Last Friday was date night for Michael and me, since I had scored some deeply discounted Cirque du Soliel tickets through work. (Yay! Cobb County School District rocks!) I wanted to really do it up right, wear my fancy clothes and big up my hair and everything. Ya gotta keep things exciting, you know? So after teasing up my do, painting on some sparkly eye shadow, and pulling on the one pair of hose I own (fishnets--they don't run), I slipped into my "little black dress."
"When did THIS happen?!" I blurted out as Michael zipped me up. What used to be draping satin now looked like a sausage casing. I wanted to cry. This was the last thing I needed before going to watch incredibly fit, flexible, and firm bodies contort and propel themselves through the air under the big top. I had obviously, without realizing it, "let myself go."
But how could this be? I still weigh the same as I did the day I met Michael. In fact, I may be a couple pounds shy of that weight. Yet the little black dress doesn't lie. It's dry clean only, so I can't blame the dryer. I am fatter now than I was three years ago when I bought it for New Year's Eve 2009. Of course, my questions are merely rhetorical, because I know darn well what happened. See, muscle weighs more than fat, volume for volume. So, while I was gaining fat, I was losing that dense, scale-pushing muscle. While there was no net gain, my toned lats have been replaced with back fat. My lean biceps have retired, turning the business over to flab. I still look okay in my clothes, but a bikini will betray the truth. I'm "skinny fat." You use it or lose it. And my gym frequency has been about as spotty as Lindsey Lohan's attendance at community service. I go when I feel like it, when I have the time, when there's no work to be done, or nothing better to do. How's that for commitment?
If you know me or have read much of what I write here, then you can probably guess how I responded to this. I changed into another dress with a more forgiving fabric, I went to the show, enjoyed my evening with my husband, and then hit the gym on Sunday morning. I have a new eating plan, supplements, and a renewed sense of purpose with regard to my body. The little black dress in hanging in my bathroom as a reminder of where I'm headed. And I WILL get there...
But that's not really the point of this post. As Michael and I pedaled away on our elliptical machines, I scanned the gym and the classrooms at all the people with a purpose of their own. Dozens of men and women, all ages, were cycling, lifting, running, playing sports, and dancing. I saw so much effort, but it was all effort for one thing: to improve their bodies. Sure, that might mean different things to different people; some want to gain muscle, others just want to burn fat, and still others are trying to improve its ability to perform specific tasks. Still, it's all external, physical, and ephemeral. Let's face it. These bodies have a shelf life of about 80 some-odd years, then they just give out. No matter how much we work on them, they will eventually diminish and perish. That's not to say that we shouldn't keep them in the best shape possible. Oh, believe me, you come check on me in six weeks and see if I'm not cut up like the chicks on the cover of Oxygen magazine! (Okay, that's just trash-talking. I gotta keep myself motivated. But I will be better than I am now; trust me.) However, in the end, is it really our bodies that matter? Is keeping lean abs or sculpted arms the real key to happiness?
Most of us are focusing our efforts on the wrong things. How many gyms do you pass by on your way home from work or school each day? Now, ask yourself how many meditation centers you pass? How many yoga studios? We spend so much more time on our outsides than we do our insides. And it's really the internal workouts that improve our lives, isn't it? The ironic thing is, new research is showing that stress (which meditation and yoga can greatly reduce) is a primary cause of belly fat. So, perhaps thirty minutes of meditation would do a lot more for reducing that waistline than an hour on a treadmill.
We are all impressed when someone loses a large amount of weight or develops a lean, muscular body. We can't escape the countless ads on the TV, the radio, and in print. It's a billion dollar industry! But how many of us cultivate that same dedication to eliminating our flabby egos? Where are the products to help us suppress our anger, rather than our appetites? Where are the 90 day programs to help us trim the fat from our souls? How much extra weight is your spirit carrying around?
So, I am giving myself credit for the work I have been doing on my insides lately. I've got a much skinnier ego these days, my pain-body is light as a feather, and I've lost a ton of spiritual "weight." Sure, I still have work to do, and I'll probably never reach any sort of "goal" when it comes to my spirit, since I believe you grow till you die, but the progress I'm making is just fine. Today, I am conscious, present, and aware. And that beats having cut up abs any day.
But I'm still gonna get back in that little black dress. I'm just saying.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
An Attitude of Gratitude
While most Americans were watching football and gorging on turkey and pumpkin pie, Michael, my daughter (Wednesday), and I spent our Thanksgiving hiking up a volcano in Guatemala. Michael had been once before, but Wednesday and I had no idea what to expect from the city of Antigua or the volcano experience, but let me tell you, it was life-changing on several levels. We couldn't have picked a more perfect place to celebrate a holiday of gratitude.
Upon arrival, our first impression was that my son, Max, had made the right choice in chickening out of this experience. He wasn't afraid of the volcano erupting on him or the laborious hike up it. After all, he is a scout and a basketball player, so he can literally run circles around the three of us. He's a little sinewy beanpole of lean muscle with the energy of a Jack Russell puppy. No, what turned him off of the trip was the idea of being in a third world country. He wasn't crazy about Mexico either time we went there, and he even freaked out when he and his sister and I wandered around Los Angeles on a visit to my father's. (And I'm talking Hollywood and Vine. It's not like we went window shopping in Compton.) Max doesn't like big cities, or slums, or urban areas, or homeless people, or anything that doesn't look like a setting for a Nickelodeon sit-com. He likes his world sanitary, with the paper strip across it that says, "For your protection."
My daughter, on the other hand, loves it all. The grittier and dirtier, the better. She wants to roll up her sleeves and kick off her shoes and walk barefoot through the muck of the world, testing the resilience of her immune system. Recently, she has even started to look the part of the nomadic wanderer. She sports unconventional (self-inflicted) piercings and has started cultivating a few dread locks adorned with wraps and beads and stuff, all of which I blame for her "random selection" to be searched as we boarded the return flight. Despite her appearance, she believes in blending in when traveling, as much as that's possible with dreads and piercings. Whenever I accidentally said, "thank you" or (oops) "grazie" (I've had four years of Latin, two years of Italian and about ten minutes of Spanish), she would correct me.
"Mom, oh my God, it's 'gracias, senor.' Seriously..."
Once in Guatemala, as we rode in the van toward Antigua, the three of us marveled out the windows at the shot-out looking capital of Guatemala City. These poor, poor people, we thought. Now, I know better.
Antigua turned out to be more than met the eye, since it looks like an old village with depressed one-story buildings all jammed together with cobblestone streets and crumbling sidewalks. However, upon entering any of its public dwellings, you are surprised to find charming and well decorated interiors, often with meticulously tended garden courtyards. Hidden paradises lay through every doorway.
The volcano hike was scheduled for Thanksgiving morning, and we left the hotel at 6:00 am, in the dark, in a van with eight other people from around Antigua. As we rode on for the next hour, I noticed the driver singing along to the radio, unabashedly and enthusiastically, and it occurred to me, how many Americans would have this attitude about having to haul a load of foreign tourists up a mountain at this ungodly hour on a Thursday morning?
At the base camp, we were immediately bombarded by schoolboys with hand-scraped walking sticks, repeating urgently "Stick for you? Stick for you?" and advertising a special of "Three for five!" Michael gave the boys three American five dollar bills, and we each received a walking stick to aid in our hike. While Michael went to pay our admission (ten dollars each), I slipped off to the restroom before the climb. I noticed the young entrepreneurs on the side of the building, each holding the five dollar bill stretched out in both hands and marveling at his good fortune. We had given them each the equivalent of 35 quetzales. And they had asked for only five total.
After laboring up the volcano for over an hour, stopping to catch our breath along the way (man, were we glad for the sticks--worth every penny!), we finally reached the charred top. It was the closest thing to being on another planet I've ever experienced. When the volcano, Pacaya, erupted two years ago, the top blew off, pouring out lava and burning up all life on the summit. Today this area is still largely volcanic rock, but life is already reemerging, as ferns, flowers, and small shrubs. In fact, as a sign of nature's resilience, a 400 year-old oak tree, covered in dozens of species of epiphytic plants, still stands and grows on the side of Pacaya, about halfway up the trail to the top. Surviving years of eruptions and destruction, the tree reminds us that "This too shall pass."
After climbing back down, we were greeted enthusiastically by the little entrepreneurs, who reached out and repeated, "Stick for me? Stick for me?" Laughing, we relinquished our walking sticks, which had served their purpose and wouldn't fit into our luggage anyway, allowing the boys to replenish their source of income.
When we returned to Antigua, we walked to a little courtyard Indian restaurant that advertised a "Thanksgiving Dinner." Honestly, it may have been the best Thanksgiving dinner of my life. Not only did the food surpass all expectation (pumpkin ginger soup, salad with goat cheese, pear and candied walnuts, turkey with fresh cranberries, Brussels sprouts, mashed potato with leeks, and even pumpkin pie!), but the ambiance simply nourished our souls. Hummingbirds flitted and darted back and forth between fuchsias and bright orange tropical flowers. The temperature was so ideal that it was unnoticeable, and the wide open blue sky overhead was completely clear of clouds or pollution except for a swirl of steam escaping the mouth of a distant volcano.
The next morning, our ride to the airport arrived promptly at 5:00 am, when a cheerful Donny met us outside the hotel and loaded our bags with a smile. On the way to Guatemala City, he informed us that we would beat a one hour delay in traffic by leaving this early. Thirty more minutes, and we would have been stuck. We asked him if he had felt the recent earthquake that rocked Guatemala and much of Mexico.
"Yes," he said, nodding his head and laughing. "But we like it when we feel the earth shake, when the volcanoes erupt. It makes us happy."
"Really?" Michael asked.
"Yes. You know why? Because it means that they are getting their energy out. It's a good thing. If everything is quiet for a long time, then we worry." Again, he laughed.
Donny went on to tell us stories of his childhood experiences with such things, revealing his simple, yet wise take on life. At one point, regarding getting up at this hour to drive into the city, he pointed out that it paid the bills.
"I have car payment, house payment, credit card payment..." At this he chuckled. "So, it is motivation, you know? I get up and come to work saying, 'This is the glory.'" When he spoke, I could hear the smile on his face, even from the backseat.
Donny delivered us safely at the airport, inviting us back to his lovely country whenever we got the chance to return. We tipped him well and thanked him. I noticed we were all a little happier after the ride than when we left the hotel. Interesting the effect people have on one another, isn't it?
Guatemala has been on my mind a lot since I got home. It was a truly marvelous place to spend Thanksgiving, not simply because it provided a beautiful adventure, but because it taught me so much about gratitude. I'm currently reading Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (yes, it's a mouthful), and he points out that today most of us in the "first world" have access to recipes and food beyond what the richest emperor several hundred years ago could have dined upon, and yet we aren't any happier for our relative wealth and opulence. Once our basic needs are met, we aren't happy, because we set our sights on something even higher, and no matter what material possessions we acquire, we are never satisfied. This may be why the "happiest" countries in the world, according to the happiness index, are not rich countries. The top three?
1. Costa Rica
2. Vietnam
3. Columbia
(Guatemala is #9. The U.S. is #105.)
Surprised? Don't be. They have the secret to living a happy life: being grateful for what one already has. I heard on the radio recently that the correlation between income and happiness is consistent, up to around $75,000 per year. As income goes up, so does happiness. After that, it starts to dip back downward. The conclusion? Once our basic needs are met, we can find happiness in not wanting more than that. Just accept the moment as it is. Recognize that our world is beautiful. Realize that we have all that we need to be happy right now, today.
That...is the glory. Thank you, Donny.
Oops, I mean, gracias.
Upon arrival, our first impression was that my son, Max, had made the right choice in chickening out of this experience. He wasn't afraid of the volcano erupting on him or the laborious hike up it. After all, he is a scout and a basketball player, so he can literally run circles around the three of us. He's a little sinewy beanpole of lean muscle with the energy of a Jack Russell puppy. No, what turned him off of the trip was the idea of being in a third world country. He wasn't crazy about Mexico either time we went there, and he even freaked out when he and his sister and I wandered around Los Angeles on a visit to my father's. (And I'm talking Hollywood and Vine. It's not like we went window shopping in Compton.) Max doesn't like big cities, or slums, or urban areas, or homeless people, or anything that doesn't look like a setting for a Nickelodeon sit-com. He likes his world sanitary, with the paper strip across it that says, "For your protection."
My daughter, on the other hand, loves it all. The grittier and dirtier, the better. She wants to roll up her sleeves and kick off her shoes and walk barefoot through the muck of the world, testing the resilience of her immune system. Recently, she has even started to look the part of the nomadic wanderer. She sports unconventional (self-inflicted) piercings and has started cultivating a few dread locks adorned with wraps and beads and stuff, all of which I blame for her "random selection" to be searched as we boarded the return flight. Despite her appearance, she believes in blending in when traveling, as much as that's possible with dreads and piercings. Whenever I accidentally said, "thank you" or (oops) "grazie" (I've had four years of Latin, two years of Italian and about ten minutes of Spanish), she would correct me.
"Mom, oh my God, it's 'gracias, senor.' Seriously..."
Once in Guatemala, as we rode in the van toward Antigua, the three of us marveled out the windows at the shot-out looking capital of Guatemala City. These poor, poor people, we thought. Now, I know better.
Antigua turned out to be more than met the eye, since it looks like an old village with depressed one-story buildings all jammed together with cobblestone streets and crumbling sidewalks. However, upon entering any of its public dwellings, you are surprised to find charming and well decorated interiors, often with meticulously tended garden courtyards. Hidden paradises lay through every doorway.
The volcano hike was scheduled for Thanksgiving morning, and we left the hotel at 6:00 am, in the dark, in a van with eight other people from around Antigua. As we rode on for the next hour, I noticed the driver singing along to the radio, unabashedly and enthusiastically, and it occurred to me, how many Americans would have this attitude about having to haul a load of foreign tourists up a mountain at this ungodly hour on a Thursday morning?
At the base camp, we were immediately bombarded by schoolboys with hand-scraped walking sticks, repeating urgently "Stick for you? Stick for you?" and advertising a special of "Three for five!" Michael gave the boys three American five dollar bills, and we each received a walking stick to aid in our hike. While Michael went to pay our admission (ten dollars each), I slipped off to the restroom before the climb. I noticed the young entrepreneurs on the side of the building, each holding the five dollar bill stretched out in both hands and marveling at his good fortune. We had given them each the equivalent of 35 quetzales. And they had asked for only five total.
After laboring up the volcano for over an hour, stopping to catch our breath along the way (man, were we glad for the sticks--worth every penny!), we finally reached the charred top. It was the closest thing to being on another planet I've ever experienced. When the volcano, Pacaya, erupted two years ago, the top blew off, pouring out lava and burning up all life on the summit. Today this area is still largely volcanic rock, but life is already reemerging, as ferns, flowers, and small shrubs. In fact, as a sign of nature's resilience, a 400 year-old oak tree, covered in dozens of species of epiphytic plants, still stands and grows on the side of Pacaya, about halfway up the trail to the top. Surviving years of eruptions and destruction, the tree reminds us that "This too shall pass."
After climbing back down, we were greeted enthusiastically by the little entrepreneurs, who reached out and repeated, "Stick for me? Stick for me?" Laughing, we relinquished our walking sticks, which had served their purpose and wouldn't fit into our luggage anyway, allowing the boys to replenish their source of income.
When we returned to Antigua, we walked to a little courtyard Indian restaurant that advertised a "Thanksgiving Dinner." Honestly, it may have been the best Thanksgiving dinner of my life. Not only did the food surpass all expectation (pumpkin ginger soup, salad with goat cheese, pear and candied walnuts, turkey with fresh cranberries, Brussels sprouts, mashed potato with leeks, and even pumpkin pie!), but the ambiance simply nourished our souls. Hummingbirds flitted and darted back and forth between fuchsias and bright orange tropical flowers. The temperature was so ideal that it was unnoticeable, and the wide open blue sky overhead was completely clear of clouds or pollution except for a swirl of steam escaping the mouth of a distant volcano.
The next morning, our ride to the airport arrived promptly at 5:00 am, when a cheerful Donny met us outside the hotel and loaded our bags with a smile. On the way to Guatemala City, he informed us that we would beat a one hour delay in traffic by leaving this early. Thirty more minutes, and we would have been stuck. We asked him if he had felt the recent earthquake that rocked Guatemala and much of Mexico.
"Yes," he said, nodding his head and laughing. "But we like it when we feel the earth shake, when the volcanoes erupt. It makes us happy."
"Really?" Michael asked.
"Yes. You know why? Because it means that they are getting their energy out. It's a good thing. If everything is quiet for a long time, then we worry." Again, he laughed.
Donny went on to tell us stories of his childhood experiences with such things, revealing his simple, yet wise take on life. At one point, regarding getting up at this hour to drive into the city, he pointed out that it paid the bills.
"I have car payment, house payment, credit card payment..." At this he chuckled. "So, it is motivation, you know? I get up and come to work saying, 'This is the glory.'" When he spoke, I could hear the smile on his face, even from the backseat.
Donny delivered us safely at the airport, inviting us back to his lovely country whenever we got the chance to return. We tipped him well and thanked him. I noticed we were all a little happier after the ride than when we left the hotel. Interesting the effect people have on one another, isn't it?
Guatemala has been on my mind a lot since I got home. It was a truly marvelous place to spend Thanksgiving, not simply because it provided a beautiful adventure, but because it taught me so much about gratitude. I'm currently reading Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (yes, it's a mouthful), and he points out that today most of us in the "first world" have access to recipes and food beyond what the richest emperor several hundred years ago could have dined upon, and yet we aren't any happier for our relative wealth and opulence. Once our basic needs are met, we aren't happy, because we set our sights on something even higher, and no matter what material possessions we acquire, we are never satisfied. This may be why the "happiest" countries in the world, according to the happiness index, are not rich countries. The top three?
1. Costa Rica
2. Vietnam
3. Columbia
(Guatemala is #9. The U.S. is #105.)
Surprised? Don't be. They have the secret to living a happy life: being grateful for what one already has. I heard on the radio recently that the correlation between income and happiness is consistent, up to around $75,000 per year. As income goes up, so does happiness. After that, it starts to dip back downward. The conclusion? Once our basic needs are met, we can find happiness in not wanting more than that. Just accept the moment as it is. Recognize that our world is beautiful. Realize that we have all that we need to be happy right now, today.
That...is the glory. Thank you, Donny.
Oops, I mean, gracias.
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