into an overriding statement, so instead of attempting that—here are a few of my personal faves. 

First:  “I love to cook with my girl. Cooking is a time where we can be together and be creative.”  I love this.  Because it’s a reminder that what we consume is so much more than simply fuel, while breaking down the oft-used stereotype that men see it exclusively as that.  Because it’s a reminder that food can simultaneously be an experience, and an expression.  Because it’s just SO DAMN SWEET.  And again with the creativity!  Whether it’s a huge thanksgiving dinner, late night pasta on the couch or early morning coffee at my parent’s table- when I think back on some of my favorite gatherings of loved ones it revolves around the kitchen.  And in the preparation of food for loved ones—with loved ones—there lies an unspoken ritual.  My grandma’s hands as she rolls out the lefse, to get them just so.  The caught, filleted walleye soaking in a stainless steel bowl at the lake.   The go-to meal my Dad makes when one of us needs warming, healing, or cheering up.  Somehow that one room seems to contain more memory, safety and warmth than an entire photo album of snapshots.  And the food that is made with so much love and care—is it possible that we can actually consume that positive energy, in a small way?  Exploring this idea through it’s opposite; the alternative has been argued as well… that by eating animals (ones that have been brutally butchered) we’re in turn absorbing that hurt and anger vicariously.  Sometimes, a song can say what my rambles can’t articulate:

Boogie Down Productions “Beef:

Let us begin now with the cow

The way it gets to your plate and how

The cow doesn't grow fast enough for man

So through his greed he makes a faster plan

He has drugs to make the cow grow quicker

Through the stress the cow gets sicker

Twenty-one different drugs are pumped

Into the cow in one big lump

So just before it dies, it cries

In the slaughterhouse full of germs and flies

Off with the head, they pack it, drain it, and cart it

And there it is, in your local supermarket

Red and bloody, a corpse, neatly packed

And you wonder about heart attacks?

Not to say that every meal should be a ceremony, but maybe there’s something to saying grace and showing respect for what we’re taking in.  And hey, having a small ritual of thanks doesn’t necessarily need a religious connotation… but often it does.  When I asked one friend what his relationship is with food, he answered “To remind myself of my relationship with God on a daily basis”.  This particular bud has a dietary restraint that is deeply rooted in his belief system, and goes on to say that it makes him take a moment before acting on impulse.  This generates mindfulness, and recognition that what we’re taking in effects us on a larger level than just a wicked hangover or a bit of bloating.  But for those of us without the benefit of a similar spiritual practice- I don't want to get overly precious here.  I need a fast sandwich and a coffee on the go as much as the next person… every morsel doesn’t need to be a ceremoniously loving, and revered act.  But.  There is value in knowing where our food comes from, and what it means to be cooking that food and putting it into our bodies. “You get what you put into it... Read the ingredients.” 

If anything else, I think a powerful and overriding theme here would be mindfulness.   Now stay with me, I’m going to briefly foray into some actor-y talk… but there’s a connection I promise you.  Recently I’ve attended some workshops that utilize techniques like relaxation and sensory to get into the scene study.  Sensory exercises are just what they sound like; they draw on a personal database of sights, scents, tastes, feelings and sounds to manifest a connection to the work.  For example—if your scene is set in a rainy park: how does the rain feel on your skin, what does it smell like, and what sound does the soggy grass make when you sloosh your foot into it?  (Sloosh: not a technical term… and yes, made up.  But ok, if this was a graphic novel and my cartoon-self was pulling a boot out of mud, it would go *thwuck*  yeah?) Because of this class I’ve started taking more time in my daily life to pay attention to sensory experiences… that of course includes taste.   So, when was the last time you really tasted your food?  I mean really—and not the expensive wine and steak dinner, either— because I don’t think it’s necessary to shell out crazy cash to somehow earn the right to savor what we eat. But on a smaller scale…  I mean can we talk about figs, people??  I’m pretty sure I had a small love-affair the other morning.

“I’m going to tell you why I’m skinny. I can’t find nourishment. I’m not talking about food now, which I think you guessed. I’m talking about the world. The world does not nourish me.  At least at the moment. Do you know what I’m talking about?” (“Let us go out into the Starry Night” by John Patrick Shanley). The reinvestigation of my senses has lead to a greater awareness, and gratefulness, for all the things that I find nourishing in my life: the food I eat, the people I love, and the world I tread.  I think we could all ask ourselves what those things are… sometimes it may simply be what tastes good, other times a somewhat bitter encounter of the truth. 

I think just being mindful of this is a great place to start.  And whether it’s acknowledged with a prayer or a high five, I plan to do a whole lot more of it surrounded by the people I love.

Josephine

Questions to boys. Part one.

Three Questions. 

What is your relationship with your body?  What is your relationship with food?  What (if anything) do you think about the connection between them?

I went to a few incredible gentlemen in my life for some answers; men from all walks of life, love and work.  My thinking was that it would be valuable to get a strong male perspective on body/food relationships, and was curious how it may differ from my own (more…womanly?) experience.  I considered a pretty gimmicky version of sharing this, ending with a dramatic reveal at the end that yes! These are men! *Sheepish sigh* Things didn’t quite work out that way.  Though I’m happy to say that many points rang true, there were also some that seemed as foreign to me as… well… having a penis.  So full disclosure—THIS IS BOY TALK.

(Oh, one more thing.  This entry started turning into a whopper, so I’m going to break up these questions over the next little while… stay tuned. ) 

1) On body relations.

When it came to their bodies, part of me feels that these bros were just happy someone was actually asking them to talk. In more than one instance, younger years provided resentment and a severe dislike, but later on (a sometimes grudging) respect.  Connection and disconnection were pretty big themes... and since everyone feels strongly one way or the other, I’d like to talk about that a little bit.

In light of body disconnection, one friend said, “except for obvious functions like hunger and bathroom stuff, I have no idea what my body is doing or what it's trying to tell me. Things will be going along fine and suddenly I'll suffer stiffness, soreness, bellyaches or scratchy throats, and then they will go away of their own accord. Plus, my body is tired when I wish it wasn't, and alert when I just want to sleep.” A good place to start… we think and desire one thing and our bodies— seemingly out of spite— do the opposite.   Another goes on to say “I'm fairly fanatical about taking care of myself and of my body (weird to separate them, but not inaccurate).” Nope, not inaccurate at all.

 In both of these experiences the disconnection seems to lie between the physical self, and mental perception.  We’re all just big ol’ brains floating atop vehicles.  The question “what is my body trying to tell me” should probably be asked a whole lot more, rather than “how can I take this away?” (in regard to symptoms). I recently went to a workshop called the ‘homeopathic approach to depression and anxiety’ and something we spoke about was the tendency for those suffering from depression, to often have digestion problems as well.  But there’s a separation in treatment; and usually the indigestion, acid reflux and dietary intolerances aren’t recognized as being products of another emotional/physical state.  Medication upon medication—to medicate the symptoms of the other medication!— are prescribed.  The self and the body are being treated as separate counterparts.  And since physical trauma can have an emotional impact on our lives (like those who suffer emotional stress after going though an accident) … can our mental well-being dictate our physical wellness, also?  Has my period disappeared because I’m emotionally closed off and, as one book told me, “rejecting my femininity?”  Ok ok.  Back to ‘em boys.

Connection is a whole other interesting bag o’ tricks.  What I found really, really awesome was that body connection—at least in this select group of experiences—seems intrinsically tied to creativity.  Dear one #3 says “I am a very physical person that likes to express myself physically - but find myself restraining this impulse quit a bit. My physicality is a part of my music, my writing, sports, friendship and everything I do. Mostly it’s a creative relationship. One that involves a lot of imagination.  When I was a kid - and still to this day I picture what my body can and can't do - and experiment with its limitations.”  Boom!  Imagination, creativity, expression- a relationship??  One thing I love about this is that everyone can understand being a child (having an active imagination), and having the physical freedoms that go along with that.  The go-to statement about being an artist is that we’re all entertaining an inner child; and allowing inhibitions to materialize through imagination and creation.   So when ignoring what our body needs, or wants—are we quashing an artistic or creative outlet because of that?  And then what happens to those impulses… where do they go?  I can relate to this through a series of running-and-biking epiphanies.  There’s been many times I’ve worked through a mental block, or had a “eureka” moment while doing something physical (and yes.  I wear a helmet.  On my bike I mean… not jogging.  That’d look just goofy.) Not to say everyone needs to run a marathon in order to be creative, but it sure seems to work for some folks.  Take a recent interview I heard with author Joëlle Anthony, and her creation of the treadmill desk. Extreme?  Maybe.   But I’m sure even those that aren’t in an artistic field of work can relate to needing to exercise that lil’ inner brat every now and then.

Connection can also manifest through control, by wanting to stay strong and able in order to accomplish anything at a moment’s notice.  Control is also ruled by self-perception… which as it turns out isn’t gender biased at all.  One friend spoke about the physical activities he practices, and the distinction that strength and muscle don’t necessarily mean the same thing:  “So I know that power does not come from muscle, and yet... I think that I see many people/characters around me that are at a high level of physically ability and I aspire to achieve the same, and yet I have a voice at the back of my head also saying "Oh who cares." So I am stuck between failure and acceptance in my perception of my own body. "Biggism" as a friend of mine had once said comes to mind.”  There’s a great distinction made here between the acceptance of one’s body, and acceptance of the (self-made) perception of it.  Further on this, whether you’re male or female, big, small or too-damn-perfect in every way; this acceptance translates into understanding that your body is always in flux, and always will be.  But what leapt out at me is the brilliant notion of “oh who cares”.  Wait… what? 

You mean this is a thing?  Maybe it's more a personal revelation than it is one as a female—but it’s never occurred to me that choosing to not obsess, could be a viable option.  Another friend says  “I have also been unhappy with my weight and body shape since I was a teenager, but I think I'm one of the lucky ones because I don't internalize it very much” and goes on to say “I don't feel as if I have any control over it. It's like if you have a crappy car or something, you go, "I hate this piece of shit car", but you drive it around because it's all you've got. But I think maybe that's a man thing. I don't feel pressure to change my body for someone else, and I'm content to be lazy about changing it for myself. I go, "Well my body sucks, but what's on tv?"

Now I know women get a bad rap for having poor body image and men alternatively are seen as being unaffected by this; and that’s not a parallel I’m trying to draw here because it’s just not true across the board.  However, an admission.  Speaking from a personal standpoint, the thought of having no control over my body translates into a perception of having no control over my life… and I find it impossible to not internalize this lack of power in a negative way.  It actually terrifies me, and I feel weak.  But whether it's letting go of a little control, or throwing the top down to take 'er for a spin in the country just because it feels good... I think we could all benefit from a little more self lovin' every now and then.    If I— and we—want to be the most inspired, creative, open and connected versions of ourselves; maybe we should start with strengthening the ol’ grey matter.   Take the method approach and work inside out, cultivating our thoughts and allowing the rest to follow. 

That’s all I’ve got.  So to conclude:  take it away Schoolhouse Rock, you said it best.

What's so great about being normal, anyway?

Last night was one of those great impromptu evenings that involved a whole lot of wine, and some really great conversation.  It was a kitchen-gathered meeting of minds where we discussed home, politics, cockroaches and love.   And I started to stew- somewhere between the definition of tannins and the future of the arts in Canada- between examining ourselves and what we’re looking for; what does the word Normal really mean?  In my bubble it seems like a given that all my well-spoken and connected buds condemn the ridiculousness of things like the Saskatchewan Film Tax Credit getting cut… and laugh (read: cry) that somehow there seems to be a rationale to support this move.  But I’d be kidding myself to think that others aren’t just as equally removed from my world, as I am from theirs.

I think most people are imbued with an awareness of “normalcy” right from the get-go, and it becomes just another word for the average, and the usual.  It’s what we grow up with and what we deem as being the set standard, to which everything from that point on (consciously or not) will be compared.  So what happens when there is a dramatic shift of our self-perceptions, or those of our surroundings?  What brings on these shifts, and more importantly how do we maintain a stable sense of self and awareness throughout?

Here’s an example.  I was looking through old photos one day and noticed a recurring theme in my snapshot-life a few years ago: I had no eyebrows.  Let me explain… I had eyebrows, but they were plucked so thin they were hardly visible.  I remember my partner at the time asking me once how often I plucked - and I told him hardly at all.  Just to pull the stray hairs, really. 
I had been doing it so long; my perception of this small personal norm had shifted.  What I told him wasn’t a deliberate lie, or even fib to protect my fragile ego: I knew it to be the truth.  But looking back at those photos actually frightened me because my perceived truth was so contrary to the actual truth.  I’d been doing it so long I no longer had an outside eye or barometer to my experience.

Throughout all of the appointments I’ve had with doctors and physicians to talk about my missing period, I’ve been met with one overriding and consistent theme: I am treated like a complete abnormal oddity.  A seemingly healthy woman in her mid-20’s should not have symptoms like these, and I’ve been met with many a raised eyebrow and look of bafflement at my condition (similar to my bout with high cholesterol… more on that in my entry on The Pill).   Sure, there were varying degrees of this response, but generally I left feeling like there was something intrinsically wrong with me.  And since I was already struggling with thoughts like this of my own cultivation; believe me I didn’t need a diagnosis to prove it.

But then- I began seeing an acupuncturist.  She actually talked to me and heard my concerns; examined my history, my sleep patterns and (yup) my tongue, then said with a clear smile and a complete assurance that I was a “classic case”.  I mean really, could I have that in writing, please???  What a relief to hear a reaction that didn’t include surprise and incredulity!  She said she would have me menstruating again (not fixed, or set right… and this change in rhetoric made a world of difference) in three months. 

Now I’m thinking about the bigger picture, and what this kind of patterned thinking does in a much larger context.  Getting stuck in ideals of what’s normal or “right” is a really dangerous place to be because it’s really just a hop, skip and a jump away from justifying narrow-mindedness.  It seems that normality has moved away from being a personal standard and has instead collected a whole slew of negative connotations to go with it, associations that seem to allow room for things like racism, bigotry and homophobia.  Anything outside of one’s personal experience has moved from being simply another choice, or another life- to something abnormal.   And what is “proper” male and female behavior, the “right” religion, the “healthiest” body-type, anyway?  It should be a personal experience and journey, instead of a collective one that’s set to a body-mass index chart.

The ideas of my norm are changing on a continued basis.  What I want out of my life, from my body, and in my relationships has swung a great deal from where I thought I would be in my late 20’s.  But this is not only ok, it is normal (my normal) in and of itself.   When I think of the people in my life l look up to the most, they are those who are always re-evaluating their situation and what works, striving to be as true to themselves as they can be.  Let me propose, as others have repeatedly in the past, that we commit to celebrating diversity instead of condemning it.  Instead of setting a bar to be reached, just leap- for the sake of leaping. I think it’s selling the world pretty short to think there’s only one type of (nuclear) family, one path to spirituality, or one road to your own personal brand of happiness. 

And just maybe, we could consider a slight change of rhetoric on our own parts too.  There might be a time and a place that could benefit from replacing the fight for equality, with a demand for diversity.  A beautiful, celebratory demand.  Because isn’t that what true acceptance is all about anyway?

Josephine

PS. 

If you’re interested in acupuncture, I’ve added a link to Six Degrees.  They’re really rad. 

The Pill.

Hello bloggees!  Whoof.  I’m feeling uber bolstered by online-love and so excited to continue, especially now that I know there’s a demand for this kind of discussion.  Onward and upward folks!

Today on the agenda: Pill talk.  Trust me, it flows nicely out of the treat-the-cause-not-the-symptom angle in my last entry… not to mention a pretty concrete starting point in terms of my own personal health issues.  I started taking the Pill (Alesse, and later Minovral for any of you interested) and was on it for the duration of my near-five year relationship, plus a few months afterwards.   So what are the symptoms of taking the birth control pill?  I am both sheepish, and baffled at the fact that during those years I never took the time to research what the pill actually does to prevent contraception.  I’ve since taken that time. 

*sidenote* (think of this as a choose-your own-adventure novel.  If you already know the science and inner workings of The Pill, please ignore my little lesson and skip to the bottom of the paragraph.) In a nutshell, there are two types of oral contraceptives a woman can take.  The first- and most commonly used- contains both hormones required to create an egg: progestin and estrogen.  The second type contains only progestin.  Both these pills, however, work to the same affect through a number of ways: such as the increase of cervical mucous, creating change in the uterus lining and finally- by suppressing ovulation.  So think about that for a second.  There is No creation of an egg.  All those cramps you gals still have?  That period that comes like clockwork on day 21 of your pill pack?  Not menstruation.  Menstruation only comes when an egg goes unfertilized in the female body.  So what happens is called withdrawal bleeding- something that happens when you finish your pack o’ pills and either a) go on the 7 day break or b) take the white/other colored placebo pills at the end of the month.  Your body is no longer getting it’s daily dose of hormones… and you bleed from withdrawal. 

Obviously there are exceptions- because women do continue to get pregnant while taking oral contraceptives- and there are effectiveness percentage rates to reflect this… they seem to lie anywhere between the 92-98% range.  Yup.  Many shades of grey even when it comes to science. 

Ok- so why am I telling you all this? Because the symptom of my being on birth control for 5+ years, is that my body seemingly forgot how to ovulate on it’s own.  And it didn’t stop there- I also learned that the Pill was responsible for my lipids shooting sky high during that time, which sent me to specialists that recommended Lipitor for high cholesterol.  And you wonder why I have the tendency to sway (or rather leap) towards being somewhat of a hypochondriac?  26 years old, healthy, a petite runner-type…and I was being handed pamphlets for (god love ‘em) happy looking blue-hairs noshing on bowls of steamed broccoli and oatmeal.  And believe me, try to take away Sunday morning eggs and sausage with my buddy and you’ll get stabbed with a fork.  But…. all the talk sank in.  I thought it was something I was doing wrong, and reasoned that high cholesterol did run in my family.  Enter new gameplan: I quit stocking the fridge with four kinds of cheese (opting instead to hit the brie HARD at opening nights), started taking my coffee black, ate whole grains every morning, and began taking flax and fish oil.   Still each year my cholesterol continued to go up- until I went off the pill.  And only then was I told birth control could be a contributing factor in heightened lipids.

I digress.  I think it’s important to recognize that oral contraceptives are still a relatively new drug, and only time will sort out all the possible side effects.  But what frustrates me is that until I took away these symptoms by chance through discontinued use… doctors were insistent on prescribing me more medication to treat (again- and for the last time I swear) the symptom instead of the cause.  No one seemed interested in getting to the root of the problem; all they were concerned with were my numbers checking out.

I hesitate to shit all over the Pill (yeah I said it.)  For oh-so many reasons.  It has been credited with launching the women’s movement.  It helps regulate menstrual cycles (obviously in certain cases), reduce cramps and the risk of ovarian cysts, improve acne and help with iron deficiency…  just to name a few.  If you take into consideration the moral implications that come with taking the Pill- it has lent (*rim shot*) itself to the slow reform of the Roman Catholic Church… but the going. is. slow.  Because oral contraceptives inhibit the sperm’s ability to fertilize an egg, it is still widely condemned as being an immoral and sinful act.  The rationale being that couples have sex solely to procreate- anything else is a sin.  Sigh. 

But maybe the largest selling point- is that women are finally able to make a specific choice in regards to their bodies.  The Pill gave us sexual liberation and agency over our decisions.  Now for myself, I know I won’t begin unnecessarily putting hormones into my body again.  It’s just not a choice that I’m willing to make.  That’s not to say I consider it an evil act, or wouldn’t recommend it under certain circumstances… but I’m a grown woman that has made her decisions and am now beginning to feel an odd but certain degree of power in letting things unfold, naturally. 

Always keeping in mind that self-love and acceptance can be a choice, too.

Josephine

P.S Please, please if you have some time to spare for some damn-fine and interesting radio, check out this link to CBC radio’s Rewind.  It revisits the creation of the pill in the 60’s with interviews of Planned Parenthood in Los Angeles, the fire-crackin’ women’s lib Dorothea Palmer, and a public forum of the Catholic Church’s stance in 1968.  Here’s the link:  CBC's Rewind "The Birth of the Pill"