Dancin' In Your Drawers : JANET

"Promise me you'll always remember : You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." - (Christopher Robin to Pooh) A.A. Milne

I should have known better than to avow in my last post that I would publish all the underwear dancing feedback I've received within a week or two. Once again life had other plans which have mainly consisted of doing my best to take care of myself and rest every waking moment I’m not at work, due to a pesky little virus that decided to pay me a visit as of last weekend. I refuse to complain because this was absolutely nothing compared to anything I’ve experienced in the illness realm over the past few years, but nonetheless I wasn’t quite feeling up to thought provoking writing or the typing of it.  I’m still not feeling the greatest, but sometimes taking care of oneself means doing so emotionally. Feeling in need of some emotional TLC today, I’ve decided to blog. As I mentioned in my last entry, due to time constraints and still working on lining up a couple of interviews in the not so distant future (Yes, interviews! They’re coming, and I promise they will be worth the wait!) I’m going to make the focus of my next few posts, sharing the fun and inspiring thoughts some of my long time friends sent my way about their personal experiences dancing in their underwear. I’ve held on to these emailed thoughts and musings since they started trickling into my inbox early this summer. I hope that despite the lapse in time, they’ll still provide you with the uplifting and even heartwarming feelings they stirred up for me when I read them.

To kick things off, I’m starting with the beautiful reply I received from my dear friend, Janet. A few posts back I made mention that the people I am fortunate enough to have in my life right now really do accept me and love me just as I am in a way that I have never felt so strongly before, but what I didn’t add is that whether I always believed them or not, some of those very people have been accepting me "as is" for quite some time now. Janet is most definitely an excellent case in point. To write about the bumps in the road of life throughout our friendship would require a book, but I can assure you that I’m immensely grateful for every single page. Janet became my friend when I didn’t really have any concept of who or what I was outside of my eating disorder. I was at a new school, starting late in the year due to my first string of hospitalizations for my anorexia and that’s all anyone knew of me. I was the anorexic girl who everyone tried to be extra nice to because I was “fragile” and “sick”. With those labels as an introduction how would anyone possibly see me for me…. if there even was a me? I’m still not quite sure how, but Janet did. She became a key part of a group of the kindest, funniest, unique, and non-judgmental young ladies I have ever met who, unbeknownst to us, were solidifying what has grown into a lifelong bond of friendship. All because she and the other young ladies - more on them in future posts. stay tuned. - saw in me what I couldn’t, and they liked it a whole heck of a lot. We quickly coined ourselves “The Clump”, and the rest is history. To this day, some of my most sincere giggles come from reminiscing about the ridiculous things that would happen when we put our heads together. But as enjoyable as it would be to take a stroll down memory lane and recall the fun and happy times, I bring all this up because I don’t know if I have ever adequately expressed how much the true friendship, acceptance, and love of those young ladies did for me then and continues to do for me today. Truth be told, by our senior year of high school they were watching me die. They got rides in from another state more than once to see me emaciated and hooked up to machines, not knowing if that visit was going to be the last. And through it all, they saw me.  ME. The girl that’s still an enormous part of the woman I am today. I honestly don’t know how they did it, but I believe that the love and acceptance they showed me is the greatest gift that friendship has to offer.

I hope that sharing this doesn’t put a damper on the inspiring words Janet has to offer. My intention in sharing that glimpse into our early friendship was as far from that as it could be. Instead I hoped it would  add to the meaning behind what she wished to share, and that you would be better able to understand the sincerity, thoughtfulness, and beauty that I have been privileged enough to experience time and time again, simply because she is my friend.

I’d like to clarify that Janet’s sentiments - as will be the case with comments from any of the other women I will be posting in the coming weeks - are completely her own. I simply sent around an email letting them know about my undie dancing project idea and asking for some song recommendations and hopefully specific feedback.  I am truly honored to have received the awesome responses I did. So let's get to it. Here is what Janet had to say about the value of dancing in your drawers.

                                                                                                                                                          

" WHERE TO START?!?!?  OMG!!!  So to start off I will dance around (in my own house) in undies or fully clothed to just about anything! Currently, Rock of Ages OBC (original Broadway cast) and anything Glee soundtrack. Music in general helps me to feel better, no matter what is going on.  I of course LOVE LOVE LOVE Glee!!!  It makes me miss "The Clump" so much!  Glee in general makes me think of sleepovers in Christa's basement and carefree time.  Times before paying bills, before working everyday, and days of sharing my inner most thoughts with "the clump" who understood and each had a different perspective on those thoughts, days when I could see my friends everyday. In general music is what heals the soul.  I use it everyday with my students as well.  When things are stressful in the classroom we put on a dancing tune and take min or two and dance!  To quote Shrek the musical "Let your freak flag fly!" I love your blog; it is very enlightening and helpful.  Please keep writing.  Never forget that it’s the arts that help us to live!  Whether its painting, sketching, writing, cooking, dancing, singing, acting, or doing a silly craft it’s something to help you escape or cope with life!  These are the things that make us who we are!  

You think once you’re out of high school/ adolescence that all your immature fears go away, but they don't.  Your life changes and somehow to expect to "grow up" but parts of us never do.  Sometimes this is a good thing, like letting your inner child out.  But sometimes your inner adolescent escapes as well.  I get caught up in your old fears of beauty. What you should look like, how much you should weigh, and such. Only now it adds in all the beauty components with your adult responsibilities.  So not only must you be model looking, but also Wonder Woman at the same time with a career.  So how does one get over all of this?  Through escapes like music and dance.  Thank goodness for my home and window blinds!  When things feel completely overwhelming it's time to shake what your mamma gave ya!  So I LOVE LOVE LOVE the dancing undie project!"  

I wanted to post a song to pass along some dancing inspiration based on what each friend had to say, so in honor of my friendship with Janet, I’m taking it back old school. I fondly recall her love for TLC when we first met. So this is for you. Get your groove on, girlfriend! I assure you I will absolutely be doing the same as soon as I click “publish”.

Dancing takes a backseat....temporarily.

"Nothing in life is so hard that you can't make it easier by the way you take it." - Ellen Glasgow

It has obviously been quite some time since I’ve posted, and to be perfectly honest, it’s also been quite some time since I’ve written much of anything. Shortly after my last entry in August I sat down on my living room floor, laptop on the stool in front of me, and pounded out a rough draft of what I had hoped would be an intro to some thoughts one of my longtime friends had shared with me on the topic of underwear dancing. I assumed I would revise and post it in a week or so, but as is so often the case with life, it had other plans for me. A lot of that involved working hard and continuing to plug away at this new life I’m building for myself, but some of it has admittedly been not wanting to write about such a fun, light topic when I’m still in the midst of working through a lot of things that aren’t all that enjoyable or carefree. Don’t get me wrong, life is treating me really well, and I want any of you taking the time to read this to know that I’m speaking the truth. Of course if you know me at all you know I’m as honest as they come, but looking back at a few (much) older posts, I’ve realized that when writing about my own life I had from time to time expressed what I so badly wanted to believe about myself, but rarely­- deep down - truly believed. This time I know how immensely fortunate I am for having the life that I do, especially thinking back to where I was this time just last year. That said, I’m going to speak frankly  and say that truly loving and accepting oneself is still damn difficult. I work a lot, I get physically tired and can’t always be as active as I’d like, so…. I feel bad about myself. I continue to process some more emotional difficulties stemming from all that’s happened in my life over the past year, I become mentally spent and so… I feel bad about myself. I’m sure you get the picture. When I get stuck in that self-deprecating rut, the last thing I feel like doing is jumping around to uplifting music in my underwear. I can't imagine that anyone would.

Yet in spite of this so-called rut, I still felt that itch to write- in particular to blog – yet I knew there was no way I could tackle a post about embracing myself in a happy-go-lucky way feeling as I did. Time and again I thought about those very friends whose thoughts I was wanting to share, and how extremely confounding it is that even with all their unconditional love, acceptance, and support of me – many of them offering all of that to me for over half of my life – my own self –loathing could  and would still creep in and reign supreme. It may sound a bit melodramatic to those who haven’t experienced it for themselves, but it can be a very painful and helpless feeling. After becoming completely overwhelmed one evening last week, I contacted a friend of mine – one of the only true friends I’ve made so far in my new hometown – merely hoping for a kind heart and an open ear to allow me to vent. Well, I got that for sure….but I also got immeasurably more in the form of true inspiration. She has been “there”  - though everyone’s “there” is unique to their life experience, we can definitely relate– and she could state with unflinching honesty and confidence that for some people, learning to love themselves is the most difficult thing they’ll ever face, but she that she could promise me that if I truly learned to do so, it would be more than worth it. I wish I could remember the exact words she used because it felt like someone hit me over the head and woke me up in the most wonderful way possible. I also wish I could sit here and write that I have since done a complete 180 with regard to my self-esteem… but unfortunately, I can’t. Not yet. I’ve expressed many times that to me, what’s true is beautiful, and so I feel it my duty to pass that on to my readers (aka my friends and family) by always being truthful when I write. No, I didn’t suddenly learn to love myself because of an exceptionally inspiring conversation with a very special young lady….but….for the first time in weeks… I stripped down to my undies and I danced. And danced. And danced. And it felt really, really good.

It’s in that spirit that I plan on posting the random thoughts and musings about dancing in one’s underwear that some of my favorite friends were kind enough to send me over the summer – hopefully over the next few weeks. I may not have the time or wherewithal to write much, but I hope that posting them will inspire you (and me too!) to keep striving for self acceptance and true enjoyment of the beauty that is present in each of our lives and in each of us. It certainly can’t hurt to try. 

Dancin' In Your Drawers : A Teaser... until next time.

I assure you that in the midst of the exciting hustle and bustle of all that goes into rebuilding my life, I am hard at work on putting together some more undie dancing posts....ones that actually involve all the awesome friends who took the time out of their own crazy schedules to share what letting their inhibitions go and feeling the music means to them personally! But in the meantime, I found this little article a while back while doing some "research" on this very topic and thought sharing it might be a fun way to offer a song for cutting loose on your own. It just so happens that the lead singer of a song that was a staple of my underwear dancing repertoire earlier this summer also likes to dance privately in less than normal clothing to boost her confidence when she needs it most. Here's a link to the article and here is a great song for going bananas in your skivvies. It may be a bit overplayed by now thanks to its radio friendliness, but don't let that stop you from letting the music set you free, if only for a few minutes. Until next time.....


Florence Welsh dances in underwear before shows

Sparks of Beauty gets personal.....a series of sharing the "little things" I find to be extraordinary.

"Forget past mistakes. Forget failures. Forget everything except what you're going to do now, and do it."  - William Durant

If only my enthusiasm for sharing thoughts on self-worth and beauty or the wonderful stories and songs many friends have relayed for part of my little underwear dancing project matched the time I actually had to sit down and write something worth reading. Alas, that is unfortunately not the case. I have a pretty excellent excuse, as I’m finally working again ,which means my physical health has grown by leaps and bounds – hooray! – but I do find myself wishing there were a few more hours in the day for the sole purpose of writing, particularly writing for this blog on a regular basis. Though averaging a mere post or two a month, sharing my thoughts via Democracy of Beauty, has in many way been the saving grace of my self worth since saying goodbye to New York. I’ve stated numerous times that this blog helps me every bit as much as anyone reading it, and I whole heartedly stand by that affirmation. That is exactly what is compelling me to write this evening despite my body casting a vote for sitting around and doing absolutely nothing. Though tempted to take a stab at writing an accompaniment to some of those yet to be shared dancin’ in your drawers tales sent my way, something inside is definitively pulling me to share something a bit more personal. I only hope it’s not selfish to admit that writing it is as much for my benefit as yours.

As I’m continuing to adjust to my new hometown and everything that entails, it’s easy to dismiss just how much change I’ve gone through over the past 7 months or so and wind up being hard on myself when I struggle with my self worth. I’ve always been one of those deep feeling gals who truly takes most everything to heart, and so – at the risk of sounding like a broken record – I turn anything and everything not up to par inward and use it to back up every fault my inner critic says I possess. Some of these things are related to who I am as a person, but  lately I’ve become more and more aware of just how often they seem to regard my physical appearance. I feel a bit like a hypocrite saying that, given what I "preach" about real beauty and how vital it is to our happiness as human beings that we recognize and value it, but I can assure you with everything in me that all that I’ve written is what I truly believe deep inside. It’s incredibly frustrating to know what is true and still struggle to recognize it in yourself. That has been my personal struggle as of late,and I would easily take a wild guess that I’m far from alone in it. I know what I’ve been through and I know why I have issues with myself in the manner I do, but that does nothing to lessen the burden.  Meeting new people who eventually learn that I had lived in New York for many years usually elicits admiration and even awe from those who have never ventured to such a place all by themselves, often stating how "brave" or "strong" I must be. For me the brave and strong part was always that I went there to conquer my anorexia and find myself.... and I succeeded, but as unbelievably difficult as that was, I would say that what I have been through this year is quite possibly the most difficulty I have ever faced. Not just what I lost, gave up and fought for with regard to getting healthy and  learning to live my life again, but working every step of the way to truly value myself in every sense of the word. Anyone who dares to enter the battle of true self-acceptance is a warrior in my eyes,and that’s a battle I am determined to win once and for all.

Sure, we’re all only human and we will always have doubts and fears that creep up on us and let that negative self-talk loose, but I’m talking about not letting it rule me and ruin all the fantastic things I’m fortunate enough to have in my life. I’m certainly no therapist and to pretend that I know a way to guarantee self-worth would be ridiculous. But what my experience over the past year and a half or so – particularly the past seven months – has been able to reveal to me is how very much there is to appreciate about myself, my body, and my life. In my grandest hopes and dreams, I never would have imagined myself being where I am now. I am getting physically healthier every day, and constantly learning new ways to continue to keep my body strong. I’m able to work for the first time in over a year. And, most importantly, I think more than ever before, I am truly myself, and those near and far who I am lucky enough to have in my life, accept and love that real me more than anyone ever has. This “should” be enough, or at least that’s what I tell myself when I’m feeling particularly critical. But old habits, coping skills, and the constant barrage of the superficial, appearance obsessed culture we live in are holding on for dear life. I may be strong enough to toss all that aside with a mere finger when I look at someone else, but when I look at myself I often feel paralyzed to anything but accepting those ugly lies. As much as I love so many things about New York City, it and some of the people that I unfortunately chose to have in my life at the time, did a real number on the fight in me when it comes to superficial qualities. It would have been hard enough after dealing with the health issues I faced and what they did to my body, but having that constant outward value shoved in my face nearly every time I stepped outside my apartment has made it even more so. Though those negative individuals have been out of my life for many months, what they drummed into my subconscious lingers and gives a near continuous shot of power to every self- doubt I already possessed deep inside. For once it’s not anyone around me that doesn’t think I’m good enough; it’s me. Sure, there are outside factors.The simplest of these is that I’m now living in a college town which means a lot of much younger women whose bodies have yet to go through even a fraction of the wear and tear that I have been through. I live in an apartment complex with several of them and am now working with a few as well.  It hasn’t been easy to conquer the thoughts that go through my mind. But when I take a good look at what I have in my life and realize that I alone,really am the only one in my life who’s thinking such things, I know that no matter how difficult it may seem, I’m more than capable if I set my mind to it. And I honestly believe that if you surround yourself with the same attitude, you will be more than capable too, no matter how daunting it seems at its worst.

It’s funny how any time I seem to have some sort of breakthrough regarding my self-worth, life just loves to test me. Just last week I had a pretty “interesting” experience that really forced me to take a look at what I value and what’s really important to me at the end of the day. Over the past two months or so I’ve begun to workout again. At first it was just dvds in my apartment, but I have since graduated to going to the great little gym for the tenants of my complex just across the parking lot. I’m nowhere near the level of fitness I hope to be, but at this point in my life, I’m more than happy to be able to do what I’m able to do now. The first couple times I had gone I was either alone or sharing the space with a couple guys that were as much in their own little workout zone as I like to be, so I felt about as comfortable as could be expected. But last week, the day after I’d done some very serious thinking about how much I needed to do everything I could to stop judging myself so harshly and was feeling quite positive,  a young woman is in the gym as I approach. I see through the window that she is very fit and probably several years younger than me, but whatever... I could suck it up and focus on myself and my music. No problem. At least that’s what I thought until I entered the gym and saw that not only was this woman watching one of those top model tv shows, she also had the volume turned up to what I would estimate was as loud as it could possibly go. So that’s a super fit young girl running effortlessly on the treadmill next to me, 8 runway models from that ever triggering city of New York coming at me at full volume, and I’m not done yet. The small building that houses our one room gym leads directly out to the complex’s inground pool. There are three sizable windows that allow for gazing out as much as looking in, though I can’t imagine why anyone lounging by the pool on a beautiful day would want to look at some sweaty person on a treadmill. Yet sure enough, there were about five or so young women lounging by the pool with their tanned and toned bikini bodies on full display, and it only took a few minutes of me being on the elliptical machine for them to notice me. Who knows why so many young adults still seem to get a rush out of whispering about others in plain view in the not so subtle way that eerily reminds me of junior high, but it often seems  they do. For all I know they could have been saying something positive about me, but being in the vulnerable position of wearing form fitting workout attire next to Miss Fitness USA over there with ears and eyes being overwhelmed with models going on about how stressful it is to be so beautiful, and having a gaggle of college girls in bikinis looking at me, it didn’t matter what they were saying – I ached to find a dark hole to crawl in and hide. But that’s not what I did. Instead I took a few slow, deep breaths and a mental step back to assess the situation calmly and rationally. I really wasn’t sure whether I would be able to withstand all these triggers at once or not, but I knew if I walked away it was going to be because that was the healthiest thing for me to do. I thought for a few minutes about why it was important to me to exercise, why I had chosen this time of day, and how I would benefit from it. I thought about indescribably grateful I am for the amazing fact that my body is actually capable of working out less than a year after not knowing whether I’d ever be healthy and strong. I thought about how many important changes I’ve made in my day to day lifestyle for the specific purpose of helping my body to continue to heal and strenghten inside and out, and how proud I am of that. And lastly I thought about all the important people in my life. Though I write quite openly and honestly about my struggles with body image and self-acceptance, I don’t like to write about those close to me unless it is vital to the post. In this age of our every thought being shared in a split second, I’ve gained a great appreciation for privacy. That said, I will share that I have never felt more accepted and “good enough” just as I am than when I am talking with or spending time with those that are an integral part of my life. I thought about how they would see me if they happened to pass by the gym window, and realized that they would see me, Sara, and be so, so happy and grateful that I was taking care of myself and continuing to grow in health and strength. I knew what I had to do. I cranked up my iTunes’ volume as loud as it would go, focused on the blue sky barely visible through the top portion of that window and did my thing. I’ll say again that it wasn’t easy, but the more I tuned out all the triggers, the more into the music and my workout I became. With about five minutes left in my workout the model watcher left and I promptly jumped down from my elliptical perch and turned that ridiculous show off. Before I resumed I took a minute to acknowledge how wonderful it felt, even through the difficulty, to know that I was not being ruled by my negative self-image. I was appreciating my body, myself, my life. What better time to also acknowledge that all this appreciation was taking place on a beautiful sun filled, summer day in my equally beautiful new home state. I felt some theme music was appropriate and so I finished my run to this awesome little tune. The “workout complete - - great job!” message on that elliptical machine’s tiny screen has never felt better.

Dancin’ In Your Drawers – My Personal Motivation to Move It….

"It's also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that's sitting here right now...with its aches and its pleasures...is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive"  - Pema Chodron

                                                                                                                            

When I initially sent around an email to some female friends of mine, letting them know about this particular blogging idea and inquiring about their personal preferences for breaking it down in their underwear, the very first response I received was a from a good friend of mine who lives overseas. She replied very politely, always encouraging despite obvious wondering what in world I had up my sleeve, stating, “It's great that you are writing though I'm not sure how it connects to undies... I'm sure you will fill me in.”  Hopefully this blog entry will suffice.

Anyone who knows me can affirm that music has always been a vital part of my life. As much as I love many different media of creativity, music has always spoken to something inside of me that could never be put into words. Nothing makes me feel the way that music does. Sensitive soul that I am, it’s because of this that it has been and always will be one of the great loves of my life. I have been jumping and dancing around to music with wild abandon for as long as I can remember. Whether producing a full length musical with a cast of Cabbage Patch Kids in my bedroom – sets, props, standing ovation, all products of my imagination –or flailing about, grinning ear to ear on neighborhood porches or in friends’ playrooms until near exhaustion, few things were ever as enjoyable to me as letting go and letting that music move me. As I got older and eventually engrossed in my eating disorder as a teenager, my love for music was one of the only joys that remained intact. But while I could listen and feel with the best of them, my days of letting go and letting my body move were as distant as they could be.

Fast forward several years to my blossoming life as a new-ish resident of the Big Apple. Though recovered enough to properly nourish and care for my body in a physical sense, I was a far cry from having an even remotely positive thought about my physique unless it was hidden - masked by carefully selected clothing that would perfectly camouflage every single flaw it possessed. I was able to enjoy moving about to my favorite tunes from time to time, but it was never with the freedom of days past, always with a self-consciousness that could easily win a world title if there was a competition for such an awful feeling. Even the slightest glimpse of my body when getting out of the shower or changing my clothes caused me to cringe at that point. You can imagine that the idea of dancing in next to nothing was not something at the top of my to do list. That is until I came across a random article in a fitness magazine I had purchased for a quick yoga workout supposedly inside. This in and of itself was a rarity for me, as I often find such magazines geared towards women’s bodies to be triggering regarding thoughts of my self worth, and particularly body image. Nonetheless, something drew me to that magazine, and since I had spent my hard earned four dollars or so to purchase it, I figured I might as well give it a once over and see if there were any articles worth reading. While scanning the table of contents, one almost immediately jumped out at me, promising sure fire (and fun) ways to boost your body confidence in a matter of minutes. Of course, I assumed this claim would prove to be greatly exaggerated, but thought it still couldn’t hurt to give it a quick read.

At the mere thought of underwear dancing, a crystal clear mental image of the brightly colored, wonderfully creative graphics accompanying that article still pops into my mind’s eye, in which a stylish, funky, unique, and ultimately super confident young woman was having a grand time at some sort of semi-formal fete. Yes, it was only a sketched illustration, but her confidence was impossible to ignore. I wanted to find out how to put myself in her shoes, and so I began to read. I believe there were several steps or tips of things to do or tell yourself to boost your self image, but the only one that stuck with me was stripping down and dancing – as in all out, no holds barred dancing in nothing but a bra and panties, particularly before a social event or a date or really any situation that would be made better by self confidence at its maximum. I’m honestly not sure what it was about this idea at that particular point in time that compelled me to drop everything and give it a try. I know that I had some sort of social activity going on that evening, though I can’t recall exactly what it was, and I distinctly remember thinking about a few choice individuals and wanting to show them with everything in me, what Sara was truly made of when I embraced it. And so, I danced.  Not completely in my underwear – a bra and some capri pants, I believe- but still a decidedly bold move for someone who struggled with the slightest glimpse of her body if it wasn’t covered up…and one that left me feeling phenomenal. In those few minutes, I realized that it was impossible to be actively obsessing about my bodily imperfections when I was giving everything in me over to the music. I was able to let it go for those few moments in time, and because of that, when I caught a glimpse of those parts of my body that were exposed post dance, they no longer looked as bad as I thought they did. I felt surprisingly confident in that realization, and I’m certain it showed to those socializing with me that evening.

From that evening on, letting my inhibitions go and getting my groove on in little clothing became a regular and necessary part of my life. That’s one of the reasons this time last year was so difficult for me; I was too weak to let my troubles out through dance because of what my body was going through. I can’t tell you how many times I listened to my favorite dancing songs and imagined as hard as I could, how I would bounce around with all the energy in the world if I could. I hated my body more with every day because of its seeming refusal to function properly and look healthy, making my chances of ever feeling well enough to jump around and feel good about my it seem next to nil. And that’s why this topic is so important to me; I can dance again and it feels better than ever.

I’ll let you in on a little secret about all this underwear dancing I have done in my adult life: For the longest time I rarely felt comfortable enough in my own skin to dance in only underwear. It was always a bra and some sort of pants or leggings. I could make the excuse that I was simply more comfortable with pants on, but I want to be honest. It seems silly when the only one who would see me or know would be me, but that’s what hating your body, and sometimes even hating yourself can do to a person. I’m not entirely sure what the deciding factor was, but that all changed the first night I was officially staying in my new apartment, in my new hometown, with what often feels like a whole new lease on life. I had stayed overnight in my place a couple nights the week before, but this was the first night that I was officially “home”. I was walking around my furniture less living room, iTunes providing some pleasant background music when it just hit me. I was in my space –just me – and I was alive. I promptly checked all the blinds, stripped down to my bra and underwear (yes – just my panties!), picked an awesome tune, cranked up the volume and danced like a crazy woman. As the young folk like to say, it was epic. I hope you’ll find some time to do some crazy dancing of your own until next time. In that spirit, here’s the song I chose that night. Epic indeed.

Sparks Of Beauty : a reminder...a series of sharing the "little things" I find to be extraordinary.

       "Some beautiful things are more impressive when left 
         imperfect than when too highly finished." 
                                         - Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Every now and then I need a reminder. That’s one of the things I enjoy most about blogging; each time I remind the anonymous reader about the beauty that is available to all of us – and in all of us – I also remind myself. Most of the time this allows my self confidence and security to continue to develop, strengthen and even flourish…but not always. Sometimes I have a bad day, a bad week, a not so hot month. Life can be difficult, and as I’ve pointed out many times over the past few months, it’s really hard to think “Lemonade!” when a truckload of lemons are suddenly dumped on your head. For me, I’ve come to realize that my inner critic - or inner saboteur depending on how you look at it - relishes those times when I’m metaphorically swimming in lemons. Vulnerability sets in and that inner saboteur (aka the part of my mind that seems to specialize in negative thinking) starts talking. I turn difficulties inward and wonder if the faults I see are to blame. That inner monologue gets louder and harder to ignore. Suddenly I’m not good enough in any way. Not talented enough, not capable enough, not intelligent enough, not independent enough – you get the picture. And no matter how unrelated to my physicality those difficulties may be, having battled anorexia and a poor body image for so long makes it very easy for me to let every negative thought lead me back to a litany of flaws in my appearance. Anyone who has battled such issues during their lifetime would I’m sure, attest to the power such thoughts can have if you let them, and though I’m confident in my ability to truly take care of my body and not let that negativity dictate my behavior in nourishing it, I’m not nearly as secure when it comes to accepting myself in the face of that negativity.  It’s easy to preach self-acceptance and self- confidence when everything’s coming up roses, but when there seems to be a black cloud over my head – or at least over my mirror - it often feels next to impossible to practice what I preach when it comes to believing it about myself.

                                                                                                                                                                 
Enter my reminder. This one came to me via the AOL news page last weekend, wedged somewhere between the latest scandal involving those crazy Jersey Shore kids and a link to some recent photos of popular starlets walking the red carpet. Knowing that anyone and everyone can call themselves a blogger, I don’t feel wrong in saying that I did not have the highest hopes for the article I was about to read. My sensitivity to, and passion for the topic of body image usually set off a mental alarm, warning me that what I’m about to read, hear, see, may not be something that leads to positive body image thoughts, and in fact might trigger the opposite. Nonetheless, I was under the weather, stuck in my apartment for the weekend, dealing with some stressful situations, and ultimately hating my body, so I figured it couldn't hurt. One sentence in and I knew that I had made the right decision.

To say anything else would, I feel, take away from the essay itself. Quite frankly, I could have easily just posted a link to the article, as it needs no introduction in my opinion. But in keeping with the spirit of self acceptance and self confidence, I decided to force myself to sit down and write a few paragraphs, and I once again got a twofer in the realm of important reminders. What I’m offering to the reader, I’m also offering to myself, and it helps me to see that I am much less of all those negative things I mentioned, especially when I can inspire someone else to feel the same about themselves. I can’t help but feel that the author of this beautifully written piece was rewarded with much of the same. I hope that you’ll take a minute to read Ms. Smith’s essay, so you can feel that wonderful reward of self worth too. You deserve it.

Agi Smith : Every Woman's Body Has a Story and Here Is Mine...

Dancin' In Your Drawers....An Introduction

"Dance First. Think Later. It's the natural order."   - Samuel 

                                                                                          Beckett 

        

Don’t worry – my blog has not been hacked. And yes, you correctly read that post title. Welcome to the first installment of Dancin’ in Your Drawers, a little project that has been in the making for quite some time now, focused on the art form of flailing about to some good tunes in your underwear.  This may sound slightly silly to those who have never cranked up the iTunes and cut loose, but to those whom this is a regular part of their weekly routine, it will be crystal clear that this particular activity is often an essential ingredient in the recipe for a woman’s self- worth and confidence.

With that in mind, I’ve made sure to do my research. This will not be a series of posts focused only on my personal views and tales of undie dancing ; I have spent the last few months slowly gathering opinions from friends on everything from song choices to why and how they shake it in their skivvies…or in some cases, do not.  I will admit that I honed in on the female viewpoint, as this seems to be a practice more common in the feminine sex, but I certainly don’t mean to exclude any men that might be reading.  I can actually recall a comment from my former Facebook days in which a  male (married with a child) friend affirmed something to the effect of, “Men like to get down to some good tunes in their boxers and socks too!”.

 I am aware that our culture in particular has taken to sexualizing dancing in your underwear , and while that may be true in some women’s cases- this tends to be done in complete privacy, so I couldn’t possibly know - that’s definitely not the angle I’m going for with this project.  I’ve spent some time thinking about how to best explain this phenomenon to those who have yet to be enlightened , and it’s my belief that this little opening sequence from the 80’s “classic” Adventures in Babysitting might just do the trick.

 No, Elizabeth Shue is not in her underwear, but she (or the character, rather) is completely unhibited to the point that it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing. I think that should serve as enough of a teaser to get you to check back every so often and hopefully find some fun posts that will inspire you to let your hang-ups go, at least for the three minutes that it takes to play your favorite boogie song, and embrace all that you are.

 And men, for any of you reading and still thinking that this couldn’t possibly pertain to you, I offer another 80’s classic. I can’t speak for him, but it sure looks like Mr. Cruise is having a blast to me. Go on and try it. No one will know….and you might just enjoy yourself.

                                                                                                                                                    

Sparks of Beauty gets adventurous....a series of sharing the "little things" I find to be extraordinary.

                                                  *photo by Taylor

“An adventure may be worn as a muddy spot or it may be worn as a proud insignia. It is the woman wearing it who makes it the one thing or the other.”   - Norma Shearer

I’m going to be completely honest here and say that I’ve wanted to write about this particular source of “beauty” since the very moment I first climbed inside a couple of months ago. That’s right; I’m talking about a 2001 silver Jeep Wrangler. Those who know me personally may not be surprised by the level of my enthusiasm, but those who know me only via my blogging may be slightly puzzled as to what on earth I could possibly find extraordinarily beautiful about a jeep. Well, that is exactly what I’m about to share with you.

I have written many a post about the beauty found in our differences as people and that which comes from learning to not only see, but to truly appreciate something that is unlike anything else you've gazed upon or experienced before.  I actually made a clear note of this very belief in the first entry of this Sparks of Beauty series; the act of instilling an awareness and appreciation that differs from my own way of looking at or doing something is beautiful to me.  Though completely unexpected, riding in this crazy little vehicle for the first time took that belief and offered actual proof of its truth in way I hadn’t experienced in years.  It would easily have qualified as what Oprah devotees would call an “aha moment”.   I’m not exaggerating when I say that roughly two and a half hours in the passenger seat – round trip -allowed me to feel something inside that I truly believed I had lost for good. It showed me that what I feared was gone forever was very much alive….and so was I.

My lack of any sort of real life over the past year and a half or so is no secret, and thus it should be no secret that fun was not part of my vocabulary during that time. On this particular afternoon -unseasonably warm and sunny for early April - I finally (finally!!!) had plans that were made with the sole intention of having fun and getting a break from some less than stellar circumstances that both my company for the evening and I were each muddling through in our respective lives. I was as excited as I’d imagine someone who had been through what I had been through could be. I was going to spend an evening in the awesome city of Pittsburgh with someone who was becoming a real friend. I was going to see a movie in the theatre for the first time in months. It was going to be great, or at least my version of “great” over the past few years, which basically meant it would be as good of an experience as someone who was so broken and depleted both physically and emotionally was capable of having. It would be fun at times, but I would still find myself not quite present, longing for a level of enjoyment that continued to elude me. Life had proven that this was inevitable. Nonetheless, I was not about to turn down even the smallest chance at joy. I was trying to find a reason to stay afloat and this seemed as good a chance as any, no matter how brief it might be.

I knew ahead of time that I would be riding in a Wrangler for several hours and to tell you the truth, as excited as I was, I was a little apprehensive. Let’s face it,  the media, with its countless ways of invading our homes each day ,is always ready to jump on the negative, especially if there is the slightest possibility that something could go wrong ; and jeeps aren’t exactly known for their stellar safety features. That plus the fact that my digestive issues aren’t quite known for cooperating when it comes to long car rides. But whatever - it would be an “experience”, an adventure if you will, and my curiosity won that little battle easily. Before I knew it, the jeep had arrived and if nothing else, I knew I was going to look super cool for the rest of that Saturday night.

I don’t know much – i.e. anything – about vehicles, having lived in a city where I didn’t need one for nine years, and I couldn’t tell an ultra expensive car from the most economical automobile if you paid me, but the sight of that rugged yet sleek silver jeep was immediately the epitome of vehicular coolness in the book of Sara. A taste of my apprehension returned when I noticed the sizable safety warning above the windshield– a warning that I will not repeat, as I don’t want to worry any family and friends who may be reading this, but I put my trust in the friend behind the wheel and we were off. You may be thinking, “That’s great, Sara, but isn’t this blog attempting to focus on the beauty that goes beyond the superficial and obvious? Aren’t you trying to look beneath the surface? So this was a visibly pleasing vehicle that was different than anything you’d ever ridden in. That’s great – but an “aha moment”?! Come on…” My reply would be that while this aspect of the jeep was a lot of fun on a certain level, if that had been the high point of the ride I wouldn’t be moved to write about it now. No - what happened is actually something that is difficult for me to put into words. I was riding down a road that I have ridden on countless times, in many different vehicles, as far back as I can recall, and yet it was new – brand new. Sitting a little higher, gazing at the passing trees, businesses, homes through this wide, rectangular windshield that allowed me to see so much more of the road and my surroundings than I had ever noticed before, feeling my entire body jostle and shift with every bump in the road. I felt everything – really felt it – and that was when it hit me. I realized what I had been given in all my loss – a new start, a fresh perspective, a different way of looking at and therefore living my life – and it was beautiful. For the first time in years, I felt hope – real hope. I felt more alive than I ever imagined I would feel again. I was enjoying each moment as it came, and for the first time in a very, very long time I had fun. Real fun. That momentary revelation in that jeep seemed to open the door to a whole new world for me, but it really wasn’t new - it was just a new way of looking at it that I may not have discovered otherwise. I had a wonderful time in Pittsburgh, and despite continued bumps in my road back to health and happiness, I have had many other truly fun experiences since that evening.

I've also been fortunate enough to have a recurring spot in the passenger seat of that Wrangler for many of those fun experiences, and that has not only served to cement my new found affection for this vehicle, it has also offered a blaring reminder that I am fully alive and I should embrace it each time I climb inside. Whether bumming a ride to a doctor’s appointment or taking a winding country road to reach a breathtaking scenic view of my new West Virginia hometown, it has been like a wonderful jolt of confidence and security as soon as I buckle up and the jeep rolls forward. I’ve done a bit of lay person reading on the jeep, to satisfy my own curiosity and to make sure I know what I’m writing about, and  that has only made it that much clearer to me why an SUV of sorts would have such an impact on my outlook. There are many mentions on various pro-jeep websites of the wrangler being for either the young or the young at heart. I realized that because of my entire teenage life being lost in a sense as a slave to anorexia and then moving to a city where no one drove, save cabbies, I had missed out on that feeling of freedom and exhilaration that comes from riding around as a young person. Couple that with the fact that just a few months ago, I truly felt like my life was as close to over as it could get, and it feels absolutely incredible to have this constant reminder that not only am I very much alive, I really haven’t missed out on anything. Far from it. I’m experiencing everything I could hope to experience, in the way that’s just right for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I thought it might be fun to offer a link to a great little article I found regarding the pros and cons of owning a Wrangler. Much like my choice to live in the city that never sleeps for a time, a jeep is definitely an acquired taste. But regardless of your current level of interest or lack there of, I strongly suggest you give this list a look. I don’t know that it will serve to inspire you, but it’s my hope that knowing that something – anything- has inspired me so greatly when I thought nothing could will in turn, give you the little push you may be needing to discover your own source of inspiration, that little something that says, “You’re alive! It’s awesome! Enjoy it!”, whatever it may be. And if your interest is peaked enough to scan the pros and cons list, don’t let the cons scare you. Just make sure to ride with an experienced jeep owner and you’ll be just fine.  I can’t promise you’ll look as cool as if you were riding in the silver beauty pictured above - which by the way, is the only silver Wrangler with matching silver flairs in the city of Morgantown – but I can promise you that you will not care what you look like. You’ll be too busy having the time of your life.

Pros and Cons of owning a Jeep Wrangler

Sparks of Beauty - Take 2.....a series of sharing the "little things" I find to be extraordinary.

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind. "
                                                                                                           Theodor Geisel  (aka Dr. Seuss)
                                                                                                                                      

Twelve days may not sound like too significant a gap when measuring the length of time between blog posts, but when it comes to this “sparks of beauty” business, I assure you, I am slacking. Now before you go thinking that I’m being overly critical of myself or having unreasonable expectations – especially given the magnitude of  this  life transitioning of which I’m currently in the throes – let me clarify. I have a small journal filled with notes about things that have recently touched me in such a way that I can’t wait to pass along their beauty to anyone and everyone I am able. The fact this this is only post number 2 since coming up with this little series is disappointing , because as I mentioned in the previous entry, the true beauty to me, lies in sharing it. I’m certainly not complaining about having so many notes about such things – quite the opposite – but I do want to make it clear that I will follow through on this, and it’s my firm belief that each "spark" shared will be more than worth the wait to anyone who takes a look.

Case in point – Confessions: of a Funked Out Eye Candy Freak, by the incomparable LaLa Boom.  If I were to carry on a casual conversation about pieces of writing that have truly spoken to me in a very personal and meaningful way over the years, Confessions would easily be in the mix - to my mind and heart every bit as poignant as the works of the well known literary geniuses that constitute the rest of that list. I am fortunate enough to know Ms. Boom personally, which in my opinion ups my hip and mysterious cred as a writer, but I have no doubts that she would be on that same list of mine, whether we were friends or whether we were complete strangers. Talk about the beauty of truth ; her work is so personal, so uniquely her own, so very honest, it truly leaves me in awe each time I read it. Honesty of that caliber, where all that lies in the hearts of so many, never to be heard, is put forth in such a raw, shoot from the hip kind of way, is not an easy thing to offer. LaLa expresses that rawness in such a creatively clever way, she makes it seem like the world would be a better place if we all had the courage to express ourselves likewise. You may agree with her point of view, you may not, but either way, she will make no apologies, and keep on offering all that she has to offer. My only objection to anything regarding Confessions is how in the world she has managed to stay under the radar on a site like blogspot for so long. This woman should be published ; that’s all there is to it. Please do yourself a huge favor and check out this truly awesome site. I’m currently more down and out in the financial realm than I’d care to admit, but I would have no problem betting my rent check that you will be impressed with what you find there. It’s a privilege to share her work with you, and an honor to call her a friend. Now go….embrace your inner “funked out eye candy freak”. You won’t regret it.

Sparks of Beauty…..a series of sharing the “little things” I find to be extraordinary.

    
"Society exists only as a mental concept ; in the real world there are only individuals." 

                                                                                                      -Oscar Wilde

After all that talk of my new found writing fever, it appears I haven’t done a very good job of following through , given that my last post was written over a month ago.(gulp) But for maybe the first time in my life, I don’t feel guilty about it. I don’t feel like I started something new, only to leave it by the wayside to become an eventual part of online oblivion. I know, for once, that instead of fretting about not being able to accomplish what I initially thought I “should”, I have been preoccupied with exactly what I need to be doing to get back to truly living again. Actually,I’ll go a step further and say that I have been busy not merely getting back to living, but to beginning to live life in a fuller, more meaningful way than I ever have before. But just because I haven’t been blogging, that in no way means I haven’t been brainstorming, and taking notes, and writing what I feel inspired to, at a furious pace. Yes, “writer's fever” is definitely still intact ; I simply haven’t had the opportunity to give the proper attention to really dig into many of the ideas and musings I eventually hope to share.

In my frequent jotting down of random thoughts, ideas, experiences, etc, I’ve noticed that while I do have some notes of inspiration recounting some of the “bigger" things that have recently proved meaningful to me, it’s those smaller discoveries, those simple everyday experiences, that have the ability to make me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before. I’ve said it many times, and I’ll keep on saying it – there is so much beauty to be found, even in the midst of great adversity, and I’m so grateful that I have been fortunate enough to really see it, especially in those quietly extraordinary ways.

It’s with that inspiration in mind that I decided I’d like to try a little different type of blog posting, in which I don’t say too much, but simply offer a “link” if you will – both figuratively and literally – to those bursts of beauty that have moved me to take notice of them in a unique way. Whether bringing a friend’s personal brand of creativity to light for a wider audience, sharing a photo of a scene that stirred my senses while passing it on any given day, or recounting an experience that spoke to me in some poignant way or was simply a lot of fun – it’s my hope that whatever is shared will provide the reader with at least a sampling of the inspiration that was brought to me.

So without further ado, I’ll get the sharing started by offering a site link to the wonderfully unique artwork of a dear friend of mine.  My reason for choosing to share the artwork of Carlos Delgado goes far beyond his obvious talent and my personal taste with regard to visual art – that’s merely the baseline. The sheer passion and open honesty with which he expresses himself seems to shine through every brush stoke, every pencil line. Though fortunate enough to have been employed by a world renowned art museum for several years, I admittedly have a limited knowledge of painting, printmaking, sculpting, etc,when it comes to proper technique. I’d like to think my appreciation and interest makes up for my lack of “skill” in this arena, but the fact remains that even my stick figures leave much to be desired in the realm of accuracy and pleasure to the eye.  But art - any form of creativity and expression – is personal. I normally do my best to steer clear of "shoulds" and "shouldn’ts", but this is definitely an exception where I feel it appropriate to say it should be personal, if it is to be truly beautiful. What good is any form of expression, if it’s merely a carbon copy, going along with the crowd or conforming to what “critics” may say is acceptable? To me, even if something is clearly striking at first glance, it's the level of honesty and individuality shining through that take it to the next level, taking hold of my senses and giving me a different perspective and openness to it, that I hadn’t initially possessed . The ability to instill an appreciation and awareness of something other than my own way of looking at the world will never cease to be beautiful in my eyes. That’s where I believe the true beauty of sharing lies, and it never fails to render me speechless at impact.

So regardless of anyone’s personal preference, there’s no denying that Carlos’s work possesses that quality in a very special way. Reading his biographic page alone exemplifies that fact. It’s my hope that you’ll take a look for yourself to get a taste of that firsthand. And of course, any of you that know me personally have an open invitation to stop by my soon - to- be new home in the coming months and take a look at a particular project of his that will be taking up a place of honor on my coffee table – an “autographed” copy of the second edition of Swipe Magazine of which is his an editor and contributor. Maybe one day its value to me will be matched by the art world. Few would deserve that more.

CARLOS DELGADO :   http://www.carlosdelgadoart.com/

LOST AND FOUND

  
  "Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair."   - After the Storm by Mumford & Sons


I mentioned in my initial “comeback” post,that it was others’ feedback that ultimately convinced me to give this blog another go, but I failed to mention that that same feedback also led to my own revisiting of previous posts,taking the time to reread what had been shared. My all too frequent tendency to criticize my work after the fact – as many of you fellow creative souls out there know all too well – admittedly led to an almost involuntary mental note of everything I disliked about my own writing,everything I “should have” written instead. But the interesting thing was that that persona of critic in overdrive started to lose its power as I began to really hear, really take in, what so many of my friends and acquaintances had been honest and brave enough to say out loud. To be perfectly frank, it was a very moving experience for me. I initially began this project in the hopes of trying to help a few people who had perhaps endured the same battling of oneself as I did.  Yet several years later,here I was, at the true rock-bottom of my life thus far, and they were helping me . Though laden with emotionalism and inner turmoil,there was no denying that it felt extraordinary.

As I read, I became aware of some similar themes among those interviewed. One in particular hit me in a way that rivaled a reaction to any great literary or cinematic reveal that seems to stir every cell in my body when I finally “get” it.  Each person had, in their own way, expressed the belief that beauty is truth. Beauty is truth. I repeated this to myself over and over again,not understanding why that simple statement would elicit such deep thought. It had taken hold of my mind, stirred something deep down inside, and was not about to let go simply because I acknowledged its presence. I had to face it head on. And then, just like that,there it was -the big reveal. The orchestral accompaniment of my imagination swelled, the goose bumps covered my arms, the tears began to sting my eyes, and I realized what it meant to me, what that simple phrase was so blatantly teaching me.

Over the past year and a half I have lost so much - seemingly everything that I had come to know as my life. One thing after another; It seemed endless. If you have been through any type of health difficulty– whether chronic or acute – you surely understand the devastation that can stem from the simple fact that your body can no longer function properly. Everyone’s struggle is personal and unique, and I certainly don’t want to compare wounds or measure anyone’s pain against my own. But change can be very difficult, and when that change is so painful and out of one’s control, I can’t help but imagine that feelings similar to my own would arise. The more I lost, the more the effect on my emotional life and self-worth became indescribably unbearable. Being unable to spend quality time with family or simply have fun – real fun - with friends, losing the ability to work and support myself, being unable to live in the space I called my own, having to fully rely on others because I literally couldn’t do much on my own– how could I help but feel I was losing myself?  It must sound fairly simple, as in, “of course  that would happen, Sara!”, but having deemed myself a strong,independent young woman,courageously following the lifestyle of a weeble*- metaphorically speaking - this realization was earth shattering.  (* in case you’re wondering, “weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down”) The self proclaimed tough cookie had crumbled, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had not only lost seemingly everything - most of all, I lost that unique person, the real me that I had finally allowed myself to become after so many years of struggling .  So that’s health, job, apartment, presumed friends, the amazing city I had called home for over 9 years - gone. And that’s just scratching the surface. To share any more specific details about it in this format would, I feel, be an injustice to its significance and unfair to myself, given how very personal and sensitive an issue it is to find yourself questioning your identity and worth as a person. But the lesson is not in the details, it’s in that simple phrase that I couldn’t shake.

I assumed that my self-worth had sunk to uncharted depths due to the continuous cycle of trying and failing – to be healthy, content, just plain okay. I felt forced to resign myself to survival mode. The road ahead seemed never ending,every minute that passed, another piece of me going with it. I was nothing more than a defective body, a shell of what used to be. Nothing, where a vibrant, passionate, heart, mind,and whole person used to reside. At least that’s what I believed. But as a seeker of truth, how was I so blindly accepting this as fact? Where was I getting all the evidence to prove my theory?  It wasn’t until that moment of hitting the bottom - when I knew I had lost what I thought was just about everything I had to lose - that I finally came to see the truth. The truth that I didn’t realize I had stopped seeking long ago. I thought I had lost myself because I didn’t have the same outward identity I once did;on the exterior I wasn’t the same. But the only real failures with regard to being myself came from seeking what wasn’t true and trying to become what I am not. I had stopped trying to get myself back, instead trying desperately to measure up to some imaginary idea of perfection that seemed to belong to everyone but me. The more I lost,the more “beautiful” every other young female looked to me. I ached for every absurd societal standard of what makes a person “ pretty”,intelligent, interesting, unique - even lovable, and I never once questioned my allowance of that longing to hurt me so. The more I hurt, the more I lost, and the more I lost, the more value I placed on those things I wasn’t.  Sadly, I never once bothered to take a look at who I was. Oh, I heard those around me who claimed to see me despite the hell surrounding me, but even turning to trusted friends faded until seeking only those who hadn’t learned the beauty and worth of what is real became the norm. I looked to those who could confirm that I was worthless. I can’t pinpoint what led me back to the truth in exactness, but I have felt it. The grieving, the pain, the loss – it’s still there too. But for the first time in a very long time, so am I. Me. Sara.

I can’t tell you how often I feel as if I’ve been dropped headfirst into a whirlpool , struggling to keep my head above the water all by myself. But it’s me flailing about and barely treading water. And I am being completely, 100% honest when I say that realization feels incredible. I’ve also come to realize another truth by seeking just that ; I am not nearly as alone as I thought. Once I caught a glimpse of the real me, those fellow truth seekers who really valued that person, were right by my side, filled with joy at the sight of someone they hadn’t seen in quite some time. As I set off on my last trip to the city to pack up my “life” and say goodbye, I was panicked, terrified of losing what I had only just begun to rediscover. But something really fascinating occurred in its place. Because I knew who I was – in spite of my ever ready doubts and insecurities – all that I had longed for, all those absurd ideals and standards I had used as fuel for my self-loathing fire, no longer seemed desirable to me. Was Brooklyn still full of extremely attractive young people in ultra hip clothing? You bet. Were there perfectly healthy,successful people all over the city having extravagant nights out with their “friends” ? Absolutely. Did it change the value of knowing who I am? Astonishingly – no. At least not when I remembered what was true. I honestly couldn’t describe one other person that passed me on the street or in the local coffee shops, aside from those who, like me, sought what is real,and found it to be beautiful. And for that week, it was.

Since then it has been immensely difficult to keep that feeling ,as I’m still in the depths of dealing with all that loss, and the struggle to find what is essentially a new life in many aspects. But through it all - every tear, every sleepless night, every time it feels like I’ll never truly get there- I’m grateful. I‘m grateful because in losing everything, I found myself.  It may take excruciating effort to notice at first, and it may take quite some time for the dust to settle enough to see it even half clearly, but I can say without giving it a second thought, that I can look at what has happened to me and find so much that is extraordinarily beautiful - because it’s rooted in truth.

Many friends will likely recognize the photo below from my former “existence” on Facebook, and though I’ve received kindhearted compliments on its” beauty” since posting it, I don’t know that I’ve shared the story behind it with many people. That photo was taken on the single most disgustingly hot and humid night I have ever experienced - hands down. I had worked all day, staggered through the barely breathable air of my easily 110 degree Fahrenheit subway route, gone all the way home to go to the trouble of putting on a dress, and was now just trying to look “pretty” while my legs were nearly glued together with sweat. Being on the Brooklyn Bridge that night felt admittedly magical on a certain level , but truth be told, I was feeling pretty miserable and in desperate need of some AC.  Bet you couldn’t tell, could you? Never would’ve guessed by appearance alone, huh?  Want to know why? Because in that moment, that exact moment, I was very much me. The way I was dressed, the way I studied the stunning architectural structure with earnest awe, the wistful places that simply looking up led my imagination to wander through – that was all truth. There absolutely is beauty in truth, no matter how bad things may seem. With that in mind and heart, I’m looking forward to all that beauty that is yet to be found. And I definitely plan to wear a flower in my hair very soon.