Find Freedom in the Fat-Fear Frenzy

There's something about fruitcake and frosty weather that sends us into a Fat-Fear Frenzy. We tend to eat too much fruitcake, and we stay figuratively frozen inside our homes and bodies because it's too darn cold outside to play. Because we're inside and snuggled up, we decide to eat even more fruitcake (a little here, a little there) because we disconnect from the neck down and don't know what our bodies, or legs, or arms, or hips, or hearts really want.

Then, we hear the radio ads and watch the tv commercials about the inevitable holiday weight gain, and the fat-fear frenzy nearly eats us alive. Swallow this pill, sip that herbal tea, gulp this shake! Buy the latest "toning" contraption, use it for two days, then let it collect dust in your garage for the next five years until you move. Those fat-fear messages can make us hold our breath and lock up our bodies in angst, and it can nearly trick us into thinking that just looking at fruitcake can kill.

But, I refuse to buy into the fat fear, and so should you. That's old stuff. Just because it's the holidays doesn't mean you should put your body and breath on a shelf and come back to it January 1, 2011. Don't wait -- Listen to your body now.

Love Yourself
(and your tastebuds.) I know what you were thinking above, "Well, I don't eat fruitcake." Okay, I don't either, but some do, so fill in the blank with whatever salty or sweet treat you love. Then, enjoy it in moderation. On a plate in front of people -- not secretly sneaking it in the kitchen when no one's looking. And, if you don't dig it, don't eat it! Aunt Myrtle might serve up a colorful spread, but listen to your body to see what texture/taste and portion your body really wants and needs. Just because it's the holidays doesn't mean you should feel stuffed. But, you know what? It is the holiday season, so if you overindulge once or twice, forgive yourself and let it go. Lastly, when your belly and tastebuds are satisfied, fill yourself up in other ways -- take a nap, get crafty with wrapping gifts, write in your journal, call an old friend, or tune into how your body might want to MOVE:


Move Your Body
Commit to carve out time in your busy holiday schedule for regular physical activity -- not to burn calories -- but to make yourself feel alive and energetic and joyful. You don't have to kill yourself. Move for the right reasons. You'll sleep better and respect what your body's saying when you stay connected. If you're not a regular exerciser, that's okay. Start now -- tune into your breath, and practice letting your body tell you what it needs: flow in yoga, shake it in a dance class, walk and discover your neighborhood, push-pull your muscles via weight training, play fetch with your pup. And, to get ahead of those who wait until January 1, go ahead and try a new class (and get your spot!) before the January crowds get too thick!

Live Free
Promise yourself that instead of strict new year's resolutions, you'll stay true to you. Instead of all-or-nothing, black/white thinking, seek the middle of the road. Eat when you are hungry, rest when you are tired. Make exercise less competitive -- let your body lead you in movement. Write in your journal what you really, really, really want every single day (an Elizabeth Gilbert life/love writing exercise). Be with your feelings knowing that feelings don't kill you. Give trust and truth a chance. Treat yourself with kindness. Breathe.

And, finally, to quote Geneen Roth in Women, Food and God ~
‘Trust the process, trust your longing for freedom…Every time a woman aligns her eating with relaxation, every time she takes off her damn boots, the laces fly open for the rest of us.”

Advice from a Tree

It's been a while since I've written, but I hope to write more this coming week - So, here I am to pop in quickly and say hello. Last week was a busy week, and yesterday was a busy but enjoyable Saturday (work, an appointment, a baby shower, a birthday dinner). Today I'm finally embracing the day by lingering through this morning with tea and a new book, soon a long walk while dog training (let's hope it goes smoothly!), and probably a warm dinner with my fella. ;)

Whether you're reading on a leisure Sunday or during your mid-week work life, I hope you can enjoy one of my favorite poems by Ilan Shamir:

http://www.treelink.org/woodnotes/vol1/no1/advice.htm

Translate P to T and E

Wow, I'm about to take my own advice here, except it's not really my advice but from Natalie Goldberg, author of Writing Down the Bones. Instead of justifying or explaining my lapse in contributing to my own blog, I'll write some notes Goldberg gives:

Writing Ideas and Tips from Writing Down the Bones:
*Pick up the rhythms around you.
*Breathe deeply.
*Go for the jugular. If it's scary or naked, dive right into it; it probably has lots of energy.
*Capture the oddities of your mind.
*First thoughts have tremendous energy.
*Sit down with the least expectation of yourself. Say: "I am free to write the worst junk in the world." Give yourself the space to write a lot without destination.
*If the process is good, the end will be good. You will get good writing.

These tips correlate to your body/spirit energy, too. If you're like me, the P word haunts you. Perfectionism. So, whether you're writing or dancing or brainstorming or organizing, use these tips. Go with the flow. Allow some room for the T word. Trust. And, while you're at it, get to know the E word. Enough. You are enough. You can trust your work, your ideas, your being. Your flow is enough.

The Curl of a Leaf

The Curl of a Leaf

My favorite walking meditation takes place in a historic community just a few bounds away from my midtown apartment. The kind of neighborhood where roads roll quietly over humble hills and snake around elegant dollhouse homes. Something about this wide, winding pavement and dainty nook of homes grounds me, lets me come home – I crave the grounding of Magnolia and Oak tree roots, solidity of the stone-encrusted brick, and hope of the century-old address posts stuck haphazardly in thick green lawns.

After double-knotting my shoes, tuning into soulful rock, and securing my earphones, I find a hill to climb to stretch my legs and feel my pipes warm with steady whiffs of air. It’s not long before my sunglasses slide off my face, sweat dangles on my nose, and I’m going too fast. I need to stretch my hip flexors and calves, ground myself. I need to stop and pay attention to the emerald green curl of the magnolia leaf. Just a leaf, but what presence and girth and aliveness, such a staunch yet relaxed sense of self.

As I stop to stretch and gaze at more surroundings, what safety comes from standing underneath a crowd of oak trees. Like a bunch of old souls saying, “be, just be, you’re okay.” Then, as I stand straight and end my private pep talk among the oaks, I lift my chest, hold my head high and start tick-tocking down the sidewalk again. Tick, tock, squish, stomp, pat, pat, pat….

But, wait, no more smooth sidewalk. Tree roots take over my path but more like a dinosaur has just crunched over the cement leaving crumbles of once-hexagonal stepping stones. More roots. More cracks. I wonder what little worlds live between the roots and beneath the pavement. Maybe little chipmunk hideouts, maybe magical kingdoms for bugs and worms. I waiver and balance myself over the threatening shapes jutting up in the air, daring me to look up and away. I sort of like the challenge, the swaying. Then, I pause.

Stop going so fast. Check out the original glass in the oversized front window – puddles of color etched in the glass sway together like curvy bodies grooving. Move an inch, and new shapes form nearly blinding your view of the foyer. You see a mirror though, a long hallway, the rest is left to your imagination. Did a gardener arrange the geraniums spilling over the terra cotta pots, or did the man just cruising in on his road bike? Maybe the banker got his hands dirty, or maybe the woman with her little white dog?

Moving on again. Smooth sidewalks ahead. This time, I keep my head raised high, and I slow down. There’s a certain healing to slowing down, a magic in stillness. Kind of like the first time you learn about stretching, meditation and yoga – maybe thinking it’s for people who are naturally laid back, who are naturally still. For people who can’t run marathons or turn cartwheels in step class. Then, the marathon runners hear yoga helps breathing and concentration, and the step maniacs try purple mats for a day instead of purple risers – both experiencing a miracle.

They still walk away from their workouts floating on a cloud, it’s just a different kind. Maybe instead of a choppy cumulus, a free-flowing cirrus hovers over them like a blanket of “okay” protection. Think presence in lieu of competition: The runners learn it’s not all about beating the clock but more about appreciating their toes for gentle balance, heels for plunging forward, quadriceps for power, hips for stabilization, shoulders for confidence, and eyes for absorbing the ride. The step enthusiasts slow down enough to pay attention to the placement of the heel on the step, the chance to let out the inner dance child, the awareness of moving for feelings not for exhaustion, and the lightness of floating through class with the surrounding buzz of people.

Again, there’s a certain healing to slowing down, a safety in roots, a magical healing in the details. What’s the rush for anyway? Be thankful for the crumbles in the sidewalk; you slow down to embrace the smell of honeysuckle, and the little critters in the cracks below take comfort in the protection of their own little cities. Be thankful for the Saturday road race that makes you take the detour – you discover a new path, and the runners might just be enjoying the experience of running unabashedly through the city, no pressure for once, just presence.

These simple things – the curl of a leaf, a crumbled sidewalk, sweat dripping, freshly planted flowers – contain an “okayness”, a security of the innocence yet strength of nature. Forget the constant drama – the winner, the loser, the phone call, the red lights, the conforming, the competition – because they’re little trinkets, little ornaments that slightly define you, your life, your being. The real stuff doesn’t have to be so hard, so taxing, so nail-biting. Trust where you are right now in your natural-already-okay-good-enough self. Pay attention. Be grounded in the root of your self.

Caroline Correll’s vision is for people to respect body wisdom and uniqueness. She encourages presence and the “listen to your body” approach toward herself and others in fitness classes throughout Atlanta.