Let’s Talk About Love

Posted by admin

Feb 14

Valentine’s Day.

T’is the one holiday I care little for. A commercialized vision in red with little to contribute other than to guilt those who have someone into buying something, and layer misery upon those who are alone. 

But it does offer one redeeming factor: a focus on why love is pretty awesome.

I didn’t really know what it was years ago. I didn’t grow up with a love that gave of itself without asking in return. I didn’t understand what it was to truly take someone into you; to hold their soul in yours, and gratefully give and take with the years. I couldn’t conceive that love required time, growth, commitment, interest.

We walk around love. We offer physical aspects of it that offer little more than temporary bandages. But love has few heroes, and even less survivors, if our tabloids and pop blogs are to be believed.

Love doesn’t belong to the romantics, the marrieds, the committed, or the singles. It isn’t owned by Hallmark or countless others that attempt to manufacture it on stock paper and colored confetti. None of that matters.

It isn’t owned by gender, race, age, disability, or any of the other roadblocks we throw in its way.

It simply is.

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And it exists on a plane that doesn’t mesh with our world, which is why it sends us into the atmosphere with joy, and into the depths with sorrow. Its extremes cannot be bounded by our frail rules and expectations.

it’s the passion we feel for our children. The tears and laughter captured with dear friends. A brush of fingers between longtime lovers. The understanding in the eyes of others who share your fears and believe in a different way out.

It’s the steady strum inside your mind that says, I will get up again. I will try once more. I will hold out hope that it gets better.

That is love.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

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Bruised Hearts

Posted by admin

Feb 12

Life is never simple or particularly easy. I think we know that if we’ve spent much time spinning on this big blue ball. It drags you down by the hair, neither playing fair or caring for rules. Your job: to survive, making this seem more like “Hunger Games,” than a journey.

But it is a journey. Each step, progress on our path. Blood may yield, tongues may thirst, but it’s the effort of each footfall, the direction inched forward.  I want to say I do it well. I’ve learned so much. I’m so much different than I once was.

And I am.

I’m not.

Emotions still leave me stuck in their undertow, at times taking me down with them, other times I’m able to move out to sea, far enough to tread water and wait for low tide’s return. Either way, the soft spots in my soul mar the perfection I desperately seek, reminding me that even the sweetest fruits fall.

I wish there existed some short cut. A tunnel built under this road that offered shelter, safe passage. An easier way that could channel the experience of others, so I didn’t have to take each bruise on the chin, could pass by the heavier, more trying stops. But I haven’t found Indiana’s treasure map, and no winking beacon lights the way. So I keep pressing, pulling, pushing. Determined to figure out the road less travelled so I can choose the other way.

I think the yellow wood mocks me.

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Taking Your Journey

Posted by admin

Jan 25

During a discussion today on job searching and being resilient, a student said: “It doesn’t seem fair when one person has only looked for a job for a short time, and they get it, but some people look for a lot longer, and it seems like they are never going to find a job.”

Her sentiments echoes many a graduate’s woes. I asked her, “Would you trade places with that person — trade lives with them? Would you rather be that person?” Of course, she wouldn’t.

But it did bring up a topic that I went on to expound on then, and I will lay it out again now, because I think it’s worth considering in our own lives.

I don’t know why it rains on the poor and not the wealthy. I don’t understand why some people in life have a tougher time than others. My best friend once said to me, “I don’t know why your life is always as hard and frustrating as it is.” She said it to validate my own sorrow over losing my second marriage. Believe it or not, it gave me peace — someone could see that it wasn’t just me. That my life seemed disproportionately unjust.

But here’s the silver lining we’ve been told to heed: it’s my life. My journey. I own each step. So as hard as it has been some days, it’s all mine, and no one else gets credit for it.

In 2008, I tried to re-enter the workforce. I’d been out of it for two years, had stayed home over summers to care for my stepsons (which totally rocked as they are awesome kids). But we were broke, and my husband couldn’t hold down a job. Easy enough, I figured, and I sent out resumes like a mad woman. I heard nothing back. So I sent out more.

Nothing.

Two years. Two years of job scouting and resume updating. Two years of trying to find anything to pay the bills. I picked up a contract position inspecting foreclosed homes. During that time, I was shot at, threaten, chased by dogs, and terrified in a high-speed car chase. I was barely feeding my family.

We couldn’t afford heat. That large oil container sat nearly dry, and I paid $10/mo. at the gym to shower. WalMart was my only shopping event, and even that was painful. The food bank and the dollar aisle became my best friends. I went through nearly two winters in a cold house.

I fought some dark demons in those days, and lost faith in myself. But somewhere along that path, I met a woman who had graduated with her MFA, and that laid a seed in my brain. It sounded glamorous and beautiful and purposeful. Everything my life wasn’t. So somewhere in the melee of misery, I applied to an MFA program, and I was accepted.

It changed my life.

I met artists, creators, graphic artists, wordsmiths, poets. They challenged my thinking and my logic. It made me a new person, with talents and skills.

I learned to believe in myself.

I met a man who has been the rock in my world long before we fell in love. And I’ve made friends who’ve made me laugh and grin like a fool.

Had I gotten that job in 2008 — if the economy hadn’t crashed and my resume hadn’t been so awful — I never would have gone to school. I would have kept going down that path. I would have paid the bills and stayed in a marriage that was sucking my soul dry. I might have resisted investigating my digestive problems, and it might have taken me even longer to discover my celiac disease. I might not have cleaned up my eating and gotten myself to a place in life where I genuinely value me.

Because this is my journey. And my journey is damn difficult some days. But it’s mine. And without it, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t trade one footstep with anyone else.

It’s your journey. It’s the path your soul needs to take before it returns to whatever lies beyond. There’s a lesson in there that, no matter how painful, will allow you to reach out to others, and give back in powerful ways that only YOU can. Because of that journey.

Your journey will change your life if you choose to let it. Or it can drag you down into the mires of despair.

Your choice.

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Pieces

Posted by admin

Jan 3

Anger, rich as blood, pools in my mind. Forces rush through, clearing helpful debris in their wake. And I am left, forlorn, fighting. Determined to make different the way that lay before me, wreckage torn from a poorly laid design.

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I interrupt this blog to bring you…Broiled Ruby Red Grapefruit

Posted by admin

Jan 1

I know, right? Broiled grapefruit? This is amazing. I got the inspiration from the latest issue of Eating Well. I adjusted a few ingredients, and voilà, deliciousness ensued.

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Broiled Ruby Red Grapefruit

1-2 grapefruits, halved, with the bottoms sliced so they sit flat on your baking sheet

2 tsp butter, melted

Cinnamon and coconut sugar, mixed

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tsp honey

2 tsp vanilla extract

Preheat broiler and adjusted baking rack so it is about 3″ from the heating element. Line a baking sheet with foil for easy clean up, and set grapefruit halves on the sheet. Using a paring knife or grapefruit knife, cut along the sections of the fruit so they are easy to scoop out with a spoon. Bathe the surface of the fruit sections in butter, then sprinkle with cinnamon and coconut sugar.

Broil fruits for 7-10 minutes, until brown and bubbly on top.

While fruits are baking, combine heavy cream, honey, and vanilla extract, then whip until stiff peaks form.

Remove fruits from oven and allow to cool for 3-5 minutes. Top with whipped cream and serve.

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I interrupt this blog to bring you…Gluten Free Chocolate Chip Scones

Posted by admin

Dec 29

I’ve made this recipe often, changing, adding, subtracting, that I can officially call it my own. And it is delicious — light, buttery, and sweet, without too much of anything.

Chocolate Chip Scones

Serves: …well, you decide

Time: 10 min. prep; 20-25 min. bake

scone

6 large eggs

1/3 cup butter, room temperature (I use Indian ghee, but you could also use coconut oil or oil of choice)

1/2 cup coconut flour (My favorite brand: http://bit.ly/W7pmXs)

1 tbsp vanilla

2 tbsp raw honey (or sweetener of choice)

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp sea salt

1/4-1/2 cup dark chocolate chips (I used Ghirardelli: http://amzn.to/W7puWF)

1/2 cup chopped pecans

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Crack eggs into large bowl, and mix thoroughly. Add butter, vanilla and honey.

3. Sift coconut flour and baking soda into egg mixture. You need to sift coconut flour to keep clumps from forming — I use a metal grated strainer and push it through with my fingers. I’ve tried doing this without straining, and it just doesn’t work.

4. Blend well, and let sit a few minutes for the coconut flour to absorb moisture.

5. Add pecans and chocolate chips — fold into batter with hands.

6. Using a silicone or parchment lined cookie sheet, divide dough into four balls. Place on cookie sheet, and round and pat down into scone shapes (Mine are about 4″x2″).

7. Bake for 20-25 minutes, until internal temperature is between 180-200 degrees (I use a meat thermometer) or until the outside is golden brown.

I’d say, let it cool before eating, but we never last that long. The chocolate is hot and gooey, and Kerrygold butter melts into the scone and makes it even more mouth-watering. Because this is coconut flour and gluten-free, it won’t have the dry scone consistency you are familiar with. And I can’t say that’s a bad thing in the least. I never really cared for scones. :)

If you think you can only eat one, this serves four. If you are honest and know that’s not the case, double and triple the recipe as needed.

Mmmm…

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Meditation, Table for One

Posted by admin

Dec 23

I’ve never meditated successfully before in my life. The first time I tried, I was at my boss’s wife’s fairy party (don’t ask), and the animal communicator there told us to take pillows to cushion our heads, lay on the ground, and reach out into the universe and ask it what it needed from us. To connect with the spirits in the soil, to build our understanding of Mother Earth. To be open to the fairy’s communications (again, don’t ask) and allow them access to our inner sight.

All I could focus on was the fly beating a tattoo on the tip of my nose. I swore I’d never get caught up in that hogwash again.

Then I was introduced to yoga. Its gentle-yet-vicious poses, breathing-laden rhythm, and soft/strong landing allowed me to at least sit still during the meditation, even if I would be hard-pressed to call my softly snoring attention, “meditation.”

Earlier this year I tried again, this time on my own. I got “an app for that,” set it to play, and tried my damnedest for several months. My mind simply doesn’t still. It races from topic to topic, and the more I try to slow it, the worse it gets.

When I asked other meditation gurus for advice, I received good suggestions. “Let you mind go where it needs to. Don’t pressure it.” “Stop trying to be perfect.” “Find your way to meditate — what works for you.”

As is always the case, advice only works when you are able to use it. And I just wasn’t at a place where I could put enough value into the form and purpose of meditation to actually use it.Meditation

Until a few months ago. My personal trainer suggested that I meditate, even if just for a minute, 30 seconds, whatever. Just so I was making an effort. So I did. Still no luck…until I started doing it at the gym. In the middle of the weight floor. Cheesy bass-heavy pop hits bouncing out of the speakers.

Yes, this is my meditation place. In a noisy, busy gym, with my headphones cranked with relaxation music, pressed forward in a hip stretch. So not kidding. Did I mention I’m usually sweating at this point in time? Yet for some reason,  I’m able to meditate for 7-10 minutes, blissfully unaware of anything other than my focus and my breath, and reap the profound benefits of quieting one’s mind. All in an environment that promotes anything but.

I can’t point my finger to one area of my life and show a quantifiable differences. But the quality of life is so much better — and my ability to love myself increases daily (one area where I struggle like many others). Peace follows me afterwards, and my joy during my time of quiet is unmatched. It is something I look forward to daily.

It truly does come down to finding what works for you. This is my way. What’s yours?

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Finding Balance

Posted by admin

Dec 21

As I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve spent the last year between fits of depression, irritability, fatigue, and general annoyance. The body image issues that I’ve struggled with all of my life arrived back on stage, with understudies in tow. And the absolute inability to redirect my thoughts — the constant spinning on frustrations and sad events drove me nearly to the brink.

And when I say nearly, I mean it. Life is not worth living that way, and I wouldn’t. Thankfully, I’m damned determined.

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Eight doctors later, it appears I have found the light: hormone replacement therapy, or HRT. All this time, diagnosis suspicion after another, no one would test my hormones. Turns out, my progesterone was in the tank. With a healthy range listed as 75-270 pg/ml, my progesterone was 27. My adrenal function is also low, no doubt due to the stress on my system and my intense stress this past year.

Never in my life have I been as moody, emotional, and exhausted as I’ve been these last twelve months. I was the one who tsked to myself when other women got caught up in emotion or complained of fatigue. Please. I worked four jobs at once. I got little sleep. I worked, went to school, and had a family. Pull it together, ladies! How bad can it possibly be?!

I had no idea how debilitating fatigue truly can be. Or how emotions can sideswipe you in seconds, taking apart your entire day in their brutal speed. Or how tears can flood the dam without warning, drawing out rage and self-loathing as a magnet taunts metal.

It made me wonder: how many women suffer from an imbalance? How many of us hide our misery in silence, create burrows in our minds to hide our obsessive thoughts, and hope others don’t pick up that our passion and frustration with the world is tinged with cracked logic?

The world is a much brighter place now a-days. And I have it on good authority that it will continue to improve as my system stabilizes and my body adjusts to having the appropriate amount of naturally sourced hormone.

If you are female, review the symptoms of Estrogen Dominance here. My first significant signs were bizarre weight gain and fatigue. Then hyper-focused thoughts, severe depression, and massive mood mood swings. But irregular menses and cold hands and feet have been going on all of my life, and my body temperature has always been too low. But they can differ from woman to woman. Typical onset is around age 35, when our female hormones start to shift, but for those of us who’ve been raised in environments of stress, poor eating, and toxic chemicals (ie. most of us), you may see it occurring earlier than later.

By all means, if these symptoms match your current frustrations, get thee to a doctor…but I highly suggest you find a homeopathic-minded physician who is willing to do more than just slap synthetic hormones on the problem. Birth control is NOT the answer. There is a whole system at play here, and it needs to be addressed.

The good news is: you don’t have to live this way. There is a solution out there — and it comes in the form of listening to your body and addressing its needs.

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The Will of Good

Posted by admin

Dec 16

Everyone has something to say about the shootings in Newtown, CT last week that stole the lives of children and adults. Grief and despair caught most of us up in its maelstrom. But anger, outrage, and demands fill the voices of many.

I don’t know the answer. No one does — not entirely. We can point to our society — the same society which gave you and me our desire to do right by others and fight for peace, who gives us many more heroes than villains, yet when the worst besets us, we point heavy fingers. We blame it on pounds of steel, gunpowder, and fittings, which stand inert until acted upon. Yet we believe the name or quantity of such things inspires hateful, irrational rage in some, as though such pain and ferocity will not always find an outlet, regardless of the weapon. We can blame our health care system which has saved our loved ones’ hands, repaired our children’s broken legs, and healed our marriages. Yet few will argue it has yet to repair its own gaping wounds.

When evil occurs, we sling reproach everywhere, seeking ample cause. Perhaps because we desperately need to reach outside ourselves and determine that this could never happen in our homes, in our schools, in our lives.

Some beseech their higher power, insisting that divinity holds all the answers, despite its claims to know only one.

We lash out with our hands, our hearts ripped between beacons of safety and fear, and in the process, we do more damage. Our own desire to protect our worlds and those we love ends only in widening the path destruction makes.

Perhaps all of it is only as it can be: a wave risen on the weary, departing as its undertow pulls us from each other’s grasp.

I don’t know the answer. Grief and sorrow, admiration and grace. That is all I can feel regarding this horror. And an effort to to leave only good behind, or else nothing at all.Kozzi-a-hand-on-the-soil-forming-heart--2387 X 1591

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Stranger Inside

Posted by admin

Dec 10

Inside my body, someone else lives. She is angry, tired, frustrated, moody, sensitive, and hurt. Hunger and fear reside as chummy bedmates. Life wears slinky black and threatens to steal her heart. Might as well; it’s an empty hole these last few months.

No answer offers much; not a placebo even to numb the ache. Day upon day, with curtains of gray and outlines in black. A stranger lives inside my flesh, and she won’t leave.

Stranger Inside

For the last few months, the utter transformation of my actions feels as though I’ve lost control over my very words. Actions deemed innocuous in my mind, receive verbal rebukes without permission. How do you navigate your world when the map isn’t to scale?

Hormones wind wicked paths around my senses, pulling tight on the rope and robbing normal me of oxygen. Instead, a me I don’t recognize tires of understudy and heads for the stage. She blasts it with mega-watts, when candlelight would do.

I’m left with ugly memories and dark rooms, reddened cheeks and breathless apologies. No answers. No words. And all I want is to live alone again, inside these pink, pulsing walls, where my thoughts inspire my actions, and strangers aren’t welcome.

 

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