It has been almost one year since J.L. and I decided to change our eating habits. Looking back on where we started and where we are today is a fascinating exercise.

In April of 2017, I burst through the dietary gate chomping at the bit. “No more added oils or high sodium content,” I declared. “Fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and nuts. Period. Anything else will just not be available in our house”.

I’m smirking as I write because, needless to say, my fervent declaration did not stand. But this is not an altogether bad thing. Today, there is still no meat or dairy in our house.

So, while I may think raw kale and whole wheat pasta is disgusting – and I may enjoy Earth Balance, soy “chick’n tenders,” and homemade vegan cupcakes – we have accomplished what we set out to do: eliminate meat and dairy from our household. If we can accomplish and maintain that change for a year, what can we do in two?

I have learned that there is a difference between a plant based and a vegan diet – and that it’s possible to be a “junk food vegan”. I tried the unpalatable cheese substitutes and the large assortment of mock meats… and I got 90% of it out of my system. However, when I look at our dinner menu this week – as compared to a year ago – it’s completely different. A year ago, I would have needed four pounds of cheese and a carton of heavy cream to prepare for our meals. This week, we’re having roasted cabbage steaks and turnip (a belated nod to St. Paddy’s Day), chipotle tofu burritos, Mediterranean chickpea-veggie wraps, and cajun cauliflower pasta (sans the heavy cream and cheese!) Most of the ingredients will come from the produce department.

I’m not a vegan. I don’t know that I ever will be. That being said, I would like to continue to grow. What’s next for us on this food journey? Well, we’ve drastically reduced our sugar intake, but this year we’d like to push that envelope further. Most of the candy I enjoy isn’t dairy free, so that was easy to give up…I don’t even crave it! However, there are still some surprisingly delectable vegan treats. I guess I’d like to see dessert reserved for holidays. I’d also like to persist in steering away from the meat and dairy substitutes, and the frozen convenience foods. We have our go-to frozen meals – vegan pizza, arrabbiata pasta, and chik’n – but I don’t want to add anything else to that rotation. I tried everything under the sun. Now it’s time to move on and continue to build our growing repertoire of healthy homemade recipes.

When we started this process, I wrote about how even considering these changes denotes an incredible amount of privilege. The subject of privilege is something I’ve been contemplating a lot lately.

I remember a time in my life when I prayed for even a quarter of the things I have today. I can vividly recall crying in a Kmart parking lot because I couldn’t afford a $5 package of underwear. This week, my greatest dilemma was whether or not I wanted to splurge on a reduced-price satellite radio subscription. Since I find today’s mainstream music to be revolting, I decided the subscription was worth it. This is a testament to how far my recovery has taken me, but also a reminder of the advantages I enjoy. While I decide which stations I like best – and delight in the fact that I can listen to 40s jazz, opera, and reggae in the space of ten minutes – many of my fellow humans spend their time wondering where their next meal is going to come from, nevermind if it’s “organic” or healthy. I haven’t forgotten the day when I shared that very same anxiety.

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs demonstrates that people must have some very basic needs met before they can even contemplate the ultimate human aim: self-actualization. The task of self-actualization goes hand-in-hand with societal progress. Unfortunately, many of the people who are primed for Maslow’s uppermost tiers are too busy pursuing “more” to reach their full potential and, therefore, further societal progress. These same people expect those who don’t even have their most basic needs met to improve themselves. The hypocrisy is astounding.

Since my job is to focus on me, regardless of what I perceive other people to be doing wrong, it’s important that I don’t forget how privileged I am to have my basic needs met… and to pursue Maslow’s uppermost tiers: love & belonging, esteem, and self-actualization.

Some of you already know that I love the Frugalwoods blog – and that it inspired me to make some big changes. I’m certainly not in the same realm – by any stretch of the imagination – but I am debt free and only just starting to invest about 55% of my weekly wages into savings. One of the greatest criticisms of Mrs. Frugalwoods is that she is misleading about her privilege. I find this to be curious. One of my favorite things about her is the way she directly confronts the benefits she has enjoyed in all aspects of life. Moreover, she is doing things differently from her well-appointed position.

For some, the intimation of privilege is an affront. I used to feel that way. How dare you presume to know anything about me? Today, however, I firmly believe that we’re not going to change our broken systems until the defensiveness stops. Recovery requires a willingness to embrace constant self-evaluation – no matter who you are. I had to learn that lesson the hard way (sadly, most people do.) And recovery isn’t just for addicts. It’s for all of mankind. It’s a reclamation of our best and healthiest selves. Acknowledging privilege isn’t akin to accepting an insult. It’s acknowledging where we have been blessed abundantly (and it may not be in every arena!), exercising gratitude, and accepting an invitation to use our stature (whatever that entails) as a launching point for benevolence and mindful living. To me, mindful living means recognizing that some people don’t have their most basic needs met…and evaluating how I might be unwittingly complicit in that. Over the years, I’ve been surprised and dismayed to discover the ways I am participating. By constantly working toward being the best person I can be, I hope to become less and less complicit.

No matter where we fall on the privilege spectrum, our natural reaction as human beings is to become defensive when confronted by someone who lives in a way that challenges our belief systems. We resist looking at ourselves. We dismiss the skills we could apply because some of them don’t apply. We instinctively view the idea of any kind of change – the slightest suggestion of improvement – as a direct attack on our value as a person. We buck the idea that we could possibly share common ground with someone who isn’t exactly the same. This is an ancient kind of wiring…and it has lost its usefulness to our evolution.

Growth is one of the very things that makes us human. Change is the only constant. I have come to believe that the more we resist, the less human we become. Recovery has allowed me to stop running from my humanness – or to at least slow down and consider my pace and direction. I used to see being in recovery as some kind of deficit. It meant there was something “wrong” with me. Now I view recovery as it truly is: a privilege.


I write every day now. This is both a blessing and a curse. When my body violently rejected medication prescribed to keep me focused and functioning, I wasn’t sure how I was going to maintain or progress in the workforce. It’s not an understatement to say that getting a new job saved my life. Not in the “literally going to die” sense, but in the “if something doesn’t change, I don’t know what I’m going to do” sense.

The flip side of doing what I love is that it poses new hurdles in my ongoing quest to take care of myself. Most days, I hermit myself away in my home office, and spend hours staring at a screen. This, in and of itself, isn’t the problem; millions of people spend their days staring at screens. In re-reading that statement, I guess I could digress on how that is, in fact, the problem…but more on that shortly. My issue is that I struggle to separate from the screen. When I’m not working, it’s either attached to my body like an appendage or I’m using some variation for my entertainment. I also have difficulty setting limits and designating days for myself. It’s not about a lack of time, it’s about poorly managed time.

I am making a concerted effort to foster better habits. In the past ten days, I’ve gone to (part two) of a wellness visit, obtained a blood work-up, consulted with a podiatrist, and chopped off my unruly hair. Truth be told, that’s more than I typically accomplish in a year. The screen time, however, continues to evade modification. My favorite excuse is that the weather is bad – which isn’t entirely inaccurate. When it isn’t twenty-five below zero, it’s fifty degrees and pouring. Right now, it’s snowing. You’ve gotta love (hate) New England.

Version 2
Why would I want to leave this cozy corner?

The other afternoon, I determinedly shut my laptop and, disgusted with the heaviness behind my eyes, snuggled up with Patti Smith’s latest book, Devotion. I honestly can’t remember the last time I read something that was just for me. Even though I had to pause and research the poets and philosophers she referenced, I devoured it. I learned (or re-learned) about Simone Weil, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, and Camus.

When I was finished, I felt like a different person but, ever the creature of habit, I logged online to check work notifications. The first thing that appeared in my line of vision was someone’s selfie. I was dismayed.

In that moment, it dawned on me that I needed Wikipedia to inadequately grasp the nuances of a ninety three page book. I reflected on how Simone Weil knew Ancient Greek by the time she was twelve. She also fasted and denounced romantic relationships because she was passionate about the disadvantaged. Less than a century later, what are we doing? Taking selfies?

I scrolled by an article called “Social Media is Making Us Dumber” a dozen times before I finally caved and skimmed it. The premise was more political than anything (surprise, surprise), but the title holds validity. How many hours do we spend in pursuit of absolutely nothing? A century ago, people were enlightening themselves by learning extinct languages. One could (rightly) make the argument that this was a luxury reserved for the bourgeoisie but, today, most of us are well appointed enough to honor our precious time with more reverence. At the end of life, I doubt anyone is going to say “Gee, I wish I had played more Candy Crush!”

As I sit here typing on an exceptionally accessible platform for creatives, listening to free music, I am struck by how tragic it is that we are using these miracle devices to destroy ourselves. I know I perseverate on this topic frequently, but I’m confident that technology has sealed our common fate. I feel pity for people who look down on addicts; with few exceptions, we are all addicts. The only thing that separates us is variety of vice. Tech is unquestionably the last frontier in my own personal battle with addiction. If I’m honest, it’s probably where my journey began nearly twenty years ago.

As an empath, it takes daily effort not to focus on how broken everything is. In addition to the far-reaching ramifications of technology, our food, economic, legal, and healthcare systems are malfunctioning on an abysmal scale. And our overarching political system? That, too, is a sham.

Although I’m an empath, I’m also a problem solver.  I’m proficient at assessing how systems could be improved and brainstorming solutions. But the trouble isn’t that the world lacks problem solvers… the trouble is fear, greed, and ego.

For years, I’ve recognized that my task is to operate (and contribute) peacefully within the trouble and the brokenness… but I’ve resisted, not unlike a fish flopping and writhing until it runs out of air. The ending doesn’t change and the only person I’m really hurting is myself. After all, isn’t presuming to know best the grandest egotistical gesture of all?

In my post Love and Wonder, I talked about finding an unshakable sense of purpose in the brokenness. I’m continuing to work on executing said purpose through mindful and intentional living. There are times when I feel like the only way to live with pure intention is to throw my phone and laptop out the window. Unfortunately, that is not a reasonable solution.

The idea of creating a morning ritual keeps popping up in my life. Several people have espoused the benefits of starting the day with habitual meditation, positive visualization, and other healthful routines. I am an “emergency meditater”, i.e. I only meditate when I’m in extreme emotional distress. Meditation is very effective, but I need a fire under my ass to practice. Before I went to court last month to confront a sexual predator , I immersed myself in such a deep state of meditation that I was able to pull from the guided visualization hours later. Since I infrequently experience this level of agitation, I need to start small in order to cultivate new habits. My current goal is to start my morning with a short reading and, if I anticipate any stress in my schedule, to spend ten minutes working on a meditative coloring page. I’m embracing the fact that my ritual doesn’t need to look like a guru’s in order to have a positive impact on my day.

January is as much a month for reflection as it is for manifestation. At this time last year, I was eating peanut butter M&M’s for lunch. Today, there are no meat or dairy products in my household… and I don’t eat candy for lunch. It took a year to accomplish this small shift. Likewise, it has taken well over a decade for me to visit the dentist every six months. In order to follow through with my podiatry appointment, I had to pick a podiatrist two blocks from my house. If I had made any other choice, I would have failed to schedule a consult.

A friend of mine gently pointed out that I can’t expect to rewire my brain without accountability. I am slowly – and I mean very slowly – learning how to structure accountability for myself. I’ve managed to do so with drugs, alcohol, spending, relationships, food, and healthcare. Now, I just need to figure out a source of accountability for screen time. I would love suggestions!

Learning to love myself enough to safeguard my mind, body, and spirit has not been an easy process. It still isn’t. In fact, it has been one of the longest running themes of this blog. But I guess recovery, in a nutshell, is self-improvement.

I chose “worthiness” as my word for 2018. In my experience, people fail to take care of themselves because they don’t feel deserving. As I immerse myself deeper in this journey, there are times when I don’t feel deserving. For instance, when I saw an x-ray of my foot, I was possessed by the urge to both cry and vomit. I wanted to blame someone else but, at the end of the day, I allowed myself to get to a point of no return. Since my stride has been incorrect for years, I now have terrible hip discomfort. Sometimes it’s so bad I can’t sleep at night. At thirty-one, my body is irreversibly damaged. What would be different if I had intervened when I finally got health insurance in 2014? This line of questioning ultimately doesn’t serve me. I have to forgive myself. Pursuing treatment is self-forgiveness in action. Descending into an avoidant reality is not.

I have a vision for my life… and it’s a simple one. I want to share a small home in a southern seaside town with my wife – perhaps a little cottage or a two bedroom condo. I want a dog and, if I’m particularly lucky, a vintage muscle car from which he can happily slobber. And I want the three of us to explore every nook and cranny of this country. Along the way, I hope that my willingness to be unabashedly vulnerable will help someone. And that’s it. That’s all I want. But I can’t manifest this vision if I treat myself like I’m unworthy. I have to propel myself forward with self-compassion.

Figurative Vessels

I’m writing a book. Well, co-writing a book, to be more accurate. We started the process over the summer. I haven’t really talked about it outside my closest circle because I feel like it’s one of those things you should do and then clap for your own damn self. Some people need to talk about their greatest endeavors. Lately, I only need to discuss them insofar as it’s necessary to stay accountable.  Truth be told, it’s probably because this is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Talking about it makes it “real”. As a (recovering) addict, I am inclined to tiptoe as far away from “real” as reasonably possible. When it’s not real, it’s safe to fail.

One would think that writing a book is a solo project. It’s not. I am growing accustomed to the fact that things, in general, tend to be better when they are the result of collaborative effort. As it happens, I am currently sending the Universe strong mentorship vibes. I need someone to look at the skeleton of our work and show me how to animate it into the best possible version of itself.

At any rate, I’ve been missing this blog and the process of writing just for me. It’s not that I don’t have time – it’s that some of the stories I am poised to tell haven’t played themselves out to completion. Sometimes I’ll start a post and be unable to finish because I simply don’t know the ending. Unfortunately, they are big stories, and not telling them makes me feel a bit like I’m choking. At work, I tell my clients that looking at things in the present is just as important as examining them from the other side. It creates a measuring stick for progress. This situation is a little different. I fully believe that some things happen because we are meant to be instruments of change. In order to be an effective advocate, I need to keep my progress under lock and key for a short time.

It’s funny – when I was active in my addictive behaviors, I could only write about things in metaphor. Today, it pains me to be ambiguous. I think it’s a sign of significant growth that I prefer to be unequivocally raw. I’d rather be in my own skin than hiding beneath a veil of mystery. I can’t wait until the last pages of these stories unfurl and I can share my discoveries with you. In the meantime, I am standing my ground and letting the words take shape.

A ‘voice’ motif keeps popping up this year. My purpose in life seems to be – among other things – helping to give people a voice. The whole premise of the Human Too campaign is to provide a platform for people’s narratives. The book I am co-writing isn’t my story, either. In a roundabout way, the Universe has my best interest at heart. The ego is a particularly complex animal for alcoholics and addicts. By and large, we tend to be egomaniacs with inferiority issues. When I focus more on other people, the world stops revolving around me. I have less time to ask “What do people think of me?” On the other hand, I think it’s important to make sure I don’t let my own story get lost. It’s important to come home to myself. When I go within and reflect on my own narrative, I grow.

The reason I share my reflections so publicly (and help others to do the same) is because I think it’s a matter of life or death for us to vocalize and celebrate our flawed humanity. Many recovery programs are rooted in the power of the shared narrative. But, looking at things from outside the scope of recovery, it’s clear we are losing touch with ourselves and each other. Social media, for example, is about creating some kind of perfectly filtered ideal. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, it becomes a shield behind which we can treat our fellows inhumanely. How do we form and maintain genuine connections under these conditions? In either scenario, we are moving further and further away from the very things we should be striving toward.

We don’t, however, have to label technology as good or bad. It’s a neutral thing. We choose its significance. My aim is to be part of a societal shift in significance. For every idyllic vacation photo or sickeningly sweet ode to my wife (can’t stop, won’t stop), there is also evidence of the flawed nature of my life. I set goals and partially or completely fail to meet them.  I quit drinking coffee and now I’m back in the damn Dunkin’s drive thru every day.  I set bottom lines around Facebook and food, and I don’t always stick to them. (Those are my “F” words!) Sometimes, when I’m not at home, I eat cheese. Sometimes, when I see a cute dog video, I post it. I am undisciplined and I struggle to form healthy habits. That’s precisely why I needed help to kick my most dangerous predilections. I still need help. And I will use every resource available to let people know that it is perfectly okay to ask for it.

My other writing ventures notwithstanding, I haven’t been making time for my own blog because I feel like I don’t have anything new to say (or, more accurately, I’m not quite ready to say it). Upon further consideration, I’m realizing that I don’t need to say anything new. In fact, I think it’s good to repeat some of the same things. Repetition has been a cornerstone of my recovery. I can only speak for myself, but my brain is addictively wired. In order to rewire it, I need to hear the same things over and over. I need to hear that it’s okay to ask for help. I need to hear that it’s okay not to be perfect. I need to be reminded of the simple solutions. Otherwise, my old circuitry kicks in and I’m on the crazy bus to trouble town.

I don’t like the crazy bus to trouble town. It smells like stale beer and ashtray, and I can never shake the feeling that I’m careening toward certain doom. Today, I’m grateful to be cruising around on the Carpathia looking for other survivors (yes, I just jumped from a bus analogy to a ship analogy). Regardless of your figurative vessel of choice, it’s going to be okay. We’re all doing this messy thing together. If you don’t like where you’re going, you can change your means of transportation at any time.

Hitting Pain: Speed Bumps on the Road to Less

If one is lucky, a New England summer might yawn and stretch lazily into fall.  This year, however, the morning air became abruptly crisp. A smattering of ambitious leaves turned defiantly against the waning sun before the calendar could even declare September’s arrival. Personal growth happens like that, too. Sometimes it languishes, with little to no forward movement, and other times it feels like someone stepped on the accelerator without asking for permission.

My growth game has been languishing until very recently.  Since starting a new job, I’ve fallen into some of my old spending habits: Starbucks whenever the whim strikes, compulsive splurges on superfluous snacks, and etc. I know something is off when I walk into Whole Foods for cereal and quinoa cookies and leave with $75 of vegan junk food. Speaking of veganism, I’ve managed to twist plant based eating into: “This candy is made from plants, so it’s fine”. You know, the old “chocolate salad” logic. If I had used the aforementioned logic on my other issues, it wouldn’t have been long before wine coolers turned into liquor. Or “friendly” coffee with a woman I shouldn’t see turned into a tangled, painful mess. All that being said, I have made strides in the right direction. I don’t cry at dinner anymore. (Seriously, eliminating cheese from our home was ugly business.) Our weekly grocery list no longer contains four pounds of cheese and a carton of heavy cream. That’s noteworthy progress, if I do say so myself. I’m sure my arteries thank me. Also, Starbucks and snack binge(s) aside, I haven’t been blowing cash left and right. I have a Stevie Nicks tattoo to finish and several more tattoos in the queue. In addition, we finally turned our junk room into my walk-in closet and home office. We don’t have room for my addiction to Michael’s holiday decorations. My choices, overall, are more in line with my values.

It’s in my nature to do the “two steps forward and one step back” dance. But, sometimes, life necessitates that I suck it up and tango. I wouldn’t say that life has forced me to tango, but I have been “hitting pain”, as they sometimes refer to it in 12 Step fellowships, and pain is the great facilitator of change. A long time ago, I remember writing about how the word “no” is worthy of its own blog post. However, I haven’t been able to write about it because I am still learning how to use it. In fact, not only am I learning how to speak my truth, I’m still discovering what, exactly, that truth is. It is a complex process and it isn’t always pretty to behold.

In the beginning of August, I had an unsavory experience which forced me to make adjustments to my recovery meeting schedule. As a result, I decided to start attending a women’s meeting. In the past, I was resistant to the idea of gender specific meetings. To be completely honest, the idea of spending time with women feels about as appealing as throwing myself to a family of malnourished tigers. Don’t get me wrong: I love women. Well, one woman in particular. But being around a gaggle of girls has never been my scene. And that’s an understatement. I’m not really sure what that’s about – and why it’s an issue I haven’t been able to resolve in eight years of recovery.

Someone with substantially more recovery wisdom pointed out that maybe I don’t need to be someone who enjoys running with a clique of chicks. I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m a lot more comfortable in my own skin. However, I’m also an introvert. I crave human friendship – and my relationships are important to me – but I like meaningful one on one interaction. Anything else is painfully over or under stimulating (and sometimes both at the same time). It drains my spirit.

I’m going to stick with my women’s meeting; I know for a fact that it’s helping me grow. It’s also my responsibility to pass on the gift that was so freely given to me. However, I need to shut the door on the idea that there is something wrong with the way I operate in the world. The fears of my inner sixth grader aren’t calling the shots anymore. I am a strong, vibrant, nearly-31 year old woman. I don’t need a clique of chicks to have relationships of meaning and value. I am part of a diverse tribe. And, by and large, I enjoy meeting with said tribe members on an individual basis, thank you very much.

Too often, we live our lives based on what we think we “should” do. I know I am certainly guilty. I’ve come to realize that living from that platform is a debilitating form of existential dishonesty. It’s also frickin’ exhausting. My new life’s mission is to live my truth – and a huge part of living my truth is going to be exercising the word “no”.  If other people don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. The response of others is neither my business nor my responsibility. If someone has a problem, that’s their own shit. My only responsibility is to be honest. When I am in the wrong, it’s because I’ve been dishonest. I know my dishonesty has left casualties in its wake and I am working on making sure I don’t repeat the same mistakes.

This is my truth, in all its raw and gritty glory: I do not want to attend a girl’s night out with a group of women. Hell, chicks or dicks, I don’t want to attend any rambunctious night out. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be a person on the autism spectrum, but I imagine the kind of sensory overload I experience is not entirely dissimilar to a trip to a noisy store. For the record, when three unrelated people text me at once, I have a meltdown. I’m not built for it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I also will not spend one second of my time tolerating homophobia – or bullying masquerading as politics – for the sake of being polite. I will not put myself in those situations and, if I find myself unwittingly subjected, I will leave immediately. And no, I probably don’t want to take those family photos. I enjoy doing individual, outdoor portraiture for a good cause. Unless you’re an individual who wants outdoor/natural light photos done for a cause, I can’t help you. On the other side of that coin, I reserve the right to take photos for whomever I damn well please. If I decide to make someone exempt from my usual standard, that choice is mine – and mine alone.

Perhaps most importantly, I reserve the right to change my mind. In five years, reading educational material about studio lighting may not bore me to tears. Maybe I’ll want to invite ten women over for a pajama party. Maybe I will actually initiate a group text rather than contemplate throwing my phone down the garbage disposal. And all of that will be okay because I am a constantly evolving human being with unique preferences and a voice that deserves to be heard.

Uncovering these things has made me a little angry – mainly at myself – because I have denied my voice for so long. I have been afraid of offending or inconveniencing others. I have asked: “What will other people think?” I have been a people-pleaser. I should have been asking: “What do I need?” Nobody else is responsible for meeting my needs. And it’s not selfish to meet them myself. In fact, it’s the self-caring, healthy thing to do. Ultimately, the more I deprive myself, the more I end up harming other people, too.

At the end of the day, I am aiming for simplicity. I am striving for less. If you think about it, “less” is the antithesis of addiction, which is the craving for more. And the road to less is paved with the word “no”.


Love and Wonder

I loved technology when I was a kid. In middle school, I entertained myself for hours by teaching myself HTML code and photo manipulation. While the internet ultimately played an integral part in my addiction, it was also a creative outlet and a tool for inspiring positive change. I started my social media campaign, Human Too, in that same spirit of positivity and I feel incredibly blessed to have creative license in my career as a web content manager. However, the drawback of working with social media platforms is that you actually have to use them.

Sometimes I wonder if there isn’t some element of futility in trying to harness social media for benevolent purposes. The part of me that teeters on the edge of needing a tinfoil hat -but I don’t think is too far off the mark – cynically believes that technology is not only a drug contributing to the achilles’ heel of civilization, but also a means by which the masses can be easily manipulated. That’s some serious 1984 or House of Cards shit, but it’s tough to refute. The difference between me and other cynics is that I still think it’s possible to live a contented and meaningful life in spite of the disillusionment.

When you turn on your TV set or scroll through your newsfeed, it seems as though the world has collectively gone mad. And maybe that’s not far from the truth. The world doesn’t make sense. There is an element of absurdity to the whole concept of human existence. But when you unplug and stop to consider the realm directly outside your window, the picture is likely to stand in stark juxtaposition. Maybe you hear the traffic or the crickets. Maybe you watch your neighbor get the mail or water the garden. Maybe the breeze blows. Maybe someone on the street coughs or waves or speaks indistinctly. And maybe, in that moment, everything is okay. So which version of reality is the most accurate?

If you choose to invest yourself solely in the digital narrative, it’s easy to view the world as an angry, hostile place. And sure, people are angry…but mostly we’re afraid. I can only speak for myself, but my buttons are most easily pushed in terms of my identity as a gay person, a woman, and a police wife. “How will you hurt me? What will you take from me?” These are the questions behind my own personal brand of rage. My fears are immediate and acute and frequently supersede my consideration of my global brothers and sisters. We are all self-preservationists in our anger. We are driven by and united by fear.

All of that is not to say that self-preservation is bad. The instinct to survive is what makes us human. Fear is human. It is merely an observation that we share a common ground.

In a climate saturated with the threat of nuclear war and simmering racial tension, it’s only natural to feel like our existential terror is somehow unique. But millions of people have experienced or are currently experiencing the heaviness of wartime. Millions of people have experienced plagues, famine, natural disaster, genocide, and the collapse of civilization. Millions of people have held their lover and wondered what kind of earth their children were destined to inherit. We have been fearing the end since the beginning. It’s part of the package deal when you occupy this planet.

I used to get very upset by the idea that there is no life after death. I don’t know what I believe anymore, but I think it’s highly likely you simply cease to have consciousness. I believe our energy leaves an imprint on a place. I also believe in the fabric of the Universe – a divine thread connecting all living things – but beyond that, I cannot say for certain.  The only reason the uncertainty bothers me now is because I can’t bear the idea of not seeing my wife. I guess if we don’t have consciousness, we don’t know the difference.

These are heavy thoughts. Perhaps you’re thinking: “What’s the point?” And here’s where the cynics and I diverge. The point is that you are conscious in this moment. The point is that you have the ability to love and to be filled with wonder. Our purpose, in my view, is to love and wonder.

Early in my college career, I spent about five minutes as a philosophy major. Looking back on my notes, I found a page that declared “the meaning of life is awe”. If you can maintain your sense of awe, you have unlocked the secret of living. It’s hard to say how that bit of insight came to me, but I have subscribed to the ideology ever since.

Addiction numbs our consciousness. Our drugs of choice block us from feeling love and wonder. We die prematurely.

There’s a reason Buddhists strive to be “awake”. There’s a reason yoga and meditation advocate for the present moment. The “now” is all we have. It is the only time in which we are able to love and be loved. It is the only time we have to consider the profound and miraculous beauty of our delicate existence. The precariousness of our position is what makes it breathtaking.

I don’t think anything needs to “come next” for this flawed and absurd life to be more than enough. We don’t need to do anything for life to have meaning…we need to simply be. I have often sat by the ocean and reflected sadly on the idea that the dead no longer have the capability to inhale the intoxicating air. It is a gift to experience the wonders of this wild earth. I think the real question is whether we receive it or we reject it.

The activity of appreciating the morning light is not just for poets and painters – it’s for humans. If all I do with the rest of my days is exuberantly behold the sunset and love as much as I can, I have achieved the “it” for which mankind toils. If all I do is celebrate wildflowers, a good meal, clinging rain drops, a shy smile, cool summer grass, and all the other remarkable minutiae…it is enough.

I am sober. I am awake. My being vibrates in the truth of the moment.

The cards are stacked and it’s hard to say how the deck will scatter. I don’t know if anything I do will ultimately make a difference. But I know that my being has purpose. I want my voice to be a whisper in the din: “Wake up”. Don’t die without living. Don’t live without meaning.

Musings on Food and Freedom

When your body is craving sugar and dairy, it’s amazing where you can find it. Take, for example, the caramels I bought last Halloween for the purpose of melting over apples. They sat in the pantry for months. However, once they were the only available option, we annihilated them. I also dug out a restaurant gift card that had been sitting around since last September. I gluttonously seized the opportunity to inhale two plates of Alfredo and a huge serving of fried donuts with chocolate dipping sauce. When in Rome, indeed!

If I look at things through the lens of these examples, I could conclude that no progress has been made on our healthy eating journey. However, that’s simply not true. Over the years, I have learned that growth and progress tend to be slow…and this experience is no different.

First of all, our grocery cart has been looking ridiculous. And by ridiculous, I mean awesome. I wanted to take a picture for you, but I was afraid people would think I was crazy. However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t bursting with pride as I admired the bounty of produce and whole grains. I have discovered that I really like whole wheat pasta, sprouted beans and lentils, very suspicious looking Fire Engine 2 veggie burgers (with stir fried vegetables, guacamole, and sprouts), whole wheat frozen pizza crust, and fiber-rich cereal with banana.

I have also discovered that I do NOT like crispbread crackers… nor do I find kale to be particularly appealing. It might have been because I doused my kale creation in so much sriracha that I nearly got sick…but more shall be revealed. Also, don’t talk to me about chocolate almond milk. It belongs in the trash. Don’t make something into a health food if it’s only going to be vaguely-chocolate swamp water.

Bland crispbread and rage inducing “chocolate milk” aside, traveling is going to be much more of an obstacle than I initially anticipated. We recently went on a three day road trip and I got a little out of control. If I want to travel wisely, I’m going to need to start packing snacks. If you set me loose in a service station full of twinkies, candy, and chips, I am going to have an apple hand pie for breakfast, followed by a Hershey bar, chocolate cookies, and honey roasted cashews. (Yes, that happened.) Restaurant eating isn’t easy, either (as you may have already gathered from my opening). On our trip, I chose a salad for dinner…but I also had to have a side of cheese stuffed breadsticks. The following morning, breakfast went straight to hell, too. I regressed right back to my favorite stand-by of ketchup-doused scrambled eggs and corned beef hash. I didn’t even consider a less offensive, cow-friendly pancake.

So… those weren’t shining moments for me. But here’s the thing: When we came home, I got right back on the horse. That’s because our home is a healthy environment. When I don’t have access to unhealthy food, I don’t eat it. Since our environment has changed, I have also noticed some subtle shifts in my thinking. I don’t salivate over the processed shit at the grocery. I have a list and I go right for the things I need. I have also started to consider healthier choices when we go out. Before, I wouldn’t even look at a salad. In fact, the last time we were at that particular restaurant, I had a basket of chicken wings with extra dipping sauce.

These are the key things I have learned thus far:

  1. My home is a safe place and I should eat there as much as possible.
  2. Meal planning and list making are essential for success at the grocery store.
  3. I need to pack snacks if I’m going to survive five hours of driving or a layover at the airport.
  4. I should try to find vegan or vegetarian restaurants as much as possible while traveling.
  5. When I get crazy, it isn’t an excuse to give up. I simply must get back on track as soon as possible.
  6. It’s important to be gentle with myself. It’s about progress, not perfection. I’ve probably consumed more fiber in the past few weeks than I have in a year. And that is most certainly a good thing.
  7. My wife, J.L., reports that routine has been essential for her. She eats certain foods at certain times of day, and her body has adjusted to this schedule. When she deviates from her routine, the day doesn’t go as smoothly.

I’m struggling with the commitment piece but I am determined to follow through, especially since I have my spouse cheering me on. Oddly enough, it’s not the sugar that’s getting to me, it’s the butter. Right now, I feel like the hardest things to give up are butter (on my toast, pasta, and vegetables), plain greek yogurt (SO GOOD in chili), and feta (my salad feels so sad without you, buddy). If push comes to shove, I might have to give Earth Balance a try. The whole “oil free” or “no added oil” thing – while it makes perfect sense from a health perspective – is a little too extreme for me, and, as we all know, I am wary of extremes. However, cancer, heart disease, and diabetes are also extreme…so I should at least try to put my best foot forward.

J.L. and I went on a date tonight and it struck me how profoundly privileged I am to even be making these changes. Some people don’t get anything to eat, let alone a choice. Others aren’t educated enough or mentally sound enough to consider these issues and make rational decisions about their health.

We went to see a documentary called “God Knows Where I Am”. It’s about a homeless woman who died in an empty house just twenty minutes from our city. She was mentally ill and refused to take her medicine because she suffered from psychotic delusions. She didn’t think she was sick. (To be fair, it is an outrage that anti-psychotic and mood stabilizing medicines are still so harsh and debilitating.) She starved to death over the course of approximately forty days. The house she died in was about five hundred feet from other residences… and no one even noticed she was there. I expected it to be a disturbing movie, but I didn’t expect it to resonate with me so personally. There were a lot of parallels to the life and death of my biological father. I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it, but I certainly remember his delusions, his stays in mental hospitals, and the electroshock therapy. He also died in a very sad, gruesome, and lonely way.

You can’t have a parent like that and not be impacted, but I think that so many people choose to let this kind of trauma define the rest of their lives. That makes me sad…and also a little angry. I acknowledge and accept that I have witnessed and been through some very tough stuff. However, I choose not to be a victim of my past. I realize that I have no control over my other family members, I ask for help when I need it, and I work tirelessly to improve myself. I think it’s a slap in the face to my deceased parent to do anything else. He didn’t have the opportunity to experience freedom from his own mental imprisonment. He was too sick to properly advocate for himself…and so was the woman in the film. You can’t advocate for yourself when you’re psychotic and suffering from morbid cooccurring disorders. I do have the opportunity to advocate for myself and I choose not to waste it.

All of that is not to say that I am strong on my own. I am joyful, free, and mentally sound because I have a whole community of people holding me up. But I accepted that I needed help, asked for it, and I work on it every day. I may not be able to choose where I come from or the cards I have been dealt, but I am free to choose how I respond or whether or not I needlessly suffer in silence. I intend to cherish every moment of my freedom and live my life to the fullest. I am so grateful to be clean and sober and I truly believe that I am only fit to help others when I have thoroughly worked through my own issues.

If you’re out there wishing you could make a change, I hope you will stop selling yourself short and ask for help. You are worth it. There is no shame in admitting that you’re not perfect or that something is wrong. In fact, it’s only human. We all have flaws. I marvel at the fact that I am currently so content and well adjusted. Considering where I come from and the obstacles I had to overcome, it’s an incomprehensible miracle. If it’s possible for me, it’s possible for you. My life is pure magic today. The only way things could get any better is if I could help my wife retire early and we could get a dog. When I look out the window at the newly bursting trees and the gray Spring sky, my heart bursts. Some people try to rain on my parade, but I choose not to let them. Instead, I hope that they can find peace, too.

To Light a Candle

I am pretty proud of myself. I finally made an appointment to see the dentist. Granted, my bottom teeth are feeling alarmingly sensitive…but what really matters is that I have one foot in the door.

I know, I know: Not cool. But isn’t it funny how we only change when we are in pain? I think we are all guilty of it to some degree.

I wish I could say that pain didn’t motivate me to start looking at my eating habits. What I can say, however, is that it didn’t take much pain. I’m not waiting for the situation to escalate or for some awful diagnosis to develop from continued unhealthy eating.

We’ve been cleaning out our freezer and pantry – eating through the last of our non-plant-based food items – and instead of savoring the cheese and butter, I have felt almost annoyed by the chore of slogging through all the dairy. Last Wednesday, we went to see Stevie Nicks and the Pretenders. Before the show, I ordered one “last” roll of my favorite sushi. (For the record, we haven’t given up on our commitment to spend less eating out. We had a gift certificate. 🙂 ) While it tasted delicious, I was acutely aware of how heavy it felt in my stomach. I worried I would feel too queasy to watch my rock’n roll goddess perform. Luckily, I rebounded… but another door slammed shut on my doubt. My body is ready for change.

Our beautiful sushi platter. The roll on the front right is vegetarian!

After a night of fitful post-concert sleep, my wife and I dragged our tired selves to a new vegan juicery and cafe. (Who the hell can sleep after being in the presence of Stevie Nicks?) At first, the clubby music and steep prices at the eatery raised my eyebrow, but when our drinks and breakfast arrived, I felt surprisingly satisfied and inspired. The food was yummy and filling. Best of all, I didn’t feel gross after putting it in my body. It gave me pause to think that people will buy four or five $10+ cocktails in an evening without batting an eye, but one comparatively priced health drink might be considered over the top. Which product should we really value more? If your answer is the cocktail, we might need to talk.

My smoothie (cold brew, banana, nut butter, almond milk) & vegan granola bar.

It seemed like a good morning to continue our foray into the world of veganism, so we went to Whole Foods to replenish our dwindling supplies. Instead of feeling limited by the lack of choice, I felt happy and excited to be proactively improving our health. At the check-out line, I braced myself for sticker shock but, because I had done my research, stocking up only cost us what I would usually spend on a week’s worth of groceries. It really helped to be at a different grocery store, too. There were a lot fewer processed foods jumping off the shelves – or maybe I just didn’t notice as much because it was unfamiliar territory.

Our new fruit bowl

To be fair, I still have animal products in my system… so I haven’t started the withdrawal process yet. The food in my work environment also continues to pose temptation. However, I am feeling cautiously optimistic and creatively inspired. Having a yummy vegan treat and a successful grocery experience really helped build my confidence. I also saw a comforting film this week. It talked about how perfection isn’t the aim of eating plant-based food – it’s improvement. Eating nutritiously doesn’t mean never, ever indulging. It means being healthy most of the time. I feel like I don’t have to say goodbye to our yearly batch of cut-out Christmas cookies (which we tend to give away) or a birthday sweet. On the rare occasion I do have something unwholesome, I just need to remember that I have’t given myself license to have all the unwholesome things. Embracing minimalism has also taught me that the rarity of an occurrence adds to its overall value. I think that philosophy applies to food. It tastes more decadent if you don’t have it every day.

The question is whether or not this philosophy will work in application. A complete abstinence approach has been the only way to treat my substance abuse issues. I’m on a mission to find out if food will be any different. I will adapt my methodology accordingly and report back to you.

The other interesting factor the film touched upon is the importance of a likeminded support system. I’m really blessed to have a wife who is on board. It would be much harder to make these changes with certain kinds of food still in the house. I also draw strength from watching documentaries and following online communities. It’s interesting how the tenets of recovery are the same regardless of how the addiction manifests.

We really just need to fill the voids inside us with genuine connection and community.

When I started following a personal finance blog last fall, I never knew I was about to embark on this crazy journey. First, I changed the way I view money and consumerism. Soon after, I simplified the way I relate to my possessions and the items in the space around me. I also started to prioritize activities and eliminate those that were not adding any value to my life. Next, I assessed how to lighten my footprint on the planet and be kinder to my global brothers and sisters. Finally, I examined my relationship with food and found it sorely lacking. One thing has become clear: Recovery is about so much more than stopping a behavior. It is about growing and growing and growing. It is about discovering the interconnectedness of all things. It is about wading beyond the shallows of life and finding joy and understanding in the depths. Recovery isn’t about stopping. It’s about starting.

I needed to open my mind. Putting down alcohol, drugs, awful relationships, and credit cards seemed like miracle enough. But the miracle was only just beginning to unfold.

This stuff is exciting. It is so much better than getting drunk or high. And if I can have it, so can you. I want you to know that it is not only possible….it is waiting for you.

Sometimes it still takes pain for me to change, but I’m finding that I am increasingly motivated by a plain and simple desire to be better than the person I was yesterday. When I got clean and sober almost eight years ago, I had a flame the size of a candle burning steadily inside of me. It was enough to keep me alive. Today, that candle flame has expanded into a blazing inferno. Every time I share with others, it ignites further still.

I have never been the kind of person who can sit down and shut up. It used to be about trying to control the world around me. Now I stand up and speak because I want to pass on the gifts I have been so blessed to receive.

It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.

– Eleanor Roosevelt