So you've probably been wondering...

what the Disney Princesses would look like in historically accurate clothing? I know! Me too. Thanks, Claire Hummel! 

Happy 11/11/11!

If you haven't seen This is Spinal Tap yet, go do that. Your funny bone will thank me.

Oh Hey...

Models from American Gothic standing next to American Gothic.

And John Singer Sargent chilling in front of Madame X. 

What up.

Whistlin' Songs

Why do I find songs with whistling 18 times catchier than everything else?












Am I missing any? You guys whistlin' while you work too?

Let them be Hermiones

From the insightful and indefatigable J.K. Rowling:

For Girls Only, Probably...

Being thin. Probably not a subject that you ever expected to read about on this website, but my recent trip to London got me thinking...

It started in the car on the way to Leavesden film studios. I whiled away part of the journey reading a magazine that featured several glossy photographs of a very young woman who is either seriously ill or suffering from an eating disorder (which is, of course, the same thing); anyway, there is no other explanation for the shape of her body. She can talk about eating absolutely loads, being terribly busy and having the world's fastest metabolism until her tongue drops off (hooray! Another couple of ounces gone!), but her concave stomach, protruding ribs and stick-like arms tell a different story. This girl needs help, but, the world being what it is, they're sticking her on magazine covers instead. All this passed through my mind as I read the interview, then I threw the horrible thing aside.

But blow me down if the subject of girls and thinness didn't crop up shortly after I got out of the car. I was talking to one of the actors and, somehow or other, we got onto the subject of a girl he knows (not any of the Potter actresses – somebody from his life beyond the films) who had been dubbed 'fat' by certain charming classmates. (Could they possibly be jealous that she knows the boy in question? Surely not!)

'But,' said the actor, in honest perplexity, 'she is really not fat.'

'"Fat" is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her,' I said; I could remember it happening when I was at school, and witnessing it among the teenagers I used to teach. Nevertheless, I could see that to him, a well-adjusted male, it was utterly bizarre behaviour, like yelling 'thicko!' at Stephen Hawking.

His bemusement at this everyday feature of female existence reminded me how strange and sick the 'fat' insult is. I mean, is 'fat' really the worst thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring' or 'cruel'? Not to me; but then, you might retort, what do I know about the pressure to be skinny? I'm not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with being a writer and earning my living by using my brain...

I went to the British Book Awards that evening. After the award ceremony I bumped into a woman I hadn't seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? 'You've lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!'

'Well,' I said, slightly nonplussed, 'the last time you saw me I'd just had a baby.'

What I felt like saying was, 'I've produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Aren't either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?' But no – my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate!

So the issue of size and women was (ha, ha) weighing on my mind as I flew home to Edinburgh the next day. Once up in the air, I opened a newspaper and my eyes fell, immediately, on an article about the pop star Pink.

Her latest single, 'Stupid Girls', is the antidote-anthem for everything I had been thinking about women and thinness. 'Stupid Girls' satirises the talking toothpicks held up to girls as role models: those celebrities whose greatest achievement is un-chipped nail polish, whose only aspiration seems to be getting photographed in a different outfit nine times a day, whose only function in the world appears to be supporting the trade in overpriced handbags and rat-sized dogs.

Maybe all this seems funny, or trivial, but it's really not. It's about what girls want to be, what they're told they should be, and how they feel about who they are. I've got two daughters who will have to make their way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it worries me, because I don't want them to be empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones; I'd rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny – a thousand things, before 'thin'. And frankly, I'd rather they didn't give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons. Let them never be Stupid Girls. Rant over.

Goodbye Summer!

At the beginning of the summer, I set out to make an awesome home video. My camera had broken, making the video recorder on my little iPod my only memory capture-r. So why not try something new? With the first day of fall almost here (hooray!), I figured it was time to wrap up and share. I had an absolute blast putting it together and am really pleased with the final product. Take a peek if you're so inclined.

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is a light somewhere.

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

Charles Bukowski

#21 Go hiking in Virginia

To celebrate the long weekend, my friend Sarah and I hiked Great Falls Park in Virginia. My camera is still broken (womp womp), so I took a few short clips on the iPod and smushed them together here:

Great Falls Hike from Mary Kate on Vimeo.

Song: "The River" by Virginia Coalition (my favorite local band!)

Isn't Great Falls beautiful? A little piece of me pretended I was John Smith discovering the Potomac River. (There might have been some "Just Around the Riverbend" going down).

Not pictured:
-Stone skipping
-Wading in the river and letting the fish tickle my feet
-Very quickly getting out of the river after seeing a snake...
-Enjoying an apple at the tip top of a cliff
-Discovering a local bluegrass radio station (!!) during the car trip. It is... my new obsession.

Let's Brighten Someone's Day!

Taking a few spare moments to make someone-- anyone!-- smile is near always worth it. Who's in for some warm and fuzzies today? Ten to one odds that the lucky recipient of your kindness boomerangs joy right back to you.

(This is a purely gratuitous picture of Matt Damon. He brightens my day :) )

Write a thank you note.
Gratitude is always appreciated. Co-worker helped you out on a project? Shoot them an email! Friends stayed up until 4am discussing your troubles? Call them! Just remembered that time your middle-school bestie lent you her sparkly sweatshirt for picture day? Send a letter! (including a picture, I'd hope)

A quick "thanks" will not suffice. If you're setting out to brighten a day, you've got to spend more time than it takes to text six letters. You need to let this superhero know how incredible they really are! Explain exactly how his or her actions impacted you for the better. Spare no superlative.

Wrap it up.
If you picked up a just-because gift for a friend, take a quick minute to wrap it up! Even a 99 cent candy bar becomes a special treat when covered in bright paper and a bow. Anticipation is fun!

Give a(n unusual) compliment.

I like hearing that my hair or outfit looks nice as much as the next girl. But the compliments that stick with me (and I bet with you guys too) are the ones out of left field. Shake off the mundane to hit the proper day-brightening note!

"You have a spiritual gift for creating mix CDs."
"That was such a tactful response. I'm always impressed with how well you field client questions."
"I wish I had your memorization prowess. You're my walking Google!"
"You always make me laugh. Without fail!"
"You inspire me."
"I feel so proud of you and the choices you're making now."

Or, if you're going to go with appearance (nothing wrong there!), make it personal. It's rather forgettable to say, "I like your shirt."  How about "that shirt brings out the most amazing shade of green in your eyes!" or "you rock boatnecks better than anyone I know! Serious collarbone jealousy."? Or even, "You style vintage pieces so well. Teach me your thrifting secrets!"

Surprise!
Take box. Fill with helium balloons. Give to friend. Squeal with joy when he opens it and balloons fly everywhere!

I've been wanting to try this one for ages.  Please (!) tell me if you do :

Smile.
How many people do you ignore everyday? I know I usually tune out almost every one around me when walking through the city. Go ahead, make eye contact and smile. Throw in a "hello" or "how are you?" for good measure. It's the little things, right?

How do you add pep to someone else's step? 

Reading...

If you think about it, reading is a necessarily individual act, far more than writing. If we assume that writing manages to go beyond the limitations of the author, it will continue to have a meaning only when it is read by a single person and passes through his mental circuits. Only the ability to be read by a given individual proves that what is written shares in the power of writing, a power based on something that goes beyond the individual. The universe will express itself as long as somebody will be able to say “I read, therefore it writes.

--Italo Calvino (from If on a winter’s night a traveler)

Life is short

Life is short. Do what you love. Don't get caught up in things. Value people, not material objects. Love deeply, love fully, have no regrets.
--Derek Miller

Louis C.K., you are awesome.

Inspiration Folder

Hello lovelies!

Do you use Evernote?  It is my latest obsession!  I use it like I would a giant virtual moleskine notebook. You can add nearly anything and then access it anywhere-- even on your phone. It's my current favorite productivity hack (everything is searchable! no more keeping 18 tabs open so I don't forget articles I want to read! Chrome extension to add pictures/articles/urls with 2 keystrokes!) and my new catchall box.

Here's a few things I clipped into my inspiration folder today:

The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance, but live right in it, under its roof.

-- Barbara Kingsolver

A truck carrying ink-cartridges smashed into a bridge, and the result? Rainbows!

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And the World Food Programme's Josette Sheeran's Ted Talk on ending hunger (now).

What made you perk up your ears today?

As an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky...

I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and as an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as the taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock.

--Lemony Snicket

Let's Stay in Touch!

After graduation, my friends scattered to the winds. So when I saw this article on 10 Ways to Stay in Touch with Your Long-Distance BFFs, I was understandably stoked.  Shortly thereafter, I was frankly disappointed!

"Write on her Facebook wall/Twitter page"?  "Leave a voicemail"?  "Remember her birthday"?  Really? We're assuming that we're actually friends with this person, right?  Okay, sure. You do need to do these things to stay friends from afar.  But let's get more creative!

Here's my list of (Fun) Ways to Stay in Touch with Far-flung Friends:

Say it with a song.
Sure, you can spam your favorite gal's wall with enough "I miss yous" to keep the bonds of friendship alive.  But why not go Broadway musical on her? Record a video of you singing My Heart Will Go On ("far across the distance and spaces betweeeeeen us...")/500 Miles/her favorite jam and post that on her Facebook/Twitter. Much better.

Send a care package!
I'm shocked this one didn't make the original list.  I like to fill up a box with Lisa Frank stickers (available on Etsy if you aren't still hoarding your 4th grade collection), mix cds, used books, nail polish, baked goods, and whatever other bits and baubles catch my eye.

Theme it up.  Only purple items?  4th of July theme (complete with sparklers!) for a patriotic pal? Stress relief in a box with homemade scrub, bubble bath and scented candles? The possibilities are endless. Never forget the most important part of any care package-- a handwritten note!

Set up a private blog.  
Our group of ladies from college share a password-protected blog.  It's excellent for sharing life updates and hilarious links en masse.  And that cutie you kissed at the bar last night?  Thank goodness for a safe space to spill all the juicy details with the girls.

Long distance book club.
Self-explanatory?  Pick a book, read it, talk about it.

Sisterhood of the Traveling...
I don't have any mystical every-body-type-fitting pants.  Do you?

Never fear.  There's plenty of other non-magical items at our disposal.  I'm a fan of passing around a funny little figurine (a la Amelie's gnome).  Friend A takes a picture of your inanimate comrade in an interesting place, pastes the photo into an album, and mails both to Friend B. B to C; C to D; D to A.You get the idea. The stranger/more clever the settings, the better the game.

Host virtual movie dates.
Set up a Skype conference call.  Put on your favorite movie (or t.v. show or whatever) and watch together.  All the commentary and giggles you love through the miracle of video chat.  

And dance parties.
Two options. Numero Uno: video chat in on a real-time dance-off. Easy. Or, two: pick a song, everyone makes a video of getting down with her bad self, share.  Hilarious either way.

Establish a ritual.
Email each other a song a day.  A favorite quote each Monday morning.  Every April 15th (or October 4th or January 26th) is Besties Day-- your time to get together and finally hang out in person (My dad and his best friends have met up at the Indy 500 every Memorial Day for at least 15 years. An awesome tradition!).  Whatever suits your relationship and tastes.  But make something regular and worth looking forward to.

Twin day!
Remember how cool it was in elementary school when you and your girl wore matching outfits?  Megan and I always topped off our Limited Too ensembles with a chic friendship necklace. It was a metal cartoon cow on a black cord. We swore to never take them off. Not even in the shower. We were awesome.

Bring back the awesome!  Plan a twin day, chose your outfits, and share some snapshots.  And, since your friend is now your long distance friend-- no awkward moments!  Twin Day is your little secret.

What about you guys?  How do you keep it close across the miles?

The Laughing Heart

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The Best Place to Write

It is no secret that the best place to write, in my opinion, is a café; you don’t have to make your own coffee, you don’t feel that you are in solitary confinement while you work and when inspiration fails, you can take a walk to the next café while your batteries re-charge. In my opinion, the best writing café is just crowded enough so that you blend in, but not so crowded that you end up sharing a table with somebody who tries to read chapter twenty upside down, has staff who don’t glower at you if you sit there too long (though these days I can afford to keep ordering coffees even if I don’t drink them, so that’s less of a problem) and doesn’t play very loud music, which is the only noise that disturbs me when I’m writing.— J.K. Rowling

Oh, I so agree! I'm always working on a dozen projects and appear to be developing a chai addiction from all the time spent in my closest coffee shop. Worth it for the ten-fold productivity increase.

Authenticity

Standard clichés for early adulthood dictate that currently I am in a stage of “finding myself.”

Every time I hear this phrase, I can’t help but think of Claire Danes’ character, Angela, on that delightfully angsty 90s classic-- My So-Called Life:

People are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. Like you know what it is even. But every so often I'll have, like, a moment, where just being myself in my life right where I am is, like, enough.

Way to cut to the core, Angela. (By the way, that’s 5 “likes” in 2 sentences. Well played.)

I’ve loved this bit for ages. Being told that I would eventually “find myself” in some whole and immutable state felt (and still feels) completely absurd. Like reducing my (and your and everyone else’s) complexity to that of a household appliance. Gross.

But, you know what? I’m more or less coming around to the idea. (it wouldn’t be a cliché if it didn’t have some truth, right?) Though, instead of finding myself, I like to think of it as finding authenticity.

In one form or another, “myself” has been here all along. It (I) am constantly evolving and changing and doing lots of organic non-toastery things. There’s no endpoint. I will keep growing.

(And I think that’s what Angela is getting at here. The phrase is so annoying because it seems to make two rather obnoxious assumptions. First, that whoever we might be at the current moment is not good enough or true enough; second, that someday we’ll arrive at the station and never have to question who we are ever again. No way. No thanks. To both.)

So, it’s not a matter of finding “me” as though it’s some separate and exterior entity. Rather, the task is to take the essence, the person that exists under all the security blankets, and let that be what the world sees. When I feel certain that the choices I make, the friends I keep, and the words I say are all reflections of the person I am and the person I want to be—well, then I feel authentic. I feel something whole and true that fits that self-discovery narrative. I don’t have to find me, but a way to share myself with others honestly and openly.

In practice? It means refusing to apologize for my passions, my beliefs, and my strengths. For what makes me smile and what makes me cry. Acknowledging that I have weaknesses and addressing them. Asking for help and taking it graciously. No compromising authenticity for being liked (it’s easy for me to pretend that I left this habit in middle school, but sadly not always true).

And when I accomplish these things (again, no end point. It’s a moment-by-moment and day-by-day achievement), I feel positively electric. No doubt that I can set the world on fire.

I realize I’ve basically swapped “find yourself” with “be yourself.” What’s the use in exchanging one hackneyed old phrase with another? But really, it’s about the path between the two. In fact, the never-ending cycle between them. Take stock, share it (never hide from it), and then take stock again. The process breeds authenticity and authenticity cultivates joy. And joy is a very very good thing.

Move, Eat, Learn

Check out these three incredible travel videos.  Scheming next world adventure begins... now.

MOVE from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

EAT from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

LEARN from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

A note and a reminder

Hi friends,

Quick note. To everyone who was so sweet as to comment here-- please believe that I was not ignoring your kind words!  For more than a month, blogger has foiled my every attempt to respond. But, finally... success!  I'll be responding to comments once again, and hopefully commenting on your pages as well.

And, so that this post is not all administrative... a reminder I needed during this first week of work:

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Hope you a weekend full of taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy! 
(Did you guys love Magic School Bus too?)

Proud

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I've been thinking this is a nice question to ask myself in the morning. 

We become like that on which our hearts are fixed

Whenever you go out of doors, draw the chin in, carry the crown of the head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in the sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. Do not fear being misunderstood and do not waste a minute thinking about your enemies. Try to fix firmly in your mind what you would like to do; and then without veering off direction, you will move straight to the goal. Keep your mind on the great and splendid things you would like to do, and then, as the days go gliding by, you will find yourself unconsciously seizing upon the opportunities that are required for the fulfilment of your desire, just as the coral insect takes from the running tide the element it needs. Picture in your mind the able, earnest, useful person you desire to be, and the thought you hold is hourly transforming you into the particular individual… Thought is supreme. Preserve a right mental attitude — the attitude of courage, frankness, and good cheer. To think right is to create. All things come through desire and every sincere prayer is answered. We become like that on which our hearts are fixed.

-Elbert Hubbard

#2 Get hired for a full-time job!

Check! Offer came in this afternoon! Woop!

Well, it's a full-time paid internship for six months, and I'll still be sending out applications and hustling on the job hunt while there. So, pseudo-check?  But forty hours will be spent per week in an office and there will be a paycheck.  I'm going go ahead and cross off number two (and maybe come back for a double cross-off with an official job-job rather than internship down the line). 

Now, what really matters here is that I have to start on Monday.  Aka three weekdays and one weekend left of sans-office living (for the time-being at least!).  I hereby declare a moratorium on all things resume/cover letter/interview related and all attempts to diguise myself as an adult.  Time to savor five days of kid-style summer. 

  

By Thurston Hopkins (I love this shot. So much mischief.)

Yippee!

Setting sail for five days of:

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sleeping in

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lazing by the pool all afternoon with popsicles in hand (possibly from the ice cream truck?  The one in my neighborhood played Swan Lake last week! swanky.)

(from last summer!)

kayaking on the river, a la summer camp

(from The Princess and the Frog)

catching fireflies

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spending a day at the amusement park riding all the rollercoasters. twice!

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climbing trees!

sleeping outside

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eating lots of watermelon

re-reading Ella Enchanted and A Room with a View (it's tradition! since third and eighth grade, respectively)

Of course, I can still do most of these things the rest of the summer too.  But I like the idea of bundling them up for some last minute nostalgia and magic. Tally ho!

Whitman

Getting revved up to really dig into Leaves of Grass, per the 22 Things list, (although I have to say lately I'm much more into reading books as I come by them rather than working off of a book-list of self-made required reading. Thoughts?) and came across this gem. Oh Whitman, I think we're going to be friends.

Press close, bare-bosomed Night!
Press close, magnetic, nourishing Night!
Night of south winds! Night of large, few stars!
Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night!

Yes. I say yes.

#17 See the midnight showing of a movie on opening night

So how obvious was it that I intended #17 for the second installment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?

Very? Okay, cool.

One of my friends from high school hosted a "pre-game" at her Potter-poster bedecked house.  We watched the first part of Deathly Hallows and munched on chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties and Mrs. Weasley's onion soup.  Then my little sister and I donned our homemade t-shirts and met some neighborhood buds at the theater.

"Make Love Not Horcruxes" and "Dumbledore's Army"

We nibbled on leftover Olivander wands (chocolate-covered pretzel sticks) and treacle tarts in the theater and alternately laughed, cried, and applauded for our old friends at Hogwarts.  The munchkin and I both agreed that it was our favorite of the films for sure. Sibling bonding + some wholesome muggle fun = great success for a Thursday night.

Work hard and be kind

Ben Sollee

I've just found cellist Ben Sollee earlier this week and have totally fallen for his stripped-down blues-y sound.  Feels like the perfect soundtrack for lounging under a shady tree during the late afternoon sun. A few favorites for you to peruse:








Enjoy!

Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how…We guess. We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark.
Agnes de Mille

A change of vocabulary

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I'm a self-professed word nerd.  There's no hiding my love for etymology and interesting word origin stories (if you are a dork like me, I can't recommend Bill Bryson's Made in America enough.  I bored my roommates with new fun-facts at least three times a day while reading it.  Anyone want to know George Washington's relationship to the word "grog"? eh? eh?). 

And so, only about a month into my post-grad life, I decided it was high time to rechannel some negative energy into rethinking the way I think!  Unleash the power of words to feel a bit more powerful and such.

Now, instead of "job hunting," I spend my time "moving and shaking," "hustlin," and "grooving."  When nerves creep in, I repeat the mantras "woman up" and "be a woman" to transition from anxiety-ridden to strong and self-assured.  Rather than "unemployed," I am an "unfettered vagabond" (I'm imagining myself riding the rails out west with exactly 1 leather satchel and 1 moleskine journal when I call myself that one. win.) 

Other useful vocabulary shake-ups?
Me, Myself, and I-- Beast, Darling, Minx, Starshine, Daffodil
Anything boring, tedious or unsavory on the to-do list-- poppycock, hooha, "the hit-list"
Dreams-- Plans
Can'ts-- Cans

Ever do something goofy to feel a little stronger/motivated?

The Power of Vulnerability

Brene Brown's TED Talk about vulnerability and living "wholeheartedly" is exceptionally excellent.  Do yourself a favor and put aside twenty minutes for this.

Loving Right Now...

Fred Astaire!  One of my all-time favorite dancers, hands down.

Can you watch this and walk away anything but enamored?  It's on the favorites tab at the top of my browser for whenever I need a quick boost of happy :)

"That's why we have mommies..."

"Sometimes a T-rex will try to hurt you. Or bite you!  But that's why we have mommies. To hold you hand if a real T-rex is maybe going to be somewhere you are going."

From Elizabeth, age 4 and one of the students in my ballet camp. Kids are the best.

#20 Write a Letter to My Body

Fair warning: this post is longer and heavier than most.

I've alluded to my self-esteem issues in some previous posts.  Honestly, I'm not interested in an internet tell-all at this point about my own journey with these problems.  That said, I included "Write a Letter to My Body" on the 22 Things list.  I originally came across the idea on the amazing blog Already Pretty (you can read Sal's letter here) and have always felt it might be a very productive healing exercise.  But for a good bit of time, the task appeared too daunting and overly rife with the potential for a rawness I couldn't handle.  Which in my eyes also made it a good goal.  Keep pushing, keep growing.  "Be Courageous and Vulnerable."

So my letter is posted below.  Sharing such a thing on the internet wasn't a comfortable place for me, but the universe surely needs more messages of positivity and gratitude, no?  And if it encourages anyone who visits this tiny corner of the web to examine his/her own relationship with their body, it's done good (for more than just me).

Hey love,
Let us begin with the magnitude of that greeting. I have just addressed you, my body, as “love.” Five years ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to consider this expression of affection a positive statement. A statement of fact.

Distrust infiltrated our relationship early on. At five, I cried Easter morning that my “poofy” dress made me look fat. By eight, I began intensive ballet training and my sneaking suspicions that you were not good enough were readily confirmed. And confirmed and confirmed every day of the next ten years.

Over time, a vague but constant terror grew and spread into a full-blown hatred. I hated you. I spent hours in front of the mirror pinching you, crying over you. It might have looked like I was doing my homework, laughing with my friends, enjoying myself. And I often was. But those activities, every activity, occurred with a simultaneous litany of self-doubt. Because you were always there, reminding me that I would never be good enough.

Fat. Ugly. Disgusting.

And then I hit a breaking point. That’s always how it goes, eh? We had never gotten along, but the constant companion of negative thoughts swelled to a new level. I began punishing myself-- bingeing, purging, weighing, measuring, and more. And I finally realized that something was wrong. My thought process had become so ingrained as to seem natural. To seem right.

I wasn’t ready to love you. But I was ready to stop hating you, hurting you. Or at least to try. Because, well you and me are really the same thing, you know? And letting day after day pass by, filled with self-loathing and desperate attempts to fill those holes of fear and shame with anything but love, was wrong.

It’s been a long three years of healing. And the process isn’t over. I doubt it ever will be. But, body, can I tell you a few things?

I love you. That thrill I feel when I’m dancing? When I’m stretching and pulling and pushing and testing you? It’s one of the best damn things in my life. Thanks for that. And thanks for giving me legs, strong legs, to walk on. You should know walking is pretty high on my list of favorite things too. And standing, and running, and stomping my feet when the music is right. And for the feeling of running my hands over high grasses. And for my green eyes. And for freckles. And for your stretch marks, always to remind me of where I’ve been and where I’m going. A marker of my past. For the shape of my stomach. It’s not what people tell me is perfect. But I know differently. I know that your softness and your gentle curve feel better under my touch than hard and flat ever did. For my health and your rather incredible resilience to illness and injury.

Here’s the thing. You’ve never done a single thing wrong. You adapt. You found a way to survive even when I treated you like dirt. I still haven’t gotten this all figured out. Sometimes I don’t treat you in the manner you deserve. Or I lose sight of my love when other eyes fall on you. But I promise I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying. You’re too good to give up and I’ve fallen too in love with you to even consider it.

Xo,

MK

The Big Man

Clarence Clemons, saxaphonist for the E Street Band, died this weekend.

Have you ever felt strongly about the passing of a stranger?

I have never met the Big Man.  I once stood ten feet in front of him for two hours, screaming along to "Badlands" and "Rosalita" with my Dad in the front row of a Bruce concert.  He wore all black with rhinestones and had gold-painted fingernails.  Unique guy, that one.  This Saturday was the first time I'd ever cried after the death of a celebrity.  Not long painful tears, but legitimate tears nontheless.  Made it past the welling in the eyelids stage and into full-fledged streaming down the face.

The sweet sounds he made on the saxaphone have made me feel something potent down in my gut since I was a wee one bouncing around the back of my mom's Ford station wagon to Springsteen Greatest Hits casette.  I grew up with Bruce and I grew up with the Big Man.  I wasn't his friend, but Clarence sure was mine. 

Sometimes all the usual pick-me-ups fail.  So I turn to Clarence.  When the blues start to border on the mean reds, I sneak out of the house and take to the highway at 70 mph, windows down, and "Jungleland" blaring.  If I'm feeling especially buoyed by my secret ride (and the road's empty), I fling my arms out to my sides for just a moment as I fly downhill during that sax solo.  I might listen to that song six times before finally turning back home.  And, gosh darn if I don't always feel that I just did something so basically right with my time.  That if I can feel that way just listening to a song, no doubt everything's going to turn out in the end. 

Is there music that plays your heart to the beat (as Adele would say)?  I got a list a mile long of tunage to tune my soul.  For me though, this week is all about some quality time with good ole Clarence.  You can check the "Jungleland" solo below, if you're so inclined.  Skip to 4:15 if just want the Big Man and not all ten minutes of glory.

let us go then, you and i,
when the evening is spread out against the sky
like a patient etherised upon a table;
let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
the muttering retreat

of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
streets that follow like a tedious argument
of insidious intent
to lead you to an overwhelming question …

oh, do not ask, “what is it?”
let us go and make our visit….

…and indeed there will be time
for the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

there will be time, there will be time
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
there will be time to murder and create,
and time for all the works and days of hands
that lift and drop a question on your plate;

time for you and time for me,
and time yet for a hundred indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions,
before the taking of a toast and tea.

-t.s. eliot

Slow Down

Slow down. Slow down. Slow down.

That's my mantra these days.  Maybe more accurate to say that's what I want my mantra to be these days.  My thoughts often run away from me.  Lights out and a seemingly innocuous stream of consciousness begins. 

"Do I want eggs or avocado toast for breakfast?  Hm, which job apps should I work on over my avo-toast?  How many days ago did I send that resume? Two. Right. Patience, please..." 

Next thing I know my brain's full-on sprinting through some kind of freaky deserted carnival.  Everywhere I turn there's a toothless carnie in a dirty, gawdy striped suit.  And a hole-y boater hat.  He demands to know what I'm doing with my life.  Just that. "What are you doing with your life?," followed by a wicked grin.  I keep running away from him and he keeps chasing me with a whack-a-mole mallet and that damned question. 

Remember that scene in Snow White when she's running through the forest and totally freaking out?  It's all dark and those weird finger-y trees keep grabbing at her dress? 

Yeah, it's like that.  But in my head.  And then I can't sleep.  Half from pondering the question in this recurring daydream (nightdream if it happens after dark?) and half from being stunned at the absurdity of my thought process.  Really, carnies?

So, getting to the point.  I need to slow down.  Build a shrine to the tortoise.  Be the molasses in January.  I am 21 years old.  What is the rush, pray tell?  

"What jobs would I like to apply to?" need not become "What do I want to do with My Life?  What are my goals?  Great Scot! Do I even have any goals?! I will have to peddle things I find in dumpsters on ebay for a living.  Oh, poor career choice, dearie.  You know ebay will be WAY outdated by 2033.  Damn! I don't even have a Plan B!"  Things are getting out of hand.

And what better time to embrace the sacredness of the leisurely, the dawdling, the deliberate? Summer is the season of slow, don't you think?  The time for languishing on the porch with a glass of lemonade, wilting along with a much-loved dog-earred book in the thick humidity, catnaps and the like.  I hereby (attempt) to renounce the gospel of go-go-go and to appreciate right now, as it is, for what it is. 

Take longer walks. Write letters bound for far-off friends on stationary precious with Italian memories. Bake bread. Re-read passages becuase they make my heart rum-pum-pum. Find a lake. Skinnydip in it.  Each a peach and let the juice drip drip drip down my chin. Take time to take stock. Concoct crazy dreams. Discard or follow at will. Celebrate my youth. Avoid the carnival.

 (source)

I think life is delicious, and I want to gobble it up in big bites, eating, drinking, reading, talking, traveling - everything.  I want everything.  I’m hungry for everything, all the time.  Bookstores make me ravenous, as do city streets and airports and glossy fashion magazines.  So much to see, taste, touch, try, do.  I can feel myself coming to life, eyes open, taking everything in, fingers running over textures, ears pricked for sounds.  I feel like life is so genuinely interesting, that there’s so much to be tasted and tried and discovered.
Shauna Niequist