thirty threadbare mercies

The outward expression of an inward grace.

Monthly Creative Wrap-Up: Write, Shake, Repeat. May 10, 2013

Filed under: Art,Community,Dance,Friendship,Inspiration,Parenting,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 9:11 am
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Following periods of turmoil, whether internal or on a national level, I often experience an outpouring of creativity.  Well, this was one of those months.  I wrote more than ever, danced my butt off, and my whole being positively zinged with the desire to create.

It’s been a good month for all things writerly. I received my contributer copy of the first anthology I’ve ever been published in, which I wrote about here. I didn’t know what to expect from this literary journal, but I was incredibly impressed with the caliber of poetry and essays it contains. The way one piece flows into another is so satisfying. It felt amazing to be in such good company.

The publication I write for regularly, The Equals Record, is moving into print, and they accepted a piece of mine for the inaugural edition. They launched their Indigogo campaign two weeks ago, and I hope that you’ll pre-order the first book there, as it is sure to be something you’ll want to hold on to. The editors have invested so much curation and beauty in the publication. And since I’ve been doing so much hustling for them behind the scenes, they offered me an Editor at Large title! So, if you contribute, in addition to supporting ad-free writing and design, you’ll be helping my debut as an editor.

Some of the lovely loot you can reward yourself with by supporting Equals in Print.

Some of the lovely loot you can reward yourself with by supporting Equals in Print.

I also got word that a piece of mine was accepted for the publication Literary Mama, on their After Page One blog series about parent writers.  So, head over to their site on July 1st to read words of mine, or go over there now as well to catch up on that inspiring series in advance.

The other exciting thing that happened this month was I got to participate in a lovely little act of flash mobbery in Union Square with my fellow dancers from Rhythm and Motion. It was the kick-off event to Bay Area Dance Week, which I look forward to this week every year – a chance to discover a new dance form, and be a part of a celebration of dance.

Shaking it in Union Square

Shaking it in Union Square

The event in Union Square was unbelievably heart-warming. The philosophy of the dance classes I take at ODC through Rhythm and Motion is: “Anyone can dance”, and people of all ages and all walks of life showed up to do this flash mob in the heart of the city. Seeing the old folks troupe and the children in their school blazers was particularly heart-pulling. When we had a chance to join in the action, I couldn’t stop smiling. With the sun beating down, sometimes going in the wrong direction, I threw myself into the fray and had a blast. It felt like the embodiment of what we practice in class — shaking our bodies no matter what happens — out in the world.

Another incredibly inspiring experience was going to the ballet with my friend Nehemiah, who is a student at SFBS.  He took me to see Cinderella, Christopher Wheeldon’s magical re-telling of the Grimm Brother’s version of the fairy tale.  Not only was Maria Kochetkova’s vulnerable dancing in the main role filled with risk and beauty, but I was blown away by the loveliness of this version of the old story, in which the mother watches over her daughter in the form of a tree that sprouts from her daughter’s tears.  I want to get Olive a copy of this version of the story, instead of the sanitized and mother-less Disney film.  The visual effects were so stunning yet simple that several times, the sold-out audience collectively gasped.  They are bringing back the production in 2014, and I highly recommend checking it out.  It has stayed with me all week, infusing my dancing and my parenting.

cinderella

I am grateful for all these chances to be a part of creative endeavours — I think it gives me space to be more creative in my play with my daughter, as well.  We’ve been inventing new games, playing a lot of “Queen”, and she’s been practicing her British accent (which is hilarious, her being two and all).  She even found her first imaginary friend. His name is Grover, and he’s from Mexico. They have to communicate mostly through art, since the extent of Olive’s Spanish can be contained in the song “La Araña Grandiosa”. But I think they do alright. The language of friendship is universal.

 

What it Means to be Irish: Melancholy + Celebration March 17, 2013

Filed under: Community,Dance,Friendship,Parenting,Personal — rheabette @ 7:48 pm
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Every ethnicity should have a holiday such as this one, in which you get to celebrate your heritage with whoever will join you, introducing your familial and cultural traditions to those who aren’t familiar with them, and sharing them with those who are.

On St. Patrick’s day, I feel that the veil between the living and the dead is very thin. My ancestors are right around the curtain, in the ether.

Usually, that makes me feel good, a part of something greater, but this year it had a darker tinge to it. I’ve been writing more in my personal musings about the parts of my history that I am uncomfortable with, that leave me with more questions than answers.

I’ve also been reading some more Irish Lit, curtesy of my brilliant professor sister, who has been schooling me on the words of my ancestors, which it is her life’s work to study and teach.

If you are not familiar with Irish Literature, then perhaps it will be a surprise to you that a culture known for our jubilant celebrations write the most morbid literature in all the world. Humor is often a part of it, for sure, but the dark kind of “gallows humor” that leaves you thinking more about your own mortality than the lighter things in life. Hence, the Jameson.

I always need a combination of reflection on the past and celebration of the present on St. Patrick’s Day, but today it was weighted more heavily on the former. So, I forewent the big party I usually attend and had a small dinner at my house, inviting one couple that we are close with, and asking my husband to cook the meal my dad used to make every year when I was growing up, corned beef and cabbage.

A Haitian husband willing to learn Irish cuisine -- I am one lucky lady.

A Haitian husband willing to learn Irish cuisine — I am one lucky lady.

Olive digging in to the soda bread I made, watching her Papa cook from her perch on Heather's lap.

Olive digging in to the soda bread I made, watching her Papa cook from her perch on Heather’s lap.

Dinner time like it's nobody's business -- Olive and I are psyched.

Dinner time like it’s nobody’s business — Olive and I are psyched.

My friends brought me flowers, homemade chocolate stout cake, and whiskey. It's nice to be known.

My friends brought me flowers, homemade chocolate stout cake, and whiskey. It’s nice to be known.

The party ended the way every party should - dancing to old school hip hop jams.

The party ended the way every party should – dancing to old school hip hop jams.

I’m sitting here now, sipping my Magners, missing my family but loving the one I’m creating here and now.  I hope you all feel close to your heritage, whatever it may be, and find a way to bring old traditions into your present life, in ways that seem small, but build up to something meaningful.

 

The Downside to “Know Thyself” is Realizing you Suck at Stuff January 24, 2013

Filed under: Christianity,Community,Dance,Inspiration,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Writing — rheabette @ 2:12 pm

Lately, I have had several days, thankfully not in a row, of feeling overwhelmed by life and inadequate in my duties. A recent sample conversation between a friend of mine and I:

Amanda: “How’s your morning been?”

Rhea: “Oh, the usual. Woke up at 5:30am and laid in bed listing off to myself all the things I’m not doing well. A little litany of my recent failures.”

A: “Ooh, that’s fun. I love when I do that. And then you end up feeling bad that you wasted all that time thinking about things you’re shitty at, when you could have been doing something about it.”

R: “Yeah, then there’s the shame for feeling shame, exactly. Total shit-shame spiral. Then I think about recent studies about how sleep helps you lose weight, so at the very least, I could have been sleeping in that time, shedding some extra pounds.

A: “Exactly! Instead you’re fatter, more of a failure, and now you have to get up and do your life!”

I love that she gets me. In fact, reaching out to friends about how I’m feeling has been my number one coping mechanism. It’s actually really working out, helping me get out of the loop quicker each time, shortening the recovery and getting me back into living my life. Which is, despite what my dumb mind tells me sometimes, a really friggen awesome life.

There’s this prayer that got me through my early twenties, with the loss of my father and struggle for mental health, that I’m sure you’ve all heard of, but perhaps you could, like me, use a little reminder? It’s my very favorite, and I’ll write it out for you here:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and will never leave me to face my perils alone.

It’s by the contemplative monk Thomas Merton, and basically the gist of it is: I have no idea what I’m doing, but if you’re with me, God, I think I’m gonna be okay. Even when it certainly does not feel that way. At the very least, I think the attempt helps. Which is an important part for me — that the trying is pleasing to God, even when it feels ludicrous to me.

Thomas Merton, by iconographer Mark Dukes

Thomas Merton, by iconographer Mark Dukes

I have also been writing myself out of my bad moods. I am doing that right now. In fact, this whole blog may be an attempt to write my story in a way that builds community, increases healing, and gets me out of my self-involved pity parties and into the flow of life, which is, in essence, gratitude.

My recent writing has spanned many topics, from co-dependency and boundaries, to recollections of sweet times in college, to memories of my father. Just putting one word down in front of the other helps sometimes, even if I scrap it all later. I recently read an excellent Anne Lamott quote: “No one cares if you write or not, so you have to.” I have to do it for me.

The only part of the Merton prayer I transcribed above that I no longer resonate with is when he says he doesn’t really know himself. I believe that I do, now, after over a decade of therapy and nearly a decade of marriage (which is a mirror), know myself. I think that is the problem — I know myself so well that I am intimately familiar with the parts of myself that are not awesome. And since I’m working so hard every day just to keep my kid and myself alive and well, I’m annoyed that I’m unable to put more time and energy into making those parts of me that are lacking, any better right now.

So, that brings me, once again, to acceptance. To feeling enough. And, sweetly, to this quote by Raymond Carver, which is hewn into his headstone:

image by Lisa Congdon

image by Lisa Congdon

So that is what I am striving for, each day, no matter how many times I have to dance, pray, reach out, and write myself out of the pit.  To feel myself beloved on the earth.

 

Burlesque Your Way to Body Image Health November 14, 2012

Filed under: Body Image,Dance,Inspiration,San Francisco — rheabette @ 1:26 pm
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Last night, after my husband got back from his Buddhist sit, I headed over to the Elbo Room for Bombshell Betty’s Burlesque Benefit.  Other than that being the most San Francisco-esque sentence describing my family ever written, it was just a kick-ass Tuesday night.  I went to see my friend Tiffanie Turner’s new act,  replete with handmade detachable pom poms that I knew I couldn’t miss.

Earlier this week, Jezebel posted an article about a study showing that just looking at a diverse range of body sizes makes women more tolerant of differing body types. Ladies of the thicker variety, that means that when we wear a body-con dress, we are actually helping our fellow woman! The findings of this study felt intuitively true to me – when I was able to go to the all-female bath house (R.I.P. Osento!) on a regular basis, I found myself more comfortable with my own body, seeing all different shapes and sizes, rather than just the stick-thin cookie cutter image shown repeatedly to us in the media.

To test out the idea further, I hit up the Bombshell Betty show, knowing that part of their mission is to empower women in their bodies through burlesque. I saw a lot of sexy ladies, as well as plenty of stretch marks, cellulite, and jiggling flesh. The best performers were the ones who really owned the stage, dancing with presence and power – whether they had tiny tits or big butts simply did not matter.

My friend’s act was clearly our favorite, as it was joyous and beautiful in a way you may not expect from burlesque. Our second favorite was also quite unexpected — a girl who was only performing for the 2nd time ever did a routine with a can of Tecate that was simply hilarious and natural. I found myself wondering, could I do this?

A Marilyn-themed act, perhaps…

I admit that I went home feeling good in my own skin. Perhaps the study from the Jezebel article was correct — just by seeing those women owning their bodies and celebrating them through dance, I felt bolder in my own. I certainly get that well-being feeling from dance class, in which we keep our clothes on but shake our bodies so vehemently at one another that we cease seeing sizes and just feel amazing.

So, if you’re struggling with body image, I suggest going to see some burlesque, particularly from a troupe like Bombshell Betty, that is celebrating women’s bodies in their natural form — the eyelashes may be fake, but the curves are real! And if you really want to take it to the next level, sign up for one of her classes or workshops, and see if they are as confidence-boosting as they seem. Who knows, you just may see me there, fan in hand!

 

Can a Mama Get a Break? Send Them (Back)Packing! September 24, 2012

Filed under: Dance,Parenting,Personal,San Francisco,Toddlers — rheabette @ 9:33 pm
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Are you an overworked mom that could use a brief, 24 hour break from your family?  Is your partner an introvert who loves camping but doesn’t ever go because YOU prefer glamping, and going camping alone with a kid doesn’t sound appealing to him/her?  Well, find a few other families like you, get those dudes together, and sit back and watch the magic happen.

This past weekend, I enjoyed a blissful day and evening to myself, while my husband Joel teamed up with a few other camp-happy parents and took their broods out into the wild.  The non-camping-friendly mamas stayed behind, getting mani-pedis, cleaning our houses without anyone coming behind us and screwing it all up again, and going out dancing like it was 2008.

Hours of uninterrupted communication meant that I found out more about my friends than I’d heard in possibly 2 years.  Previous engagements were outlined, pieces of writing were read aloud in their entirety, and family histories were regaled.  These are the kinds of discussions you can’t have crammed between snack time and another turn on the swing.  We luxuriated in them, as we pre-gamed with my favorite easy and delicious home cooked meal and a pitcher of margaritas.

In a truly serendipitious turn of events for me this week, the awesome style blogger who put me on her Playground Chic page a few months ago contacted me and asked me if I wanted the stack of Betsey Johnson vintage dresses she had that didn’t work on her anymore.  My answer of course was “can I come over right now?”, and soon enough I was toting my granny cart full of flowered, lacy frocks through the Mission.

It was a truly karmic gesture, as I’d sent some nice clothes to my sister recently that I don’t wear anymore.  I didn’t even have time during the week to try on my new treasures, but with my day of freedom, I turned on some good tunes and had a good ol’ fashioned dress-up party.  That night, I outfitted my girls with dresses from the bounty, as well as some old going-out sparkly lovelies that never get any wear anymore.

Amanda, Michelle and I, all decked out to paint the town.

Our first stop was Beauty Bar, which always had kind of a weird vibe, but has now turned downright scary.  We should have gotten wise when the guy checking IDs warned us to watch out for our belongings, looking worried for us as he ushered us in.  The reason we started there is because they begin their music early, and we wanted to pace ourselves.  Almost instantly we had that terrible feeling of “I’m WAY too old for this sh*t.”  It wasn’t that we felt uncool, it was more like we were scared for the future.  No one was dressed up, sporting ripped T-shirts and skinny jeans in drab colors instead.

The music was a little demoralizing (Big Sean & Nikki Minaj really do have a song that just yells A$$ A$$ A$$ A$$ over and over at you), but we were still getting down, and the young kids were trying to dance with us.  The problem was, they were all ROYALLY messed up.  And they must have all had fake IDs, because they didn’t look a day over 19.  Michelle turned to me and said, “It’s only 9:30!  What the heck is this place going to look like in 3 hours?!”  A moment later, one of the dudes yelled to his girlfriend, “I’m gonna rip your tits off!” and we packed our things and left.  On our walk to the next spot, I laughed with my friends about how I used to dance there when my former priest would DJ mash-ups, and how light and fun it all was.  Now it’s the kind of place you’re lucky to leave without seeing something traumatic.

At Little Baobab, they hadn’t started the dancing yet, but we instantly felt at ease.  The drinks were delicious, the people were friendly, and no one was threatening to rip body parts off of their date.  Once the music started, we found our groove, dancing to African beats combined with popular songs, in a charming playlist that had everyone on their feet.  I have been going there to dance for the better part of a decade, and it has never disappointed.  It was reassuring to know that some good things never change.

Comically, Michelle got hit on by a young brother who asked her to go to Beauty Bar with him, as that was “really more his scene”.  She told him no thank you, she’s married with two kids.  He proceeded to give her some parenting advice, exhorting her “raise them up right”, among other suggestions.  Soon after, we escaped unwanted male attention by cloistering ourselves in the Mission’s great dyke bar, The Lexington, which was having it’s annual, infamous Uniform Party.  Ladies and Men-Who-Used-To-Ladies were decked out as sailors, wrestlers, school girls, and pilots.  There were a lot of folks not in costume as well, as the place was packed tighter than a revival tent in Alabama.  The music was bumping and we ran into some friends, proceeding to dance until our feet begged for rest.

When I finally walked those dead limbs home, the first time staying out after midnight in 3 years, I starfished in the bed that I usually share with 2 people before the night is through.  I actually love sharing my bed with my husband (gratefully – what a bummer if I didn’t!) and I even like waking up next to Olive, who usually starts off the day saying such things as “We’re funny” and “Let’s play noses!”  However, I got the best sleep of remembered history that night, even though I still had to wake up relatively early to get to work.  It didn’t matter – I only had to get one person out of the door on time, so the morning felt languid and peaceful.

An hour away, my husband was waking up from a not-so-restful night’s sleep in a tent with our two year old.  She had been having a great time playing in the dirt with her friends, learning to play baseball and badminton from one of the other dads (we are more the soccer sort, so she was never going to learn from us!), and going on hikes.  Here’s what I missed out on, while I was living the single city life:

Tent time!

Proof that Olive will make a drum out of any surface, even in the wild.

Getting down and dirty with her BFF, Ophie.

Perhaps the best part of the experience is that Olive got some great one-on-one time with her dad.  She has a very hands-on father, but as she spends 90% of her days with me alone, he doesn’t get that same quantity of solo time with her.  Here’s his favorite moment from the trip, in his own words:

“I could tell you about all of the amazing times rolling in the dirt and hanging out in the tent with her bestie Ophie. Or about the absolute ease of spending time with parents who just ‘got it’ (we parents have our own language of shared experience and truths).

However, there were really just two moments that I’ll cherish forever.

Both were very ordinary and unbelievably moving.

First was waiting in traffic on Van Ness. I turned my head and Olive was completely passed out with a half eaten PB&J in her hand. I soaked it in, completely present and started to weep at the beauty of the sun on her face.

Parenthood is a blessing.

It is also a challenge and a burden, but when I stopped worrying about getting to the campsite on time, I was able to witness how every moment, the good and bad, is an invitation to soak it all in.

The next moment happened as we were driving back. We were listening to some tunes on the ipod and a song from my band, Ellul, came up. Without really noticing, I sang out, unaware that Olive had been paying attention to my every move. As I looked back she had been mouthing the refrain, ‘Everything is alright.’

When the song finished, she gently asked, ‘One more?’  So I played it again and we sang along together.

It’s one thing to sing Old MacDonald with your daughter, but to sing a song that I wrote was overwhelmingly meaningful to me. Again, how important in our world of chaotic divisiveness was this?

It was everything, all things to me in that moment.

Riding over the Golden Gate Bridge the fog touched its brass beam. Olive asleep behind me with Sigur Ros as our soundtrack, the tears came again to visit me. It was one of the purest moments of happiness I’ve ever experienced.”

So, Papa Joel had moments of transcendence in the midst of the challenge of taking our little gal on an overnight trip.  Sometimes, you need what our family calls a “habit breaker” — you take a risk, do something different, and create a memory with your loved ones.  Joel is saying he wants to make this an annual occurrence.  And to that I say, “HELL YES.”

 

Avoiding An Unlived Life — Even In the Toddler Years July 14, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Dance,Inspiration,Music,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Toddlers,Writing — rheabette @ 8:07 am
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“The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of the parents.”  ~ Carl G. Jung

I was in grad school when I first heard this quote, and it rang so true to me that I vowed I would not place such a load on my own children.  The best thing about the creativity tidal wave I have been experiencing lately is that it is helping me get through a really difficult period in Olive’s development.  She is figuring out where she ends and I begin, and in the process of that, there is a lot of “NO!”, plenty of food-throwing, and an absolutely unacceptable amount of toddler yelling.  Those little lungs can BELLOW!

The other day I said to Joel, “What other group of people have a job is where they get yelled at all day, they can’t yell back, and theydon’t get paid?  Oh yeah, prisoners.”  Well, unlike folks who are incarcerated, I have the power to change things up.  I’ve been praying the Serenity Prayer a lot, to figure out what I do have control over, and letting go of what I don’t.

Quote by Reinhold Niebuhr, graphic by Pat Pitingolo

And that is *sort of* working.  I secretly think the glass of wine at the end of the day works better than all the prayer, but I can’t drink when I’m with her, so prayer will have to do!

In fact, whenever I ask my friends who have survived the toddler years how they did it, their answers often include fermented beverages. When I told Estelle that Olive was entering the so-called “Terrible Twos”, she tweeted me this blessing: “may your journey into hell be swift; your drinks strong & your babysitters always available. Gather your reinforcements, friend.” Rhiana just had one word: “booze”.

If I want to get through the next two years without becoming a total alkie, I’ve got to have more tricks up my sleeve than just my nightly glass of wine, but what should they be? Deep breathing and prayer? Check. Doing fun things with Olive so we have as many positive memories as we do battles of wills? Check. But truly, the number one thing I think I can do right now is live a brilliant life myself, immersing myself in things other than just my parenting, so that when Olive throws a tantrum about the cheese she has begged me to bring her, shredding it up and grinding it into the couch with astonishing speed, I won’t feel like my life is a total failure, because I have meaningful things going on other than just parenting.

Olive cannot appreciate that my writing, dancing, and singing is bringing me joy, meaning, and connections with other humans. She’s pretty self-centered — she just wants me at her disposal at all times. But I think children can feel when you are so invested in whether or not they are behaving well that you are taking it personally, basing your worth on their ability to obey a simple request to stop throwing toys at other kids. I’m not advocating disconnection, I’m asking for even MORE engagement with the world around you, so that one day Olive will say, “My mom was really rad. She kept up with her arts practices, even when I was in my screaming-on-the-streets-of-San-Francisco phase.” She may not understand that it is all that is keeping me sane, but hopefully, her burden will be lighter than if it also held the weight of years of giving up everything in my life as a service to hers. That is too much for a child to bear. So, parents, be brilliant, live your life boldly, even when you’re so exhausted from a day of wriggly diaper changes and copious hand washing. Not only is it keeping me afloat in a time of many frustrations, but it is building a life that one day, both Olive and I will be proud of.

I can’t believe I actually got a picture of both of us smiling! It’s probably because it was the end of the day, and Papa was home…

 

Creativity Tidal Wave July 13, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Body Image,Dance,Fashion,Him Downstairs,Inspiration,Music,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 7:42 am
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I would not say that my creativity was blocked before I started The Artist’s Way – I have been steadily working at my arts practices, plugging along like a little worker bee.  But I am realizing now that I was slightly stuck in those practices, and consequently being very safe with my art making. Now I’m taking risks, putting myself out there more, and finding myself in a creativity tidal wave. It is simply amazing to me, how much can happen when you create space for it, defend it from internal aggressors, and then just effing go for it. Since I began doing The Artist’s Way, I’ve been confronting head-on the ways that I’ve stemmed the flow of creativity in my life, because of shame, co-dependancy, or fear. Replacing those contracting forces with love, acceptance, and playfulness has wildly affected my life in some very concrete ways.

First of all, my husband (who is also doing The Artist’s Way) and I actually started practicing for the show we are playing this Saturday. When we haven’t played music together in awhile, the first rehearsal is excruciating. We are grumpy, rusty, and full of blame and criticism. It’s pretty much a disaster. The only good thing about it is we have been together so long that we know the pattern and keep telling ourselves “It gets better It gets better It gets better don’t give up!” Then, the following night, we find some kind of groove, letting go of our creative resentments and saying yes to each other’s offers. So now, I am actually excited about our performance, and if you are in the Bay Area this Saturday, July 14th, you should come to Old Crow at 8pm for the incredible art that John Felix Arnold III has created, and stay for our croonings and beats.  I’m doing a lot more singing this time, letting myself be even more vulnerable in my performance, as we are singing about love together.  It scares me, and that is exactly why I know I need to do it.

Of course we have all of our same old tired problems, but we are starting to find creative solutions to some of them.  Now that we have some space and courage to try new things, we are shifting things around, rather than wasting time complaining about what we can’t have. We rearranged two out of the four rooms in the house, and the result is an altered perspective, and a greater investment in our cozy space. Showing the changes to my friend Ellie, I said, “Look! There’s a dance floor in the bedroom now!” “Only you would see that freed-up space and call it a dance floor”, she replied. Sure enough, pretty soon Olive, her friend Caden and I were all stretching on the bedroom floor together — the space was just too inviting to be solely for walking.

Speaking of dance, I’ve been bringing Operation RAD BOD to my dance classes, stretching myself to get even more comfortable with my body as I move it around. The classes I take are greatly cardiovascular, but I often dance in exercise pants, a tank top and a long sleeved dress over that! The teachers usually wear short shorts and tank tops, and no matter what the students don, we are equally drenched in sweat by the time the hour is over. I never really thought I was choosing my outfits based on any kind of body shame, but in the heat of this past Saturday, rather than reaching for my usual somber attire, I pulled from the bottom of my drawer an electric blue “run-skirt” — basically a mini with tiny shorts attached underneath. I topped it with a pink sleeveless top, essentially showing more skin with that outfit than I would anywhere but the beach. I didn’t really think too much of it, I just pulled it on and rushed to class, arriving to the delighted surprise of my friends. They were hilariously inspired by my colorful, tiny attire. Rebecca said, “You have great legs! I’ve never seen them before!” The fact that we have been dancing together for 5 years and she’s never seen my legs made it jarringly clear to me that I’ve been hiding my body in my dance classes.

The class was packed, and there’s a huge mirror in the room, but I did not once find myself obsessing about how all my skin looked as I shook it around. I don’t know what happened, but I was just… free from all that self-consciousness, and I had a blast, actually not overheating for once! On the walk home I realized that what I’d done out of opening my dress choices to more options was actually a big step in Operation RAD BOD. I posted my brave sartorial choice to my Facebook page, and was encouraged by how many people enjoyed that I’d thrown off the fetters of somber fabric and embraced my own skin.

Another great part of the Artist’s Way is you are encouraged to get in touch with your child self, allow yourself to play, and simply have fun. By a series of fortunate events, I found myself in a toy store without my child. I was able to browse the things I was actually interested in, rather than monitoring Olive’s interactions with the wares. I found myself drawn to a fashion coloring book — a huge tome filled with fabuous fashion illustrations that you fill in yourself — high heels to decorate, dresses to pattern, sunglasses that need a face drawn around them, prints that need colors chosen for them. I bought myself every color of Le Pen that they had, and brought it all up to the cash register, my inner artist in a state of glee and ecstacy that I was actually doing this. I then spent the evening coloring fashion illustrations, rather than watching mindless TV.  I felt my world expanding with every swirl I added to the page.

It feels a little like this. (Image by Richard Burbridge)

As I am owning myself as an artist — spending my free time singing, coloring, and writing, instead of comparing, judging and tuning out, I have been amazed at how the creative opportunities have been pouring in. My friend Esther from LTYM SF told me how to submit to KQED’s Perspectives, and I mulled over what I could possibly write about for several weeks.  Finally, an idea came to me, and though I don’t have the kind of life where I can just sit down and write any second I’m so inspired, at my next writer’s group I banged it out, and sent it off.  Much to my surprise, the editor contacted me right away, accepting my piece!  I had such an encouraging talk with him about my writing, and it happened on a day when all I was feeling was “I want to punch today in the throat.”  So, I really needed a win, and now I am greatly looking forward to being on the airwaves next week!  Things are flowing, and I am feeling more alive.

I’m sharing all of this with you because I want to spread the reality that if you let yourself be creative, if you make time and space for it, and you drench yourself in positivity rather than small-mindedness, you will be amazed by how much color and opportunity will come your way.  I’m not much for the New Agey “you create your own reality” stuff that is thrown around a lot in our post-millenial culture, as I have too much of a sociological understanding of the very real effects of classism, racism, sexism and homophobia in our current world.  However,  creativity is within you.  It could be bringing a creative perspective to your feud with your neighbor, a fresh eye to the haircut you are regretting, or just taking a different route on your walk to work.  Whatever you choose, I invite you to let your artist self take control of something today, and report to me what happens!

 

Radical Body Acceptance June 26, 2012

Filed under: Body Image,Dance,Inspiration — rheabette @ 9:03 am
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I’m trying something new this summer. In tune with The Year of Enough, I’m attempting to practice Radical Acceptance of My Body. So far, it mostly consists of me stopping my body-hatred in the act, and just saying, “Radical acceptance, Rhea.” Then I try to replace that frantic thought that I need to CHANGE something in my body with love, surrounding it like a bubble of protection from self-judgment. This has been working… until inevitably someone tags a photo of me on Facebook, which I viciously pick apart, like a vulture to her prey. “Why did I think it was okay not to wear sleeves? What is up with that weird bump in my figure? And there is definitely something off about my face.”

Interestingly enough, reading postings on Facebook is how I started down this whole road of radical body acceptance. One of my lovely friends from dance, Jennifer Portnick, has been posting about studies that show that dieting doesn’t work, and making comments about her philosophies about weight. I found this one, in response to someone who was touting their weight loss, particularly inspiring: “For me personally, and in my former practice as a trainer/fitness teacher, I have completely removed judgment about weight. It’s not an easy thing to do, especially given how our culture applauds thinness/weight loss and considers fatness/weight gain undesirable and even disgusting. The practice I’ve followed is to do all the things I know are good for my health– exercise, eat a moderate and balanced diet, get enough rest and manage my stress levels– and not to judge myself for whatever number is on the scale. I wish for everyone to have the opportunity to go outside and play, eat their fruits and veggies, and generally enjoy a good life in their body, no matter what size or weight it may be.”

Pretty basic, right? Be healthy, and try to forget about the scale? I’ve been trying to follow that path for years, with one glaring exception. In the back of my mind, I’ve always been flirting with the idea of drastically changing my shape. I think, “find a balanced (i.e. eating sometimes for health, sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for both) way to eat, exercise when I can, do all of that as a baseline… and then at some point ramp it all up to 200% and get your 22 year old body back.”

Ah, yes, the fountain of youth thinking. I have such a selective memory. When I really sit to ponder what would come with with that young adult body, I rethink ever wanting to return to it. Constant anxiety about keeping my weight down so low. Mental instability in general, fear of death that led to frantic food restriction and over-exercising. Finally, my 22 year old body didn’t birth a baby. It wouldn’t know any of the steps to my favorite Rhythm and Motion routines. And, I was way less comfortable in that skin.

My 21-year-old self, which I have such compassion for now. She is gone, and she lives within me.

So, I remind myself of that, every time I wish I could turn back the clock. Sometimes it works, but sometimes I wonder, does anyone else find themselves thinking, “I want to become a vampire so I can live forever, but first I need to lose 20 pounds so I can be a thin vamp for life, not be stuck in an average body for all eternity?” The root of this thinking is dissatisfaction, which is at the very core of our economic system, which always leaves us wanting more, different, better, rather than finding contentment where we’re at.
Recently, I discovered the loving-kindness mantra, from Jack Kornfield’s book A Path With Heart, and I am using it liberally, in every situation of dissatisfaction and grasping:

May I be filled with loving-kindness.
May I be well.
May I be peaceful and at ease.
May I be happy.

I like to linger on that first one, asking God to plump me up with loving-kindness like an IV of saline solution to a dehydrated body. So, what the hell is this “loving-kindness”?  Loving-kindness is, in the Bible, agape love, which is characterized by acts of kindness, motivated by love. In the Theravāda school of Buddhism, it is the first of the four sublime states, and, in essence, love without clinging.

Go back to that mantra. Do you see, “May I be skinny enough to fit into the size 4 pair of pants I’ve been saving for the better part of decade” in there? No? Shucks. I guess happiness, well-being, peace, and love for myself and others will have to do. In fact, bringing myself back to this prayer every time I am feeling bad about my body is an amazing reminder of what is important in life. I could be skinny and wildly unhappy, like I was at 22, grieving the loss of my father and confused about how to keep myself sane. Or I could be skinny and happy, that much is true, but seeing as that is not my natural body type, it is an unlikely reality for me. So, I return to radical acceptance.

The funny thing about this whole body image issue for me is that I much prefer a bigger body type on other women. I think the soft curves of a full figured woman are incredibly beautiful, and I’m not just saying that to be PC or feminist. Whenever I find myself with a little “girl crush”, it is invariably on a woman who is nearing 200 pounds.

Katya Zharkova, a shining example of the body type I actually aesthetically prefer.

Last week, at the lake, the undeniably hottest woman on the beach was a thick-thieghed, huge-assed, stretch-marked-tummied sun goddess in a bikini. She was not hiding anything and I wish I could have snapped a picture to show you how much it was working for her. My friend and I marveled about it later, how comfortable she seemed with her cellulite and how incredibly sexy she was in spite of her “imperfections”. It was inspiring.

So, why do I love seeing curves on other women, but denigrate them on my own body?  For me, I think it is fear of death, fear of aging, and fear of change.  Seeing the effects of gravity on my flesh reminds me that I am not Superwoman, and I, too, one day, will die.  Aging gracefully was never modeled for me, and I want desperately not to end up like my grandmother, still trying fad diets in her 80′s!  Can you imagine?  Being a senior citizen and still hating your body?  But, ladies and gentlemen, that is our future, unless we learn to love our bodies now.  I hear a lot of people say, “Sugar (or white flour, or whatever the diet industry is telling us to get rid of completely these days) is slowly killing us”, but I think poisonous thoughts about your body, the place your soul currently resides, are much more dangerous!  Long-life feeling perfectly fit is not promised to us.  We only have today, and I’m going to try to love this corporeal being, even if it means giving up my entire way of thinking.

In my quest to find that kind of radical acceptance for myself, I am collecting information about staying body-positive, and striving to engage in dialogue with wise people like my friend Jennifer, who is light years ahead of me in this effort. I am trying to avoid conversations with folks about their dieting efforts, unless they are following a particular health-related plan (no sugar for diabetics, no gluten for celiacs, etc.), and I am cutting back on my fashion magazine reading.  I cannot give up Vogue yet, although I know I should (that article on the dieting child was unforgiveable) because the spreads that Grace Coddington does are works of art that I can hold in my hands and manipulate with scissors and glue.  As soon as GC retires, Vogue is hitting the dust just like Elle before them.  Other than that, I am totally open to suggestions for how to fully embrace radical body acceptance.  I am also open to hearing reactions to this idea in general — a friend of mine, when I told her about my radical body acceptance goal, said, “I’m so not ready for that.  I feel like a troll.”  She was being real and we had a great talk about it.

I have now been working on this post for over a week, and thinking about it even longer than that.  I am dragging my feet because thinking detrimental thoughts about my body and fantasizing about drastically changing it is an addiction, and one I’m reluctant to stop.  I know that if I come out fully as one addicted to thinking about my body image, I’ll have to change, and that scares me.  If I give up dreaming of ways to look different, will I lose all my standards and become really unhealthy?  I don’t believe so.  I believe my mean thoughts about myself are the most unhealthy  thing I’m doing these days, and if I can stop them, health will abound.

The best way I know to achieve a sense of well-being in my body is to MOVE it.  Using it, really getting down into what it feels to be in this body, right now, is the only thing I know that really works.  I can sit here and intellectualize until I’m blue in the face, but only movement and experience will change me holistically.  Well, my dance program, Rhythm & Motion, put out a video about the classes I take, and I’m in it, dancing my little heart out!  All the people in this video are my friends and co-conspirators in finding joy in your body.  One of my best friends, Michele, is truly stunning in it.  So, I will leave you on a positive note, a reminder that everyone can dance, even me, in my imperfect body, which I am trying to learn to truly love.

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/44686594″>I Am A Dancer</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/rhythmandmotion”>Rhythm &amp; Motion Dance Program</a> on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

 

Bell jar dancing June 4, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Christianity,Dance,Inspiration,Mothers,Music,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Psychotherapy,Writing — rheabette @ 1:03 pm
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The bell jar was lowering, the sweet cloying smell of the air contained within threatening to suffocate, so I danced faster than it could descend.  Not in any manic way, but a deliberate, furious expression, meant to stave off a case of the mean reds so angry that even time with my ridiculously happy child could not abate it.  I already had on my best dress for dancing, with a full skirt for making dramatic turns, and slippery shoes to help me make the most of the tiny kitchen parquet floor.  Jokes are often made about how folks with depression listen to sad music to wallow in it, but that is not the real reason.  We turn to The Smiths, Leonard Cohen and the like to inject some soul into our barren landscape — we need depth, not to candy coat our sadness with smiles.  So, I turned on the soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark, which is arguably the most depressing movie on earth, with some seriously soulful Bjork songs throughout.  Olive’s face filled with delight when I began to spin around the room, but I only saw it for a moment before I closed my eyes, needing to be fully in the movement, working through all the stuck places in my mind, heart, and back muscles.  Some moms need to steal away for a nip from the bottle of Jameson mid-day to get through, but me, I dance.

untitled photo by A/R, 2009

A few of my friends on Facebook recently have been breaking the unspoken taboo against ever saying anything negative about their lives, and starting to really show up. Their status updates, instead of pictures of the mouth-watering food they are about to eat, baby updates galore, or a pithy celebration of how generally happy they are in life, have instead been indicating disappointment, fear, and even depression. Now, this is a dangerous thing to do on Facebook, a place uniquely designed for people to pull out their best Dear Abby impersonations at every turn. So, as I endeavor to write to you about my struggles with mood on this blog, please hear this: I do not want you pull a Coldplay and try to fix me. I like myself a little broken, just as I am. But if you want to know me more, especially in those places of brokenness, it’s totally cool to ask more questions about my experience.
So, here’s a little secret that those posts of brand-new babies rarely say: motherhood will not save you from depression. Sometimes, it will even create it. I was not shocked about this fact, I knew that going in. Right before I got pregnant, I was really going through it. I admitted to my therapist that I wished that having a baby would bring me happiness in my life, but that I knew that it wouldn’t fix any of my current problems. “I know that I will still be myself, prone to melancholy, thinking way too much about my relationships all the time, and taking care of everyone else while neglecting myself. However, now I’ll also have a baby to love. This will add to the difficulty of my life, yes. But it will also increase the love. I need to increase the love.”
I often come across mothers that have thrown themselves so fully into motherhood to stave off ever having to talk about their actual lives, what’s really going on for them. But motherhood does not save you from having to work through your shit. Sylvia Plath still sealed her children into the living room to protect them from the fumes, and stuck her head in the oven, ending her short and brilliant life, and abandoning her kids because she thought they’d be better off without her. In fact, the stress of motherhood often causes things to crack and come apart, revealing wounds you thought you had pasted over for good but were actually only festering under that dirty bandaid you slapped on when you were 14.
Over dinner recently, a friend admitted to me about her bouts of anger that make her fear that she is turning into her rageaholic father, lashing out at her kids and partner in ways that surprise and terrify her. In the course of discussing it further, I said something offhand about how struggling with mental health issues so early in life helped me find the things I need to do to stay sane, and if I stray from those, all hell, literally, breaks loose. She returned to this comment later, asking, “So… what are those things that you do to stay sane?” It was interesting, because I hadn’t really spent a whole lot of time articulating what it is I do to stay relatively balanced, even though it takes up pretty much all of my free time.  So, over a healthy amount of wine, I found myself espousing a bit of a manifesto.

I call it my Threadbare Three:

First is Exercise. Getting my endorphins going and literally working through the feelings in my body, as I did dancing in the kitchen this week, is the best way I know to shake off and work through the accumulated stuff in my body.  I am not always dying to go to dance class — sometimes I would much rather veg, especially after a particularly hard day of running around playing peek-a-boo tag with Olive.  But once I get there, and let myself really go into the movement, I feel a melting in to my body, and, moving through all the stuck places, I start to feel free, and by the end I’m often feeling like I just might take flight.  Not always, mind you, but enough to keep me coming back, several times a week.

Second is a Spiritual Practice. For me, this is being a part of a church, praying, and reading spiritual texts.  I think this is important because depression/anxiety/mood disorders in general are about the specific problems of being YOU.  You need experiences that get you outside the particulars of your own little life, and into the oneness of all life.  We are both the wave and ocean, and if we spend all our time being the wave, we miss out on the vastness and depth of the sea.  I don’t think it matters which spiritual practice you choose, as long as it is one that is based in love and leads you to a place of peace.  Joel and I have really been getting into adding Buddhist practices to our Christianity lately, and it’s really deepening our understanding of the spiritual plane and helping us learn to love others more.  I think Jesus is down with that.

Finally: Expression. This means creating art, and/or going to therapy. You need a way to tell your story.  Often, we need someone to help us sort through our story, especially if it has really painful parts that we still don’t fully understand or know how to integrate within our lives.  A therapist is someone who is trained to guide you through this process, bringing you to a place of freedom from your past, and a present that doesn’t involve denying any parts of you, but rather helps you be a whole person.  I am not currently in therapy, but I just ended after 12 consecutive years of this deep work.  I found it incredibly helpful, and I recommend it for basically anyone looking to grow personally and find some clarity in their lives.  The other way to go with this step is creating art, preferably every single day.  For me this means taking 20 minutes out of my morning to write, and hopefully squeezing in more writing and art-creation time later in the day.  This final step in the Threadbare Three brings all the others together, as I often dance for both exercise and expression, and I find making art to be a sacred experience, as we become co-creators with God.

Enlighten me further, my friends: what makes up your Threadbare Three?

 

 

Oh, Yoko! April 30, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Community,Dance,Inspiration — rheabette @ 5:27 pm
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As soon as I closed my eyes and found my center, there in the middle of a circle of my fellow artists, their eyes patient witnesses to my movement, I realized, “Woah. This is going to be really dark.” We were doing Authentic Movement, which, in case you’re not familiar, is a therapeutic technique to use movement to get in touch with your unconscious. Apparently, my unconscious held a barren landscape, with eerie afternoon light and perhaps a well that a demon spirit girl was about to crawl out of. I followed the movement, and it became more and more intense. At one point I was banging my head, very slowly and methodically, against the hardwood floor, which later my witnesses told me made them want to rush in with a pillow to protect my little skull.  I felt a power rising in my body as I moved, to the point that I was overcome by the energy coursing through my limbs, causing me to terrify my witnesses again by whipping my head and torso around at an alarming velocity. Finally, in a spin with my arms outstretched, I erupted in a bit of a giggle, as I was imagining myself turning into a superhero, rising from the depths to kick some major ass. It was deep.
Then I got home and saw that day’s installment in Yoko Ono’s 13 Days Do-It-Yourself Dance Festival:


As you may remember, Yoko was recently a source of major wisdom that came to me in a dream. And then this — her suggesting I bang my head, after I spent an Authentic Movement session doing exactly that. Coincidence? Or some kind of collective unconscious link between she and I? And her question is an excellent one. Is it really such a catastrophe to live without your head?
I have been in my head a lot this week, and it keeps taking me to a place I detest being in: guilt. I am seriously in need of taking my own advice. Recently, someone in my husband’s life was trying to make him feel guilty about a choice he made, and I had a rare moment of sheer brilliance. I texted him:
Guilt is spiritual cancer. Radiate that shit with love.
What a good message for me to remember this week, when guilt about many different things is weighing my head down, making me want to bang it against the wall until it dissolves. So, I will keep dancing, keep listening to Yoko, and start a serious love radiation on all the places in me that feel heavy with guilt.

I need to take some fashion inspiration from Ms. Ono as well, as she's Meowtown in those hot pants.

 

 
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