New Year, New Blog, Old Lady, Old Habits

I must admit I am very proud of the blog design. 

In October I posted about my quest to capture the story of my grandmother. I envisioned writing a book or a series of short stories but have decided to blog about her life, which seems an odd choice considering how infrequently I manage to post here. But short bursts of writing are easier to schedule in, and giving myself a deadline is handy. I'm a rule follower. I always do my homework. So I've launched My Dead Grandmother to blog about the life of Vovó Flora, updated Thursdays.

Starting a new blog and making other resolutions (weekly yoga, meal plans, try something new and scary every month) have me wrestling with the notion of motivation versus discipline. Motivation is so fleeting.
The rush of inspiration, the vow to change, and the inevitable return to the standard routine. My resolutions are doomed to fail if I rely on motivation alone to keep me going. Discipline is required, the drive to keep at something long after the initial thrill has faded. I may not feel like writing a post, but if I am committed to a weekly deadline I'll do it. If I don't want to roll out of bed to exercise (do I ever?) it's discipline that will get me up, not an inspirational quote I found on Pinterest.

Are you inspired yet?

The self-improvement blog Pick the Brain has a good feature by Peter Clemens on the power of discipline when motivation fails. This passage summed up so well what I've been missing from my past resolutions:

Self-discipline involves acting according to what you think instead of how you feel in the moment. Often it involves sacrificing the pleasure and thrill of the moment for what matters most in life. Therefore it is self-discipline that drives you to:

• Work on an idea or project after the initial rush of enthusiasm has faded away
• Go to the gym when all you want to do is lie on the couch and watch TV
• Wake early to work on yourself
• Say "no" when tempted to break your diet
• Only check your email a few of times per day at particular times

If I decide something will be good for me, I need to keep at it even when temptation, exhaustion and moodiness drain my resolve. So I start 2013 with more than another list of good intentions, but a better approach to achieve what I'm after. And if I fail, well, that's what this blog is all about. Trying, failing, learning, living.

Ninja Skills

We all get down on ourselves from time to time, so I like to remember that I have a lot going for me.  Of course the best way to showcase this is with of list of Ninja Skills. Such as:

- Etch-a-Sketch art

- Photoshop skills

- Pantry iron chef skills
     (can make a pretty decent meal with whatever's on hand)

- Writing skills

- Skill of hosting a damn good party on very little notice

- Movie trivia (pre-2000)
- Good hair

- Photo taking skills 

- Ability to follow the gist of a conversation in a language I don't know

Nobody's perfect. Here are some of the skills I need to improve upon:

- Not interrupting

- Remembering names

- Time management

- Stop buying foodstuffs and never cooking them

- Lazy/messy

- Over-committing

- Actually writing sometime

Bye Bye Buy

I'm really not a shopper. Despite having worked at two shopping-based web startups, buying things does not come naturally to me. I am one of the cheapest people ever and mostly opposed to buying things unless I really really need them, and maybe not even then. Or at least I used to be. Ever since leaving the workplace for the non-lucrative stay-at-home mom gig, I've taken to the notion that wisely spent money is a good idea.  The cheapest thing just ain't going to last. Get the well made, the pretty, the right thing instead and it will not only leave you happier but save you money in the long run.

Problem is that line of thinking can get out of hand, and lately for me it had. Spending good money on the right things had transformed into acquiring cute but useless things any time I went into a store. When I caught myself browsing every aisle in Target wondering what else I might get, I knew it was time for a change.

In a nice bit of perfect timing, the ever-stylish Raven posted about some friends taking on a "no shopping" challenge for a month, or even a year. It struck me how easily I could stop shopping and really not miss it. I've got more clothes than I need. The library has books for free. It seems easy enough to work around the things I want by using the things I already have. Since time-based challenges aren't my thing, I'll be keeping up a streak. How long can I go without buying anything?  The nice thing about a streak is if you break it, you can start again the very next day.

Of course I'll still need to buy food and household goods. I'm not trying to live off the land here, just put an end to non-necessary spending. Gifts are an exception, but even then I'll try to get creative and make rather than buy. That's going to be the goal for most things. Making coffee instead of hitting the Starbuck's drive-thru. Trying homemade recipes for cleansers. More DIY crafts instead of picking up little toys for the kids. Already I've skipped buying character valentines  for Lucas' preschool party and instead printed out candy hearts on construction paper. Baby steps.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep this little experiment up for a while. At some point I expect the line between needing and wanting will get mighty blurry and I'll cave. But if I can stay more mindful of all the ways money leaks out of my wallet, it will be worth the effort to go without.

Loving the Taste of Life

Have you seen this? I hate this.

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Kate Moss said it in 2009 and the pro-ana community (yes, there is a pro-anorexia community) has really latched onto it. I see it pop up with alarming regularity on Pinterest and Tumblr and other sites that collect and spread ideas. Often they are part of thinspo galleries, photo collections of below-weight waifs meant to serve as "thinspiration" for those similarly starving themselves.

One thing I notice among all these collections: The sickly-thin girls are almost never smiling. They are smug, they are proud, but not happy. Because when the rush of seeing their thin frames disappears, they are still not loved. And that's what they are after. They starve themselves to reach a place they have decided will make them perfect, where they able to be loved and to love themselves. They are trying to get rid of themselves so they can find what they lack. It's a race to nowhere. No matter how thin they get, they are still the person they are.

The visible measure these girls have chosen is false. Because the truth is fat people find love all the time. And average-sized people, and skinny people, and people with crooked teeth, and people missing an eye. Love is not about how you look. It's about loving who you are.

To the worthless notion that nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, I offer this quote from the movie Spanglish:

American women, I believe, actually feel the same as Hispanic women about weight: A desire for the comfort of fullness. And when that desire is suppressed for style and deprivation allowed to rule, then dieting, exercising American women become afraid of everything associated with being curvaceous, such as wantonness, lustfulness, sex, food, motherhood. All that is best in life.

A life locked in pursuit of an empty ideal is a tortured life. The things we can love about ourselves are countless. To live a full life we must look beyond our appearance and feed the longings of our soul. That starts with forgiving, with healing. It can never come from what we do or don't eat.

So to counter the damaging message proposed by the icon above I offer these images featuring the amazing model Yanderis Lodos. And unlike the catchphrase at the top of this page, these are TRUE. No one body type is perfect. Not every size is healthy. But loving the person you are has absolutely nothing to do with size.

Writing the Wrongs

The thought of writing terrifies me. Wait. That's not true. The thought of writing is blissful. The *act* of writing is what induces terror. I say I want to write, but I never do it. Why? Because I am a coward.

I started this blog to confront my fear of failing, to embrace the part of myself that knows I can do amazing things if I'd just take a chance. After two measly posts I went right back to my old routine of thinking about writing instead of just writing. But it's never to late to succeed, or in my case, fail. So I'm stretching these stiff muscles once again, starting gently and hoping to find that once I get going it's as pleasurable and freeing as I remember.

As eager as I am to write, I am more eager to do things that prepare me for writing. Well, I pretend it's preparation, but in fact it just helps me avoid actually turning out words. My desk could stand to be uncluttered. In fact, a remake of this entire space would certainly spark creativity. I should make an outline of all my story ideas and potential subjects. Really what I need is to create a writing schedule to keep myself on task. A nice pretty organizer would help inspire me. I should go Google that right now...

And another day goes by without writing. Somehow none of those other tasks get completed either, or they don't end up helping. The fear remains. Just what I'm afraid of remains a mystery.

Not today. I'm writing, despite not having any good idea what I'm getting at here. Despite this being a personal screed rather than a topic of interest to a wider audience. Despite my fears.

I have so much I want to write about. Parenting issues. Profiles of astounding people. The myth of perfection. A celebration of the ordinary beauty we fail to see around us. I can't write it all, so I don't write any of it. Focus is required, but deciding where to begin is numbing. I miss my school days where the writing was assigned: what, when, how long were all settled for me. I flourish at writing on topic to a deadline. When it comes to deciding what to write, my lack of confidence kicks in. Not a lack of confidence in my writing ability, but that my opinion is worth anything, that what I pick to write about has any relevancy or merit beyond myself. That I matter.

My head knows the answer, but the rest of me is going to take some convincing.

Now if you pardon me, I need to search for a pretty notebook, and maybe a nice basket to organize all this desk clutter. I know it won't help my writing, but why let that stop me?