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Nine Mindful Eating tips for the Holidays

Mindful eating is deliberately paying full attention to what you are eating or drinking, without criticism or judgment.”

Jan Chozen Bays

Mindful eating isn’t about making a list of rules. It is not about judging ourselves for what we consume, nor is it about following a certain ‘healthy’ diet. Instead, consider these simple tips for mindful eating this holiday season:

1. Savor the flavors.

Be fully present to the wonder of your tastebuds. Let the attentive mind join in on the festivities as you note the sweet, salty, spicy, bitter, sour, and pungent notes in the foods you consume.

4. Practice gratitude.

Cultivate thankfulness by offering gratitude for your food. Note all that there is to be thankful for on your plate: the food itself, the seeds, the soil, and the hands that helped along the way from farm to fork.

5. Practice self-compassion.

Over the holidays, many of us indulge a little more than we normally do. This can stir thoughts of guilt and self-judgment. Notice where you might be judging yourself and see if you can tend to yourself with loving-kindness instead. Consider mindfulness exercises for self-compassion to help you  Here’s a great meditation to honor our changing rhythms and cycles from Insight Timer.

6. Be mindful of your needs.

It’s equally important to be mindful of our needs. What foods don’t sit well with us? How do different holiday beverages impact our sense of wellbeing? Become mindful of what nourishes you, and what distresses you. Use this awareness to guide your choices.

2. Play with all your senses.

Beyond savoring the flavors, you can tune into the food you eat with the other senses. What does the food look like? What does it smell like? What does it feel like? The full spectrum of your senses brings a richness to your eating habits.

3. Eat slowly.

When in doubt, slow it down. Take your time to really savor this wonderful meal that has found its way to your plate.

7. Be mindful of your mood.

Mood and food are inextricably linked. Since the holidays can stir a range of feelings such as anxiety and frustration, mindfulness of our emotions can help us to address these moods most optimally. Note how different foods affect your mood.

8. Notice your hunger and fullness cues.

Often, we let our mind dictate our eating habits rather than listening to our bodies. So, it can be helpful to consider: What does it feel like to be hungry? What sensations tell me when I have had enough? When it comes to feelings of fullness, eating slowly can support our ability to notice these cues.

9. Observe your body – and don’t forget to breathe.

During the holidays, our digestion needs extra support. One of the best ways we can do this is to notice where we are stressed or contracted. Coming back to the breath through mindful breathing help. Here’s a quick breathing meditation from insight timer.

Source: Sean Fargo, Mindfulness Exercises


Need a little more help to navigate the Pandemic Holiday?

Get my FREE Holiday to Holiday Guide.


Thanks all and have a happy, safe and healthy holiday season! Tina


WILD IN MONTANA WOMEN’S RETREAT – SUMMER 2021

August 20-25, 2021
The B Bar Ranch,  Gardiner, Montana


Escape to the rugged beauty and solitude of the Montana wilderness to reclaim your inner strength and calm. Just minutes away from Yellowstone National Park, the magnificent B Bar Ranch is the perfect spot for wild repose, restoration, and reflection. We’ve reserved the entire ranch.



On this retreat, you’ll learn healthy ways to nurture yourself beyond cravings, convenience food, alcohol, and overindulgence.  Delicious farm to table meals, daily morning movement, guided meditation, and outdoor adventure will challenge your body and restore your soul.  Come learn mind self-care practices that you’ll embrace long after you return home.



Celebrate new friendships as you connect with women seeking the same fun and freedom you are! How better to bond than sharing the beauty of nature,  transformational rituals, fabulous meals,  and thrilling adventures!  The friendships you make on retreat often endure for a lifetime.



Hike, white water raft, ride horseback, and explore the wonder of Yellowstone National Park together!  The memories you make and the lessons you learn on this retreat will inform your choices, decisions, and the way you move forward in life. Time away from the daily demands of life is not only restorative, it’s transformational.



Wake up early to enjoy the breathtaking sunrise. Greet the day with a steaming mug of fresh-ground, organic coffee while sitting in a rocking chair on the big porch of the lodge or curled up in front of the stone fireplace.  This is just the start of your day.  Every day on retreat is an opportunity to savor nature, stillness, and the possibility of presence.



We’ll circle around the campfire, under the full moon, to perform a traditional Medicine Wheel Healing ritual. Based on the Four Directions of Native American culture, this rich, nurturing practice and sacred communion is an experience you’ll carry in your heart, every time you look at the moon, for years after the retreat.


Early Bird Registration Opens January 15, 2021
Schedule a call with Tina to learn more!



The time for letting go of what no longer serves you is now!  It’s time to claim and relish your wild, audacious spirit!  Life is happening~ join the adventure!  Reserve your spot in this amazing retreat! Get Updates!


A Different Holiday Season

Our first (and hopefully last) Pandemic Holiday Season!


My usual concerns, like how many places we can fit around one table, how much I’ll eat, and what my thighs will look like come January 2021, seem trivial now that the holidays are overshadowed by the pandemic, rising COVID cases, and a country so divided.

Oh, how I long for the simple joys of pumpkin pie and belly fat.

My name is Tina, and each year, as a gift to my clients and friends who share my desire to remain healthy through the holidays, I create a Holiday to Holiday Handbook.



I thought about skipping it this year and diving straight into a vat of dirty martini’s but realized this year, more than any other, we need strategies to stay sane if not lean through the holidays.

So I’ve updated this year’s F#&K the Pandemic Holiday to Holiday guide to include tips for sanity, self-care, and making the most of our ZOOM Christmas experiences!


Your FREE 2020 (F#&K the Pandemic)  Holiday to Holiday Guide includes:

  • A Treasure Trove of Holiday Recipes (Vegan, Paleo, Pegan, Low Carb and Keto)
  • Tips to Maximize Your Virtual Holiday Experiences
  • Stress Relief and Sanity Resources
  • Free (30) Minute Stress Relief Stretch Workout
  • The Truth About That Holiday Pig Out
  • Booze and Fat Loss – What’s Happening There?
  • Post-COVID Relief: Retreats, online workshops, coaching, and more!

Enjoy and Happy Holidays.
Stay healthy.

Tina


 

Prayers and Profanity

I haven’t been sleeping well this week. My conscious desire to patiently surrender to current events evaporates at 230 each morning. I bolt awake, my veins coursing with a toxic mix of anger, fear, dread, and heartbreak. I don’t know whether to pray or swear at the top of my lungs.

 

 

As a fierce optimist, I choose to focus on possibility rather than pessimism, fully aware of the darkness within each of us; darkness we must confront to heal individually and collectively.

The pandemic, protests, racial and political division of 2020 have exposed the depth of those dark wounds. We can no longer ignore the ugliness. Waking up on Wednesday, I was shocked to learn that nearly half of this country voted to re-elect Donald Trump. I naively assumed the past four years had adequately exposed the cost of Trump’s narcissism, dishonesty, and abuse of power. I was wrong.

Perhaps I should have known. This Summer, as Herb and I camped around the northwest, we encountered many people we knew shared his values. They included friends in Washington state, militia like protesters in Montana, and a man sporting a swastika tattoo in an Idaho campground.

 

 

These people weren’t ogres or derelicts; they weren’t angry or threatening. The man in the campground was warm and friendly, offering us a map to better understand the region. When I glanced down and noticed his tattoo I was genuinely shocked.

“Did you see that swastika tattoo?” I whispered to Herb as we walked away.

“Yes,” he replied, calmly taking my arm.

“But he was so nice and helpful and friendly!”

“Yes, honey,” said Herb, “but we’re also an old white couple.”

“Fuck me,” I sighed. “You’re right.”

My confusion wasn’t so much in our differences, but our similarities.

We, humans, are hardwired for protection. Survival, power, and control largely drive our emotions and decisions. But empathy, justice, and compassion also inspire our choices.  It’s easy to own our better decisions, less so our base ones.

 

 

Most of us think we’re on the right side of history. I know I do.

I loathe Trump’s dangerous disregard for the truth, our constitution, and the democratic process.  But his presence has also exposed our hypocrisy, division, and need for difficult conversations.

Even as historic numbers of voters turned up to the polls, the predicted Blue Wave didn’t happen. But as the remaining votes are counted, there is a resurgent blue ripple.

I pray it is enough to retire Mr. Trump.  It’s time to get off this crazy train.

Perhaps then we can begin the process of healing in America and in the world. If we can’t immediately intuit our  similarities, I pray we regain our ability to respectfully discuss our differences.

 

 

My Socially Distanced Summer

What does a travel bug do in the era of COVID? She agrees to a road trip, roof-top tent, and, an activity once strictly off-limits: camping.

These are desperate times.

We wouldn’t get on a plane; hotels made us squeamish and the prospect of another three months cooped up at home was not an option. So, what do you do? Exactly.

Herb grew up on a farm so I had some confidence in him; not so much our twenty-year-old Jeep. Sporting over 343,000 miles, I insisted it is inspected and reinspected before we leave town.

“What if this damn thing goes belly-up us while we’re on the road?”
I implored.

“Well,” Herb sighs, “if it does, I guess we’ll get another one.”

This was our first adventure of this kind and we learned a lot of lessons.

Like, don’t stuff so much in the jeep that you can’t find anything when you need it.  Or it’s probably not necessary to put sleeping bags in huge plastic bins; and we didn’t really need to cart two bikes to hell and back on that pain in the ass carrier.

This led to some laughter but mostly cussing.

We also learned some good things, like teamwork (learning to set up our tent in seven minutes including inflating the (3) air mattresses I require under the memory foam mattress); efficiency, (no need to change clothes when you’re already dirty); resilience, (who knew Herb could swing an ax like that!); and gratitude, (for nature, the stars, wildlife, backroads, blankets and morning coffee).

We had a few hiccups (a broken axel, oil changes, a leaking boot, whatever that is), but overall our Golden Goat held up for our circuitous journey.

We were just short of the 350,000-mile mark as we drove into Fairway, joking that we needed to drive to Topeka and back to make it official. I have a lot of gratitude and respect for that damn Jeep.

This was the first time in my life that I didn’t have a timeline, a schedule, or a plan. If you know me at all, you know the import of this. This trip wasn’t only an amazing adventure, it was a miracle.

But pictures say it so much better than I can.  Thanks for letting me share.

 

 

* If you’re interested in a rooftop camper, we highly recommend IKamper.  The ONLY way I’ll ever camp!

Surrender in the New World

I woke up this morning early, slipping out of bed to make coffee, meditate and get ready for a new day. The robins wake me; their song permission to get out of bed. I tiptoe to the kitchen, turn the kettle on and stare at the pot, waiting for hot water. The cups and French press set out the night before, wait too.

I pull the cream from the fridge. Pouring the water, now hot. I smell the beans as I fill the press.

I love this time of day; the quiet, the darkness, the calm space between. The time when my mind is settled and clear, and my heart, warm and squishy, open to the whispers of Spirit. This is gentle time; those peaceful moments before the inevitable distractions of dawn.

The full moon illuminates a bird resting atop the suet house. Struck by his stillness, I realize I’m holding my breath.

I breathe in and reach for my headphones to meditate. I’m hungry for guidance and grounding. I find it in Oprah and Deepak’s latest 21-day Meditation gift, “Hope in Uncertain Times.”

Oprah begins by telling the story of her difficulties learning to swim. Being afraid, she’d always fought the water. It wasn’t until she let go, surrendering to the water’s flow, that she learned to swim. “Move with the flow,” she says, “don’t fight the current. Resist nothing, let life carry you- don’t try to carry it.”

I gaze into my backyard, letting the lesson sink in. I see the figure of a woman I’ve discovered in my Aspen tree.

I realize she’s another messenger.

“Surrender,” she coaxes, “Look at me. I need do nothing to be a tree. I just am.”

The bird, still miraculously perched on the feeder, chimes in, “Look at me. I need do nothing to be a bird. I just am.”

The sun, climbing slowly, also beckons.

“Look at me.” she says, “I rise every morning. I need no justification. I just shine.”

I feel their invitation and pull it inside. I feel my heart expand, then realize I’m holding my breath again.

I smile. The water offers buoyancy, yet I insist on sinking.  Flow is as foreign a concept as surrender.

A hummingbird by nature, I focus on doing, achieving, producing, not ‘being.’  Most comfortable whirling around at light speed, I reject the very stillness I crave. I am habitually fast and flitting.

“But,” I reason, “these are very different times.  The world is upside down!”

I can’t distract myself in the same ways; my flight pattern, along with the rest of the world, has been grounded. My anxiety about the present only surpassed by my anxiety about the future.

“How many people will die? What is our government really doing to help? Will my friends and family be okay? Will Herb and I be okay? How long will this go on? What will the world be like afterward? Why is this happening!”

Ah, the hummingbird, again.

She’s not undone by the uncertainty, but by the looming certainty of a larger lesson.

Things now do not differ from how they’ve always been.  Hummingbird’s obsessions a futile attempt to order a world beyond control.

In my ear, Oprah coos, “In the words of Eckhart Tolle, in his book, The New Earth, ‘There are three words that convey the secret to the art of living.’” (Now she has my attention.) “‘The secret of all success and happiness. Those three words are: Be one with life.’”

I sit still, determined to take it in.

“Be one with WHAT life?” I say out loud. “A global pandemic?  Financial risk? Death, disease, and unknowable suffering?  Are you freaking kidding?”

This is not what hummingbirds do! We don’t allow. We don’t flow. We don’t choose. We flutter!

I look back at the tree. I look at the yellow finch and the rising sun.

“Be one with life,” they say with a knowing smile.  “Just be.”

“Can’t I just be a hummingbird?,” I ask.

“You can,” they chorus, “Surrender. And be a hummingbird.”

Homecoming in Jersey

As the train pulled into the Hamilton, New Jersey, I suddenly felt ill. I looked at Herb, stricken.

“I think I’m gonna throw up!” I moaned, “I’m scared!”

Waiting to meet us at the station were my three half-siblings, Darlene, Lorie, and Tony. We’d discovered each other via ancestry.com

“Hi Tina, my name is Darlene de la Cruz,” the message titled ‘Cousins,” read. “I’ve been investigating my ancestry and your name came up as a close match. I would love to correspond if you are open to it. I live in Bordentown New Jersey. Be well. Darlene.”

With help from an adoption researcher, Darlene and I learned we were half-sisters. Our father, Manuel was married to her mother, Delores. Together they had three children, Darlene, Tony, and Lorie. Elated to know more of my birth history, we planned a visit later that Fall.

“If it doesn’t work out, get on a train and come to Long Island,” warned my friend Gloria. “You don’t know jack about these people. For all you know they’re grifters, creeps!”

“Hooligans!” I laughed. “Don’t worry Glo, I promise, I’ll be fine.”

“If they don’t get who you are- if they treat you bad, cut your trip short and come see me sooner!” I also planned to see Gloria on this trip.

My sons also advised caution. I understood their concerns but wasn’t worried about the visit, until now. Now, I just felt nauseated.

“You’re just excited,” Herb reassured me. “Try breathing.”

We stepped onto the train platform. I recognized Darlene from the bright shock of purple in her short hair. Lorie, my childhood lookalike, gaped in wide-eyed amazement. Brother Tony, sent to watch the other exit doors, walked up with a shy smile, open arms, offering bear hugs.

We stood there a few moments, smiling at each other, stunned by our surreal reunion. Bags flung into the trunk, we piled in the car for the short drive to Bordentown.

Proud of their hometown, we heard how Joseph Bonaparte, former King of Naples and Spain and brother to Napoleon I of France, established a residence in Bordentown. He entertained famous guests like Henry Clay, Daniel Webster and the future 6th U.S. President, John Quincy Adams. History and home are important parts of our family fabric.

We drove to Tony’s house where we met more friends and extended family. We sat in the back yard in a circle of lawn chairs, making small talk.

Suddenly Lorie asked, “Is there anything you’d like to know about our Father?”

“No,” I smiled, “I think I’ll just take all this in for a moment.”

There was a lot to take in.

Later, at the jazz brunch arranged in our honor, we met Tony’s wife, Melanie, Darlene’s wife, Sandy, Lorie’s children Ashley and Josh, assorted cousins and extended family which included my half-sibling’s half-siblings! Walt, a retired Camden, New Jersey cop, and Cheryl, who lives in Maryland, both drove in to join us. Lorie and her daughter Ashley came from Atlanta, and son Josh, in the military, traveled from his station in Hawaii.

“This really is a family reunion,” I laughed, humbled by the effort everyone made to attend.

Rosemary Schoelllkopf (aka Roe), Lorie’s plucky childhood friend also came. The next evening, after dinner and a few drinks at the local pub she warned me about writing anything unflattering about the De la Cruz family. I laughed it off, but she was serious. The message was clear: don’t mess with her people.

“How many nights do you want me to book the room?” Herb asked when we were planning our visit to Bordentown.

“Better make it one,” I replied, but when Darlene asked how long we could stay, I immediately replied, “two nights.”

Our short visit was filled with laughter, stories, food, football, and an impromptu trip to the Jersey shore.

I burst with pride when Darlene introduced me to her spin class, “This is my sister Tina who is visiting us from St Louis, Missouri!”

The class was full because she’d been talking about me for weeks. I met more cousins who immediately asked, “When are you coming back?”

Darlene and her wife Sandy have been together for over forty years. That’s not easy, especially when you’re a bi-racial, lesbian couple. Former educators, they now fill their days teaching and training at their health club. Sandy is spirited, funny and quick, the perfect balance to Darlene’s calm, gentle approach to life.

Lorie is the most like me; animated, outgoing and boisterous. During the Falcon-Eagles game, I watched amazed as she called every single play and player by name. Ashley, Roe, Darlene, and Sandy were all equally passionate and game savvy. I’d never seen women who loved and knew football like this group! I wondered aloud if this was a Jersey thing or an East Coast thing because it definitely was a thing.

I observed brother Tony quietly absorb every conversation, only occasionally choosing to comment. He is thoughtful and gentle and reminds both Herb and me of our son Cary.

In quieter moments, we talked about our careers, our children, our relationships and our struggles. We also talked about our Father. He’d divorced their mother when they were very young before they had a chance to know him. Each had a story about meeting him later in life, but none of those stories was very happy.

Our Father is Venezuelan and has eleven children. Darlene, Tony, and Lorie are from his first marriage; five more are from his second marriage. At least three more are like me, born out of wedlock. Let’s just say, our Father got around.

Each told a story of disappointment. Lorie traveled to Venezuela in her early twenties to discover her father had not told his second family about his first family.

“I’m sorry but that’s kind of F’d up,” I said when she told me.  “Did he know you were coming?”

“YES, Tina! He did!” Lorie said, shaking her head.

Tony, also went to Venezuela to meet our father when he was in his early twenties. He stayed longer hoping to connect on a deeper level, but after two months he returned home disappointed as well.

“I’m grateful that he gave me life,” Tony said on our drive to the Jersey shore, “but I don’t think he’s got the capacity to be fully present.”

“I agree,” said Darlene. Always the optimist, Darlene had a similar experience but didn’t share the details.

“That’s just so weird isn’t it?” I said. “Because the one thing we all have in common is him. And look at our hearts! They’re huge! We’re here loving each other and he’s missing out!”

Darlene said softly, “that’s true Tina.” Tony nodded quietly.

That night I wrote in my journal,
“Meeting my siblings is mind-blowing. We have an easy kinship and deep recognition I wasn’t expecting.  All of the angst, suffering, and displacement I’ve felt surrounding my adoption is dissipating. It’s like being able to take a full breath for the first time.” 

When Darlene and I confirmed we had the same birth father, I emailed him a picture along with a short introduction.  I left it up to him to respond if he chose to.  This was during a time of political and economic stress when communication in Venezuela was very difficult, so I’m not sure he ever got the email.  So far, he has not responded.

My birth father is now eighty-four years old and recently moved from Venezuela to California to be near one of his daughters. He lives there with his second wife who has dementia. I don’t feel the need to send him a second email.

As my biological father, Manuel Antonio De la Cruz responsible for my birth, but my adopted Father, Ehret Oscar Ramey, is responsible for my life.

My parents always told us we were lucky because we were ‘chosen.’ I never accepted that because I secretly believed I was damaged. Why I was given away? Why I was unwanted? I felt immense shame for being born.

Meeting my birth family has helped heal that wound. My siblings are loving, resilient, loyal, and optimistic. We love animals, being in nature, big hugs and laughter. We tell the truth, have faith in one another and God. We try to be kind and generous. We love to love others. This is my family; this is me.

It took me sixty years to understand that I was adopted, not abandoned. I was loved by parents who did choose us; parents who raised three amazing humans.

I feel every adoptee is entitled to know their birth story. In the state of Missouri that was not legal until 2018. Perhaps this was to protect birth and adopted parents, but the child is the one who pays the price. When you deny the child her story, she’s left wondering, longing to understand.

I still don’t know the details of my adoption, but finding my siblings has helped me understand more about my history.  This is more than an answered prayer; this is a miracle and a new beginning.

The Birthday Lesson


I am in Vancouver, BC, traveling with two dear friends to celebrate my 60th birthday. This is the first of many celebrations commemorating not just my turning the big 6-0 but the culmination of the past few years of busyness and transition. Life’s directives demanded courage, and being the coward that I am, I fought hard and fruitlessly, of course because life always gets it’s way.

I’ve written about those events before so I’m not going into it now; let’s just say it was a remarkable time and I’m glad it’s over. 

I guess one of the benefits of living longer is learning you won’t spontaneously combust when life throws you a big ass curve ball, even when you’re certain it’s eminent.

Last evening, overlooking the sound from our Vancouver Island Air BnB, my dear friends Suba (52) and Gail (69), turned our discussion to birthdays, ours in particular, and all the ripe topics that aging conjures.

“Well, I guess it beats the alternative,” I joked, “My dad used to say, ‘No-one gets out of this alive.’”

“Aging definitely has its challenges,” replied Gail, “and I think as women we should be talking about it and helping one another. It’s hard nowadays because I actually have to think about getting out of my bathtub!”

I nodded, “I don’t know if I am getting more mature, or just more tired. I’m definitely more discerning about what I will spend my focus, energy and time on. It’s like yes, yes, no, no, oh, Hell no!”

“That’s so true. I think that is one of the many gifts of getting older,” leave it to Suba to point out the positive side.

As we watched the sun slip downward over West Vancouver on a Fourth of July evening, we volleyed the topic back and forth, lobbing a “greater wisdom” in response to a “can’t freaking sleep” until we’d developed a list of the hazards (cons) and benefits (pros) of aging.

Here is what we came up with: (and feel free to amend or add your thoughts)

The Hazards

  • Growing intolerant or impatient: ie. Grumpy old lady
  • Narrowing of interests and activities- resistance to change
  • Becoming a know it all
  • Self absorption
  • Lethargy – an unwillingness to make an effort
  • Loneliness and isolation
  • Grief and loss of loved ones, friends, and sense of younger self

Then the physical realities:

    • Skin laxity, age spots and wrinkles
    • Toilet urgency
    • Insomnia
    • Fatigue
    • Reduced strength and stamina
    • Weight gain
    • Metabolism slows
    • Menopause
    • Takes longer to recover from set backs
    • Brain fog and memory issues
    • Medical emergencies

The Benefits

  • Wisdom, grace, and expanding consciousness
  • Greater Self acceptance and Self compassion
  • Greater capacity for forgiveness and compassion for others
  • Greater courage and confidence
  • Better sense of humor and patience
  • Mentorship, leadership, and volunteerism to nurture others
  • Greater resilience
  • Less concerned with what other people think of them
  • Less defined by material possessions and social status
  • Greater spiritual depth and connection
  • Greater freedom to pursue personal passions

 

Suba jumped in, “Hey! Don’t forget that we celebrate JOMO!” 

(The use of the pronoun ‘we’ did not escape me), “JOMO? What the hell is that?” I asked.

“It’s the opposite of FOMO- the fear of missing out. That’s what you have when you are younger. When you are in constant motion because you fear you’ll miss out on something. It’s the difference between reaction and creation.”

“Oh, I remember that,” I admitted.

“JOMO,” Suba continued, “is the opposite, it’s the JOY of Missing Out. Because you become more discerning with your time and the way you choose to spend it. You don’t care what you’re missing out on because you’re happy to be doing exactly what it is you’re doing.”

“Like being okay to curl up with a good book, your dog, or a few friends on a Friday night instead of going to the club, ” I confirmed.

“Lord, I’ll drink to that,” agreed Gail, raising her wine glass.

“Or maybe, we’re just apathetic ,” I mused.

“Well, then there’s that,” laughed Gail.

“No! No it’s not about that!” Suba insisted, “It’s about choice and shifting our value of time. It’s about realizing how precious our time really is. Therefore, the way we choose to spend it takes on a different value, too.”

“Oh, like my saying, Yes, Yes, No, No and HELL no?”

“Exactly,” smiled Suba.

“AND, maybe we’re ALSO tired,” chuckled Gail.

We all laughed because we’d just got done listing the physical challenges of aging, fatigue being one of them.

“It just gets harder to do things. You kind of have to push yourself,” said Gail. “I notice it’s harder to accomplish the same things that used to be rote. I can see how it would be easy to want to give into inertia.”

“And what about the big skin,” I offered, a term my friend Linda created to describe what happens to your skin as you age. “‘My body is pretty much the same size,’ she explained, ‘but my skin keeps stretching so it’s too big for my body.  It doesn’t fit anymore – it just sags.’”

Ah yes.  We went on to discuss our insomnia, chin hairs, expanding Meno-pots, (aka: post meno-pause belly fat), hot flashes, brittle bones, dry hair, dry skin and assorted ‘other’ dry parts.

The physical symptoms are an inevitable hazard of birthdays. But, we agreed, while inconvenient, they aren’t insurmountable. The decisions we make about what we eat, how much we move, the sleep we get, and the attitude we embrace towards aging all make a big difference.

We may not have a choice about aging, we agreed, but we do have a choice about how we age.

Just in case we had any doubts about this conclusion, God sent us as a timely reminder in the form of Elizabeth Robertson.

The following morning, exploring our Horse Shoe Bay neighborhood, Gail and I were delighted to discover a dirt trail.  Snaking elegantly through the woods, it was a welcome alternative to the narrow shouldered bike path we’d first encountered.

The trail was lovely, offering spectacular views, wild flowers, soft footing, and stunning quiet. We walked a long in peaceful reverence until we got to a fork.  Not sure of which direction to take, we asked an older woman who’d been walking in front of us about which way to continue.

“Well, you can go right and take it all the way the Whyte Lake if you want,” as she gave us a slow once over, “It’s about 3.9 kilometers to the turn off and another 2.5 up to the lake,” hands on hips, waiting for our decision.

“Thanks,”  I replied, eyeing her worn gray t-shirt and high water walking pants.

“Or,” she offered, seeing we weren’t making a decision, “you can go left and the trail goes up to the street above.  And there’s another trail just up the way that takes you down to the street below.  That’s my street.  My house is just down there,” she pointed. “I walk this trail every day..”

“Which way are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going towards the lake,” and as if to settle it, “ I’ll walk with you.”  

Elizabeth Robertson was a talker. And she seemed to know everyone else on that trail, including us.

We learned a lot from Elizabeth on that walk.

We learned that the blackberries growing wild on the trail would soon be soon ripe enough harvest.  That she’d return wearing a bucket around her neck to pick the first and best berries. We also learned that it didn’t snow in Horse Shoe Bay because it’s so close to the ocean, that it had been unseasonably dry of late and that she hoped they’d have enough moisture to ski up at Cypress Ski area this Winter. (Apparently it did snow at slightly higher elevations).

“Is this a bike trail, too?” asked Gail.

No, it’s just for people. And dogs,” she harrumphed, “A couple of weeks ago four dogs were off leash, just running wild, and they jumped on an elderly woman,” accentuating the word elderly to imply ‘present company excluded’.

“Poor thing was just standing there, and just got bowled over, flat out, by those crazy jumping dogs. And then here come the owners, a few minutes later, absolutely clueless. Idiots. I think she may have even broken bones!”

Clearly Elizabeth, who we’d learned was 84, did not consider herself vulnerable to the same fate.

“I walk this trail every day.  You get out, you to see everybody and except for the dogs, it’s pretty safe,” as she picked up her step, “And it keeps me in shape. Did I tell you I was eighty-four?  Look at these!, “ she said proudly pulling up her ankle length pantaloons to reveal her calves of steel.

“Wow, impressive,” we both agreed.

Elizabeth continued, “I went up to Cypress last Winter with a friend to do some downhill (skiing). It had been some time since I’d had that opportunity because my husband was ill and I couldn’t leave him alone like that. But after he passed, I just called up a girlfriend and said, ‘Let’s do it.’”

“And do you know what happened?,”  Elizabeth’s tenor and pace picked up as she snickered, her arms flailed about nearly hitting me in the chest, “I got about half way down that mountain and my quads just seized up on me and I went ‘Argh,’ before I just fell down.  I couldn’t get up. The ski patrol had to come and put me on a sled and take me on down.”

“Oh no!  That wasn’t fun,” commented Gail

“It was just fine because that ski patrol guy was very good looking, “  she said without hesitation.  “And now I know to do my 90 degree wall squats to be in better shape next year.  I’ve been skiing since I was three years old so I guess I just took it for granted!”

Elizabeth went onto tell us she’d been living in the area most of her life.  Originally from the Eastern side of Canada, her father was a physician who was relocated from Newfoundland to Vancouver after the war.

She herself had worked as a nurse, then as a nursing teacher before becoming the director of nursing at the University of Vancouver, BC.

“That must have been interesting,” I offered.

“Well, it was,” Elizabeth said, but explained that nursing students and teachers, unlike other college departments, worked during the Summer break doing internships at the hospital.

“I didn’t like it that I had to work while the rest of the teachers were playing ping pong so I complained about it and eventually we got it worked out.  Then I got a group of us together to take that three months off to go to Kathmandu but my superior blew a gasket and said we couldn’t all be gone at once.”

“ ‘You can’t do that, You cannot do that!’ he kept saying to me, over and over, and I just sat there listening.”

“Did you end up going?” I asked,

“Well, I went home that night and wrote him my letter of resignation.  I put it on his desk the next morning, booked my trip to Khatmandu and packed my bags.”

“Did your colleagues go, too?”

“Well, no. It’s hard to get people to take three months off, but I did and I’ve never regretted it.  I took a lot of treks like that all around the world, adventure truck trips, biking trips, in Africa and Asia and all over Europe. ”

“That’s amazing. How did you decide to go to Kathmandu?,” we asked.

“Well there was a travel department at the University and I went in there and looked at a pamphlet about Kathmandu and that was just it. I went, but you can still book those kinds of trips online!  Look it up!  You can go!”

She said this with the enthusiasm and authority of any good teacher and I made a mental note of the web address she’d suggested.  Her energy was catching. 

I looked at her then, a little more closely.  Her face was soft, lined, with the faintest hint mustache over the lip. She wore her gray hair short, unceremoniously fashioned like a helmet. Her arms with covered with age spots and her busy hands were uneven and overly knuckled.  I marveled at her upright posture, brisk walking pace, and ability to tell a story without pausing; she was quick, astute and funny. 

At 84, Elizabeth Robertson may have looked old, but she behaved agelessly. She was clever and energetic and completely full of herself. 

When we told her we were tourists who were going “forest bathing” the next day, she snorted, “Forest bathing? What’s that?”

“Well,” we explained. “its when you commune with the energy of nature by walking and meditating in the forest.  It’s pretty amazing.”

She looked blankly at us before retorting, rather sarcastically, “Well, you’re in a forest now! There’s a tree- go hug it,” and she guffawed. Then she continued to talked our ears off.  I don’t think either Gail or I said more than two words the entire walk.  But that was okay because Elizabeth’s presence reminded us the many benefits of aging we’d included on our list.

Elizabeth was without guile, unabashedly herself, unencumbered by fear, doubt or apology.  She chose to stay active and engaged, never hesitating to offer her experience through a creative and entertaining stream of consciousness narrative; stories she just assumed others were dying to hear.

She was not timid. She was not shy and she definitely did not use her age as an excuse to withdraw or grow narrow.

“When I get home,” Elizabeth announced, “it will be 4 o’clock.  At 4 o’clock I watch the BBC British Kennel Dog show.  I watch it every day after my walk.  I love it.”

I smiled to myself. There was no FOMO for Elizabeth Robertson.  She was clearly  enjoying her JOMO years.

As we hugged her goodbye, I felt inspired as well as a little tired.  She was, I had to admit, a tad bit exhausting. 

But then I thought, I am getting older.

Everything Changes

I know change is inevitable and yet, I still resist and deny it when it arrives. I’m not sure why I insist on giving change such a bad rap because, in truth, change has been my life long friend.

Change helped me find the courage to leave an abusive man with no real home and two small children.  Change insisted I exit a toxic workplace, even when I didn’t have another job.  Change has alternately encouraged, discouraged, pushed and pounded me.  But what caused me the greatest pain wasn’t change, but the resisting of it.

Change’s constant presence still reminds me there is an opportunity in every letting go.

 

I’ve spent most of my adult life helping people- specifically in the area of health. My goal is threefold:  first, to help people desire to be healthy; second, to accept that it’s within their ability to do so; and third, and most importantly, believe that they’re worth the effort required.

Convincing someone to consider one of these tenants can be a stretch, getting them to embrace all three is just a plain, hard sell.  Why?  Because it involves change.

We’re so focused on what we think we’re giving up, we overlook the possibilities and opportunity within the same change.

 

 

Next month we will move Pilates 1901 to a new location. I am excited about this next chapter but also admittedly sad about leaving the home we’ve shared for eleven years. The new studio is just 28 blocks away, a beautiful new space that is as light and fun and as welcoming as always.

We’ll be providing the same great service with the same love and integrity that has always defined Pilates 1901. It really is silly to get my panties in a wad, but I do and I will, and I expect some others may, too.

It’s part of the deal. I get it.

 

I’ll still be teaching and preaching Pilates, health, empowerment, and faith to anyone who will listen.

But as I turn sixty, I feel also change demanding more of my attention and more of my grace.  I’m looking forward to less distraction and more presence; less thinking and more being; more teaching, and healing and learning.

One morning, many years ago, I was greeted with a note from my youngest son.  He’d left it for me on the desk where I spent the bulk of my time when I was at home.  It was a picture of Joan of Arc; beneath it, he’d neatly printed these words:  “For general peace and well-being, please resign from being General Manager of the Universe.”   Leave it to Spirit to deliver such a powerful message via a ten-year-old.  I’m sorry, Sean that it took me so long to hear.

The Buddah said, “the only thing constant in life is change.”  I am learning that is true. 

I’m just going to let go, trust and ride this new incredible wave.  I hope to see you at the shore.