Moons & Moods

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

I am partially grouchy because my neck is sore from my workout last night so I couldn't get comfortable, and partially grouchy because of reasons I can't explain.

If you're wondering, it is not my lovely cycle come-a callin'. That has come and gone so I won't attribute my morning betchyness to that. No, I am quite certain it has nearly everything to do with the moon.

Most mornings I wake up and have a very clear vision of what I want and how I will execute my day. Lists of to-dos form in my head and as I begin to organize what order these tasks will play out, I start to ease into the day. I make note of the weather, fill my water bottle and set off into the world.

This fine day, I woke up pissed. I did not have a bad dream, I was just upset. Not teary-wah-wah woe-is-me upset, but like I want to get out of traffic because I'll be late again to my hair appointment pissed.

But I knew why: today, is a full moon.

For those of you who don't put any stock into astronomy and the tides, I beg you to remember that we are 60% water and so for the moon to not affect you, is foolish. I also don't think it's a coincidence folklore positions witches and werewolves to be out and about during full moons. Just sayin'.

In history, this traditionally plays out poorly. I attribute my foul mood to something insignificant: man-friend being insensitive, slow internet, crappy food-- anything that serves as a plausible catalyst to why I'm such a raging bitch for no given reason.

But today I decided, instead of being a bull, I'd utilize this fire-laden focus to motivate me. I have found lately that I'm doing more negotiating (contractors, cars, Father Time) than usual. For some reason I instantly thought of Lean In and wondered if this kind of razor sharp energy is what Sheryl Sandberg channels on the reg-reg.

If you're experiencing a full moon meltdown as I did this morning, I hope you wrangle that energy and make it work for you. Pick something today, and make it your red caped-target du jour.

Or don't, and just be a bull, it's up to you.

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.

Holiday Vacation

I am of the camp that strongly believes adults need Spring Break (and other subsequent days off), too.

Perhaps it’s the 12 formative years of my life that formed a rhythm that ingrained summer vacation and days ending at 2:30pm into my bones, but I long for that schedule. Particularly, when work days start and end in nighttime dotted with lunch-time visits to Target encompass my encounters with daylight.

This holiday season flew in and landed on my lap with a notable bang. Making the most of our time in the cities doesn't leave much time for staying at home to nothing for the sake of doing nothing. Each time I’d lounge, I’d remember that the moments I was taking to enjoy my own company were moments I was missing with my friends. Memories I wouldn't have the opportunity to make when we move to Bismarck and so with the ghost of relocation future hovering at my shoulder, I made plans on plans on plans.

And then we had a party. And then I did my holiday shopping. And then it was Christmas. And oh yeah, I got sick.

Bedridden for a day and shaky at best post-nausea, I remembered the one thing I had always been so good about: I need to take time for myself. In the season of giving, we forget to care about ourselves. I certainly did. I stopped working out, stopped writing, stopped cooking all in favor of hunting for more garland and making sure I found the ‘perfect something’ for the special people in my life.

After being bodily forced to stay in and rest, I rediscovered the value of taking a break amidst everything we try to juggle during this season. I doubt I’ll ever win in the battle of Winter Vacation for Grown-ups vs. being a regular adult and letting it go, but it doesn't mean I can’t make the effort to rest and care for myself. A little bit of yoga, a lot of good meals, and an extra nap or three should do the trick.

Happy holidays and sincere wishes of good health to you all!

The Holiday Party

A cheers among neighbors to a merry night.

My neighbor, and gal pal (I think I’m at the appropriate age to use that phrase?) Karly threw a holiday party this past weekend.

How do people do this? I feel like Moms have these things down-pat. Did they all go through this process when they were pre-familia? As it is, I gave myself a pass for visiting Trader Joe’s and Target multiple times a day. Considering I had no garland or wrapping paper or anything of any holiday value to speak of, I’d say I built my stores like an efficient little squirrel planning for a long winter.

Anyway, the party went off better than I’d hoped. Karl, as she is known among friends, made a beautiful array of appetizers that were an absolute hit judging by all the empty plates at the end of the night.

Aside from wanting an excuse to sip cider and make pretty plates, the party was a way to bring worlds together if not for one last time. We go to weddings, birthdays and sometimes we have demi-reunions at Homecoming games, but how often do we intentionally unite multiple groups of friends for no reason other than “just because”? We move, we have kids, and we get consumed in our lives, but we decided to take some time just for us, as friends and enjoy the company before the opportunity slipped away with time.

For me, this was a way to celebrate not only the season, but also some of the people who make our memories so charmed. Melting together the generations (high school, college, post-grad, pre-baby, etc.) of our lives made my heart swell with joy; there are so many versions of yourself that certain groups get to know, that it almost seems like your life is a puzzle of pieces that don’t make sense until you put them all together. Some of us are lucky enough to have someone who has seen you through all those experimental stages, and as I approach the next year of my life, I am grateful (sometimes) that I have witnesses to the madness. But as I continue to grow and discover new parts of my personality and true self, I have the exceeding urge to bring these pieces and people together.

We did a circle of introductions and a white elephant gift exchange, and as my worlds collided before my eyes, I became so grateful for the family we've found and cultivated in this place I call home. I know when I look back on my life, this is what it’ll be all about. These friends, the laughter, the good food, the hilarious gifts (VHS tapes anyone?) and the ability to appreciate it all.

Under the tree or not, I got the gift I need this holiday season, 

and it didn't come from a store. 

Happy holidays to you and yours from a truly full heart.

Magic

No, not the Harry Potter kind of magic (although I LOVE that kind, too).

The kind of magic that happens when the lights, the music, the laughter and chatter fill a room to the absolute brim with full hearts and good intentions.

Last night at The Copper Hen, Johnna Holmgren, one part of the ever talented Fox Meets Bear, hosted an event to be remembered: Champagne and Chandeliers. An activity night built around creating festive Eucalyptus laden wreaths, culminated into much more than just arts and crafts.

My favorite part about the Minneapolis-St. Paul community is the genuine charm of everyone in it. Amongst Instagrams and the pop of Veuve bottles, you heard the sound of people getting to know one-another with an authentic curiosity.

Johnna, the kind of person who calms the spirit with her presence, gave an overview of the wreaths but also took the time for introductions. I found this so incredibly valuable to unifying the space that I was too distracted to think of anything particularly clever to say come my turn.

We began our wreaths and instantly I was transfixed on working with the beautiful varietals of Eucalyptus, and the night's greenery VIP, Myrtle. It was a creative reverie with candles, brick exposed walls, and glowing touches of copper.

There was no pressure to compare wreaths and no compulsion to rush. The perfect antagonist to the previous days' Black Friday through Cyber Monday chaos. A wreath. So simple, and symbolic of whatever your heart's desire and yet each wreath that was built seemed to invigorate each creator with a similar current of energy.

Of course, I was also smitten with the food. In the excess of Thanksgiving, (and in the excess of pizza I regularly consume), the boards of cheeses were just the right kind of indulgent. A cheddar bleu (yes, it's a real thing) and a triple cream brie (yes, it's as glorious as it sounds) were among my favorites. Savories were abound but despite not being a huge cupcake person, I could not resist the beautiful house-made gingerbread cupcakes with a sinful layer of cardamom cream cheese frosting. It took all of my willpower not to abduct an entire platter and perform experiments to discover the secrets behind such a ridiculous combination.

If you're hungry, you should be. I am, and I was there. And I will most definitely be back.

In your holiday season, I hope you can discover this kind of magic. The pure and honest kind that reminds you what the festivities are truly all about.