Inshallah

It's the shortest day of the year today. In England, the sun rose this morning at 8:04 a.m. and set at 3:53 p.m. It's been really cold here and the recent tiny snowfall has crippled the country, including the airports. All my American ex-pat friends (me included) are worried about not getting home for Christmas.

I'm not the biggest fan of travelling or packing myself up for a few weeks away. And with Christmas and wedding planning plus tying up loose ends at work, there's so much to do before heading off. I thought I was stressed before I found out there was a chance that I couldn't get home, and then the snow arrived.

This all has made me think about control. As a self-confessed control freak (I actually corrected Future Hub last night on his cheese grating technique), what bothers me so much about the possibility of not getting home Christmas Eve is more about the sinking feeling you get in your stomach when you realize that you truly have very little control over many things that happen to you in life.

When you hear a practicing Muslim talk about most things in life, they typically add a phrase to most statements of intent – Inshallah – which is an Arabic translation of the phrase 'God willing'. As in, I'll be going home for the holidays, Inshallah (abbreviated IA when written).

I love this. Whether or not you are religious or whether you believe in a God, or Gods, or just some sort of universal force, to add a sentiment to your statements of intent that leaves room for the fact that you are not always in control is a wonderful humble reminder.

Because it's so easy to forget.

I haven't been meditating much recently. Last year I was doing small short bursts a few times a week and trying to get into a routine. But this year, I've got lost in being busy. And when you're busy and getting a lot of things done, that illusion of control often sneaks in.

I think the reason why meditation (and yoga for that matter) is called 'practice' is because when you practice letting go and just sitting there, accepting things as they are and not how you want them to be, it makes it slightly easier when you are faced with the less-fun things in life. Like cancelled flights due to a dusting of snow or having to wait for ages for the bus and then sitting in a seat that smells slightly of vomit.

And worse things, of course.

For me, part of trying to maintain the illusion of control is not wanting to accept things as they are. Sometimes I don't want to meditate and practice. I just want everything to be perfect and easy. I know life's not fair but I want to pretend, no matter how miserable it makes me.

And I guess that's the thing. When you fight the lack of control tooth and nail, life can be a real misery. It's just hard work. You miss the joy because you're too busy feeling frustrated and upset.

So this Christmas maybe I'll try to just accept whatever comes my way, Inshallah. That would be a very nice gift indeed.

 Related Posts:

• Greener Grass
• Good For The Soul
• Turbulence
• Uncertainty

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Wearing A Hat Inside The House

We are having a bit of a cold spell here in England. I just got home from work and I'm sitting in the flat wearing two sweaters and my hat and scarf. I can see my breath.

I don't like to drink a) alone b) on weeknights c) at home, but times are desperate and I think the only thing that can keep me warm right now is the mulled wine I just mixed up. I had a friend from out-of-town over for a drink earlier this week and I made us some, so when I got home and saw the leftover wine sitting there I just had to mix up another batch.

Hopefully the boiler will actually heat up the flat soon – otherwise I'll have to get out the hot water bottle. Yes, the hot water bottle. People still use these in England! They are great though – couldn't recommend them more. Maybe one of the reasons they are popular here is that they also have electric kettles so that you don't have to boil water on the stove to fill them up. Americans seem to be ahead of the times when it comes to heating but behind the times when boiling water.

Thought I'd use the opportunity to share a few funny things about the British (or English, I guess) today.

First, nothing in this country is prepared for weather that isn't slightly overcast and between 40 and 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Add in a few inches of snow and the country grinds to a halt. It took me two hours to get into work today. I ended up taking the bus to Waterloo station which although a pleasant route, was very slow. The trains just weren't running consistently enough to get people into the city.

But the best reason I've ever heard in this country for the late running of a train was that it was 'too sunny'. What we passengers were told was that the sun was so bright it blinded conductors, preventing them from operating the trains.

Second funny fact, when someone asks you if you want a drink – particularly at the office – it doesn't necessarily mean an alcoholic drink. There are many of these slight differences between American English and English English, but this one still amuses me. I often hear the guy who sits behind me at work asking his colleagues if they'd like a drink. He's not asking them if they'd like a gin and tonic, he typically means tea.

In America, we would say, "would you like something to drink?" Prepositions and articles can be confusing. The English take out articles where we add them in. Here you are in hospital instead of in the hospital.

Third, another little known fact in America: Easter in Britain is a secular holiday. For many years Easter really confused me. I know America is the home of consumerism, but when Easter happens, Britain can't be beat. As far as I'm concerned, Britain is a post-Christian society. Christianity is the state religion – in fact it's Presbyterianism in Scotland, Church of England in England, Catholicism in Northern Ireland and I forget Wales (in case you're wondering, this was on the citizenship test). But I don't know anyone who goes to church. When I tell people my parents go to church every week, and that my Dad is a deacon, they look at me as if I'm going to take a bible out of my handbag and start preaching hell and damnation.

Ergo, Easter here is a little like Christmas can sometimes be in the US. You don't have to be Christian to buy large chocolate Easter eggs in boxes at the supermarket and give them to your loved ones. And another lesser-known fact is that they don't eat chocolate bunnies here as much as chocolate eggs. Lastly, sadly, I haven't seen any of those brightly-colored marshmallow ducks and bunnies. I miss those.

I'm not sure if this post has much of a point, other than the fact that my fingers are warmer when they're moving. And I've been dying to share those observations for ages.

Related posts (these may be a bit of a stretch, but at least they all mention England, or other cultures):

• Guilt And Marshmallows
• California And Coffee Shops
• Gratitude: Pumpkin Pie Mix In England

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Vulnerability: Being Broken Isn't So Bad

When I started this blog one of the things I talked about with Future Hub was how I felt about opening up a part of myself to for all the world to see (or at least my first few readers, including my Mom). Not everyone wants to put their thoughts and feelings out there and I have to admit that sometimes I feel stripped bare.

But then again, there's a reason I started to write in a public fashion. Well, a few reasons, including the fact that I felt I had a story to tell about a pretty tough time in my life when my body was broken. I learned quite a bit from my humbling experience – when I was frankly very vulnerable – and I thought that if I could help even just one other person it would be worth it. (If you're new to my blog, see the About This Blog section for some links that will tell you the whole story about how I wrestled with RSI/Muscular Imbalance.)

Turns out, being broken isn't so bad. In fact, I think that it's a starting point that we all need to have at some point in our lives to make us realize that what we fear most can certainly be painful and difficult but it's not the end and it's not insurmountable.

Vulnerability is what makes us human. And the one thing I've learned over the years that's been the absolutely most helpful is how vulnerable every single creature on this planet is, even when they seem 'fine' or 'perfect' or in fact, downright mean. No matter how tough and strong everyone else seems, you just have to flip them over to see that they've got soft, vulnerable underbellies just like you and me. (I don't actually recommend doing this in a literal sense, of course.)

As a young child in Sunday school, I never really understood the Beatitudes. How could I really, growing up in 1980s America? Blessed are the poor in spirit? Blessed are the meek? Being meek isn't a trait exactly valued in America generally, so I was puzzled how the meek were the ones who would inherit the Earth (not fair!).

Doing a quick Internet search (always reliable) this morning I got a sense of how widely interpreted the Beatitudes are, but for some reason when I thought about writing about vulnerability they sprang to mind – perhaps 12 years of Sunday school does leave much ingrained in the subconscious.

Being vulnerable and poor in spirit and meek opens you up to things. It always seems that when I admit something I am scared to share or write a post in which I feel particularly vulnerable, that I get the most positive reactions. I think the key is that vulnerability is what connects us. It is competition and the perception of others' success as well as the veneer of everything being 'OK' and 'alright' for everyone (but us) that separates us.

Sometimes we are broken. But we are definitely not alone.

This post was written as part of the Self-Discovery Series, Word by Word. Karen from Before & After: A Real Life Story came up with the word vulnerability for this month, click here to read more about the series.

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Wanted: Body Vacation

When I was a little girl in Catholic school, I remember explaining to one of the nuns that as a protestant I didn't go to church in the summer time. I mean, that was when they closed the Bronx River Parkway to cars and you could ride your bike on a highway, so why would we go to church?

She curtly explained to me that God doesn't take a vacation from us, so we don't take a vacation from him.

This isn't some sort of revelatory posting. In fact, this vignette has little to do with what I'm going to talk about other than the fact that when I was thinking about what I wanted to say in this post the good Sister's phrasing popped into my head. I have realized that one of the things you can't take a vacation from is your body – after all, it never takes a vacation from you (See? Just like God in my story!).

Although I'm generally better from my RSI/posture problems/muscle imbalance – I am still struggling with what exactly to call this – I do have to take extra care when I am on holiday. Usually vacations involve long plane rides, strange beds and jet lag, so typically even if I'm at a stage at home where I'm not doing my physio exercise routine everyday (I am starting to decrease the frequency), I have to hit the floor in foreign hotel rooms and do the whole range of exercises even more often than when I'm at home.

And this kind of stinks. But I've become used to it, as is alarmingly possible with most things. My physio exercises are just a part of my routine now, even when we're on holiday. Future Hub even knows they need to be done like clockwork – he is often perplexed and maybe a big thrown when I say, "actually I don't need to do them today."

Thing is, even when there comes a day where I don't have to do my trio of three core exercises on a daily basis, being on holiday will probably always require them, as even normal people can get stiff from sitting on a plane for eleven hours.

If only someone offered a holiday where you could leave your body behind (I am sure there are already companies that are starting to offer such things in a scary matrix-like way, but I'd have to wait for something more mainstream). Think of the time you'd save not having to pack, or not worrying about getting a spray tan. Although then I guess you wouldn't be able to sample the tasty local fare. But it would certainly save arguments over where to eat. This was a really big problem for my family when we did a big trip to Israel for a week a few summers ago. It was really the only thing we couldn't agree on – especially when my Dad insisted on wanted to eat at the bus station (this is definitely a topic for another post).

I guess for now we're forced to bring our bodies with us on vacation. Which brings me to my point – I think sometimes we forget that our bodies are always there for us and we need to be there for them. We are not just little thought bubbles bobbing around in the air, we need our bodies to enjoy and experience life. Feed it well, keep it moving a bit, and if you're in pain do something about it (in my case, lots of physio exercises) – even when you'd rather be sunning yourself or reading a good book.

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Guilt And Marshmallows

I have a new found respect for the French since last week. Their radio stations may be crap, but when it comes to a healthy respect for food and pleasure, they seem to have all the answers.

On our first night in France (before we arrived at the farmhouse) we stayed in a hotel that was quite plush. There was a bar area on which two very colorful jars of candy were situated – one with pastel green, pink and white marshmallows and the other with jelly bean-type sweets.

Here are the lovely fluffy marshmallows:

Not so strange. But, notice how next to the jar there was a little sign. This explained how marshmallows are actually good for digestion and can help to prevent inflammation of the mouth and throat. I kid you not. I felt another photo snap might be necessary as evidence.

I think this sheds some light on why the French seems to have fewer food issues than people living in Anglo-Saxon countries. Essentially, from what I can tell, the French don't really do guilt. And the marshmallow sign was a clear manifestation of this. They know that everyone feels like having something sweet every once in a while (even a marshmallow!), but they don't gnash their teeth over how 'bad' they've been and feel guilty. No, instead they justify it by creating some pseudo-scientific reason why it was actually good for them. Brilliant. (Not that I generally agree with pseudo science, but I'll make an exception here.)

Everywhere we went in France people were sitting around together eating and drinking. Although food is clearly very important and treasured it seemed secondary to whatever else they were talking about. They weren't sitting there mulling over what they should eat, should they be 'good' or 'bad' (this kind of food moralizing drives me nuts, click here to read my posting about food being the new religion). They just seemed to eat really naturally and moderately, without shying away from very high-fat food (just the opposite in fact).

It's not like they are all stick insects. They looked pretty normal – a variety of different body types – and more importantly, in my opinion, they seemed comfortable in their own skin. They were also very well-groomed no matter their size or shape, clearly taking much pride in their appearance.

As Lucy Wadham in her memoir The Secret Life of France writes, "Because there is no sin attached either to the pleasure of sex or the pleasure of food, overeating tends not to be a manifestation of self-loathing. Put simply, if your body is a temple for the pursuit of guilt-free sexual pleasures, you're less likely to want to trash it."

I couldn't have said it better myself. We Anglo-Saxons could learn something from the French. Marshmallow anyone?

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Food Is The New Religion

I am certain that food is the new morality. Now that people are no longer afraid of burning in hell, poor food choice has become the new sin. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of hearing people say they're being 'good' or 'bad' when deciding what to eat. Or that euphemism for good – 'healthy'. I often find myself saying out loud to people, "you know, food is not a moral choice."

Perhaps we've lost sight of the importance of a nice or interesting person – what's important now is appearance. This is what Paul Campos in The Diet Myth, calls the Bimbo Culture. No wonder we're all so afraid of putting on a few extra pounds.

I'm not pretending to be somehow impervious to the pressures of our modern media to look good – which is why I ended up flirting (and briefly getting involved with) the idea of dieting a few years ago.

When I started my physio work, I had to stop exercising entirely, except for some light walking. If certain muscle groups in your body are stronger than they should be, and others are too weak, if you do a lot of strenuous exercise, that's never going to change. The too-strong muscles will never atrophy and the weak muscles will never grow stronger.

Not that I was a big exerciser, but I went to the gym maybe a few times a week. Still, this abrupt exercise halt unfortunately coincided with terrifying chronic pain, the stress of a new job and hitting the big 3-0. I was definitely eating a lot of pizza to keep my spirits up. Needless to say, the pounds started to creep on.

I wish I had been easier on myself then. But no, I was completely wrecked by that excess five to seven pounds (shock horror!). I started counting calories and subsequently went berserk. I couldn't stop thinking about food; I was hungry all the time and guess what? I wasn't able to lose those extra pounds. Even better, when I stopped the craziness, I gained about seven more.

What happened to me was intriguing. Why had I completely failed at this dieting thing? I started doing some research. Eventually I ended up stumbling on a book by Geneeth Roth called When Food Is Love, and it introduced me to the idea of intuitive eating. It also screwed my head back on straight about food and my relationship with it.

In case you're not familiar, intuitive eating is the name for eating by responding to hunger and fullness cues. Eat when you're hungry, stop when you're full. Eat what your body is asking you for and not what your parents tell you to or what's prescribed by some diet in a magazine.

I'm a huge fan. It really fits into my philosophy of being your own expert. Instead of putting food into 'good' and 'bad' camps, everything is allowed, nothing is forbidden. The idea is that once you are freed from these concepts, you begin to eat a healthy range of foods without feeling deprived or overeating. Mind you, a lot of people are very uncomfortable with the concept of intuitive eating. This makes me even surer that food is the new religion. Even writing about it I feel like a heretic.

There still hasn't been any substantial research on whether or not this method of eating works for weight loss. But from my personal experience, dieting doesn't either. However, eating intuitively isn't a quick fix, it's a long-term attitude change. It also involves taking a good look at yourself and how you relate to food and that often is really tough (there's probably a lot of material here to blog on). I've been experimenting with it for about a year now.

In case you were wondering, I haven't lost the extra weight yet. Who knows if I ever will? But my healthy relationship with food is returning. And honestly, I'd prefer to keep the extra poundage if it reminds me not to go back to the world of dieting.

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Monkeys And Meditation

If I ever mention that I have dabbled in meditation I get a mixed reaction. People are suspicious, but at the same time very curious. What is meditation about, really? Is it about relaxing? And is the person they're talking to really strange?

I actually haven't had much time to meditate recently. We spent the first half of this year buying a flat and moving and are now planning a wedding. Setting aside some time to meditate would probably help with such stress, but never mind. You do what you can.

But what is meditation, really? If I could describe it in the simplest way possible it would be about attention. Have you ever become so absorbed in doing something that you lose all track of time and nothing else seems to matter? For a little while you forget all about your constantly growing 'to do' list, those pictures from 2006 that you never put in an album, the sandwich you left rotting in the work fridge a few weeks ago and also, the sudden thought that maybe all the people in your life have formed a secret club to conspire against you (maybe you believe me now that I'm a paranoid person).

I've done a lot of reading about the idea of mindfulness and meditation, focusing your attention on the task at hand and not listening to all those little thoughts that go shuttling through your brain every minute of every day. But reading about it and doing it are two different things.

So maybe a year or so ago I decided I needed to practice this ability to pay attention – which is what (I believe) meditation is mostly about. I actually bought the book Meditation For Dummies and dealt with the embarrassment of reading it on the London tube. If you're looking for a primer on the topic it's a great broad introduction without any particular spiritual or religious bent.

I started with the first basic type of meditation: to simply sit on the floor (or a cushion), close your eyes and count your breaths. And every time your mind wanders away from focusing on the rise and fall of your belly, you try to bring it back. Apparently our minds are particularly good at wandering. I took a yoga class in San Francisco earlier this year with my friend, and her teacher called this "monkey mind" since your mind is running all over the place like a little monkey. I love this. Sometimes the monkey in my mind also throws fruit at me.

I've experimented with daily 10 minute bouts of meditation over the past year or so, but it's been hard recently. Fortunately, life gives us some great opportunities to start practicing focus and attention without it.

Now I just try to get fully involved in whatever it is I'm doing. Whether it's a conversation with a friend, a meeting, or a task at work that's particularly difficult. When every bone in my body is screaming that I need to be somewhere else doing something else that would make me feel better or happier or calmer, I try to take a deep breath and return to where I am now.

I read once that hell is wanting to be somewhere that you're not (wish I could remember where - I will keep looking for the reference). Maybe we don't have enough time to meditate, but it sure seems like a waste of time in our short lives to be wishing we were somewhere else.

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