Vomiting: The Great Leveler

A few weeks ago I was struck down with the stomach flu. Yes, that kind. The one where you find religion: "Please God, I'll do anything to stop throwing up, anything."

This incident reminded me of my extended family, as for as long as I can remember we've had the joke around our Christmas gatherings that it isn't Christmas until one of us is sick. Perhaps I contracted this illness just to feel closer to my family shortly after the first Christmas ever that I haven't spent with them? Or -- more likely -- just bad luck.

And what is it about puking stories? People love to share them. My favorite one involves my brother (and coincidentally takes place one Christmas Eve). We were all in the kitchen and my Dad was preparing dinner before we were due to leave for the 11 o'clock service of lessons and carols. And it was the year that I had been given the honor of putting the baby Jesus figurine in the creche at midnight. He was three at the time and said, in a very somber way, "I think I'm going to grow up." At which point the three of us looked at him twinkly-eyed and sighed at his cute realization that some day he would become a adult.

And then he threw up all over the kitchen floor.

Ah, that would have been "throw up", not "grow up".

My mother never did get to see me put the baby Jesus in the creche. (Although she contests that she has seen so many 12-year-old girls with long brown hair in the red choir robe do it, that she almost swears she did. And it's not like it required much special skill on my part.)

My personal best vomiting story took place at one of the New York blood centers. My mother used to give blood like a champ and so as a 5-year-old I was quite used to the whole process. And I certainly loved the sugary treats that the nurses let me eat while Mom was hooked up to the bag. Which turned out to be the problem: on one occasion, I ate so many jelly beans that I spewed all over the floor, at which point my Mom panicked and tried to jump off the table. One of the nice nurses preferred she finish giving her pint and took me to the ladies room to clean me up. I wonder if there's a note on her file somewhere that says: despite highly desirable o-positive universal donor blood type, highly undesirable vomiting child. 



There's something positively leveling about puking. It reminds us that we're 100% human, and that everyone -- including high flying executives, royalty or rock stars (definitely rock stars) -- has some story where they were struck down helpless from illness, drink or food-induced vomiting episode. I just wish I could remember more frequently how happy I am that I'm NOT puking. It's definitely one to add to the gratitude list.

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Why I Still Do My Physio Exercises -- Sort Of

After posting The Great Mind-Body Connection I've had a few questions about whether or not I still do the remedial physio exercises I depended on for so long. And the answer is yes -- and no.

The basic concept behind Super Physio's exercises -- which she often referred to as "remedial Pilates" -- is an active relaxation of the tense muscles. The reason for muscular pain is that the muscle fibers that are supposed to be loose and relaxed are actually "switched on" and in spasm, or constant movement. Through the exercises, you "switch on" your core muscles and when you do that, it is impossible to for the tense muscles in your back, neck, etc. to remain "switched on". And this is exactly how Pilates classes help people maintain good posture. It's all about making sure the right muscles are strong.


And as long as the pain problem is mechanical, these exercises work very well, which is why they helped me muddle through some really difficult times. But as I explained in my previous post, I was still experiencing pain because my mind continued to create tension in these muscles. And now that I know that, the pain has mostly subsided.

But I still do my physio exercises at least once per week. Why is this? As they are a very basic form of pilates, they help to keep my posture aligned. And why is this important if I'm not doing it for pain relief? Three reasons:

1. Good posture is essential for proper breathing. Just speak to a singer. You can't communicate, stay calm or sing (if that's the sort of thing you like to do) without breathing correctly. It really is our life force, physically, mentally and emotionally.

2. Then there's vanity. Let's face it, people with good posture just look better. They sit and stand up tall, they look healthier and more confident.

3. Basic exercise. Sometimes I'm not exercising as regularly as I'd like, but as long as I'm doing my core exercises, at least I know I can maintain a very minimal level of core strength (very minimal, mind you).

And as a caveat: this may seem counter intuitive, but I make a point to try not to do the physio exercises when I do have a small pain flare up. This is because I now know that my problem was not a physical one to begin with. Sure, it became physical, when my body was tied up into knots, but these days I address the emotional aspect first and the physical results follow.

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Discomfort

When we moved into our new house in November, it was incredibly exciting -- the moment we had been waiting for -- for well, nearly a year. All those forms we had filled out, fees paid to solicitors, estate agents and the sleepless nights worrying over the new mortgage: were we making the right decision? 

And the move was exciting. The movers broke a radiator on the way out of our old house. We broke the key in the lock of the garden door on the first night in the new place and had to call an emergency locksmith. I accidentally switched off the boiler by flicking a random switch in the kitchen and drilled holes in the wall that were too big for the coat hooks, which meant we sheepishly had to call in a handyman to fix said blunder. 


But it was all still thrilling. At least for the first day or two. And then the discomfort kicked in. 

We both took a week's holiday to "settle in". This was very sensible as in the end as we got loads of things done very quickly that would have taken weeks to accomplish if we had scampered straight back to work. But still, I found myself wishing we had gone back to work since that would have felt more normal. To be completely honest, I felt incredibly uncomfortable and hated the idea that we were living somewhere new and it didn't feel like home. I almost would have given anything that week to undo the whole change and go back to our old flat. 

I have to credit Leo Babauta's blog Zen Habits as helping me come to terms with the idea of discomfort. He explains in such an understandable way why our fear of discomfort gets in the way of doing things we would like to do -- like changing our habits or stretching to try new things.

Because here's the secret: discomfort is O.K. If you can watch it, observe it and see that it isn't killing you, or even maiming you. In fact, it's necessary. Because you can take two roads in life: the one of total comfort, which keeps you stuck, in the same place, and the one of discomfort, which is needed for change and growth. Anything new feels weird and uncomfortable, but if you just stay with those feelings for long enough and don't run and hide, then eventually they pass. 

Which is what happened over the course of that first week in our house (of course, duh). And now I love it. It was definitely the right decision and I am thrilled again. Although I do have a thing or two to learn about drilling. Or knowing when to call in the professionals. 

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What, This Old House?

Finally, I have evidence of my increasingly English communication style. Before Christmas I sent out an email to friends and family overseas wishing them happy holidays and trying to give a brief summary of what we have been up to recently. And I described our new house as “a big and drafty Victorian house.” And although I used the American spelling (as opposed to the British draughty) my sentiments proved entirely British.

My American aunt, responding to my email said, “Your description of your home sounds like you don’t like it much…”Ah. Well that would be because I couldn’t possibly admit that I was happy with it, or proud. That would be bragging!

When the Hub and I purchased our first property over four years ago – a flat in Earlsfield, sandwiched between the more well-known London areas of Wimbledon and Clapham (remember Squeeze’s “Up the Junction”?) – he referred to us moving to the “ghetto” and constantly talked down our pending purchase with whomever we were discussing it. And it incensed me. I would always ask him later what was wrong. He should have been incredibly grateful that we were buying such a nice flat and stop acting like there was something wrong with it.

But now I get it, and apparently I’m on the bandwagon. Just for the record: I love our new house. Including its drafty old nature and even the friendly slug that visits our kitchen at 3 a.m. (Sorry, Dad, haven’t yet brought myself to drown him in beer! Also, we probably should stop calling him Sammy or it will never get any easier.)

I just want to be humble and not act like there’s any reason I deserve this nice house other than the fact that I am incredibly lucky – and I think that’s what’s behind the English tendency to talk down achievements and windfalls in life.

In other cross-cultural communication topics: I noticed a clear distinction in the Christmas cards this year. My American friends and family tend to send newsy letters and photos of their kids. These are great as being so far away I love to hear about what’s going on and see how their children are growing up. But the English way is nice too: typically a beautiful card with a short note inside, a simple wish that we are well and that they are thinking of us.

And they look so pretty scattered around the house.


Of course no way is better, just different. And I hope that those who communicate with me these days in person, over the phone or via Christmas card recognize that I am trying my best. Even though after my American upbringing, and nearly 12 years here, I’m increasingly confused.

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More Of The Same?

As a blogger who writes about the connection between mind and body, how can I not write a New Year's resolution post?


I've been thinking about this a lot over the past few days and the thing that bothers me about these types of resolutions is how we suddenly fail to realize all the progress that we've made already in our lives. It's as if we just throw the baby out with the bath water, looking at our lives as a blank canvass that could be perfect in 2015 if we only got more exercise/ate better/became tidier/smarter/more skillful/found a new job etc.

So this year, instead, I've decided to find a few areas in my life where I've actually made some progress in 2014 and shout at the top of my lungs: more of the same!! I feel like 2015 is looking better already.

And I like making lists in threes, as they are easier to remember and it also seems perfectly reasonable to have three aspirations as you can always say at the end of the year: "Well, two out of three ain't bad..."

1. Writing. I made a bit of progress with this at the end of last year, getting more into a routine for working on projects, as well as keeping up with you, my dear readers. I'd like to continue this as it seems to be working and of course I'm no where near getting those bigger writing projects done. But getting into a writing routine is half the battle.

2. Eliminating procrastination. The big life-changing clear out in 2014 had a strange by-product. Amazingly, it helped to reduce my annoying procrastination habit that has plagued my entire life. I think this had something to do with my fear of decision-making and the fact that I had to choose over and over again which objects to keep and which to discard. It somehow gave me more confidence to just push ahead with things. And I hope this new attitude will not only help with continuing with writing, but also to do the work to make our new house a home in 2015.

3. Driving. So here's my new resolution, as it would probably be too lame to have three "more of the same" resolutions. American citizens with U.S. driving licenses cannot just convert them to a U.K. license. And so I cannot own a car here without taking a driving test. It stinks to feel 16 again. But then again, it could be fun. To get a license, a car, to hit the open road. I think England even extends outside of London, they tell me.

So there you have it folks. My New Year's resolution strategy for 2015. What's yours?
And Happy 2015!
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