These next few things are on repeat on my playlist, (pretend) shopping list, Instagram, and YouTube meanderings...and snacks...snacks are essential...
Charlie Puth.
If we were playing a game of word association, the words "impish" and "prodigy" would come to mind. This young man is very talented, has the "it factor," has great management and (is probably taking their great advice...) is making some strategic collaborations that have resulted in several songs that will probably show up on "summer love" playlists for years to come.
If his sticky pop songs are not clinging to the insides of your brain, here they are for your listening (and viewing) pleasure!
Marvin Gaye
One Call Away
We Don't Talk Anymore
I have a nine track mind, too, Mr. Puth, and your songs are usually on repeat on at least three of them at one time.
On to my pretend shopping list...
Purses...
I'm a house divided when it comes to the Louis Vuitton "Capucines" bag. Do I like it or do I not. I think I do not. But if you do, power to you. It's lovely, structural, and pristine. It's just not to my liking. Not to mention the black leather is coming off navy blue on almost every YouTuber's channel...what's up with that?
Instagramming...
Kyle Krieger is not new to the game, nor is he new on my radar. He is, however, a self-taught photographer, an epic specimen of a man, a very sweet soul, a person who has not merely survived addiction, but is now thriving, and the brother of a kick-a$$ US Women's soccer player. (Ali Krueger)
This man's self-portraiture skills are unparalleled, and if you watch his YouTube channel, you find he's not at all vain, which is so refreshing in Insta-land.
Do you YouTube?
I'm still loving the twice-weekly trips into a fairytale life through the amazing photography and video-making skills of Lydia E. Millen and her partner, the British adonis, Ali Gordon, but I've also been captivated by some amazing TED Talks this week.
Kyle Krieger's TED Talk is one for the ages. His story is not unique, but his dramatic life change most certainly is. He is a light for so many. Do yourself a favor and listen to his story...you will be so very inspired.
This one was my favorite. Leila is now one of my heroes, and is a true pioneer, who, in her own words, has turned "their sh*t into fuel." Many women are about to step into her momentum, so watch out, world...here we come!
Watch and take notes. It may be the most well-spent 14 minutes of your week.
(P.S. Snacks.)
You cannot watch YouTube, surf Instagram or shop on the internet without the proper snacks. (Though looking at Kyle Krieger's Instagram may make you want to only eat arugula, order turmeric lattes and take ginger shots for the next ten years...).
In a recent trip to Trader Joes, I noted that they now have "Bollywood Popcorn." The glycemic index is to high for this princess, but if you're brave and bold and have tried such wonderment, please comment below.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Memories
Sometimes my heart is stirred and I remember things; in some of those times, I feel moved to share the things I remember.
When I was young, a woman shared her life story, including her plan to live fast, hard and dangerously, and then commit suicide when she turned twenty-one, as she was convinced that it was all downhill from there. At the time of this telling, she was in her early thirties. Turns out she'd had a child before she turned 21, so she decided to live.
As redemptive as the end of this story was, the seed had already been planted in my young teenaged mind, that I should most definitely commit suicide at twenty-one, as every adult I knew wanted to die, or seemed to live a miserable life.
Flash forward about seven years, and you'd see me running, for the first time in my life. It was the day after my twenty-first birthday, early in the morning, and I was running in the garden of the hospital where I saw my therapist once a week. I was pondering the aforementioned scene, pondering my life, and whether or not I should end it...and whether or not to tell my therapist I had been pondering this.
The year between my twentieth and twenty-first birthday was the most transitional, most horrifying, most miraculous year of my life...I had almost died, and things had changed so drastically, it was as if I had stepped into the life of an entirely different person.
I ran home to get ready for work, and on the train, I knew something was wrong. As I alighted in Chicago's major tourist area, Michigan Avenue, masses of people pressed toward me, trying to board the train. I continued to walk through the masses of people and found my way to the major retailer where I was scheduled to start at 11a.m.
I saw the group of shop-girls I worked with, including my favorite shift manager. Just as my brain registered that it was she, and that today would be much more fun than I'd anticipated since she would be working, she said, "...honey, you can go home."
I thought I'd been fired. She said that in light of everything that had happened, and since our location was directly across from the John Hancock building, (Chicago's second-highest building), we were being evacuated.
I needed money, and I had no idea what was going on. I think I had a cell phone, and my roommate had an old TV, which I never watched, so I had no idea what had happened. I boarded the train home, and everyone was whispering. I made it back to my apartment to find my half-Persian roommate on the living room floor in front of the television...WAILING.
My birthday is September the 10th. This was the day after, and the year was 2001.
A million things crossed my mind. She kept wailing that the world was ending. I think I remember laughing out loud. "Perhaps this was what was meant to happen all along," I thought to myself. "I won't have to kill myself...the world is probably ending and God was taking care of the deed for me..."
I did what any logical person would do. I packed a lunch, and marched off to find my therapist.
I lived about a mile from his office in the old, rustic hospital...on the other side of the projects. When I walked back outside, away from my wailing, wild-haired, housemate and the tracks of her tears full of last night's kohl and mascara, and a thousand questions...
It seems odd that I'd go to find my therapist, and more so that I'd know his schedule that well...
I found him having lunch, and asked if I could join him. He obliged. I asked him if the world were ending, and if I should just give up.
He looked at me, exasperated. (...he'd just spent 6 months putting me back together...and here I was, like a painstakingly restored, priceless vase, asking for permission to throw myself off the shelf...)
It was surreal. At that moment, an airplane flew over...but as we were blocks from the Sears Tower...there was a moment where we probably both thought...well, you know...that it was another plane...
I remember him saying something about the Saudi Royal family being allowed to leave the country...maybe it was them...we were also close to a government air strip, which has since been closed...so one will never know who it was.
He looked at me and said something to the effect that he didn't know if the world was ending...
So I left, and found my favorite perch...a large window ledge in the vast hospital lobby, across from the chapel. I often went to the hospital lobby to read, as I barely had heat in my apartment, and had no air conditioning at all. The security guard came over to move me off of it, but he recognized me, smiled and let me be.
I remember sitting on that window ledge, listening to the eerie silence. (...no cars in the usually busy intersection below, no airplanes flying over...no bustle on the sidewalks below...) It was there that I decided to live. I did not have the slightest clue what was happening, but I decided to live. I was alive, and I was not going to end my life, or allow anyone else to take it from me...
When I was young, a woman shared her life story, including her plan to live fast, hard and dangerously, and then commit suicide when she turned twenty-one, as she was convinced that it was all downhill from there. At the time of this telling, she was in her early thirties. Turns out she'd had a child before she turned 21, so she decided to live.
As redemptive as the end of this story was, the seed had already been planted in my young teenaged mind, that I should most definitely commit suicide at twenty-one, as every adult I knew wanted to die, or seemed to live a miserable life.
Flash forward about seven years, and you'd see me running, for the first time in my life. It was the day after my twenty-first birthday, early in the morning, and I was running in the garden of the hospital where I saw my therapist once a week. I was pondering the aforementioned scene, pondering my life, and whether or not I should end it...and whether or not to tell my therapist I had been pondering this.
The year between my twentieth and twenty-first birthday was the most transitional, most horrifying, most miraculous year of my life...I had almost died, and things had changed so drastically, it was as if I had stepped into the life of an entirely different person.
I ran home to get ready for work, and on the train, I knew something was wrong. As I alighted in Chicago's major tourist area, Michigan Avenue, masses of people pressed toward me, trying to board the train. I continued to walk through the masses of people and found my way to the major retailer where I was scheduled to start at 11a.m.
I saw the group of shop-girls I worked with, including my favorite shift manager. Just as my brain registered that it was she, and that today would be much more fun than I'd anticipated since she would be working, she said, "...honey, you can go home."
I thought I'd been fired. She said that in light of everything that had happened, and since our location was directly across from the John Hancock building, (Chicago's second-highest building), we were being evacuated.
I needed money, and I had no idea what was going on. I think I had a cell phone, and my roommate had an old TV, which I never watched, so I had no idea what had happened. I boarded the train home, and everyone was whispering. I made it back to my apartment to find my half-Persian roommate on the living room floor in front of the television...WAILING.
My birthday is September the 10th. This was the day after, and the year was 2001.
A million things crossed my mind. She kept wailing that the world was ending. I think I remember laughing out loud. "Perhaps this was what was meant to happen all along," I thought to myself. "I won't have to kill myself...the world is probably ending and God was taking care of the deed for me..."
I did what any logical person would do. I packed a lunch, and marched off to find my therapist.
I lived about a mile from his office in the old, rustic hospital...on the other side of the projects. When I walked back outside, away from my wailing, wild-haired, housemate and the tracks of her tears full of last night's kohl and mascara, and a thousand questions...
It seems odd that I'd go to find my therapist, and more so that I'd know his schedule that well...
I found him having lunch, and asked if I could join him. He obliged. I asked him if the world were ending, and if I should just give up.
He looked at me, exasperated. (...he'd just spent 6 months putting me back together...and here I was, like a painstakingly restored, priceless vase, asking for permission to throw myself off the shelf...)
It was surreal. At that moment, an airplane flew over...but as we were blocks from the Sears Tower...there was a moment where we probably both thought...well, you know...that it was another plane...
I remember him saying something about the Saudi Royal family being allowed to leave the country...maybe it was them...we were also close to a government air strip, which has since been closed...so one will never know who it was.
He looked at me and said something to the effect that he didn't know if the world was ending...
So I left, and found my favorite perch...a large window ledge in the vast hospital lobby, across from the chapel. I often went to the hospital lobby to read, as I barely had heat in my apartment, and had no air conditioning at all. The security guard came over to move me off of it, but he recognized me, smiled and let me be.
I remember sitting on that window ledge, listening to the eerie silence. (...no cars in the usually busy intersection below, no airplanes flying over...no bustle on the sidewalks below...) It was there that I decided to live. I did not have the slightest clue what was happening, but I decided to live. I was alive, and I was not going to end my life, or allow anyone else to take it from me...
Thursday, August 11, 2016
First steps to becoming fit...
A few years ago, I worked with a brilliant health counselor who had studied with Dr. Mark Hyman.
She had done everything in her power to research nutrition, as all three of her children had differing, life-threatening food allergies. She had spent her life cooking between three and four separate meals-- at each mealtime-- knowing that one missed crumb of food during prep time or at the dinner table could be life-threatening.
She so inspired me, both as a mom, as a student and as an entrepreneur. Maybe I'll write more about her soon.
She gave me a complimentary consult, because I've had my own struggle with nutrition. I was both a ballerina and a body builder. My metabolism was so high, I was constantly being accused of being anorexic...but that's a story for another day.
Rather than loading me down with supplements, she took one look at my distended abdomen and said I needed to sleep more and drink more water.
After almost 15 years over-training, consuming cheap whey or SOY protein, and working non-stop, six days a week, here I was, perpetually tired, unable to lose weight, too exhausted to work out, and suffering from heart palpitations. I finally saw said counselor. She also addressed the same thing every other doctor/friend/relative/client/physical therapist had told me...sleep. (...she also insisted I start on a strict regime of bone broth, green smoothies and colon cleansing...)
In order to be healthy, you HAVE TO SLEEP!
I'm still struggling with this. I refuse to take pills, I'm not disciplined enough to do the rubbing-on of every type of relaxing essential oil to the bottoms of my feet every single night...and as a trainer, I don't have the luxury of a set sleep schedule. I have clients who want sessions at 5:30 in the morning, and I teach group ex classes until 8:30 or 9p.m. at night, and often a nightly commute that often entailed an hour on public transit of some sort, a few miles walk thought very tough neighborhoods, and for about 9 months out of the year, some sort of frozen precipitation.
Further, I was raised to be a very hard worker, and I'm my sole provider of income, so the thought of foregoing my livelihood in order to sleep a bit more always seemed ludicrous to me.
But I needed sleep, and I needed to set boundaries for myself in order to make this happen. (...note...I now live a very different life in perpetually sunny, northern California. I have a very dependable old Honda, so the trekking through urban jungle subway tunnels and black-ice-encrusted streets in the middle of disputed gang territory is a thing of the past...). But I still have the same career, and I'm also a full-time student, so I'm still struggling with setting up a cohesive sleep regimen.
The next step is not exercise, or nutrition, but taking in adequate amounts of water. I currently drink out of the tap...don't ask, but I know my local health food store provides alkalized water...byob...for about 20 cents for five gallons. I also live about 45 minutes from one of the purest mountain springs on the planet, but don't think for a minute I'm one of those people who will drive that far to fill up water bottles. (...but you can bet your britches that if that mountain spring were next to a Barney's I'd be there in a hot second...)
So there you have it. Sleep and drink water. So simple, yet so challenging. I'm on this journey with the rest of you!
First world probs, I know.
Also, before I sign off...here's a freebie for you...sleeping burns more calories than watching television...
Alrighty then, to your health!
Cheers and peace!
xoxoxo,
A.
She had done everything in her power to research nutrition, as all three of her children had differing, life-threatening food allergies. She had spent her life cooking between three and four separate meals-- at each mealtime-- knowing that one missed crumb of food during prep time or at the dinner table could be life-threatening.
She so inspired me, both as a mom, as a student and as an entrepreneur. Maybe I'll write more about her soon.
She gave me a complimentary consult, because I've had my own struggle with nutrition. I was both a ballerina and a body builder. My metabolism was so high, I was constantly being accused of being anorexic...but that's a story for another day.
Rather than loading me down with supplements, she took one look at my distended abdomen and said I needed to sleep more and drink more water.
After almost 15 years over-training, consuming cheap whey or SOY protein, and working non-stop, six days a week, here I was, perpetually tired, unable to lose weight, too exhausted to work out, and suffering from heart palpitations. I finally saw said counselor. She also addressed the same thing every other doctor/friend/relative/client/physical therapist had told me...sleep. (...she also insisted I start on a strict regime of bone broth, green smoothies and colon cleansing...)
In order to be healthy, you HAVE TO SLEEP!
I'm still struggling with this. I refuse to take pills, I'm not disciplined enough to do the rubbing-on of every type of relaxing essential oil to the bottoms of my feet every single night...and as a trainer, I don't have the luxury of a set sleep schedule. I have clients who want sessions at 5:30 in the morning, and I teach group ex classes until 8:30 or 9p.m. at night, and often a nightly commute that often entailed an hour on public transit of some sort, a few miles walk thought very tough neighborhoods, and for about 9 months out of the year, some sort of frozen precipitation.
Further, I was raised to be a very hard worker, and I'm my sole provider of income, so the thought of foregoing my livelihood in order to sleep a bit more always seemed ludicrous to me.
But I needed sleep, and I needed to set boundaries for myself in order to make this happen. (...note...I now live a very different life in perpetually sunny, northern California. I have a very dependable old Honda, so the trekking through urban jungle subway tunnels and black-ice-encrusted streets in the middle of disputed gang territory is a thing of the past...). But I still have the same career, and I'm also a full-time student, so I'm still struggling with setting up a cohesive sleep regimen.
The next step is not exercise, or nutrition, but taking in adequate amounts of water. I currently drink out of the tap...don't ask, but I know my local health food store provides alkalized water...byob...for about 20 cents for five gallons. I also live about 45 minutes from one of the purest mountain springs on the planet, but don't think for a minute I'm one of those people who will drive that far to fill up water bottles. (...but you can bet your britches that if that mountain spring were next to a Barney's I'd be there in a hot second...)
So there you have it. Sleep and drink water. So simple, yet so challenging. I'm on this journey with the rest of you!
First world probs, I know.
Also, before I sign off...here's a freebie for you...sleeping burns more calories than watching television...
Alrighty then, to your health!
Cheers and peace!
xoxoxo,
A.
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