You Would

You guys, Netflix is sentient and judging me.  Check out what has been a "Top Pick for Kelly" over the last few weeks.  Every time I open up the app, it's like Netflix says, "You would, Kelly Morgan. You would."  And Netflix is right.  I would.

 

Yeah, I know..."Marge! Marge, look! The doll's trying to kill me and the toaster been laughing at me!"

When You Have Nothing Left to Lose, Eat the Grilled Cheese

Day in and day out, I’m rushing around, doing something and worrying about everything. Clean this, don’t eat that, finish up those, email them. Life is a set of rules and boundaries, socially and mentally. While frantically trying to flat iron my hair and review a document for work at the same time, I thought about the yoga teacher training essay I'd forgotten to write on what I'd do if I were to die tomorrow.  It became disturbing as I thought about if I only had 24 hours left of life (or that is, life as I know it), what would become important? Would it matter that I have one troublesome patch of hair no matter what I do? Would I care that my husband doesn’t use the correct packing algorithm for loading the dishwasher? Maybe. I don’t know. Probably.

People like to say that there’s freedom when you have nothing left to lose, which is true to an extent.  I’d like to think that with all of the rules and boundaries released, I’d go spend time with my family and friends and get my final wishes in order.  Maybe come up with some awesome last words.  But honestly, I think I’d be so overcome with the feeling of freedom that I’d be reckless and ram slow cars on 66, eat that Denny’s grilled cheese with fried mozzarella sticks in the middle of it, and make more of a spectacle of myself in a public place than I usually would.  Also, I'd probably just quote Dumb and Dumber or Mean Girls for my last words, so that's pointless to worry about as well. 

For our yoga teacher training graduation ceremony today, we all went around the circle telling everyone what we'd written about for our last 24 hours assignment.  Everyone had these profound things to say, like spending time with their children, changing the world, and meditating high on a mountain, and I was all, "Guys, I'd eat that grilled cheese." 

But you know what?  For me, not being beholden to my own ridiculous rules would be as miraculous as being able to know you only have 24 hours left.  Now, the challenge is to live like that everyday, not just that last one.

Lil' Jon, My Novel, and the Creative Process

Back in kindergarten, I told my mom that, "There aren't enough sheets of manila paper in the whole world for all of my ideas!"  Two important thoughts arise from this: (1) my school was too cheap for construction paper and too far back in time for nice white copy paper, and (2) there are now more than enough pieces of manila paper in the world for my few-and-far-between ideas.

My parents gave me lots of artistic freedom as a kid, whether it was letting me draw on every paper surface, giving me "really good" crafting scissors in early elementary school (with which I cut the same pointer finger open in the same place and got the same stitches twice), and giving me the most advanced electronic publishing tools to be had on a 1987 home PC to create the Bear Facts newsletter (circulation: 2).  I ice skated, danced, tumbled, played piano, sang, made every possible genre of art, blew up multiple experiments, built things, studied things through my Fisher Price microscope, accessorized, theorized, and terrorized.  I was a free, creative, curious spirit, and my parents let nothing stand in my way.

I squished so many gross things into these slides, you guys...

Now, it's all I can do to choke out a blog post.  I used to have a whole creative process that made writing, art, studying, and - fine, still blowing things up - ritual.  Maybe I've skimped on the ritual?  Maybe I would stop staring idealess at the screen/notebook if I set the mood a little better?

I'd be willing to bet all successful creatives have a ritual for when they do their thing, and that's the root of the problem.  Like, can't you just imagine Lil' Jon sitting around in his fuzzy socks with a cuppa ginger tea twirling his gold chain absent-mindedly coming up with more lyrics like,

Shortie crunk - so fresh, so clean; 

'Can she f***?' - that question been harassing me.
In the mind, this bitch is fine -
I done came to the club about fifty-eleven times.

Or sitting cross-legged in one of the puffy chairs at Starbucks with a Pumpkin Spice Latte scrawling out lyrics in his moleskin notebook?

I've tried everything this month (and about three past Novembers) to produce a novel for National Novel Writing Month. I've got nothing.  Well, a title, but otherwise nothing.  Maybe I just need to get crunk.

The Matter of Who Matters

The Velveteen Rabbit completely f'ed up my worldview when I was 4.  Before having it read to me, I was pretty sure my each one of my stuffed animals was important and autonomous, but after hearing the story, I knew that those who were loved the most (all of them in my case, as not to discriminate) came alive at night and did important stuff.  I grew to have respect for them and treated them as creatures who mattered to me - and considering I sheltered, clothed, and snuggled them, I assume I mattered to them.

This is Teddy Vandersluis-Morgan.  He's my reminder from childhood that love should know no bounds, human or furry. You'll notice he's dressed to the nines because that's just the kind of teddy-bear-handler I am. Also, because he may come alive at night and need to be ready to party in the woods or catch salmon or whatever.  I don't judge him.  He's a grown bear.

Teddy Vandersluis-Morgan, Age 31

The love I invested in Teddy as a little girl comes back tenfold when I need a reminder of how simple love can be and how a hug can make you feel like you matter - that you're "real."  To quote the Skin Horse (gross name, right?) from The Velveteen Rabbit, 

"Real isn’t how you are made. . . .It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

I believe that you can love others into a state of mattering.  People suffer from loneliness and feelings of invisibility because they aren't noticed and loved into mattering.  Failure-to-thrive babies who get all of their physical needs met, but not love and hugs, are sad examples of this.  We all matter - person, animal, or teddy bear - and we all deserve to be loved into a great state of mattering.

Jawbreaker

When I was 5, I wanted to work at T.J. Maxx - mostly because I thought cashiers kept the money. Since then, I’ve wanted to be an Olympic gymnast, “computer person,” teddy bear trainer, Hallmark card creator, librarian, lady of the manor, writer, fitness instructor, Ph.D., personal trainer, health coach, yoga teacher, and brontosaurus (in no particular order). Since the dawn of Kelly time, my career and life goals have been a moving target. Just as I hit one of those targets, I’m all, “I think I’ll train to be an astronaut today,” and everything resets to make that the newest life’s goal.

I knew a guy who passionately wished to be a hot dog when he grew up. I’m not sure if he made it, but that passion and dedication is what I feel is the essence of being sentient beings. We have a purpose, an aim, a goal – anything that keeps us moving forward and continuing to be more. More of what? Well, that depends on the day, if you’re me. But the important thing is that there is something more every time that keeps us excited and engaged and keeps life zesty.

Now, I know it’s not very Zen of me to always live in the future, especially considering that my new life’s mission is to be a yoga teacher. In fact, that’s likely to be my biggest challenge in this endeavor. It’s easy to say, “Live in the present, grasshopper,” but that leaves me…itchy. I can be 100% focused on whatever I’m working on, but progress will halt if I don’t know what comes after what I’m focusing on. It makes me feel lost…plastic-bag-in-the-windish.

Using a yoga word is almost as fun as a good SAT word, so I’m looking for upekkha in myself, where there are equal parts of me focused on now and later. I hope to someday consider myself to be a jawbreaker, where I’m forced to enjoy the current layer, but can look forward to what’s coming next.

Being Hangdog in Down Dog

Like just about everything I do, I woke up one day and said, "I think I'll be a yoga instructor."  Luckily, the Yoga Powers that Be require you to put the brakes on a little before just jumping in; so, I enrolled in the Life Power Yoga Teacher Training program at my gym.  How scary could it be?  I've taught group fitness classes for-ev-er. 

Well.

Compared to the other future-teachers in our training, yoga is brand new to me. I mean, sure, I’ve done a few down dogs in my time, but certainly not enough to ever be good at them or to get my heels to touch the ground in one. After our first weekend of training, I was a mixed bag of feelings. First, I was proud to have made it through the first 15 hours. Also, I came home the first night elated that I’d actually taught a few yoga poses well. It was new to me to teach people without yelling for them to go faster! Do more! Push through the burn! Unfortunately, I ended our first weekend feeling silly while trying to hold one foot out in front of me only by my big toe.

I’m full of “I used to be’s.” I used to be gloriously skinny. I used to be a flexible, pliable, admirable athlete. I also used to be anorexic, miserable, and in chronic pain. I also used to be 20 when all of this was so. In her article, Measuring Up, Donna Farhi writes that we need to “reevaluate our measuring devices” for success – especially when your body can no longer do the physical feats you once based your success on. Or, let’s say, you’re now a 31-year-old woman. So, that becomes a question of not only how you determine success, but if you’re a ball of anxiety like me, also how you determine failure. Of course failure still exists, but I think now it’s going to mean a lack of trying instead of a lack of contorting.

The thing that makes yoga practice different from any other fitness practice is that the goal is to open your heart, not just your hips, as the yogis say. Farhi states what will surely be my new motto for all clients in my behavior change program: “Remarkable changes can go unnoticed and unacknowledged.” Changes may not show up in how deeply you can move into a pose or how long you can hold your leg up behind your head. In yoga specifically, the change is, to use an old yoga cliché, both on and off the mat. Change can be seen when you are able to focus on a task at hand; when you find compassion for someone who is a little difficult; and, most importantly, when you accept that you’re always a work in progress and that everyone else out there is too.

(Image Credit)

The Fat Demon

The best and most useful thing a friend has ever said to me flew out of her mouth a few months ago:

"We do not have time for your body issues."

At first glance, and without further context, this may sound harsh.  It was, a little, but it was also the best thing a friend has ever had the nerve to say to me.  Here's a little context.  My best friend and I have been working together to launch a beauty retail company, and we were meeting to discuss our trip to Korea to meet and recruit suppliers.  I was giving my usual wahhh-wahhhh speech about how I'm too fat to function and can't possibly be seen by anyone in the beauty industry.  

If you know me in real life, or just through this blog, you're aware that I'm neurotic and high-maintenance.  It's part of my charm.  But, you know, sometimes it takes a good friend to call me out on my theatrics and ridiculousness to get my focus back on what's real and not some crazy imagined demon. 

But here's the thing: my Fat Demon (her name is Ana and she can be a real biatch) keeps holding me back.  Good things can come along and then - wham - there's the demon.

There are lots of demons out there besides her.  Maybe it's the Rejection Demon, or his cousins Anxiety, Perfectionism, or Shyness that live alongside you.  Maybe it's another type of demon entirely.  Regardless of what is holding you back from being your ultimate self (or whatever) is often completely imagined.  Sure, it seems pretty darn real when you and that demon are thick as delusional thieves, but it's all an illusion.  Just like I'm not walking around shaking the earth or having a single person look at me and think I'm fat, no one can see your demon either. 

So, I'm declaring today as the day that the Fat Demon and I stop hanging out.  I suggest that you and your demon do the same.  Or, if that's too big of a step for now, take some advice from The Simpsons and "just don't look."


Disclose.tv - just don't look

The Cooperation Sweater

When I was in preschool, there was this cream-colored wool sweater that I hated with every fiber in me.  It wasn't particularly itchy.  It wasn't ugly.  It fit...mostly.  In the Vandersluis house, this sweater was called the Cooperation Sweater because it took a team of at least two or three to get it over my head.  You'd think that this sweater was something special, like a handmade Grandma gift or Dolce & Gabbana Kids, but no. It was just some sweater from a normal children's department that my mom happened to like.  That sweater probably should have been sold as a factory second, because the only person who could get his or her head into that would have to resemble Bert of Bert 'n Ernie.

I didn't often put up a fight at that age, but when I did, you knew I thought your actions were unacceptable.  I fought the Cooperation Sweater hard each time Mom tried to shove me into it.  Clearly, even at 5, I knew that jamming yourself into something you hate because someone else thinks it's perfect for you isn't right.  And it hurts your head.  My 5-year-old self was pretty smart, and if I'd continued to think that way into my adult life, I wouldn't have continued to squeeze myself into relationships, jobs, and lifestyles that just didn't fit.

I finally get it.  Fit really is a factor when determining what's right and wrong for yourself.  Trying to make a relationship work because, you know, "a bird in the hand" and all, isn't doing you any good.  The same goes for a job that pays well, but you wish each day during your commute that something major would happen to prevent you from having to go in to the office.  If you've really let things get out of control, the entire lifestyle that you'll living could be a poor fit.

In the last semester or so (6-8 months for the non-academics out there), I've made some drastic life changes that stemmed from realizing that my lifestyle and career plan were like the Cooperation Sweater.  Like the sweater, my life looked good superficially - on my resume - but I just wasn't comfortable.  Even in the ideal work situation, where I worked at a company I love with people I love, I was still feeling like that proverbial square peg.  I started to feel trapped by my own lifestyle, which led to a minor freak out.  After that, I began to insist that my life progressed on my own terms.  Now, months later, I've never been happier.

It's scary when you realize that you need to demand the correct fit for your life.  But, believe me, it's far worse to continually work yourself into your own personal Cooperation Sweater.  The fit doesn't get better with time, so be brave and get a new sweater, boyfriend/girlfriend, job, or life.

Tinkerbell, Bonne Bell, and Other Influencers

When I was in preschool, there was a girl named Cindy who I was insanely jealous of because she was allowed to wear bright red lipstick when we played together.  As in, big girl lipstick that her mom got at Merle Norman.  Around that time, my little world began to revolve around cosmetics and how I could get as much of them as possible on me at once.

Mom gave in to my need...sort of.  I collected Bonne Bell Lip Smackers and Tinkerbell perfume, brush-on/peel-off nail polish, and banana cream lip gloss (I spent more time eating and reapplying that one than looking glossy, though) like it was my job.  You wouldn't catch me without my beauty supplies from the Bells, both Bonne and Tinker, in my sequined purse or Rainbow Brite bag.  It was the mid-to-late 80s, y'all.  Back then, things were wild and colorful, and we allowed children to wear cosmetics.

Then the 90s came along with grunge music and dark eyeliner which were both tempered by nail polish colors to match the rubber bands on my braces.  There were also a few years following that of bronzer, frosted lipstick, and roll-on glitter that we won't discuss further.

Luckily, I'm more of a Caudalie and Benefit girl these days, but my love and enthusiasm for cosmetics is still going strong.  I have a graveyard of partially-used beauty products under my sink to prove it, including every anti-aging product ever made because I got paranoid at 27 and thought I had wrinkles.  I'm so bad that I've moved through American, British, and French products and am now mesmerized by Korean skin care loot. In fact, my BFF Jess and I have decided to put our beauty obsession to good use and have launched a health and beauty conglomerate that encompasses our shared beauty interests, Jess' mad scientist chemist skills, and my health and wellness background as well.  We're off to Korea in a week or so to attend the Osong Cosmetics and Beauty Expo to start meeting with Korean beauty companies and get our foreign partnerships going for the beauty retail side of our business. More to come on all of that stuff when we're back from Korea.  


Sometimes when you need to figure out the next step in your adult life, it helps to reflect on what you loved as a kid.  Okay, so maybe not all things I loved translate, such as roller skating and setting fires; however, Tinkerbell and Bonne Bell contributed to the beginning of a life-long love, and I can't thank them enough.

(Image Credit)