A Cleanse

I did a cleanse last week because I wanted to lose weight.

Just kidding. But that's what everyone thinks when you say you're "Cleansing". It's got this awful connotation because there are radicals out there that insist on defaming the core concept behind cleansing-- which is hitting a restart button on mind/body/spirit-- whichever applies to the cleanse you're doing.

I don't tell people very often that I am a self-proclaimed recovering shopping addict. It seems like a pretty regular thing for a young woman to do--shop, that is-- but I felt like I had taken it to the next level. I don't have any other vices-- smoking or gambling are lucky enough to evade me. And not for lack of experience. 

Once in college my bestie and I watched a movie, thought smoking looked decidedly cool (it was a 50's movie) and we wanted to know what the hype was about. So we bought a pack, took a drive, and tried to experience what so many of our culture cannot escape-- the appeal of cigarettes. We ended up laughing more than smoking because this is of course, a ridiculous experiment but despite our very blatant exposure, neither of us retained an addiction. 

Anyway, when I participated in a 30 Day Challenge that asked me to actively not shop and share the experience with the world-- not just my conscience-- I found that breaking up is oh so hard to do. 

But break up I did. I was moody and cranky and it forced me to face how much I actually used a new shirt or any other material object to cope with long days or bad moods, and it turns out that it was a lot. So as a recovering addict, I fully support the concept of cleansing because that's what I did-- I cleansed myself of the reckless thoughts and actions that have plagued me for so long. My spirit, and my bank account, have duly thanked me.

This time around, I decided to try a juice cleanse because, why not? Who am I to judge if I've never actually done one? So I did and I tell ya what... turns out I was kind of addicted to food, too.

Don't think that I casually use the word "addict" because I'm not claiming to be "meth-level" addict, but there's a part of me that wouldn't let up.

Don't you just want a steak, Jess? Don't you miss chewing, Jess? Mmmm... buffalo sauce...

In those three days I was hyper aware of how much food played into my life. I know that my dream job is to be a traveling food writer ala Andrew Zimmern and Samantha Brown, so I already care more than the average bear, but this was different. There was one point where I had walked down the hall from my desk and upon returning to it, walked directly to the office kitchen. And I wasn't even hungry. Or thirsty. I just did it on autopilot because that's what I usually did at that time of day.

If you think I was just missing the act of chewing, you're right. I did. And this cleanse asks people to not stress themselves out over not eating by encouraging them to have something healthy to eat if the spirit moves them. So I made guacamole and ate it with crunchy flax seed chips. And so my crunch-crave was fulfilled.

The cleanse itself was fun. (No, seriously.) It was a personal challenge and there were moments of weakness but it was a real test against myself. Manfriend supported me along the way (i.e. When I wanted wings at 11pm) but all in all I really enjoyed it. The juices were delicious and so fulfilling that I ended up with a few extra turning my 3-day into nearly a 4 day had I not opted for Korean wings in lieu of my ginger juice. I noted any changes in my body and found that I was not a victim or torture or any grand restriction as some people expect to be. More important I realized how what you put into your body really matters. I indulged all weekend and sorely regretted some of my choices. The mediocre quality of processed food against what I can create in my home or find in a top-notch restaurant loses in a show-down every time. 

My mind has reawakened to a consciousness that appreciates what and how I eat. I have no idea if I'm thinner because I didn't weigh myself and I seriously don't care. But I do know that I'm lighter in spirit without the heavy burden of unchecked eating hanging over my head and resting in my stomach. 

I plan on doing one again whenever I need to refocus my mind-- when I'm not cooking or cleaning up after cooking, I have time to think and decompress. If you're interested in a cleanse, I recommend it but not because you want to lose weight but because you're ready to challenge yourself physically as well as mentally.

Old Dog, New Tricks

In general, I hate celebrating my birthday. I think there was a time where I was a kid where I tried to plan a party and everything fell through last minute, and being a January baby, I never got to have a pool party, so I've since been scarred. This bitterness subsided as I eagerly awaited turning 21 (the last cool age) and promptly returned after my hangover from the aforementioned birthday evaporated.

As my mid-twenties slipped in and out of my fingers, I woke up realizing that I was in my late twenties.

Um, what? When did that happen???

For anyone who is older and annoyed that I am whining about my 27^th year, please just hear me out:

It is not a matter of the number that bothers me—I undergo this annual meltdown every year with the exception of years 16-21—including the years before--I cried when I turned 13 and I cry now at 27.

To me, it is more about where I am in my life against what I had planned. Ah, my infamous plans, destined to doom, as per life’s usual dark humor.

But despite all the lists of “30 Things to Do Before You’re 30” and any other bosh that someone came up with to help legitimize a love of cats and early bedtimes, I still cried on my birthday as I felt the weight of time laying into my bones. My 27 year old bones. In rapid valley girl toned succession I thought:

I should floss more. I should read more. I should drink less wine. I should write more. I really don’t read enough. How many books did I read last year? Audiobooks are not cheating. Ew, I’m such a millennial. But I’m still a 90’s kid at heart! Ohmygosh kids in the 90's are just turning 21. I’m so out of touch. I will never be cool again. I should have a dog by now. I should be married by now. I don’t have time for a wedding. I need to make more plans. I should have gone to the gym this morning. Birthdays are the worst.

Sob. Sob. Sob.

Part of this stems from the social norms and pressures that come from too many episodes of Full House and Friends. Part of this comes from being a naturally neurotic Capricorn-oldest sister/only girl combination. In order to blatantly distract myself from this annual depression, man-friend and I went shopping, had beers, and ate apps. Basically my three favorite activities… maybe today isn't so awful?

As the evening plans approached, my natural instinct was to estimate all of the things that would and could, go wrong. My expectations satisfactorily lowered, we headed into the night.

I had attempted barring people from saying happy birthday, but since that’s kind of a jerk move, I politely thanked them and forced myself to remember how nice it was for people to send you love on your life anniversary. With my guard down due to a delicious spicy cocktail and two fish tacos, I was having a good time. How is this possible? I’m supposed to hate my birthday! That’s the tradition-cake be damned!

But the temptation of my favorite humans in one space, gathered to laugh and eat and make too much noise proved to be exactly the opposite of what I wanted, yet precisely what I needed. As we caught up with each other about new adventures and recent [i.e. since college] successes, I forgot about milestones and all the shouldas that haunted my morning. I had planned to be disappointed with my evening and I was so incredibly wrong. Catching up with friends, and witnessing reunions that were five years overdue, reminded me of everything I had done to-date. A degree, a military career, a loving support system, a healthy spirit and an appreciation for little things like arranging flowers on Sunday or quiet nights at Trader Joe’s—these little things are what aging was about.

The morning after, I woke up with a heart full of love. I’m starting my 27^th year with a Cheshire Cat grin. Somehow I found a victory and I beat the Birthday Blues against all of the odds. If turning 27—or any other age for that matter, means that you set free some of the worries you carry around, I don’t think aging is such a morbid (get it?) thing after all.

I don’t regret crying my tears, but I’m quite sure next year’s sob-session will be laden with some tears of joy and gratitude. Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

A Resolution

Photo via Clementine Daily

I didn't make a New Year's Resolution this year.

Last year I was adamant about getting fit (or "strong" as I commonly referred to it), and then there was the imminent drop off that happens when I see good food that requires a nap in lieu of a stint on the treadmill afterward. I'm definitely part of that percentage that researchers are always jesting about.

Sorry for being a typical human, you cynics.

But 2014--despite battling the daily debate of croissant* vs. salad--turned out better for me than I anticipated regardless of losing focus of my resolution. Part of it was being part of The Everygirl community that helped me choose various challenges to be mindful of daily, and part of it was coming to terms with my body and the realities that come with living in it.

The revitalized real-woman body movement has come to help me acknowledge that my thighs will always touch, and as I grow older, I come to find my shape endearing. I will still be picky about what groceries I choose and I will forever be hyper-conscious of what I eat and how active I am, but I decided this year I didn't need a declared proclamation to bolster this mindset. It set me up for a level of disappointment and level of self-reproach that I choose not to endure in 2015.

I've had conversations with many of my friends and it seems the same theme rings true-- like a BuzzFeed post, we realize that the things we use to strive for (a late 20's-early 30's existence that resembled an episode of Friends) don't align with where we actually are (8:30 p.m. bedtimes and potentially making enough money to afford organic pasta) or where we are going, (babies, weddings, career changes, cross-state moves) and we don't need resolutions to change these realities.

But it's totally cool. I like getting enough sleep. And splurging on one nice homemade dinner is something I'm okay with-- the alternative being 12 questionably-fitting shirts I didn't need from Target but had to buy because they were on sale. When I think about where I want my year to go, it's less about ostentatious changes and more about tiny adjustments along the way.

Madelynn Furlong, author of the Wide Eyed Legless blog (just scroll down on her site to view the posts) a writer who I find to have a delightfully refreshing perspective this year, just re-grammed the photo above with the caption

"Sharing my New Years resolutions on the blog this morning and learning piece by piece the wom[a]n I want to become." 

I think the latter part of the sentence is the closest I'll get to a resolution this year, if only because I believe we've all inadvertently been practicing this method our whole lives.

Piece by piece. A little at a time, no grand gesture, no movie montage or dramatic knee-drop (not today at least) to creating a year that I can look back on with satisfaction or at the very least with the knowledge that I'm on my way to a better version of myself every day. We have to start somewhere, right?

*I am currently eating a Cheese Danish.