Wellness

Comfort Loaves and Lemonade

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When I was a little girl my grandmother baked bread for us. And my favorite part of the bread baking was that she always made some tiny loaves just for me. It was our thing. She would call me into the kitchen and slather one of my tiny loaves with butter. That warm buttered loaf, with a cold glass of lemonade was my all time favorite meal. It meant that I was special cause of course no one else but me got a special loaf. My relationship with my grandmother was special and before I understood what love was I loved her unconditionally. We had lots of special things that we did together, but the smell and taste of warm buttered bread chase with a glass of cold lemonade always evokes the memory of my grandma. Of course with my busy life I have never baked a loaf of bread in my life. That doesn’t matter though, cause after a long or tough day, I still reach for that old taste and smell. Obviously I can’t eat too much bread, for health reasons, but it is still my comfort food after all these years. I am grateful for the time I got with my grandma. She shaped my life in lasting ways. During this week of gratitude, I choose to honor the memory of my grandma and all that she has meant to me. I miss her often. She was introverted like me, quick witted and sharp. She was the perfect balance of kind and firm. She took no pleasure in fools and did not deign to interact with them. At the same time, she would always cook extra food just in case someone stopped by and was hungry. She was the only person I have ever known who was both warm and stoic. I loved that woman. I will have some warm bread and butter and a glass of lemonade in honor of her this week. Who are you grateful for this holiday season? What foods remind you of them?

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Cooking Up Confidence

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I will cook my first solo Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. Fear is what makes Thursday my first solo run. I guess even when I was young, deep inside of me there was a budding feminist. I was a quiet rebel. I refused to ‘learn’ how to cook or clean because those were the expectations of me. I didn’t find any joy in learning how to do something just because my future husband would require it of me. So I steered clear of the kitchen for as long as I could. But that was only part of the reason. The other part was that I was scared that I wouldn’t be good at it. My mother and grandmother were boss cooks. They made dishes by eyeballing and using a pinch of this and a dash of that. It was both fascinating intimidating. How would I ever be able to do that? I felt inadequate so I avoided it. Cause you know how older women are, they were always ‘trying to help’ me if showed interest in making something. but their directions were confusing. “Add more salt,” they would say. “How much I would ask?”. I was looking for a precise answer. Something that I could measure. But bless their hearts, they would always say something like, “Just a dash.” What in the world was a dash, to me, a novice in the kitchen? It didn’t make sense. And so I quit early in life. I decided that cooking was one of those mysteries I would never unlock. And I went back to my books. Books never confused me. But then one day I realized that because I was a strong reader, I could follow a recipe. And slowly but surely I tried things on my own, never when my well meaning mother was around (my grandmother had passed by then) because she was good at cooking, but not necessarily good at teaching me in a way that worked for me. I tried cooking (using recipes) on my own, in the safety of my own kitchen. It was exhilarating. I loved the precise measurements and clear directions of a recipe. I could follow the directions and end up with something delicious. And the more comfortable I became with making a particular dish, the more I would experiment with new herbs, spices and ingredients. I began to enjoy cooking because I learned it in a way that made sense to me. I will likely never be a gourmet chef, but I can cook. I write those words with confidence. I am sure of it now. I can and do cook regularly. And I enjoy it. I will cook my first solo Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday confidently. I am not a boss cook like my mom. My sister is the new boss cook in the family, but I can hold my own. I learned that cooking was like everything else I wanted to learn in life. I read up about it, I practiced, I made mistakes, I gave myself feedback and got feedback from others, and tried and tried again. Eventually I got to a place where I felt confident, even though I still don’t know what a pinch is, or what a dash is. I use tools to measure things out, I don’t go from memory or instinct. I like the comfort of using precise measurements to get a consistent outcome, and learning new ways to make old favorites. And since I love learning cooking has become fun. I have applied my lessons learned from cooking to my life. I try not to let fear or frustration hold me back from learning new things. I know the way I learn and I use that to help me add new skills to my toolbox. Just like I literally cooked my way to confidence, I learn my way through new things.

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Connecting to Nature

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As often as I can I take a walk to watch the sun rise or get to the beach to watch the sun set. It is so refreshing. What’s funny is that I am not an outdoor person. I don’t walk on grass unless I’m wearing closed shoes, and I definitely don’t sit on it. I hate bugs and don’t like being hot. So you get the picture. I am not one to extol the virtues of the great outdoors. Regardless of my aversion of the outdoors, the morning walks or evening walks near the water bring me joy. I love nothing more than a lazy day at the beach. Mind you I never get in the water, and I have to have my cabana cause I don’t like to be hot. But the proximity to the waves and soothing sound of them cresting on the shore calms me. In the morning when I walk I notice the birds, the leaves, the flowers, the rabbits and it all reminds me of how small I am in the world. And if I am small so are my challenges. So that morning walk sets me up for all I will face during the day. I never thought I’d be the one waxing poetic about nature. But it’s healing. There is so much more to life than my phone, computer, or work. That small pause daily reconnects me to my purpose and allows me to exhale.

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Centering Self

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Prior to the pandemic I was really worried about the grind culture we were living amidst. It seemed like happiness was an elusive concept, especially for people of color. It was like we didn’t feel we had the latitude to pursue joy, and we actually celebrated overworking ourselves. I was honestly worried. Mental health and wellness had just started to be prioritized but it had not taken center stage pre-pandemic. Grinding – working ourselves at unhealthy paces and levels – in hopes that our work ethic would counteract the racist tropes about us is exhausting, and unproductive. Lately I have become more hopeful. Let me tell you why. I hear people of color talking more about pursuing peace more often than grinding themselves into the ground. I see black and brown people opting out more often, and prioritizing their own well-being as opposed to opting in to other people’s opinions of them. I see traditionally marginalized people seeking work life balance and centering themselves more than over working and over booking themselves, even if it means shifting jobs or careers. I see and hear people of Latinx and black diasporas naming joy as a goal more than ever before. I am definitely celebrating this trend towards wellness, especially for people who look like me. Its refreshing to see us give ourselves permission to center us. Even though we always knew it was important, we are now organizing our lives so that we can connect to self. I see more brown people working out, eating better, and politely declining so they can rest. And I am overjoyed. I hope that this trend continues and we don’t lose the importance of centering our focus on our own health and wellness. I am glad because it pays dividends for us and it is setting the next generation up nicely. I see the younger generation naming when they are tired and taking the opportunity to pause, instead of pushing themselves relentlessly. I see them shrinking their circles to prioritize authentic relationships and being kinder to themselves and investing less in validation from others. I see them making the connections between their wellness and the wellness of the community. I see them identifying and avoiding toxic behaviors. It’s refreshing. This trend of black and brown people prioritizing self-care means we are making space to connect to self and work towards a healthier life. It makes me smile. People say we are our ancestors wildest dreams, I think wellness honors all their sacrifices and takes us one step closer to mental freedom.

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Besties

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I don’t know about you, but having a best friend to endure the obstacle course that was young adulthood made all the difference for me. There were questions I had that I wasn’t about to ask an adult. Not that the bestie knew the answers, but at least I could be open about having the question with her. Somehow we were able to navigate the gauntlets of high school, college, first jobs, and first apartments leaning on each other. We were connected. I am not unique. There are lots of best friend or friend group relationships that help young people to navigate life. And they rank amongst the top relationships during those young adult years. But things start to shift as folks begin to pair off, or pursue achievements that involve distance. There is a loss of connection with best friends or friend groups that occurs as a part of the growing up process that is not often discussed. While we are celebrating weddings and births and other key moments in each other’s lives, there is a simultaneous shift in the best friend connection, some more drastic than others. We go from having a crew, or at least another person, having similar experiences in young adulthood, to other responsibilities and commitments occupying primary roles in our lives. Yet, I have never heard of a mourning process for besties whose lives change and lose their connections. But shouldn’t there be one? The connections we make with our best friends can be critical to our development. In my young adulthood, my best friend kept me sane. She had my back and told me the truth. So when adulthood took us in different directions although there was a lot of happiness, there was some mourning too. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. And since relationships can’t be replaced, the mourning part takes time, for all parties in the friend group. To be clear, the relationship doesn’t have to end for the loss to be felt. Changes in the relationship can change the connection which could result in one or all members of the friend group feeling a sense of loss. Eventually I adjusted to not having the bestie from young adulthood in my everyday life, and we figured our a different relationship. It wasn’t as close and we didn’t share everything anymore, but we were still friends. Now I can look back at the memories we shared without a wistful feeling. But keep an eye out for the besties out there. At every wedding, baby shower, birth, or going away party there could be a bestie out there juggling the joy they feel for their friend and the sense of loss they are feeling, which is not a great feeling.

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Changing Seats

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Sometimes relationships can be like outfits, you outgrow them. I was always taught that people can enter your life for a reason or a season, and when that reason or season is over, be willing to let go. Well, that is easier said than done. Sometimes, letting go is painful, especially when you are the one who is being let go. Even when you are locked in a toxic spiral with someone it can be hard to see that. And if people tell you that your relationship is not serving you, whew!!! Let me just say, that conversation is for the brave. I rarely choose bravery in those situations. Generally when we think of outgrowing relationships we think of romantic relationships, but if I am being honest, the relationships I have had the hardest time getting over are the ones where you make true connections. And those are not limited to romantic relationships. You know what I am talking about – the friendships where you and your friend just clicked, they got you, and you felt at ease with them. You used to be able to talk about everything and anything and then one day things just changed and the connection was lost. The truth is, what seems like a sudden change, is generally the result of growth by one or both people over time. Growth is good, and although we miss people in our lives who grow in different directions, what if we reframed it. When we get the chance to be a part of someone’s journey and our connection with them changes instead of being angry about it, how about being grateful for what you experienced and learned from them. And if you’re sitting there saying you didn’t learn anything, then be grateful that you got the chance to teach them. I think being a teacher prepared me to accept temporal relationships. The very nature of teaching is that you will pour into someone for a set amount of time, and they will move on after that period of time. They may keep in touch, they may not. The relationship will necessarily change when they are no longer your student, and that is all ok. In fact it is expected. If you think of your life as a theater, people will occupy different seats at different points in your life. But just because some one isn’t in the orchestra rows, it doesn’t mean they are out of the theater. Maybe they just need to occupy a different seat. There are folks who need to be escorted out and never allowed to re-enter but that is a different post for a different day. Allowing people the latitude to move around the theater means you and the other person have the opportunity to learn and grow from a diverse group of people over time. So the moral of the story is that when you find yourself in a situation where you are outgrowing someone, or they are outgrowing you, don’t cling on for dear life. That generally does not end well. I may or may not have learned this lesson when I was publicly rejected in a New York City park as a young adult. It wasn’t pretty. Instead take some time to reflect. Here are some prompts that could help. Is the relationship serving both people? Can you each provide the other what they need while being your authentic self? Do both of you have the desire and the skill to meet the other’s needs? And if the answer is not yes to at least the second question, then maybe with a grateful heart, you can allow the person to occupy a new seat in the theater, or allow them to leave. It doesn’t mean they won’t ever come back. The ability to be yourself is so incredibly important, and having to suppress parts of you to be in relationship with someone is unsustainable. P.S. I am cool with the person who left me sobbing in that park. I mean we are not besties or anything, but I hold no animosity. It took a while to see that letting go was best for both of us, but I can see it now and am grateful that they insisted on letting go.

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Unexpected Connections

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On September 11, 2001 around 8 AM, I was sitting in a coffee shop in lower Manhattan, waiting for a co-worker. We were supposed to head to Brooklyn to meet with some folks at Brooklyn College. I don’t remember what I ordered. I do remember that the building rocked and there was a loud explosion. I had no idea what happened, but instinctively I knew it wasn’t good. I grew up in New York, and we New Yorkers are notoriously not fazed by much. I stepped out of the coffee shop and saw the smoke, and I knew this was a problem but had no idea the magnitude of what had happened. I don’t remember much about that day very clearly. I remember hearing the second explosion. I remember seeing what looked like white paper swirling ever so slowly in the air as if taking a slow motion trip to the ground. I remember being urged to leave the area by a police officer, well several. I remember being told that the subways had been shut down, and no trains were running to New Jersey where I lived. I remember wondering how I was going to get home to my young children – one was at pre-school and the other home with the nanny. I remember calling a friend to ask her to get my son from school. I remember trying to repeatedly reach my then husband with no luck. But that’s it, nothing else is clear. What I do remember very clearly about that day was the young black man who fell in step next to me as we were herded out of the area. I don’t remember what I said to him, but I remember what he said to me. He promised me that he would get me home to my children no matter what. It just so happened that he lived in New Jersey too, and he did just that. That man, who did not know me from a can of paint, made sure that he stayed right next to me as we figured out how to get home. Keep in mind there was only chaos, no announcements, no clear directions. We had to figure everything out as we went along. Ultimately, we had to walk from downtown to mid-town, get on a ferry, then get on a bus, but we didn’t know any of this when he made his promise. In fact, each step of the journey unfolded in a very clunky way as we took it. But he stayed right by my side, chatting and joking and keeping me calm when I thought the worst, never being inappropriate or asking anything in return. I did get home safely, but I never saw that young man again. In fact, I don’t even remember his name. On that day, in the midst of my fear and distress, he reached out and made a connection with me, a total stranger. And I was probably a complete mess. To this day, I remain grateful for that connection. September 11, 2001 was one of the most unexpected days of my life, and that man’s presence made a really hard day a lot more manageable. I have had a few opportunities to be blessed by unexpected connections. After that day, I learned to get, and remember the names of the people who blessed me, and to send a thank you. I will always regret not getting a chance to thank that young man in the days following 9/11. He made such a huge difference in my life, and it feels odd that I have no connection to him now. I wish he knew how grateful I was on that day, and still am now.

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Well Courage

Wellness /

I remember standing in the middle of a life that I wasn’t enjoying. It was my life, but it was not the life I wanted. I wasn’t feeling the way I wanted to feel, in my own life. I was frozen for a long time, too afraid to make the call that I knew would make my life better. So I stayed. I hated most moments of it, but I continued clinging to the familiar because the alternative was facing the unknown. I wish I could say that this was a one time event for me. It wasn’t. It takes courage to make a change. And sometimes courage takes time. I eventually made all the changes to improve my quality of life. But I waited until things got unbearable to move. Somehow the sheer frustration of living an unbearable life outweighed the fear of the unknown and I made the moves I needed to make. Maybe that’s the way courage works. Some catalyst propels you forward and even though you’re scared, you move, because not moving is no longer an option, but that is an unstable way for me to live. I learned from living through those experiences. I learned that everything has a cost – material, spiritual, social, emotional. I also learned the costs I was willing to pay to get the life I wanted. It took me a couple of tries. Eventually I learned to move before things got unbearable and saved myself a lot of pain. Lately this has been coming up for me again because I am trying to make a change in one area of my life and I have to be courageous to make it. Although intellectually, I know I don’t need hero sized courage to make this change, fear makes everything feel like I need hero sized courage. So I am at the stage where I am psyching myself up, reminding myself that I deserve to live the life I want, and planning my path to that life. I am not yet ready to move. Wish me courage to make this change and I wish you courage for your journey too. People always make it seem like courage is some magical thing that happens in a dynamic moment. A flash of courage has been known to happen, but in most of those situations there is an urgent situation that calls for that type of courage. I call that adrenaline courage. But there is also courage that is built methodically over time. I personally think the slower build is better. I think of this approach like digging a well of courage that you can always draw on when you need it. The situation I am facing calls for me to go to the well of courage. But I won’t sit in a miserable life anymore.

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