Tag Archives: self esteem

The Mirror and the Scale

img_5341

Social media has gotten on a kick of traipsing down memory lane… whether you wanted to be reminded or not. However, just the other day, a friend posted a picture of herself from a few years ago on her social media page. It was not even that many years ago that the picture was taken, but her own comment was “I wish I felt that pretty again.” The post sparked a number of rebuttals from her friends and family to say she was still remarkably beautiful. I was one of the contributors, and it prompted a conversation between her and me about the self-image downswing that we were mutually experiencing.

Like it or not, the majority of individuals in western society are consistently comparing ourselves to an arbitrary image set forth as ideal beauty. Whether you are male or female, young or old, chances are that you have at some point in your life fallen prey to the superficial grading system imposed by public assumptions of what is attractive. It isn’t anything new. This stuff has been going on for decades, centuries, hell… probably millennia. I expect that if someone invents time travel, we can take a trip back to the stone age where we will watch as Og or Una looks at their gender rivals and thinks, “You know, I wish I had a heavy brow and back hair like Erm,” or “Wonder how she gets her hair to mat like that?” It is something to do with competition for resources and mates. We want to look our best and most attractive to make sure that we get more hubba-hubba from our chosen ones than the next individual of the species.

And no… I may be oversimplifying, but we don’t develop these ideas about our own appearance just because we want to stare at ourselves in a reflective surface… well, at least most of us don’t. Even our internal opinions of worth and attractiveness originate from some sort of external input and observation. While we may embrace the idea of looking good for ourselves, the ideas we have of what looks good are still sadly over influenced by the collective opinion of society. The good part about that is that it tends to evolve and change itself. The bad part is that society hasn’t always reflected health and wellness as beauty.

For instance, the ideal beauty image of 19th century fashion in Western Europe involved looking consumptive. I’m serious. There was a fashion and beauty trend of the time where women tried to appear as if they had tuberculosis. Not so much the coughing up blood bit, but they would exaggerate pallor and wasting physique and spots of color in the face… Yep, sure enough, what was thought to be lovely was actually symptomatic of pulmonary contagion. What fun! Let’s not stop there. To swing the entire opposite direction, we can visit the 20th century and the tan generations. People worked very hard and exposed themselves to extended quantities of UVA and UVB to achieve the golden and darkened skin tones found to be attractive from the 1950’s through 1980’s. We’ve all seen how that turned out for some of the rich, Corinthian leather types, at least those who managed to narrowly avoid melanoma. Finally around the 1990’s people started heeding the advice of dermatologists and respecting their natural skin tones enough to invest in sunblock and avoid over tanning.

No matter what the trend or the evolution of image ideal, we all risk that day when we look in the mirror and think “What the hell happened?” It is the natural consequence of living a full life. We age. We change. And yet, our society still wants to tell us that the only way to stay beautiful is to stay young. In truth, some of us are gifted in that department. Genetics and self-care can be seen on some people as a fountain of youth. They do not appear to be ravaged by time, while the rest of us note every line and crease and bulge and dimple that changes the surface and circumference of our physical form. For others, medical science has provided various options to attempt to turn back the clock.

I cannot tell you the number of times that I have looked up into the bathroom mirror to be startled by the middle-aged (or old) woman that looks back at me. Why am I startled? I know precisely how many times I’ve made the trip round the sun. I understand how time and biology (and gravity) work on the body to result in certain effects. I know precisely how much sleep I did not get the previous night. Knowing how it all works and knowing my own age has not changed the impact of seeing it reflected in the mirror on upon other measurement devices like my bathroom scale. In my mind, I’m still supposed to have the physique of that 25 year old (who, despite all evidence to the contrary, also felt herself to be ugly and falling far short of the “ideal” of the era). I see the extra bulge here, the dimpled skin there, the uneven complexion due to hormonal changes of pregnancy and age (and yes, too much sun), the lines on the face… and I’m appalled. Who is that? That isn’t the image I have of myself in my mind!

Fight as I might against the idea of succumbing to social pressure, I have still absorbed all the unnatural expectations that say I must be thin, athletic with perfect skin and hair, looking like the models I see in clothing, lingerie, and fitness adverts whether it bears any resemblance to my own genetics or not. Anything else falls short of that ideal and must mean that I am no longer even passably tolerable to look upon… and I want to run and hide.

Usually with a little bit of effort and sufficient time away from the offending reflective surface, common sense and humor return. I look my age. I should be pleased to do so. It marks me as a victor at least in some aspect of the war with time and element. I’m still here. I’m also in decent shape (decent meaning that I’m still motivating under my own steam and without an entire pharmacy to keep me so). I could possibly take better care of myself. Who couldn’t these days?!? I could pay more attention to my diet, my fitness routine, my sleep schedule… So, why haven’t I done so? Was it because I gave so little value to that 25 year old that she deteriorated from neglect? Maybe. Perhaps if I had seen then what I now appreciate I would have retained some part of her to be visible now?

Again, that is just silliness on my part. Each of us can be happy with who we are by accepting that it is all part of normal growth and evolution. Does it help to make healthy choices and occasionally pamper ourselves? Sure it does. One of the most beautiful ladies I ever met was about 98 years old when I was called in to see her in the emergency room. She was genuinely the loveliest woman I had seen. Her hair was perfect, silvery white and still very thick. Her skin was not without lines, but was clear and a beautiful cream. Her eyes were bright hazel like light on water with very mischievous twinkles, and she had also had her nails done that day in a shocking pink tone that most nonagenarians would never have chosen. I won’t go into the reasons I was there to see her. I just recall being stunned by her beauty and thinking to myself that I would never be so lucky to arrive at those year with that much stunning loveliness. In my reverie, I heard her say, “You know, gal, you are very pretty.” My immediate response was to think, No I’m not. I masked it quickly, but the lady was too quick. She said, “You were about to contradict me. Don’t you do it. I don’t say things that aren’t true. So, don’t pull some sort of false modesty bullshit with me. Stand up and accept it.” Whereupon I realized that the twinkle in her eye was no lie, and I laughed. I had to. She had called me out on my southern upbringing and lack of self-esteem. So, against all that self-defacing programming, I thanked her and proceeded with her exam. I still didn’t believe her, but that was ok.

That lady had made me think. I wondered if she recognized her own beauty or if when she looked in the mirror she merely compared herself to what was likely the stunner she was as a young woman. I hope she saw the truth at every age. I hope she recognized the image in the mirror for the loveliness it was, and I hope that at some point I can look at the reflection in my own glass and appreciate what is there without weighing the present image in the scale against a past that is gone.

 

Rock the body…

http://static.deathandtaxesmag.com/uploads/2012/07/skinny-jeans-585x400.jpg

I believe I have spoken of my own fashion despairs in the past. I am an accessory moron, and I will likely never quite grasp the aspects of chic.

I can recall pouring over the various fashion magazines and teen tomes that addressed all the latest when I was actually of an age to start exploring my own personal style. I even followed certain fads and fashion trends back in the day… I will spare you the mental images of me in the 80’s, but suffice to say I tried my hand at a variety of different looks. However, I have to admit that no matter what I did, I can say with some amounts of confidence that it always carried the aspects of someone going to a fancy-dress party rather than any style that I could own as mine.

Through the years, I’ve actually been told that I have the stature and build that can get away with following the trends. Be that as it may, I always feel when I try to embrace the fashions that I see displayed on so many others that I am a set of clothes walking about the world with a dowdy frump of a woman hidden inside. Or worse, the cute outfits on little petite things, and I try them and look like the linebacker from the football team in drag… yeah. It never feels comfortable the way my rattiest jeans and t-shirt do.

All that said… I do have an eye for these things. I see looks and outfits and general styles that appeal to me. I find them looking sharp and smart and wish that I could wear it myself with the same aplomb as the model or my friends and colleagues who manage it so well. I observe the writhing humanity about me on a regular basis and recognize that some of them obviously struggle with this as much or more than I do. I have to admire some of them for the bravery they espouse by merely trying to exhibit the fashions of the day. And then… I am also very certain that there are people who must not possess a mirror, or at least, they’ve never actually gazed upon their own image after dressing. I know, it’s catty and horrid and possibly engaging in the shaming of some type or other… but seriously… let me preach on it.

As I have said, I spent a good deal of time in my teens and adolescence trying out the latest trends. What all that playing about with fashion taught me was that just because something is the latest thing doesn’t mean that it is meant for my body. For instance, pleated jeans and tapered legs were all the rage at one time, but I assure you… NO ONE LOOKS GOOD IN THEM. That diamond shape that is created by the “mom jean” and little skinny ankle cuffs is not flattering to any body. And don’t get me started on skinny jeans… Additionally, while I do not think that you have to always “act your age” as they say, and people can stay young by acting young… there are limits, people. There is such a thing as dignity, and no matter what they say and how physically fit you are, no one should be wearing a micro-mini in their 40’s. In fact, I would say that to be perceived as an elegant and sophisticated individual, the whole miniskirt phenomena should probably have left the wardrobe before the 30’s were in the rearview. There are exceptions and leniency for certain people who really do have the “rockin’ body,” but the problem becomes that the skin of our knees gives away our age and is not so very attractive no matter how well we try to maintain otherwise, and it sadly has not a thing to do with weight or fitness.

There is also, for me, the leggings argument. I’m going to say this once. LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. Oh, I’ve seen the video of the gal who says “Well, they aren’t a shirt… or a hat…” Yeah, I get what you are saying. They go on the lower half of the body. That doesn’t make them pants. It just does not, anymore than my panties, tights, socks, or support stockings are. Just because you wear them on your legs and lower bits does not mean that they should be your external wear and exhibited to the general public. No one wants to see cameltoe or every dimple of cellulite in the hindquarters. And guys, unless you are with the Bolshoi or Met company… I do not want to be able to tell your religion by looking at your crotch. Invest in some support and wear some pants. Have a little common sense and modesty. Leggings are great for wearing under long sweaters and tunics and sometimes skirts (though, seriously watch that! The 80’s were not that flattering, remember). Running tights, bicycle shorts, yoga pants, and other sport bottoms are fine… at the gym or on the track or in the yoga studio. They really are not that attractive worn out in public.

There are people in the world that seem to look amazing in anything they throw on their body. It’s still not advisable to go to a black tie event or even a nice restaurant wearing stretch pants with an oversized sweater or your latest phenomenally expensive workout clothing purchase to a job interview (See TNC: Dress for Success). It just isn’t on. Have some respect for the occasions, the workplace, and most importantly yourself.

I do not care what shape you are in… or are not in for that matter. Just because Vogue exhibits models that occasionally look like they have just been rescued from the camps at Auschwitz does not mean that everyone should aspire to a body mass index closely approximating emaciation. Additionally, as foreign as the concept is to many of us… and definitely to myself… there are people who are embarrassed by the fact that they feel too skinny and just can’t gain weight. It happens people.

A lot of high fashion designers (I’m talking the haute couture stuff that would never be realistic anywhere but a runway) tend to sculpt their creations around forms that tend to resemble clothes hangers… the wire kind. It is just easier to make fabrics drape and show off the form of the costume rather than the form of a normal, and varied, human form. Which brings me back to where I was going originally. We all see things in advertisements and billboards, red carpet events televised and entertainment media. We like them. We wish we could emulate them, but most of the time, we are looking at people who have entirely different body types than the ones we currently possess (or are likely to possess at any given time). It’s the nature of the species to admire ideals and aspire to emulate, while often lacking the natural foundation approximating the type. It’s fine, honestly. Beauty and attractiveness and health actually occur in many different forms.

It is entirely possible to be stylish, smart, and fabulous without exactly replicating the fashion of a different body type. It merely requires throwing out the trendy expectations and evaluating what actually flatters your own shape. There are too many out there who are bound, bent, and determined to wear a look that does nothing but accentuate the negative (think bound and bent some more)… and in the end people notice nothing but the clothing because it is positively screaming, entirely missing the person wearing them. Regardless of what anyone thinks, this is not the attention or assumptions that you should want. There are others who give up on looking stylish because their bodies will never look like that of starlets and supermodels. Those souls tend to hide under clothing that once again, does absolutely nothing to exhibit the amazing qualities of the person wearing them. Clothing is like window treatment. It shouldn’t be the entire focus. It should merely accent and draw the eye to the view.

Sure, it might be easier to choose wardrobe if one has won the genetic lottery, but even if you don’t look like the latest runway angel, that doesn’t mean that you have to relegate yourself to the sackcloth and ashes line. Additionally, while pursuing physical fitness goals is great for health and can help with some wardrobe concerns, it doesn’t solve all problems (ask anyone who lifts or does body building about finding a shirt with long sleeves that doesn’t look like they might turn green and shred the material at any moment). No matter whether you’ve got a rockin’ body or not… Just remember to rock the body you got!

Physical Fit: Your Charts Do Not Define My Feelings

While the majority of my entries on this topic have been a collection of anecdotes and observations about a middle aged woman’s efforts to shed some undesired adipose tissue and maybe acquire a healthier lifestyle along the way, there is really more to all of this than exercise. And, no, I’m not talking about dietary changes either (though stay tuned, because that is coming… go ahead and groan). I’m actually talking about other parts of health and wellness that include healthcare professionals.

Yes, I’m going to talk about going to see your doctor. Before you start to close the browser window, just hear me out (or at least continue reading).

Healthcare in the USA is a bit of a trigger point for some emotionally charged political discussions. I am NOT going to be dealing with those issues here¸ other than to say the government is pushing for everyone to have some sort of healthcare coverage. Again, not going to talk about the merits of how they are doing this. The point being there are more people who are complying with the mandate to get insurance, though not enough are financially able to do so as it stands.

Most health plans (I won’t generalize to ALL) actually cover preventative care at 100% or at least at a higher percentage than “sick call”. Preventative care is your yearly check-ups, routine labwork, cholesterol and triglyceride checks, colonoscopies (at certain ages), gynecology checks, and mammograms (again at certain ages). Some even give you incentives to get these things done. Regardless, part of living a healthier life and pursuing any sort of physical fitness means being aware of these factors that impact health and taking the steps to stay healthy and catch anything that might be a sign that something is not right early enough to do something about it.

However, visiting the doctor is not without its “slings and arrows,” as I discovered when I was being appropriately health conscious and having a bit of a check in with my oncologist/hematologist (not all my medical interactions have been preventative, unfortunately). Part of these visits, aside from the vampiric portion of the program (that part where they take what seems to be all of my blood for their own purposes and then tell me that I’m anemic), is to weigh me. I will tell you, that while I am not the epitome of vanity, I dread those damned doctor scales every time.

Unlike the spring or digital version of the friendly (or not so friendly) bathroom scale, these monstrosities compound the insult with injurious placement of little weights at varying degrees to measure and using lever and fulcrum with little leaden weights to accurately determine the amount the body weighs in response to earth’s gravitational pull. Keep in mind; you are being weighed without the psychological benefit of removing shoes and clothing to ditch a few extra ounces. Yes, I know they are more accurate, but seriously? Watching the nurse wait to see if the indicator rises or falls below the midline and trying to imagine myself being light as a feather or holding my breath as if that would possibly make the numbers go in my favor… she reaches out and keeps adjusting… adding more and more weight and sliding those little bastards further towards the end to balance the leverage against my ponderous mass. It is a humiliating experience. Not merely just watching the numbers is agonizing but also because, in this particular case, the scales in question are in the high traffic area right next to the counter where the next appointments are scheduled and the “checking out” ritual occurs. So, everyone passes by and can view my shame… it is very unlikely that they give two rips about my weight, but it is just the perception, you know.

So, while I have not the svelte or willowy physique of a runway model, nor do I have claim to the hourglass figure of Marilyn Monroe, I am a solid specimen and as I have been working out there are fewer bits that jiggle than there used to be. Since embarking on my fitness journey, I have shed a few pounds, but not any drastic offloading of weight, as the scales do attest. I am, however, what is considered tall for a female. I am about six feet of human female, and I have always tended to be more on the athletic, Amazon build than otherwise. I’ll even share with you the actual number that was on the aforementioned apparatus: 194. So, like I said… solid. I will not be blowing away in a good gale nor will I have any problems remaining firmly grounded upon the earth.

Anyhow, after the weighing in process was complete, I waited in my appointed examination room for the appearance of the doctor (or more likely one of his myriad of minions). Sure enough, in walked one of my medical staff with my chart in hand. All in all, the results were in my favor. My values were the best they have been in many years. I basked in the glow of all the positive praise of my good health when I happened to glance down at the chart and my eyes riveted on one diagnosis… OBESITY.

Yep, that is what it said. I will admit that from that moment, no other words or information permeated my brain. I was stuck. I had been labeled as obese. I couldn’t tell you what more was said before I took my little paper to the desk to schedule my next follow up. I mechanically responded to questions and took my appointment card. I wandered in a trance-like state to my vehicle in the parking lot and made my way back to the office. For the rest of the day, I ruminated on this term: Obese. I immediately saw it as a criticism, and I pondered what more I could do. I had changed my lifestyle and been working out. I was tracking every morsel of food that entered my body. My medical provider had labeled me with an unhealthy, primarily self-induced condition that could have devastating impact on the rest of my physical health. I work in the healthcare field. I see this term applied all the time. I know what it means technically, but while as a clinician I know the terms and criteria of the diagnosis, I also cannot rid myself of the emotional connotations of the term in our society.

Think about it. What do we think of when we hear “obese” or “obesity”? Immediately, we have the image in our minds of the lazy, couch potato with rolls of adipose tissue bursting from the straining fabrics and elastics of their clothing while they continue to absorb billions of empty calories and high fats from junk food and sodas. Admit it. That image is there.

Clinically, what that term means is that on a chart somewhere in a text book, on a wall, in a computer program, there is a BMI that corresponds to weight and height and some assigned level of normalcy or healthy. BMI stands for Body Mass Index and involves some mathematical gymnastics using weight and height to give a number by which some medical professional can determine your health risk due to carrying unnecessary poundage… or conversely have concern that the patient may be underweight and suffering from malnutrition due to starvation. There are tons of BMI calculators online. There are also a plethora of charts that show what constitutes a healthy BMI range. Strangely, not all the charts appear to be in agreement. However, while they do not all seem to agree with where I fit in precisely, they all appear to think I weigh more than I should.

I left my oncologist’s office less focused on the positive aspects (namely my blood pressure being 98/60 and my blood values representing me as all but the perfect specimen of hematologic health) and instead, completely obsessed with the “obesity” word. In my mind this word had taken on a character and importance of a proclamation from heaven. It destroyed my whole day. It’s true. I had the pervasive emotional funk wrapped around me like the proverbial cloak, and I’m pretty certain that there was a black cloud hovering over my head that shot lightning bolts at passersby. True story. Ask my staff. Some are still recovering from their burns.

Eventually one brave soul actually asked me what was wrong, and to my extreme shame, I told him… “I am obese…”

This admission and declaration attracted the attention of another friend who stopped in his tracks and the two stood there staring at me as if I had grown a second head or possibly a second ass since my weight was the apparent issue. Their continued appraisal was beginning to make me uncomfortable when they both responded with “What?!?” I repeated the shameful statement, and to my amazement they just started laughing. I did not particularly appreciate the humor in this case, but then they started both talking at once to declare the complete inaccuracy of the diagnosis. I explained to them where I had seen it and how it had been determined. Both of these guys have some knowledge of the fitness realm, and finally they were able to tell me why what I had seen was ridiculous. It seems that these charts to which so many of our medical professions are adherent fail to take into account muscle mass and fat to muscle ratios. My friends recounted various individuals who were the epitome of fitness, weight trainers, and body builders who were by these charts considered obese because the chart compares weight to height… and nothing else.

Finally, they asked me how I felt. And I had to actually consider it. How did I feel if I ignored that word that was still indelibly burned into my temporal lobe (obese…ob-ese…o-b-e-s-e…)? I thought about it. I felt pretty good. I can run three miles without wanting to die or feeling that I am expiring. I go to the gym five or six times a week. I seem to have more energy. I’m eating better. I notice that some of my clothing fits differently than it formerly did. So… yeah, I’d have to say, I feel pretty good. Why did the numbers on a scale have that power over me?

And that… my friends, is the moral of the story. Those numbers and charts and scales are not always the best measure of overall health. Do I suggest you ignore them all together? No. But I do believe that there has been too much emphasis placed on how much a person weighs instead of body composition, muscle and bone density (especially as we get older), and the feeling of wellbeing and fitness. What matters to me is that I continue to run and do my strength training and feel healthier and keep my blood levels and vitals where they should be. Too much attention to the numbers on the scale can lead to eating disorders and vicious cycles of weight loss and gain that is unhealthier than trying to be more active and eat good things.

If you, like me, are struggling with the numbers on a weighing device, try taking a break from it. Try using other body measurements (yes, like with a tape measure). If you have access to body fat calipers, use them. Keep a log of your activities and truly assess how you feel when you are physically expending energy. Make that scale a once in a while thing instead of a daily or even weekly thing. Realize that we are all different in our composition and that the charts are designed based on the averages and sometimes are not even using the most updated best-evidence models of health. I personally still have some pounds to shed. My knees tell me this, not the scales or charts. I focus now primarily on my lifestyle not my weight. I have declared to all that the charts will not define how I feel.

Monster Spray: For Things that Go ‘Bump’ in Your Life

www.gocomics.com/9chickweedlane/2005/11/05
9 Chickweed Lane

Many people talk about being an optimist or a pessimist. They talk about drinking vessels with various descriptions of their contents as an assessment of being one of these. I’ve tried my hand at optimism, and I have been accused of being a pessimist; but in truth, I prefer to think of myself as a realist. I try not to expect the worst. I always try for the best outcomes, but I prepare myself for negative outcomes because I just want to have a fallback plan. Does that make me the harbinger of gloom and doom? Am I a Negative Nelly? I hope not. I certainly do not want to be.

In the course of human experience, I have found that my involuntary, sometimes unconscious response to events in my life, positive or negative, is to expect the worst and take what I get. If things turn out to justify my expectations, I’m never pleased with the results, but I use the outcomes to reformulate a plan to address the situation from a different approach. If things turn out better than I expect, I am relieved or elated. I worry that this approach is more negative than I would prefer, and knowing that negativity can actually serve as self-fulfilling prophecies in a neurolinguistic way, I have spent much effort attempting to change my way of thinking. The best I’ve been able to accomplish so far is to take a neutral stance in my expectations without giving bias to my fears or my wishes. It doesn’t work 100% of the time, though. I still find myself frequently looking over my shoulder and waiting for that alternate piece of footwear.

This is where that “expect the worst and take what you get” philosophy has really been the biggest detriment to my own peace of mind and happiness. While there may be some logical premise in expecting a negative outcome so that I am not surprised or disappointed, the side effect of this attitude is that I am not always able to relax and enjoy the positives that occur.

Perhaps it is a holdover from years of childhood superstitions and folk wisdom that became so ingrained that I cannot seem to shake off their lessons. Perhaps it is a result of traumatic experiences that have indelibly written their warnings on my memory to never get too comfortable with the good times of my life. No matter what the etiology, I find myself (like many others) when things are going too well looking under the bed for the monster, around the corner for the mugger, or over my head for the anvil. I know that I am not alone in this particular human frailty. There are many of us who cannot seem to enjoy life when it seems to travel smoothly avoiding the usual potholes that liter the road. It almost seems that we are tempting or cheating fate when all the stars and planets align to make the path we tread a bit too gentle and pleasant. We expect that other shoe to fall from the sky and squash us like a bug under one colossal heel.

I think it boils down to Maslow’s Pyramid of Needs. Anxiety generally stems in some part from the lack of these needs being met. The first tier is the basic needs that each person has for living, in other words biological necessities. The second tier is safety, shelter, and access to resources. People who have threats to meeting these basic of all needs have no energy to expend on other tiers, which involve things like social interaction, belonging, and achievement. For people who have experienced these threats and overcome them, the fear of falling back to that level is sometimes so real that it is difficult to shake off the constant thought that at any time, all could be lost. For others, the fear of losing the respect and love of family or other social supports may be as overwhelming as the idea of wondering where the next breath or morsel of food might be obtained. We fear being defined by our mistakes with the tarnish of failure marking not only ourselves but anyone with whom our lives might be linked.

What it all boils down to is that regardless of what tier we manage to attain, most of us never reach the pinnacle of self-actualization (especially in the current economic and social climates) because like toddlers struggling with learning to walk presented with a staircase, we cling to our highest achieved step looking down with fear that we will plummet back to the bottom. Any rock climber will tell you, “Don’t look down!” To ascend to the top, it is important to keep eyes on your goal, not where you have been. It is easier said than done. The fear of failing, falling, and losing the tenuous ground we have worked so hard to achieve keeps us from risking whatever progress we have been able to attain, but it traps us in the lowest levels of mere existence.

For some, this can become a debilitating depression or anxiety that paralyzes action and activity, isolating us from friends and family or making us such a misery to ourselves that we even shun the company that misery always loves. I have often wondered why this trait plagues some more than others, or if there is some way to inoculate our psyches against such attacks as you might vaccinate yourself against epidemic illnesses prior to a trip to undeveloped territories. Why shouldn’t we have monster spray to ward of the evil unknown lurking in the closet of anxiety? Why can’t we arm ourselves with the Acme Anvil Umbrella (which also protects against falling foot fashions)?

So much of what happens in our lives is a matter of choice. I am not necessarily saying that we choose everything that happens within our experience, but I am saying that choice has a much bigger part in how we approach the life we live than we might realize. This isn’t a philosophy welcomed by many. If life is a choice, then we have to take responsibility for the bad that happens in our lives as well as for the good. Too many of us get caught in the trap of relegating the responsibility for the bad stuff happening to us to the realm of evil or other people who carry out the evil. That is why I have avoided even using the phrase “happens to us”; it implies an external locus of control and puts all the responsibility outside of ourselves. The contradictory part of the philosophy, for me, is that the same people who talk about things happening to them will usually be the first to claim the victory and success in their own actions. Now, before some of my readers start calling “foul,” I know that there are people who attribute all success and goodness in their lives to their higher power. That is very generous of them, and it shows an element of piety that precludes pride. However, I still think that is giving over to an external locus of control that does no honor to human spirit and dignity, and yes, even to the higher power to which you ascribe merit but deny the free will given to humanity by same. For without free will, what is piety and goodness. If it is not by choice, where lies the merit. However, I did not intend to go off on a religious or metaphysical tangent. So, I will try again…

We live by our choices. Consciously or unconsciously, it is true. By saying this, I am not (with intentional emphasis) saying that we choose the negative aspects of our life or the occurrences that impact us in less than positive ways. Our choices are limited to our own responses and actions. We cannot choose for others (with the exception of the relatively brief period of parenthood or some aspects of other types of guardianship and political decisions). We cannot choose the behaviors of others or how they will treat us, but we do have the choice in how we respond, react, and behave.

Our lives are a series of choices that we make. While there are contributions of physical and biological directives that compel some of the actions that we take, we are unlike the rest of the animal kingdom in the development of a prefrontal cortex in our brains that provide us the cognitive benefit of decision. We can decide, maybe not so much what occurs by the choices of others, but we have the power to choose our own emotional and behavioral responses. This may not seem like much of a superpower to some, but it’s is one of those “sleeper” powers that have more impact than you realize. If you believe in evil or a spirit of antagonism, the inability for those choosing to act against us to impact our spirit, will, and emotions greatly reduces their powers.

So back to those monsters and shoes and such… We do have a built-in monster bane that we just need to activate: The power of our choices. We may not be able to entirely dismiss the monster under the bed, but we have the choice of whether we allow it to prevent us from taking actions of our own. We have the choice of whether to allow the fear of loss or failure to paralyze us. I think that I will start making some active choices in my life about how I respond and what (and who) I allow in my life to impact my emotions and self-concept. Will I be free of the monsters and anvils, probably not, but I can try to reduce their perceived control.

9 Chickweed Lane is a daily comic strip by Brooke McEldowney. It can be found at http://www.gocomics.com/9chickweedlane

Comments on Living Life Without Giving a F@$%

Stop Giving a F*ck

This post is, in part, a response to something I saw on social media. As I did not want to do something I have recently been educated to understand as thread-jacking* or possibly flaming, I elected to discuss the matter here, in my own forum. I welcome discussion and commentary, as long as it remains respectful and appropriate (from anyone but spammers, who have forced me to moderate comments…sorry).

The article referenced was posted on a site called lifehacker in their section about health issues, discussed and posted by Melanie Pinola (2014). It was recommended as including one of their “favorite pieces of advice” and summarized the information that was originally posted by Julien Smith (founder and CEO of Breather) on inoveryourhead.net in 2011.

I had some mixed feelings about the article. The general premise of the article appears to be self-actualizing disclosure about letting go of societal strictures on conduct and self-esteem to be a happier person. I cannot argue with that. I really cannot. The author goes on to describe five steps that can bring you (the reader) to the Zen-like state of “not giving a f@$%” about what people think. There are some really good points that he makes: Doing things that you think are embarrassing, accepting awkwardness, refusing boundaries, telling the truth, and beginning your new life by trying new things. All of these are some pretty decent suggestions for living a fuller life. I also agree with the author in his observation that assumptions that people are worried about or paying any attention to what you are doing, saying, or anything else are generally irrational and arrogant. It’s true. While we waste our time and precious cognitive energies on worrying about what people are thinking about us, they are usually doing the same thing and couldn’t give a rip about anything outside their own little self-centered bubble of neuroses. People who worry consistently about what people think of them and about them and live their lives to the script written in their own imaginings of what they believe others to want are a bit arrogant. Yes, arrogant. The rest of the world probably doesn’t care a whole lot about what you do if it isn’t impacting their own freedoms and comforts. One of my favorite quotes from a different source: “Breaking news from Galileo! The world does not actually revolve around you!” People have their own stuff. They are worried about their own lives, their own loves, their own interests. Aside from the occasional busy-body that feels compelled to be in everyone else’s stuff (usually to avoid dealing with their own, shocker!), people don’t actually let their thoughts and concerns drift outside the sphere of their own personal daily concerns.

So far, so good. However, here is where we come to the sticking point. There is a difference between being genuine and confident and “not giving a F@$%”. I can hope that the majority of people who read the articles referenced will glean the pertinent and positive from them. Unfortunately, I fear that there are an equal number of people that will read these pieces as license to stomp all over the thoughts, feelings, and comforts of others that brush their lives in the bustle of daily interaction. One thing I do care about is respect, for myself and for others, and I strongly suspect that there are a number of people who have or will read these articles as “I don’t have to have respect for anyone else’s feelings or thoughts or opinions. I can be a bigoted, opinionated, hateful asshat and that’s cool because I’ve stopped giving a F@$% about what other people think.” I don’t necessarily believe that was the intent of the author, but intent can so frequently be misconstrued and misused by those who are probably going to be bigoted, opinionated, hateful asshats with or without permissive support of electronic or print media.

I have reached an age (or perhaps a phase since it seems to hit people at different times) where I am less concerned about the opinions or thoughts of strangers. I am not so very vain as to assume that most of the people I run into at the grocery store even notice that I am there (though I think I will still avoid wearing my pajamas or see through pants). I do not actively seek the approbation of the world at large for my appearance or actions (though I do try to avoid confrontation with civil and federal statutes that might result in my incarceration). I do not live my life always to the plan of others who share my path, but… and this is a big one… I have people in my life that I care for deeply. Not all of us share the same opinions, lifestyles, interests, or approaches to obstacles in our shared path. In some instances, the differences might surprise, disappoint, or hurt those for whom I have affection. There are many who would say that if they cannot accept the things about me that make me different from them, that I do not need them in my life and good riddance. I cannot embrace such a philosophy. Yes, there are people who it might be no great loss to amputate from my circle of influence, but there are others who it would hurt me greatly to lose or even disappoint. I do not want to cause disappointment or emotional pain to anyone for whom I care. So, despite living my life without seeking the approval of the world, I will continue to live my life in a way that will avoid causing my loved ones pain or shame, and I will hope to make those I love proud to claim connection with me. All that aside, I still embrace the idea of freedom and joy in the spirit of one of my favorite poems by a lady named Jenny Joseph:

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me,
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired,
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens,
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats
and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
And pay our rent and not swear in the street,
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am old
and start to wear purple!

My parting words: Read the articles. The disapprobation of others should never prevent you from making healthy and happy choices for your life. There are some really good points, but try to remember that while “not giving a F@$%” gives you freedom, truly not caring is not freedom, it is sociopathic. So, live a life embracing joy and enjoying activities that promote your wellbeing and self-esteem without worrying about the approbation of strangers. You will be healthier and happier in the long run. But please consider the feelings of people who care about you and whether you are willing to cause them pain. You might still give a F@$% about them, and hopefully, if they care about you, they will support you in your genuineness and positive self-esteem.

References and Acknowledgements:

*Threadjack – To take over the content of message thread by changing the subject of discourse to a topic outside the purview of the original subject and/or forum, while maintaining the subject line. A form of amusement for trolls. Threadjacking is distinguished from flaming, as flames are quasi-personal attack on a poster or on a poster’s style of discourse, where threadjacking is deliberately steering the discussion off topic. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Threadjack

Pinola, M. (2014). Stop caring about what others think, and get back your self-respect. Retrieved from http://lifehacker.com/stop-caring-about-what-others-think-and-get-back-your-1493922746

Smith, J. (2011). The complete guide to not giving a fuck. Retrieved from http://inoveryourhead.net/the-complete-guide-to-not-giving-a-fuck/

lifehacker online web publication/e-zine with multiple contributors and some interesting articles http://lifehacker.com/

Breather is a company that designs and provides peaceful spaces for corporate or private use and can be reserved in a number of different locations http://breather.com/

Mirror, Mirror…

http://www.wordsoverpixels.com/warning-reflections-in-this-mirror-may-be-distorte/17226193f6cedc90e1bb046a369a0004.html

So… this entry started out with one inspiration, and got hit by another…

What is wrong with our self-esteem? And by us, I am talking primarily to my own gender, but guys, you are also impacted by external judgment on your physical appearance and actions in a way that can plummet your self-concept into the whirling abyss of self-loathing. It just seems that women are the most frequent and common victims in the rape of our pride in self.

I actually got into a discussion today with a friend about this very issue. He had posted an image on his Facebook timeline that illustrated the way society has changed in the image of female beauty, and I liked, commented, and shared. Yes, I did. What sparked the conversation was my comment, which was “Guilty as charged…” or something along those lines. My friend was baffled by my comment and incredulous to the verity and instant messaged me to say so. What transpired was as follows…

He never understood how I could possibly not see myself as attractive. I remember his frustrations from years before when he would give me a compliment, and I, in the traditional female fashion, would brush it aside with a “No, I’m not.” It wasn’t a fishing-for-more-compliments situation. I actually never saw myself as pretty, beautiful, attractive, or any of the other typical adjectives used to describe the female form and face. I have never had any false vanity about my appearance. Neither was I a proponent of false modesty. I am not Quasimodo, but I do not particularly fit the modern mold of the beautiful woman. For decades (I will not reveal how many), I have been aware that my best attributes would not be found by visual assessment. I knew this as well from years of observation and witnessing the females found to be irresistible by the males of my acquaintance. I looked nothing like them, and I certainly did not have to beat suitors off with a stick. Casting aside the theories of charisma and pheromones, the bottom line is that I am as susceptible as the next woman to the brainwashing of the popular media.

This is not a terribly new phenomenon. The popular conception of attractiveness and beauty has changed and evolved more than our actual DNA through the ages. What we, in the modern world, consider to be attractive and beautiful qualities would have been seen in earlier times when having a little meat on the bones meant you had the money to actually buy food to sustain yourself to be unattractive and too skinny, a truly poor choice of mate, and it might even have been assumed that the individual in question carried disease or was in some other way unhealthy. In truth, even today there are cultures that do not find the thin supermodel physique to be feminine or beautiful and prefer healthy or even Rubenesque form to be more attractive. However the popular Western concept of the ideal female comes closer to resembling Barbie than any form found in nature. Definitely not attractive qualities. That being said, there were a host of other fashion dictates in previous centuries that were not terribly healthy, including using arsenic to whiten the skin and the evils of the various corsets that could, with enough use, actually derange the organs into unnatural positions. And as for unnatural, the fact that there are people out there addicted to plastic surgery should be telling us something about the negative impact of externalized conceptions of esthetic acceptableness in physical appearance. Beauty has never really been left up to nature. However, the further we have strayed from the concept of “natural health = beauty” the more we have embraced the ideal qualities of beauty that some people give up their health to attain.

No matter how intelligent we become or believe ourselves to be, bombardment through every sense with the popular images and descriptions of the day will have an impact. I know that the advertisers of the world are just doing their jobs to make various products desirable to the market. However, it is important to remember that their consistent appeals to our vanity and self-esteem to be slimmer, prettier, sexier, and in all other ways more appealing are merely marketing strategies to make the public feel that they cannot be a whole being without purchasing the product touted as the miracle, without which you will be a pariah among your fellow humans. The problem is that subliminally, we all absorb the underlying message rather than merely what they are saying. Not so much that we have to purchase the product in question but that we are not good enough, not pretty enough, and in short… just not enough to live happily or to attain humanity’s programmed directive of being fruitful and multiplying.

Sadly, no amount of CIA-level programming can undo the years and years of impact that the media has played upon our cerebral cortexes to embed the message that we are fat, ugly, and stupid. It seems that there are individuals in the world that are immune to such things. These enviable few are sometimes looked upon negatively by their peers because they truly believe they are the hottest thing since the sun rose, but this reaction to those happy few is probably envy, envy that they have the confidence and attributes that allow them to like themselves as they are. In truth, sometimes the cause is sufficient for their self-approbation. However, at other times, it is not entirely obvious as to why these bastions of self-esteem have not succumbed to the same negative propaganda that the rest of us have failed to repel. If I could figure out the trick and bottle it, I could retire wealthier than all the producers of the products spawning the unrealistic media image of the perfect human. Alas, it doesn’t seem to have any perceivable direct cause for the positive self-image that provides immunity to the inferiority complex plaguing the rest of us.

On the other side of the argument is that women who have confidence in their physical appearance and character are often misinterpreted, poorly understood, and generally labeled with unflattering titles and damaging assumptions. What is wrong with people?!? And why does it seem to be the desire of much of the world to control the image and aspects of feminine body, spirit… oh, and reproductive functions (can’t forget those). Are we really that scary? (The males in my family are not allowed to answer that). If we don’t follow the fashion and body image trends of the current societal expectations, we are somehow inferior. However, if we do… we are vain, immoral, and ask for unwanted attention. How confusing is that? It is no wonder that women in the world today cannot get a solid grasp of self-esteem and hold onto it. We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. I am not saying that all people are judgmental asses with no sense of empathy or beauty in all forms, but… ok, yeah, I am probably saying that there are a greater number of people that fall into that category than otherwise, and that is a sad statement. Women (and men, too) should be able to appreciate and fulfill what is healthy for them. They should be able to enjoy their style and express it as long as it is not negatively impacting others who have the same rights. A woman should be able to be healthy, happy, and feel beautiful without having to conform to identical shapes of some adolescent, exaggerated fantasy of sexy. Additionally, we should be able to feel sexy and good about our appearances without the unwelcome assumptions that we are open to any sexual advance. Is that a double standard and confusing? Perhaps, and now you know how we feel trying to make sure that we look good enough without looking too good, and failing on both counts. Wow, did I write myself into a corner! I know that there have been some efforts in promoting healthy images for female and male ideals, but we still seem to be a long way from truly representing healthy human beauty in all the forms it takes.

As the years have progressed, I find that I am less subject to the media-fueled misrepresentations of beauty. Part of this is possibly that my brain has accepted that I am no longer part of the “breeder” group and no longer am I fighting to obtain and retain a mate. However, I prefer to see it as a maturity that eventually comes to most of us: If I am healthy and making choices that allow me to feel good and participate in the activities I enjoy, then screw a bunch of other people with their expectations of how I should look while doing so…! I wish I were really that confident. In actuality, I find that while for the majority of the time I don’t really think about my appearance or compare it to the other examples of feminine grace around me; I am on occasion still a victim of the mirror. I still want to feel pretty and look, if not appealing at least inoffensive to the rest of the humanity around me. I am more apt to find the flaws of age and nature than perhaps someone less familiar with the image I see every day while brushing my teeth. Familiarity breeds contempt, and never is that more true than when you are looking at yourself in the mirror trying to get ready for work and hoping to appear to your best advantage before peers, employers, employees, customers, or even that social acquaintance that caught your eye. I think that I will start practicing more acceptance in my own self-esteem regimen. Baby-steps… I’ll start looking for the things that I like about myself instead of looking for the flaws. Perhaps I can even give myself a little “Not too shabby” affirmation on occasion. Who knows? I might see some of what my friend always tried to tell me.

Instead of tearing down those around you who might appear to your eye to have what you do not in order to make yourself feel better, try appreciating the positives and differences between individuals to recognize that uniqueness makes the world much more interesting than a multitude of carbon copies. We aren’t all of a pattern. So, no one should try forcing us into the same molds, not even we ourselves.

Title image retrieved from http://www.wordsoverpixels.com/warning-reflections-in-this-mirror-may-be-distorte/17226193f6cedc90e1bb046a369a0004.html

Rant: It’s not all catwalks and sports contracts

People always say, “You are so lucky to be tall!” in voices that can be wistful, admiring, or more often catty with a soupcon of ridicule. It is the latter that is probably the more honest and accurate of the bunch.

For the most part, I wouldn’t change my height. It makes it easy to reach things on the top shelves or see over barriers and people, and the air smells better in elevators. However, there are a few things that people don’t think about when they look with an envious eye at the amazons of the world. It’s not all catwalks and WNBA.

First of all, trying to find clothing is just as difficult (if not more so) than for individuals of a less lofty stature. Finding a 35 or 36 inch inseam is damned near impossible, unless you go with men’s jeans… in which case, I usually look like I have a larger package than most guys I’ve ever dated. I really don’t need all the extra cargo space in the FRONT of my pants. If I try to purchase women’s pants, it is even more incongruous. Why would someone assume that if I am six feet tall my crotch to waist area makes up at least 2 or 3 feet of that?! Really people?! So, instead of fitting properly with a waist at the waist and crotch at the crotch, I can look like an Umpa Loompa or I can resemble some old man in a nursing home with my waistband in my armpits and the hem of my pants at midshin.

Forget finding a shirt. Seriously? Remember the ¾ sleeve fashion? I think that actually happened not because anyone actually looks attractive with sleeves that look too short but because no shirt makers could actually figure out that sleeves should come to the wrists… and don’t get me started about shoulders because I look like I could play center in the NFL and yet they want to add shoulder pads in all my garments. What sort of genius thought that was a good idea?!

Which brings me to my next issue… So, supermodels aside, no one really likes tall women. In fact, I dare say even the supermodels are not winning popularity contests for the same reasons. No one likes feeling short, small, etc. You get the point. So, growing up and even as an adult (though I hesitate to consider human beings capable of maturity) hearing names like ‘amazon’, ‘linebacker’, ‘giantess’, or hearing snickering comments about whether I produced testosterone or estrogen eventually gets on one’s nerves. Watching most of the guys show more attention to the cute, bouncy, curvy types who made them feel all big and strong… yeah that was a real pleasure. Just sayin’.

And then there are all the assumptions made about you if you happen to be tall, athletically built and actually play sports… you all know what those are. Hey nothing against it, but my gate don’t swing that way, and so don’t make assumptions about my preferences.

Then there is the whole employment issue. Ever noticed how petite women can be “fireballs” and people just laugh and smile and think it is great they are so assertive. If a man makes a point assertively, well he just made a good point. If a six foot tall female makes a point or is in anyway assertive, well, they are a bitch, intimidating, and don’t play well with others. Spectacular! If there is a negative interaction between someone of a lower stature or a male with a six foot tall female, it must be that the amazon was being a bully or emotional. Truth is, due to our Western European societal norms, it is more likely that the taller, larger female will back down because we’ve been taught that it is wrong to be a bully, especially anyone smaller… of course they neglected to indicate whether that was just physical stature or if the small-minded also applies. It has been scientifically proven that the vocal tones of the feminine voice triggers the amygdala in the male brain and therefore men are predisposed to assume that whenever a woman speaks she is being emotional. Get over it guys. I am probably less likely to storm out in a fit of tears than you are after our argument. Put on your big boy underoos and deal. Logical arguments involve using your brain not your assumptions (which I believe involve a different part of your anatomy).

Anyhow, I guess I’m done with my rant. I wouldn’t give up one inch of my height at this point in my life because it is one of the things that my dad gave me, but for the record it is nearly impossible to blend in with the crowd or go incognito, it is absolutely impossible to find a pair of pants that fits properly without tailoring, back pain and joint pain often go with the territory, and the air is not so rarefied at this altitude, I’m telling you. There are wonderful things about being tall, but every once in a while, I would like to be able to find a pair of sweatpants or pajama pants that fit…

***Originally I posted this on Facebook 5/2/2011 after a particularly difficult day of trying to find work attire at a department store and eventually giving up and walking out without buying anything. For the record, I still haven’t bought new wardrobe… This is a sad statement on the amount of hatred I have for trying on clothing. Given the current state of my work clothing, I will have to give in… soon.