Monday Morning Mantra: Ask for Some Help

You know what's better than trying to take on too many projects, getting overwhelmed, and then having a nervous breakdown in the bathroom during lunch?

Asking for help.

Pop on over to Yoganonymous and check out what I'm mantra-sizing about this week. Hint: It has to do with not thinking you can do everything alone. Because you can't. Fact.

Is it hard for you guys to ask for help?

You Are More Interesting Than You Think

Full disclosure? I get really self-conscious when I write a blog post. Ever since I made the decision to start telling people that I put my wildest thoughts and dreams on the Internet, I spend more time actually thinking about what kind of content I'm going to put out there. Probably because I realized that it meant people may actually read what I have to say.

*dies of fright*

What I've realized, however, is blogging is sort of just like a conversation -- only no one interrupts you to talk about their cat or how they TOTALLY loved The Hangover and, oh-emme-gee isn't Bradley Cooper so hot? (actually that's sort of a conversation that I have with myself in my head. I don't think that conversation has actually happened out loud. Anyway.)

And what more is that, since we're all COMPLETELY different, we all have some cool experiences that may seem ho hum to ourselves, but really kickass to someone else out there in the blogosphere.

We all have a story

Yup. It's true. We all have a story. It may involve growing up on a sheep farm, learning to shear wool and recognize the sure signs of a sheep mutiny, but guess what? That is some shit I would like to read about. So get to writin', Old McDonald.

You are authentically you

And also, nobody likes to hear a story about something you're only mildly interested in. Then it comes off like an essay, or every paper I wrote in college (save one about Michael Jackson's influence on modern dance). If you want to write about how you think buttons in the shape of wildlife is the cutest flippin' thing ever? Do it. Someone out there just googled "buttons in the shape of ladybugs." I swear.

You crack yourself up

Have you ever walked down the street/driven in your car/stood in line for takeout and just burst out laughing? Yea, me too. All the time. And at the risk of seeming like one of those crazy people who walk around with loopy smiles on their faces, if you think something is funny, chances are there's someone else that thinks it's funny too. Write about it! I wanna hear about it!

How do you guys come up with interesting blog posts?

The Friday Five

The Friday Five is a list of five things, every Friday that I'm so thankful that I have in my life. Big, small, it don't matter. As long as it made my week a little bit better than the last one.

Waking Up To The Sun

You guys? I am a cranky person when there is no sunlight gently nudge me awake. Even if it's full force, straight up, no clouds, SUNSHINE all up in my eyelids, I'm genuinely happy to get up and get the day started. Winter/spring (but really winter, because right now it's 30 degrees outside) has a low "days of sunlight" to "days I wake up ratio", but this morning? Me and the sun were SO ON and my morning was rockin' because of it.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

They aren't vegan. They aren't raw. Annnd though I'm still searching for it, I'm pretty sure there is no chocolate chip cookie tree. But the combination of butter, chocolate, flour and some other shiz (but hopefully mostly butter and chocolate) makes me slow the heck down and just appreciate that feeling of total indulgence.

Small, Squeaky Giggles

I can't hide the fact that I love little tiny versions of adults, but really, when I hear that incessant giggle of a child under five, I get all excited and want to pinch their little noses and blow raspberries on their bellies.

(Also, why is it called a raspberry?)

Community

This is something I've been thinking a TON about lately. It used to be that our community was the people that we were directly in contact with. Now, it's people across the street, across the country, or across the world. Last night, I emailed five of my lovely yoginis (incidentally ALL living in different countries; a fact I didn't realize until AFTER I had sent the email) to ask if they would write recommendations for me, and each one of them responded with a resounding "YES" and "YOU GO GIRL" and "FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS". Like, how could I not feel like a total badass with these ladies backing me up, even over the internet?

The Great Big Outdoors

I went hiking last weekend with my brother. There were trees and grass and birds and lots and lots of space. There was an old abandoned house called the Cornish Estate, and we made up stories of why it fell into disrepair and where their bedroom was. And aside from the speculation about the 1920s gossip at the Cornish Estate, we barely talked the whole time. But we were able to enjoy the silence of the outdoors, and the silence that was comfortable between us, so we could reflect on the simplicity of just walking through the woods. And being open to the things that we felt, saw, smelled, and touched.

It was very lovely.

What are you guys thankful for this week?

Thoughts For Thursday

How Not To Have A Celebrity Sighting

I have to be honest, I've had some bomb celebrity sightings in New York. One time, while pouting in a frumpy wingbacked chair for a work event, Brad and Angelina strolled around the corridor, pausing long enough for me to ask them if they needed directions.

(Which was right before I passed out. Everyone thinks they'll be so composed and unfazed around uber-famous people. They're wrong. My co-worker relayed after the fact that I turned six different shades of red and sweat through my entire suit in less than 45 seconds.)

One time I nearly backed into Bob Costas at Game 4 of the World Series. And then there was the time that I shared a street corner with Cameron Diaz and twenty million other people pretending not to care they were within inches of Cameron Diaz, all the while tweeting and texting about it to their closest five hundred Facebook friends. New Yorkers are soooooo above celebrity sightings. And who could forget when I had a drink with Penn Badgley from Gossip Girl (I mean we both were having a drink at the same time at the same bar. That's like basically the same thing).

So, I don't really have advice about how to stake out celebrities because I usually just bump into them. But I know how to definitely not see them.

Celebrities do not take the subway. I know, there's that little feature in People magazine that likes to show how down to earth the uber famous are (Look! They shop at Whole Foods! And water their lawns! And carry their own children sometimes!) but apparently that earthiness ends at public transportation. I mean, I have friends that don't even take the subway. Why would Mena Suvari take it (and why did I use Mena Suvari for that example?). Whatever, I still scan the face of everyone that hops a subway car to see if they're famous.

Ditto on the fast food joints. Nope, Madonna isn't kickin' it at McDonalds. Catherine Zeta doesn't get her burritos at Chipotle. Almost positive famous people would rather not commit media suicide by patronizing a fast food restaurant and forever be listed as the unhealthiest celebrity of all time. I'm still on high alert, though, whenever I walk by JUST IN CASE one of them had a craving for a Big Mac.

They aren't on my flight home to Rochester. Okay, except that one time that Rob Schneider sat three rows behind me on my flight for Thanksgiving.

Like I said. No celebrities on my flights home to Rochester.

Note: This post has nothing to do with anything except on the subway home today I swore I was sitting next to Rachel McAdams. And then she stood up and I was cleary very, very mistaken. But it's okay because it's my blog and at least I don't write about cats in vests.

Stop Wishing It Were Different

Full disclosure? I get frustrated. A lot.

I get angry when people don't move quickly on the subway. Or when I spend fourteen minutes on hold with an airline and then I magically get disconnected. Or when Charlie Sheen makes a comment. About anything. Ever.

But you know what? I need to stop wishing my life were different. Because the greenest grass is really that little plot right in my own yard. Pop on over to Yoganonymous to check out my Monday Morning Mantra about how to stop wishing your life were different and start enjoying it ASAP.

And guess what? The hardest day of the week is already over.

Hiking Breakneck Ridge

Today I went hiking.

I know. Shocking, since I live in a city in which no one I know has a car and the only trees I see with any frequency occupy a one-block-by-one-block area behind the New York Public Library.

Oh also, there aren't any hiking trails on the island of Manhattan. So, that's sort of a problem.

But every now and then I get a little itchy to get out of the concrete jungle and feel like I've conquered something (other than a plate of cheese fries and wasabi dip from Pommes Frites). This morning, my brother and I set out to hike Breakneck Ridge, one of the more challenging scramble-hikes in the Upstate New York area.

(Also, point of reference, scrambling is where you use your hands and feet to climb over sheer faces and huge protruding boulders and the like. I didn't know that until today. I thought it was just called intense-extreme hiking or something.)

Not gonna lie, I have limited hiking experience. When I was little and my aunt suggested going hiking, I always just thought it was like walking, except in the woods. I guess that's what hiking is, essentially. Maybe having an actual name for it and calling it a sport is how they sell all of that fancy hiking gear. All I know is that my brother is a total sucker for sports with gear, while I prefer just to hike in my running clothes and hand-me-down ESPN branded UnderArmour fleece that I was gifted from a friend who was moving out west (PS best gift ever. I wear that thing nonstop despite that it's like two sizes too large for me). There are a few important things to know, if you're truly a novice hiker.

Get some bomb hiking shoes. No, for reals. Spend the moolah and get yourself a sick pair of boots. I don't care if you go once a season. Wear them to the mall if you feel the need to get some use out of them, but get a pair nonetheless. Because I rolled my ankle like twelve times today as I'm a klutz and if that had happened in running shoes, I probably would have had to be airlifted from Cold Spring back to Manhattan. Which would have been embarassing.

Don't feel the need to get any other significant hiking gear. Again, because hiking is walking in the woods. I will say, it sucks to be wet while hiking, so if you can invest in a light weight rain jacket, that is probably recommended. But really, I hiked in a t-shirt and yoga pants for 5 hours. I'm alive.

For a day hike, the only thing you really need is water. And maybe chapstick and tissues because I get a little windburnt and snotty from traipsing around in the leaves, but really those are optional pieces. I know there are some really prepared hiking gurus out there that will totally disagree with me and will have a whole convenience store of supplies just in case. But really? If you're just starting to get out there in the natural world, I say don't be intimidated by all this extra stuff you think you might need but don't have. Trial and error my friends. That's how I learned about the tissues.

Hiking is walking in the woods. So just get out there, be with nature, don't feel like you have to race up and down like twelve peaks, and just enjoy not being stuck behind your desk wishing that you were somewhere else.

So now that you're a hiking guru, why is hiking out of New York City any different than hiking elsewhere? Well, I will say hiking in New York and hiking pretty much everywhere else in the entire world (overstatement?) is wildly different, but I think I like our New York City version a little better. Why?

Hiking Everywhere Else: Drive a car to the trail head. Unload packs. Debate which items to bring. Take last swig of water. Pee behind tree. Lock car doors.

Hiking from New York City: Wake up staggeringly early to catch one of two trains a day to favored hiking spot. Despite obvious hangover, lay down across three Metro North seats and try not to puke on anyone. Fall asleep open-mouthed on ninety minute train ride. Try not to snore so loud that you wake yourself up.

Hiking Everywhere Else: Hike lasts two or three hours, followed by celebratory brunch and other normal Saturday activities.

Hiking from New York City: With all the effort you've already put in, you better hike fast and far. A three hour round trip means at least a six hour hike if not more. Make sure you pack trail snacks. We're gunna be up here for a while. And then when we're done, we're going to stop in the town of Cold Spring and drink $2 Beck's and eat cheesy chili until our train comes. And maybe get an ice cream cone too because we hiked like nine miles today.

Hiking Everywhere Else (on Monday): "Hey what'd you do this weekend?" "Oh, just went for a bit of a hike." "Nice. Me too/Which peak did you bag?/How was the weather?"

Hiking from New York City (on Monday): "Hey what'd you do this weekend?" "Oh, just went for a bit of a hike." "....a what?" "You know, hiking? Like, walking in the woods?" "Where the eff did you do that? And why? And how long did it take you to get there? And did you at least have boozy brunch beforehand? You know what? Nevermind. Pffft. Hiking. In New York City."

What did you do this weekend?

The Friday Five: Edition #1

I like series'. (That sounds funny when it's pluralized. Really. It does. Say it out loud.)

I also like gratitude.

Enter the Friday Five, a list of five things, every Friday that I'm so thankful that I have in my life. Big, small, it don't matter. As long as it made my week a little bit better than the last one.

Access to Clean Water

Yup, I'm hittin' heavy straight off the bench. But after this post about how I drink excessive amounts of the liquid stuff, it's hard for me not to recognize that over half of the world's population doesn't have access to clean water. Yea, we hear that statistic, but it never really hits home until your landlord calls and tells you not to turn on the water because the pipes in the house are clogged. Imagine not ever being able to just turn on the water, or run to the supermarket, or buy some Dasani while waiting in line for the movies. Imagine not being able to go to the movies because you spend six hours of every single day gathering sticks to build fires to boil the toxic water from the stream at the bottom of your city or village. Now imagine you also happen to live in a landlocked country. That's 85% desert. See where I'm going with this?

Perspective

I was email chatting with a guy at my job today who just graduated from college eight months ago. He was talking about how he really wanted to be in investment banking to make some more paper, but the economy wasn't in the right stage of recovery for him to get into banking. To which I email-rolled my eyes (looks something like this --> 8-{ ) and fought the urge to give him a written lashing about his inevitable quarterlife crisis and that all that "paper" isn't worth the 90 hour weeks and youth spent in suit pants with a three-day-old five-hour shadow. I haven't learned it all yet, but I've learned that the desk and the health insurance aren't necessarily the end.

The First Outdoor Run of the Season

I talk a big game about my training efforts in the winter, but I am really a wilted flower when it comes to withstanding the cold. So I lift, do yoga, sort of run on the treadmill, and cross my fingers that one day, someday, it will be warm again. Well, that day was yesterday, and to celebrate the 56 degrees, I went for a 7-mile sprint in shorts and a t-shirt, covering a loop of Central Park and then some, all in just about an hour. Which means, despite not training for over six months, my run was faster than just about all of my runs last season. But not only that, I felt fantastic. My legs felt strong and every song that came on was the exact song that I wanted to hear. Not all runs are like this, but I think something about the combination of warm weather, being outside after a few 12-hour days, and the ability to just let it loose made this first run one for the books.

Getting Lost In A Book

I could have said just simply "Books" because I am so thankful for every single one that finds itself sitting on my nightstand, but there's something so magical about almost missing your train stop because you are so bewitched by the plot details of the novel you are holding. Or so moved that the sentence you are reading relates almost exactly to your life that you unashamedly cry in public places. Or that you stay up until three in the morning just to find out what happens at the end of the chapter - only to find yourself at the end of the whole dang thing. That? That is the feeling of disorientation via the written word that I can only hope to experience every time I pick up a book.

Sleeping Alone

Not that I don't love the warmth and intimacy of sleeping with someone else, but sometimes it's nice to just kick off the damn covers, toss and turn and burrow around, and drool on your pillow without worrying about making someone else uncomfortable. I know there are limitless positives to loving and secure relationships, but all you couples out there are secretly wishing for the day that your significant other is out of town on business so that you can jump on your bed and starfish the shit out of your night's sleep.

What are your Friday Five? Or even just one? I'd love to hear what you're grateful for this week!

Thoughts for Thursday

Don't you love when your favorite song comes on JUST when you're putting the earbuds in your ears? And then it seems every song after that is the one you've been wanting to hear? I love that.

How about when you swipe into the subway JUST as your train is pulling up? Or the light turns green RIGHT when you're pulling up to it? I love that.

Or when you meet someone and you just have SO much in common that you end up talking to them in the hallway for 20 minutes? And you finish each other's sentences? And you walk away so excited that you made a new friend who also loves the same things you love? I love that.

And when you find a link online that makes you giggle so hard and you send it to everyone you know and they all giggle so hard and tell you how you are SO right, that link IS really funny? I love that.

Or how about giggling really hard in general? And for no reason? And not being able to pick up the phone or really do anything at all because you're doing that gaspy-air laughing thing? I love that, too.

And how about when you have so much to do and you are dreading your to-do list and then by the end of the day, you didn't even notice it but you got EVERYTHING on the list done, and it's only 5:30pm and your BFF emails you to ask you to get drinks RIGHT after work and you say fo' sho' because you finished everything you had to do and you feel like a rockstar? Yep. I SO love that.

What are some things that you're loving right now in your life?

Date A Girl Who Reads

You know how you read something and it makes your heart burst with happiness and smile a dorky smile and nod your head the whole time you're reading it?

At the very least, you desperately wish you had written it.

That's how I feel about the below prose by Rosemary Uriquico.

(My heart is currently bursting.)

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You'll know she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That's the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She's the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she's kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author's making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do no like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce's Ulysses, she's just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or if she would like to be Alice.

It's easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but, by God, she's going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She'll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she's sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours, and half-baked proposals, then you're better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

(Thanks to Mary Kate for posting this first)

Book Dedications I'd Like To Write

When I was growing up, I always used to watch the Oscars and wish that I could be given a little gold statue so that I could get up on stage and make a speech in front of national television.

Mostly, it would revolve around why the guy of the mo' didn't love me back and LOOK WHAT YOU LOST OUT ON, YOU SUCKER. I WON AN ACADEMY AWARD AND ALL YOU HAVE IS STUPID AIMEE FROM MRS. WHITE'S CLASS. HAH.

Seriously. I was a very love-starved eight-year-old.

Today, I have a similar obsession with book dedications. Before I read a book, I always flip to the dedication page. I like to know where my author's get their inspiration, and sometimes, the jokiness of it is like a little window into the personality of the author and not just the character he or she tries to create.

So in my dream life, where I'm a multi-book-deal author, here are the dedications I would write:

For the book I write about food and nutrition:

To my Dad

Who never let me leave the dinner table

Until I finished my vegetables

For the book I write about traveling:

To Andy

Who allowed me to blaze the trail

And paid me the biggest compliment I know by following it

For the book I write about love and broken hearts and other appropriate teenage girl topics:

To all the boyfriends I've ever had

Thanks for providing me the angst to write this

I've changed your names to protect you

For the book I write about family:

To my sisters and brothers

Thanks for never letting me have the last word

And for blaming things on me before I was old enough to talk

For my cookbook:

To Mom

Who stayed on the phone with me when I was in Safeway my first week at college

And patiently explained the difference between baking soda and baking powder

For my book about surfing:

To the Las Olas Crew

For helping me stand up

On the board, in my life, and for what I believe in

For the NY Times Bestseller:

To TK

Who was honest with me

So that I could be honest with myself

What would your book dedication look like?

Monday Morning Mantra: Be Easy,Stay Patient

My dad reads this blog. I think everday. Maybe twice a day.

And because he can't quite figure out the comments section, he emails me little bits of praise. You know. Like dads do.

He also likes to give me advice about topics to write about. Which I ignore. You know. Like youngest daughters do.

One thing my dad never thought I'd write about?

Patience.

Because I have about 1 ounce of it running through my body. That might be an exaggeration. I want shit done NOW and FAST. The customer service lady at AT&T that I was talking to about getting my phone bill updated knows this very well. So does pretty much everyone at the MTA

So clickity click over to Yoganonymous and read about why patience has taught me how to balance my body weight on my little skinny chicken arms. Betcha didn't see that one coming.

26 Things: Acupuncture, People!

You know what I'm deathly afraid of?

Needles.

And so, when I was composing my "26 Things" list eight months ago, I promised that I would face the needle-phobia head on by getting ten of them shoved into various points on my body. You know, to relieve stress.

When I was in Bali, I mentioned that I wanted to try acupuncture to a friend of mine that I met whilst traveling. It happened that she was also an ex-New Yorker and a yoga teacher and knew the exact person who would be able to help me with whatever health issues I might have. Turns out, acupuncture isn't just for serious injuries, like I had originally thought. It can help cure a number of ailments, such as stress, digestion issues, even headaches. I have had a lingering problem with acne and I thought that maybe I'd try acupuncture for that, if not because I wanted to see what all the hype was about.

I knew I was going to like Serena when I looked at her website because it said to EMAIL for an appointment. Like, what? Someone in the healthcare field with the internet? I don't believe it. I expected an automatic response directing me to call the office, which I would subsequently do and then get transferred 8 times before I was told to email. But no, it wasn't so, since Serena herself emailed me THE SAME DAY recommending that I come in for an appointment that included talking about my lifestyle as well as an acupuncture session. And she attached a very thorough worksheet about my health history and family's health history for me to complete. Which I loved. Because I love worksheets.

Not only did she look at my worksheet, but we really talked about my health history. For almost an hour. We went really deep into my eating habits, how long I'd been a vegetarian, when I first started noticing my acne, if there was a season it was better or worse in, what my sleep patterns were like, how often I worked out. Stuff that my regular doctor had never even thought about asking me. We talked for over an hour, and she made some really interesting connections for me between my eating habits and my breakouts.

One of the culprits that we discussed was dairy. I had already cut dairy from my diet as an experiment earlier this year and was noticing some improvements in my skin as well as in my sleeping and eating habits. Serena also mentioned that sugar and wheat (gluten) are two things that also traditionally affect skin. So it looks like those two things are coming out as well.

After we chatted (seriously, like an hour!) she had me lay on the examiner's table and inserted a few needles in my feet, shins, stomach, and forehead. It didn't really hurt, but my muscles were SUPER sensitive to it. I kept twitching like a maniac, which prevented me from falling asleep. But I was close. It was all dark and there was chant-y music and I think I had gone out drinking the night before.

The result? When I was really strict on the diet portion, my acne was non-existent. It was unbelievable. Now, I sort of have been less disciplined and it certainly shows in my skin. I'm heading back to my old way of eating and though it's boring, it seems like the only solution until they invent broccoli that tastes like cheesecake.

And if you're in the NYC area and are looking for a natural health practitioner and/or acupuncturist for ANY ailment, I'd definitely recommend checking out Serena on her website at Serenity Natural Health. She's amazing and fun and has a shoe collection I might give my right arm for.

Have you guys ever wanted to try acupuncture?

What Are You Thinking About Today?

This reminds me of running along the shore of Lake Ontario when I was little. Then, all I thought about was the coldness of the water and whether or not someone would call me away from playing.

What are you thinking about today?

How Do You Deal with the Turbulence?

If you didn't know already there are a few things that take up a good amount of my free time:

1) dancing around my room to Lady Gaga, sans pants

2) traveling. Mostly by airplane. Mostly by myself.

One of the weirdest things about me (besides loving pickle juice. And that my left ear is bigger than my right ear. And that I swallow vitamins without liquids.) is that I like flying in turbulence. In fact, it makes me feel calmer knowing that there's a little bump and jostle. I like to think that, because the plane is rockin' and rollin', that the pilot is actually paying attention. He's not in the bathroom reading Sports Illustrated or leaning up against the galley wall chatting up the cute flight attendant, Zack Morris style.

You know. Like pilots do.

I like to think that, at the very least, when we've got some turbulence, the pilot is gripping the little plane steering thingy, yelling orders to the co-pilots, flipping switches all hectic-like, and FIGURING THE SHIT OUT. At the very least, he's calmly explaining over the PA system that "yes, there's turbulence and no, we're not going to die." When it's going down, at least The Captain is paying attention. I mean, I've watched thousands of World War II plane movie (okay, so maybe just Pearl Harbor thousands of times. Josh Hartnett. So. Cute. *drool*. Sorry, what?) and if those pilots can land B-52 bombers in like 95 mile an hour winds and rain and heavy artillery fire, I think a commercial pilot can get it done in a little bit of turbulence. So stop gripping the seat, man sitting next to me. That piece of plastic ain't gunna stop this plane from going down. And you're making me nervous with all your whimpering and quiet whispering of the rosary.

Anyway, I was in some such turbulence yesterday coming back from New Orleans and realized that my appreciation for a little discomfort was sort of a metaphor for life. Like, most people like the smooth, predictable ride. That? Petrifies me. I like it when things shake around a little, when it's changing, or maybe flipping everything upside down and then dealing with it. Preferably if it's in another language and I have lost all motor skills. Or something that renders me as equally ill-equipped to deal with the situation. That's when I start getting all adrenaline-filled and hot to trot. More uncertainties, please!

Which is not so practical in the real world. For instance, making a solid business plan for 12 months? I run away screaming. Signing a lease? Uhhh, can I go month to month?

So maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but sometimes, I get these little vampires that growl all vampire-like at me and make me question all the things I thought of as Gospel. Do you really think you can hack it out there freelance? Do you really want to give up health insurance? Does that brown belt really go with those navy pumps?

(Wait, brown and navy match, right?)

I don't know what it is. I think if my life is constantly in motion, I feel that I can never be disappointed, because something new and exciting will always take away the sting of failure of whatever it is that didn't work out. I'm like that crazy mom in the Susan Sarandon/Natalie Portman movie that keeps moving cities everytime she gets broken up with (minus the kids and general lack of boyfriends).

But, regardless of whether or not I'm fulfilled or happy with the flight plan that ground control is sending my way (wow, that was a lot of literary metaphor), I'm always paying attention, like that good old pilot up in the front. I'm never on autopilot. I'm always, 100% paying attention. And maybe it's good to have some turbulence and to grab the steering wheel with both hands. But sometimes, I'd like to be able to guide my little plane of life softly on to the runway and then fist-bump with all my co-pilots about how sweet a ride it was.

So I turn it to you guys. How do you deal with the turbulence (airplane, life, or otherwise)? And what can you recommend to help me work on that whole commitment thing?

And I'm sorry if I laugh at you, dude that's squeezing the airplane armrest, when things go all haywire. It's because haywire is, like, my normal. Don't take it personally.

Places You Wanna Be

You guys? I love New Orleans. I love that everyone here calls me "Sugah" and asks if I want to go to the thee-ay-tur to watch a movie. And that there are no vegetables in sight so instead I am forced to eat pile upon pile of Beignets.



Regular posting resumes again tomorrow. But in the meantime:



If you're curious, I'm giving up alcohol for Lent. Largely due to the above picture.

Happy Mardi Gras!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Women I Love: Aimee Mullins

While I'm jaunting around the Southern United States, I thought I'd give you some video watching pleasure.

I was boppin' around on TED last week and found this video with Aimee Mullins. It's enough for me to heart this lady because she is from my alma mater AND had the same major that I had. What's that? And she's a runner? Oh-emm-gee, Aimee Mullins, you've stolen my heart.

But really, Aimee is a double amputee who got into running...in college.

And broke a world record...in her first meet.

And competed in the 1996 Paralympics...as the only woman with a disability below the waist.

So for all those times that I want to take it easy on a run and I don't push myself as hard as I know I can, on and off the track, I'm thinking of Aimee and her drive, sense of humor, oh, and the fact that she makes being a paralympian so friggin' sexy.

Have you bopped around on TED.com before? If so, what are some of your favorite talks?

Living Life Barefoot: Mardi Gras Edition

I am en route to the airport right now to hopefully get to experience some of this:

Image Credit

Oooooh, and hopefully some of this:

Image Credit

But hopefully none of THIS:

I don't like beads all that much.

It's Fat Tuesday y'all, and I'm heading to the great state o' Louisiana to get my Mardi Gras on, ride bicycles along the Mississippi River, and eat as many po' boys as I can stuff in my face. Tastefully, of course. Can't give us New Yorkers a bad name down there in the South.

I've never been to New Orleans, or Louisiana for that matter and I'm SO excited to check another state off my bucket list of visiting all 50 states. Though I'm only there for a few days, I'd like to

a) dance my pants off behind a float

b) drink some real Lou'siana whiskey

c) eat some seriously southern gumbo

Anyone out there have any fantastic suggestions for what I should do in my quick trip to the Pelican State (seriously. That's what the state's nickname is. I even looked it up on Wikipedia)?

Monday Morning Mantra: Gaga-fied

Check out her meat...dress. Work it, girls.

(Image Credit)

Fact? I love me some Lady Gaga.

She's just an Italian girl from New York (like me!), she's got a killer sense of humor (like me!) and she wears 12-inch Alexander McQueen platforms to walk around in London (aaaand the similarities end).

But even more than the Gaga lifestyle, I love her new song "Born This Way". It's like my perfect life anthem since it tells me to follow my heart while permitting me to headbang in my room to it. So, basically a win-win.

Head over to Yoganonymous and check out my Monday Morning Mantra this week on how I strive to be me and shake what my mama gave me on the daily. Ya heard?

Women I Love: Madeleine Albright

Aside from being the first Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright is a pretty rockin' woman. She brought women's issues to the forefront of the United States' foreign policy and humanized, instead of politicized, a lot of world issues that she tackled in her tenure. She's hilarious. She's a lady that I would love to have tea with.

Plus, she has a pin collection that I'd give my left arm for.

While I was an undergraduate at Georgetown, she was a professor-in-residence and taught a class about diplomacy that you had to actually apply to get into (which I didn't, but did manage to squeak my way into a class with Donna Brazil, which was as hilarious and focused on two equally important world issues: the women running for office in the 2006 election and Louisiana gumbo.). I remember seeing Madeleine (if I may be so bold) around campus and the lady just oozed regality. The video below highlights some of her humor, insight, and wit about being the first female SOS and how she has continued her legacy since.

Oh, and the best line that the former of SOS zings out?

"It doesn't mean that the whole world would be a lot better if it were totally run by women. If you think that, you've forgotten high school."

Who are some ladies you'd like to have lunch with?

What's In Your Bag? My Water Bottle

This is going to be part of a series of posts of things that I carry with me every day that make my life a little bit simpler. Kind of like those Teen Vogue articles that used to take snapshots of the contents of celebrity's purses and it was all this chi chi stuff that I couldn't afford on my room-cleaning weekly allowance of $8. Oh also, I forgot to mention I'm not a celebrity. You should still read these.

Though I don't really consider myself an environmentalist (I get takeout, I'm not too careful when purchasing items to see if they've been tested on animals, I only remember to bring my reusable bags to the grocery store sometimes) there is one thing that I always have with me:

Yep. A water bottle.

I'm not going to pretend that it's metal and made out of recycled shoe soles and BPA free and schmancy (although I think it is BPA free...). I got it almost a year ago when I was surfing at Las Olas. And, as the people at my office know, there are two things I lose on a daily basis: umbrellas and water bottles.

However, this one has stayed with me for almost a year (knock on wood!). I haven't lost it! I haven't left it at some strange person's apartment (yep, that happened once).

I find that, even if it's out, in plain sight, I drink from it. And when I'm hungry, or bored, or wanting to throw the phone across the room (not that THAT'S ever happened), I take a little sip (or camel-esque gulp) from my water bottle. And I refill it about 5 times a day. Which means:

1. I don't drink soda

2. I don't spend money on bottled water

3. I save the environment a little bit (if I drink 4 bottles of water a day, every day, I save 1,460 bottles of water. That's $1,460 of Poland Spring. That's like a whole month and a half of rent. On water!)

4. Because I bring it every day, I actually drink water a lot more.

Water bottles aren't good for the planet. You all know that, and there are far better people to give you statistics about it than me. But if bringing my own water bottle has done me two pieces of goodness?

I've saved money on not buying soda (because invariably, that's what I'd buy if I were to spend money)

and

I drink a shit ton of water every day. Like over 100 ounces.

And when you're drinking that much water, other good stuff happens, too.

I don't snack as often.

I don't feel as hungry.

My workouts are incredible.

I am starting to actually crave water as opposed to being underwhelmed by its taste.

This won't work for everyone and I don't pretend that all of my advice is solid fact. But based on what's outlined above, even if ONE of those things happens, it may be worth the convenience of dragging it around for a month, a week, or even a day, to see if you sip on some agua more often than you would normally.

What's in your bag?

Why I Dig Me Some Minimalism

The lovely Laura of 50 by 25 wrote this post discussing the ways in which we have been changed by travel. I loved the post, and commented something like "Traveling is so eye-opening. It's the unplanned experiences that make it more worth it than any museum." (or at least that's what I wished I said, because what I actually said had lots of exclamation points and smiley faces) (And I think I used the word awesome somewhere along the line, which totally negates anything I said because if I can't come up with a better adjective than awesome to describe traveling to five Southeast Asian countries, I need to get off this blog and go open up a thesaurus)

And while traveling has changed my perspective on life, taught me to be miles less judgmental, and has turned me into one of the more trusting people that I know, it also opened my eyes to my internal issues, namely, why I have so much damn stuff.

Because at that point in my life, I had begun packing for weekend trips in small carry-on duffle bags. And could getaway to the Caribbean for a week with just a backpack and a bikini. And then I traveled for three months with like four shirts and some underwear.

And I survived. And people still were friends with me. And I even had one pair of ubiquitous hiker pants that I never wore, not once, even when swashbuckling through the vegetation of Vietnam.

Which made me wonder when I got home:

"Why do I have so much damn stuff? And why do I practically cry when shit falls out of my closet and get frustrated when I have to stuff my thirty scarves back into my scarf drawer?" (and now it's embarrassing because you know I have a drawer reserved specifically for scarves)

So I started reading. I read this blog and this post. I Google searched "professional organizer" and clicked my way until I found her. And then I saw this book in the book store and I shook my fist towards the sky in a movie-esque fashion and said "Alright FINE. I will donate all those heavy metal concert t-shirts I have under my bed. STOP TWISTING MY ARM!"

And then everyone in Barnes and Noble stared at me.

So I went home and started just giving stuff away. At first, I was sad. I had barely worn that top! It's so pretty and it's in SUCH good condition! It's like I'm throwing my money away! Like, dollah dollah bills in the garbage, y'all!

But as I dropped it off at the local thrift store, I wasn't sad anymore. I mean, it was really just clothes. And though, at the time, it SEEMED like money wasted, the money was already invested and the only thing I was wasting was the precious time it took me to search through and locate the things in my room that I thought I'd lost because they were buried under other the six black ribbed Calvin Klein tank tops that I owned.

More than donating and giving my stuff away, I've realized that I can live with less. I can live with two dresses and a handful of dress shirts at work. I can live with one winter hat. And my running clothes can double as my skiing and hiking and rock climbing clothes. And though I LOVE my oversized striped blue and white sweater, I don't need two other equally oversized sweaters that I wear every now and again and crowd my blue and white one from being the center of my closet.

So this month, you'll be seeing some more posts from me about living with less, mostly focused on living with less and still working the corporate of corporate America jobs. I'll be cataloguing all the things I own, publishing them here, and then slowly whittling them down to a few hundred.

What can you guys live without? And how do you feel about minimalism?

Shifting Your Priorities or How I Struggle to be Honest With Myself

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in a tiny cafe in San Francisco with some of my best friends from college talking about all that has changed in our lives since we graduated four (eep!) years ago. We had a lot of similar complaints (not yet married or seriously dating, confusion about our career paths, frustration with living in a city where you pay half your salary for a room the size of a bathroom). And after a weekend of skiing in the perfect powder of Lake Tahoe only to drive three hours to be back in sunny, temperate weather (in February, no less), we were both lusting about the benefits of living on the west coast.

But we OBVIOUSLY couldn't move.

Because OBVIOUSLY we didn't have any job offers out there.

And OBVIOUSLY it would take A LOT of work to FIND a job out there.

I just wish I had a REASON to move out to the west coast.

The truth is, I have THOUSANDS of reasons. Like literally, there is not a whole lot keeping me in New York.

~I have a job/boss/coworkers that I like enough to show up everyday in a decent outfit, but given the opportunity to do pretty much anything else, I'd leave.

~I prefer hiking to fashion week and cooking locally grown veggies to dining at the hippest steakhouse on the block.

~One of my life goals is to be a proficient skiier. Not happening when you have to take the train to the slopes.

~My boyfriend wouldn't mind (kidding. I don't have a boyfriend.)

And then I come back to why it is that I haven't just packed up my pantsuits, hopped on a plane, and made it happen. I mean, come on. I'm the girl that talks about living her dream life and making positive changes and not having any fear. What the hell am I doing? Why can't I just make the leap?!

Well because I'm scared.

I'm scared that it might be the wrong decision.

I'm scared of what my friends will think if I don't have a job that is as competitive as our 4-year undergraduate degree usually produces.

I'm scared that I will go broke/into debt.

I'm scared that I'll live life on the other side, only to realize that I really DO want the corporate, high-powered, chi-chi, fantastic, charmed life.

And while it's okay that I'm scared, it's not okay for me to keep putting off my life so that I can try to figure out what to do. I need to start taking at least a little bit of action, and evaluating what's really important to me, and what I need to STOP thinking is important to me.

My family

I have three nieces and a nephew and while my siblings are much older than me and there has always been this weird parental relationship between us, I actually feel responsible for their little ones. I think about them every day. I wonder if they're walking, talking, falling down, not feeling well. It might be one of those maternal instincts, but there is very little that I wouldn't do for those babies. And I miss them and their baby smell and the way their faces light up when they see me. It's enough for me want to feed them chocolate for dinner and say yes to two hours of television and a 10pm bedtime.

And I miss my parents. I miss my mom making me dinner. I miss playing golf with my Dad and arguing with him about the benefits of Facebook and telling him he's a dinosaur for not getting with it (kidding, Dad. Are you still reading?). I miss having dinner made for me, and my laundry getting done and watching movies all day on Sundays. And though I've lived away from home all 8 years (gah!!) of my post-high-school life, I think I'd be amazingly content having my mom come over to my apartment and sit on my couch and bake cookies with me.

And you know what? It's okay that I want my family around me. That's why they invented families; to support you. It's not weakness if you go back to the hometown you grew up in or prefer hanging with your mom on a Friday than boozing with your friends. If that's what you REALLY want to do, then you should do that and not worry about what it looks like to anyone else. It's a tough paradigm shift, I know, but trust me, once you start getting honest with yourself, you'll start feeling a whole lot better about the life you want to lead.

The outdoors

I didn't exactly grow up on a rustic family. Like, maybe we camped once or twice a year, but it was always in a camper. And it likely had a television. I learned to ski and play nine million sports because, in my overachieving hometown, that's what everyone did. But as I get older, every day I wish I could be outside, walking through Central Park, going for a run, hiking upstate, golfing in Brooklyn. It's almost painful. But knowing that, and knowing that's something that's important to me, it makes New York City seem like a silly place to call home. Not that you CAN'T get to the great outdoors here, but that it usually constitutes a subway ride, to a train, to a bus, to a cab. I'm all about simple living, but when there are 4 transportation barriers to nature? It's hard for my to call that simple.

Being creative

I just sort of realized that I tend towards what people like to call "an artist type" (see? I can barely admit it to myself! Jeez, Louise, I'm an artist, for chrissakes!) Growing up, that wasn't really something that I took seriously, because I didn't really like to paint, and watercolors = artist to me.

But I danced. And I sang. And I performed in musical theater. And I wrote stories about girls who had shitty boyfriends (because I did) and girls who were strong and powerful and knew everything (because I thought I was but definitely didn't. Hah!). And even now, I like to create. And whether or not that makes me an artist, I know that I want to create things in my ideal life and that I want to provide value to the lives of others. I'm not sure yet in what capacity, but I do know that being creative, creating, making things, is an important part of my life-to-be.

So wtf does all this have to do with my priorities and San Francisco?

Well, no where on that list does it say "Make $2 million a year." And it definitely doesn't say "Own vacation home." And pretty sure I didn't mention "Work in corporate position until I'm the boss (probably around 45, but since I'm a woman, more likely around 50). Sure, those things might be nice, and I have visions of myself being a leader someday, managing people and ideas and workflow and all that jazz. But I'm a fan of creating my ideal life RIGHT NOW. And it took me a while to be honest with myself about what that actually meant. And it DEFINITELY doesn't mean sitting in a cube all day, Gchatting and hoping my boss doesn't realize that I'm doing personal stuff on company time (which she definitely does).

I think, as a member this lost 20-something generation that the New York Times likes to talk about, we are all trying to figure out what it means to have our own ideal life. And some of us want to create that within the "system." But I don't think I do, even if it means taking a serious pay cut so that I can take a walk during my lunch break. And while all my friends can create their dream lives and drive the fancy schmancy cars and wear the fancy clothes and I'll love them just the same, I really have to believe that they will still be my friends and they will still love me if I don't do any of that and instead work in a yoga studio, freelance copy edit, and

dance backup on the weekends.

Because I have a lot of goals for my life, and WANTING it to be different isn't one of them. Someday, I want to live on the west coast. I want to move abroad for a year. I want to adopt a child and fall in love and backpack around Europe even though I'm out of college. And yea, I want to move back home to be near my family. Preferably in the near future, but I've got a long life to live and it's not a race.

What are your priorities? Have you struggled with making them really number one in your ideal life?

Why I Stopped Contributing to my 401K

A few months ago, after returning home from Asia, I reduced my per-paycheck 401k contribution from a generous 15% to a still generous 12%. I had some debt to pay off from my travels, and the extra cash was what I needed then.

Today, still debt free, with even a tiny bit of savings, I reduced my contribution to 0%.

I've been faithfully saving for my retirement since I was the ripe old age of 22. Right out of college, everyone told me that saving for retirement now would be WAY easier than saving for retirement when I had things like a mortgage, college tuitions, and yearly vacations to take with my yet-to-exist family. I'm 25 now, and I've saved a hefty amount of money in 3 years, despite the fact that my first contribution was seven months prior to the financial crash of 2008. And that's all without diversifying my portfolio, managing my options, and rolling the shit over (cuz though I read it on CNNMoney, I don't actually know what any of that means).

I have always been a saver. I'd save money because that's what my grandma told me to do ("Honey, save your pennies. Ice cream is on me today"). My dad praised me when I saved all of my babysitting money instead of spending it on clothes at the mall with my friends. Whenever my mom needed a few dollars in cash to tip the pizza man, I always had some squirreled away to loan out. Last year, I saved a good amount to travel in Asia for three months while attending a yoga teacher training.

So, I understand saving for your goals. I've done it plenty of times.

But I'm at a point in my life that I'm not yet sure I see the full value of saving for my retirement. Yet anyway. Or maybe never. I'm not sure.

This is because retirement, to me, isn't really a way that I want to live my life. Not even when I'm 97 years old. I want to stay busy. I want people to pay me for an amazing service or product I provide.

This is how I view retirement:

1. You don't ever have to work.

2. You can pursue your creative ambitions at no consequence.

3. You can travel as often as you like, whenever you like.

4. You stay at home, read the paper, take a nap, go for walks, babysit your grandkids, and pretty much do whatever the hell you want.

Sounds lovely. But:

1. If I found something that I loved to do, like writing, or designing stationary, or public speaking, I don't think I'd ever want to stop doing it. And conversely, if I had nothing to do all day, I think I'd be bored out of my mind.

2. I already pursue my creative ambitions. I write this dang blog, for chrissakes. I learned how to scuba dive. I hike and camp and run marathons.

3. I already travel as often as I like, pretty much whenever I like.

4. If I could figure out how to do something I loved from home, like writing or editing or dancing around in my underwear to Ke$ha, I could stay at home, in my underpants, go for a walk, take a nap, babysit someone else's grandkids, and still pretty much do whatever the hell I wanted.

So basically, other than the job that I have that takes up 40 hours of my week, I am already retired, right?

Not quite. But I don't think that's the goal.

My goal in life isn't retirement. My goal in life isn't to do all the hard work first to do the fun stuff later.

My goal in life is to do the fun stuff now, tomorrow, next week, all my life. It's also to make sure that whatever it is that is making me money also gives me joy. So that I can continue experiencing that joy, mixed alongside the travel and the creative pursuit, at every stage in my life.

I hope some of you who were bred in similarly risk-averse households aren't recoiling in too much horror right now (can't imagine that you are though; if you were, you would have stopped reading already). But if you really sit down and think about it, it makes sense. How can you know, at the age of TWENTY-FIVE, what is going to be happening in your life at SIXTY-FIVE? A lot people who started saving for retirement forty years ago nearly lost all of their retirement savings in the past two years. We've read about them in the newspaper. They are our bosses, friends, parents. They were, quite literally, my parents. Sickening, to say the least.

I'm not saying we shouldn't be practical. Everyone views money differently, and that's fine. Saving for a goal is important, and if you want to work your ass off for the next ten, twenty, thirty years until you can quit and sit in the La-Z-Boy or make quilts or spend the last of your days on a remote island in Micronesia, I'll be there behind you cheering you on.

What I am saying is that you shouldn't do something just because somebody told you that you ought to. Just like anything else, a retirement fund does not a complete life make if you do not truly believe in its benefit.

The moral of the story is that I don't mind working, creating, and putting my nose to the grindstone. As long as I feel elated with myself when I'm done. And that feeling? Is what I want to feel for the rest of my life. Not just in the 20 years after I retire to when I die. What makes me money doesn't have to make me millions of dollars. I don't need new boots every season or porcelain chatchkis on my nightstand or D&G in my closet.

I need my family. I need my friends. I need love and trust and advice. I need a place to sleep and something to wake up for in the morning and lots and lots of laughter.

I don't need a retirement account as a safety net just in case my life turns out differently than I want it to.

Tomorrow, I want to talk about lifestyle priorities. Much of my disinterest in a retirement account relates to some of the lifestyle choices I've been making (namely, not ever wanting to own a home, a car, or anything that I need more than the back of a Jeep to lug around with me).

Do you have a retirement account? If so, what is your ideal life when you've finally hit the big 6-5? If not, why haven't you started yours yet?