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What’s the Right Weigh?

02/07/2012 By Dashing Gray 2 Comments

As a former Women’s Center employee, I facilitated an event called Love Your Body Day (LYBD). This event, as you can probably surmise, was all about accepting your body for what it is, despite the deluge of counterculture messages that we–particularly as women–receive every day, telling us to eat less, exercise more, and be thinner.

In a Women’s Center, body image is a topic that we tried to shine light on with unswerving regularity. Female student workers, sorority sisters, and women from the campus at large, most at an age where they are figuring out who they are and who they wish to become, are susceptible to all of the negative messages the world throws at them. To combat all the negativity, we held educational programs teaching women about the Photoshopping that happens in magazines. We reminded young women who had grown up with dolls that a real-life Barbie could never happen–because she wouldn’t survive. We offered students the opportunity to create positive-minded postcards that proclaimed what it was about themselves that they loved–instead of what they hated. We did it all.

I have heard, read, and personally disseminated counterculture messages like these for years. I also try very hard to believe them. So you can imagine my surprise when my gynocologist, in the midst of a monologue about all kinds of things that women should do to keep healthy and take care of themselves, said “And you know that women who are overweight are more likely to get breast cancer?”

I nodded in affirmation before–a good 30 seconds later–it clicked with me how smoothly she had just called me overweight.

Sometime after that (and after the Great Baby Incident of 2010), I decided I needed to take charge of my health as she suggested. We purchased a Kinect, which I began using as a regular workout platform, in addition to once- or twice-a-week Zumba classes. I started using MyFitnessPal calorie tracker to increase my awareness of the foods I was eating (in an attempt to make educated choices, rather than grabbing everything I saw in the break room). I began planning more dinner menus and reasonably decreasing meal portions.

Most importantly, I’ve stuck with it. For about 14 months now, I’ve actually been able to maintain a semi-regular workout regimen (3-5 days a week; about 45 minutes to an hour each session) and a more conscientious diet. I’ve lost about 12 pounds and dramatically increased my stamina. Where I once struggled through a few Kinect dances, I can now make it through a full-hour Zumba class with minimal increase to my breathing–and quickly return to normal when the class ends.

My clothes fit better; I feel better; and  generally I’m happier with myself. My weight loss has somewhat stabilized, which suggests that I am getting closer to where I need to be.

Yet every Body Mass Index (BMI) calculator in the world tells me I’ve still got more than 20 pounds to lose.

This topic is always a struggle. I have been making–key word here–sustainable lifestyle changes that have positively impacted my health, but I’m still way off base. Part of me–the feminist part–wants to say “Screw it. I’m perfect the way I am.”

My doctor, on the other hand, would probably disagree. And she’s right, of course. With a simple internet search, I could easily come up with millions of articles that doctors, scientists, and health nuts alike have written to equate being overweight with a myriad of health conditions. Knowing my current shape and past history, I would imagine that no matter what I did, I would never be in danger of becoming underweight, which seems to be the argument that other women, in discussion of this topic, seem to jump to in roundabout self-defense.

The fact that I can even write this post at all is pretty absurd. I mean, think about it. The mere existence of obesity in this country is appalling: People all over the world are starving to death, and we have absolutely no self-control over our overindulgence issues and latte habits. I blame part of this on the insultingly meager regulations on the restaurant industry, but that is a topic for another time.

Regardless, I’m not sure how much more I can do. I can probably step up my workout regimen and decrease fattening foods a bit more, but I don’t have any idea how I can make the kind of drastic lifestyle alterations I would need to in order to drop another 20+ pounds. I won’t buy into trendy diets or the disturbing side effects of weight-loss drugs.

And in the midst of it all, how do I keep my self-esteem in balance? Feminism or fitness? How can women balance it all?

Filed Under: Chicago, MISC

Traditions

12/29/2011 By Dashing Gray 4 Comments

Holiday PartyIn the fantasy world that exists in my head, my 20s were going to be all about posh sophistication. I was going to use things like cocktail shakers and porcelain tiered serving platters to host lavish events, with a combination of new acquaintances and my regular group of friends in attendance. We would all share humorous and fascinating stories about our life adventures, then settle down for a classy bottle of wine and general camaraderie, and snack on bite-sized crostini. On occasion, we would visit trendy restaurants and coffee bars, where we would eat lavish food and marvel in each other’s clever wit and general awesomeness. There would be no debates about politics or religion, because we would agree on everything and all be in the same place in life.

It was going to be something like Sex and the City, minus the promiscuity.

It was going to be something like the many parties I read about every month in Real Simple.

I was going to “entertain” regularly, and I was going to be damn good at it, thankyouverymuch.

Based on every home-hunting or wedding-registry-suggestion-list I’ve ever seen, I would argue that I’m not the only person who has had this fantasy. Realtors are always talking about having the space to “entertain,” and couples are always falling in love with a place because “we can picture ourselves entertaining on this deck!”

But I ask you–how many people do you know who actually do this? Obligatory family holidays don’t count.

It seems that most of my city friends are too poor–due to high rent payments–or too cramped–thanks to small square footage–to host much of anything, while my suburban friends are too spread apart, worn out, or otherwise focused to plan much. People generally also seem to have a very limited geographical radius within which they will travel, so offering to host such an event isn’t necessarily effective either.

So where’s the disconnect?

This observation became particularly evident during this holiday season. For the last 11 years, my family and I have traveled south each Christmas to visit my siblings and their children. We began this pilgrimage when my eldest niece was born, as it was much easier for us to come to my sister’s newborn than for her to come to us. And so there was a cosmic shift in our holiday universe, and we changed what we had always done. It’s never felt quite like Christmas to me there, though whether that is due to warmer weather, lack of family traditions, or simply my maturation, I’ve never been able to say.

This year, due to a combination of circumstances, we didn’t head south. This, I thought, was our chance to reclaim Christmas. It was an opportunity to start our own traditions at the same time we were starting our own two-person family. I had grandiose plans.

What I also had, apparently, was an utter lack of follow-through.

I had most of two weeks’ vacation, but we only did one thing I would consider to be “Christmassy.” On Christmas Eve and Christmas day, all of our friends were busy or out of town, generally following their own longstanding family traditions. So as always, big families reunited and reenacted their must-have Christmas moments. Most of those friends, in some way or other, followed the traditions their parents established back when they were kids. Maybe some friends with children started their own.

And for me, as the holiday passed uneventfully, I began to wonder what it is for me that makes Christmas, Christmas. Is it the present exchanges? The holiday cookies? Visiting festive light displays? Caroling (really, who actually goes caroling)?

What would it take for me to feel like Christmas? What traditions should I start? What makes something a tradition in the first place? When do the traditions become the responsibility of the next generation? How big can traditions be with just the two of us? How do the posh parties of my imagination elude me?

So we’re going to try a little gathering for New Years’ Eve. You know, to take the pressure off. Make it a laid-back, rum-enhanced soiree. Nothing too big. No traditions required. But dammit, there will be crostini.

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

Filed Under: MISC

I’m Not an Addict

10/25/2011 By Dashing Gray 4 Comments

…Maybe that’s a lie.

My fiancée has been calling me as an addict for quite a while now. Every time I seek out a simple hit, he expresses his disgust by curling up his lip and sneering, “I’d rather you smoked!” While his complaints may be extreme, his distaste is clear: this was something only cranky people did as an excuse for being rude in the morning (i.e. “I can’t do that right now. I haven’t had my coffee”).

I blame my habit (which didn’t start as one) on the endless demands of grad school, stress, and late-night study sessions. The local coffee shop was where everyone gathered to work on homework and discuss life, so if you weren’t there, you weren’t “in with the in crowd.” Thankfully, the grad school thing has been over for a while now, but the habit lingers. I guess habits are tricky like that.

Late-night study sessions lent themselves to many things—among them, a steady stream of espresso. There’s a good reason why I refer to “frou frou coffee drinks” like caramel lattes (and her many cousins: the frappacino, the mocha, etc.) as the gateway coffees. The whip cream, delicious syrups, and soup-bowl-sized mugs they come in all distract the unsuspecting from the addictive properties that lurk within.

On these many grad-school nights, I settled myself for hours in the community coffee shop and fumbled my way through those inaugural orders, selecting something that sounded sweet off the menu while refusing to ask for clarifications. Some of those initial orders were epic failures: bitter espresso bases left my tongue clicking with distaste as my unsuspecting blood buzzed with unexpected energy that kept me up way past my bedtime. But the orders that went well? Ohh, what bliss.

Those first hits gave me the joy of a wonderful treat that combined the greatest of things—the cozy feeling of a fireplace on a frigid winter day, the sugar-laden euphoria of a homemade dessert, the uplifting pick-me-up of the perfect jolt. As time went on, those always-helpful baristas brought me into the fold and taught me the language of their craft. I learned the differences between a cappuccino and a latte and understood that I wasn’t interested in “bold” blends or single shots. I discovered the ins and outs of the perfect beverage, which began with a single shot in a [literally] sugar-coated milk blend.

I delighted at the reassuring whirring of the steamer as the flavors combined, and I marveled at the delicate froth petals that swirled together the impressive espresso gradients. Each drink, both visibly and for my palette, was its own unique work of art. At first, it was all caramel (CARE-uh-mel, the uppity cousin of the less-enticing CAR-muhl) drizzle and espresso art, but it was not long before those aesthetic pleasures faded, and my better-articulated orders instead focused on the beverage’s caffeinated core. It became that “extra boost” during a late-night study session or an early-morning meeting. Soon, the need for sweeteners faded into the background as the bitter aftertaste became more palatable. My new coffee chain store became my own personal morning episode of Cheers as the baristas greeted me and guessed at my order. On rushed days, I make do with the cafeteria’s “we proudly brew” or, in true desperation, that unidentifiable brown liquid given away at meetings.

I pay in cash. Harder to trace that way.

They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. But c’mon. Is needing a little pick-me-up here and there really a problem? I mean, I can stop at any time. In fact, I will stop. Soon.

Like… next week. :)

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

Filed Under: Chicago, Humor Tagged With: , , , ,

Fit Happens

10/10/2011 By Dashing Gray 6 Comments

I gave a series of presentations last week to the junior class of a local high school. Right before I presented, their guidance counselors went over an extensive checklist of the many things that must be accomplished in one’s junior year. Among the items was an alphabet soup of required and optional (yes, optional) college testing opportunities that would help determine Your Future Fate As A Collegiate Success Or Failure. At least, I imagine that’s what it sounded like to the students. It is easy for the individual to get lost among the PSAE, ACT, PSAT/NMQST, class rank, and SATs (I and II)–the many numbers that colleges use to evaluate the “predicted success” of a student.

On top of all that (and normal–i.e. dramatic–high school life), students were encouraged to spend time their junior year visiting colleges, speaking with representatives, applying to scholarships, etc. And we wonder why high schoolers these days are stressed out.

In addition to that pressure, we see this constant idea that students need to find the “right” college. They need to “find their fit,” which I admit is something that I talked about a bit during my presentation. For months, my student worker had been freaking out about exactly this concept… what is THE school for her? It’s like the Holy Grail of college selection, and it’s no wonder that out of thousands of colleges nationwide, this idea can be pretty overwhelming for students.

Today, I read this article that attempted to combat the concept of fit, and I loved it. In it, author Mark Moody says:

…the shocking truth [is] that, generally, the college choice isn’t that important. We know that most students will be successful at a wide range of institutions. The most important experiences and relationships we will have in college can’t be predicted, and each choice offers a different set of unknown pathways…

…Most importantly, those moments that challenge us, that push us, that make us uncomfortable—when we come face to face with the un-Fit of a place—those are the ones that really allow for growth and lead us to healthy adulthood.

I love the idea of “the un-Fit,” because in looking back at my own college and life experiences, I recognize that the times when I was uncomfortable were those which helped me to grow. That said, I also recognize that “good” discomfort has to take place in a generally supportive environment to truly facilitate learning.

Fit, too, is based on a student’s ability to adapt to the environment they’ve chosen. It is easy to find students who have graduated from the same university–even the same program–and who have opposite reviews of the place. Some of these differences of opinion, in my experience, have much less to do with actual experiences than in the student’s follow-up plan of action. It is the way that students react to times of “un-fit” that shapes their future selves.

So there you go, all you stressed-out juniors! Take comfort in the knowledge–sandwiched somewhere among the endless barrage of college-preparation tasks–that there isn’t just one college or just one program that’s right for you–there are many! Because ultimately, if you approach college with an open mind, fit happens.*

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

*Thank you to Jennifer Delahunty, dean of admissions and financial aid at Kenyon College, who was quoted in the above-linked article for this lovely slogan. What a great lesson!

Filed Under: Chicago, Motivate Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

The Hole

09/30/2011 By Dashing Gray 6 Comments

In a back field of my elementary school, there was a hole. I’m sure I remember this hole larger than it actually was–I was smaller then, after all–but nonetheless, it was legendary. The shallow space was large enough to sit in, which gave it infinite possibilities in our childhood imaginations: a nest for hungry baby birds (or heck–unicorns), a cockpit for aspiring astronauts, a hideout for runaway agents, or anything else we could dream.

It is somewhere near this multi-purpose indent that I met my best friend–or so she has told me. I don’t remember the interaction specifically; we were in first grade. But the day stands out in her mind because it was that day that she worked up the courage to approach me–she described me as “big and scary”–and say “Hi. Can I play with you?”

As everyone knows, the anatomy of the first-grade friendship is pretty simple: if two kids find a toy or activity they both like, there is instant potential for a lifelong bond. Our story started something like that.

We did everything together: traded stickers, built forts, hiked toward ice cream on summer nights, repeatedly campaigned for a clubhouse (then a horse) from our parents, survived ill-fated years in Scouting, and ruined our chances for impressive ACTs by seeing *NSYNC the night before our test. We practically lived at each others’ houses and knew each others’ deepest secrets. Our friendship continued to grow throughout elementary school and stretched out as the safety net through the awkward circus that is junior high. By the time we made it to high school, my friend was often boasting the virtues of our decade-long friendship.

Then, around junior year, we started drifting apart. Nothing happened, really; there was never a big fallout or even a family move. But something imperceptible shifted. For the first time in our lives, we started pursuing different interests, meeting new friends (in our large high school, this was easy to do), and having gradually shorter conversations.

We stayed connected, though. We reassured each other through senior year of high school and dried the tears that preceded the transition to college. We visited each other’s respective colleges and sampled our vastly different lifestyles.

But then… It was as though I looked up, and she was gone. My fiancee asked me one day what she had been up to, and I realized I had no idea. Our rare Facebook chats went something like this:

Her: Hey. What’s up?
Me. Not much. Doing <insert current activity here>
Her: That’s cool. How are your parents?
Me: Fine. Parent-like.
Her: That’s good.
Me: What are you up to?
Her: Not much <working on homework, finishing class, etc.>
Me <textually sarcastic>: Sounds like fun.

And then the blinking cursor would sit unattended until one of us forgot about the conversation entirely and logged off. I wondered how it had happened that we, two girls who grew up knowing we’d be in each others’ weddings, now somehow had nothing to say to each other.

I haven’t been back to my elementary school in years, but I’d be willing to bet that they have filled in that hole in the back field. Maybe it was filled for safety reasons, or because however it got there had since gone away. Maybe whatever purpose it once served was no longer. It’s hard to know.

But what does it mean that our friendship started near that space? What was that hole, really? As kids, all my best friend and I needed was that physical space in our lives to represent endless possibilities. As we grew older, the possibilities of our futures stretched out before us, and our friendship and imaginations filled in the gaps.

Over time, it was our experiences that started to fill in that space; experiences shaped who we were and who we would become. I don’t know what set us on different paths, but time transforms possibilities into choices; to steps; to new lives. Like seedlings in the wind, we took root in different places. We grew in different directions. The me of today wouldn’t recognize my 12th-grade self. That me, the girl scared to leave her high school, would be a stranger.

Perhaps it’s that stranger who was her friend; maybe that scared senior couldn’t transform while remaining in the cocoon of our friendship. Maybe I grew my wings precisely because I let go of my friend and, with her, the person I’d always been.

Looking back, I love how far I’ve flown. I relish my post-secondary experiences because they’re the first stories I’ve written for myself. I’m proud that I’ve scripted a life penned by my own heart. But sometimes I remember that, in the history books of our lives, friends can bring us the chapters we’ve forgotten. When we’re too tired to write another word, lasting friendships can tuck us in and re-read us those parts that never got published. And it is those times when I wonder what chapters are missing from my story. What have I forgotten about my childhood self? What tales won’t ever be told to my grandchildren? If that first-grade friend could help me revisit our playground field, what would our imaginations discover there? I may never know–or maybe the chapter of our reuniting just hasn’t yet been penned.

And so, to the friend who had the courage to say hello that day in first grade, thank you. Some of our specifics may have slipped away, but I’m glad to know our books start with the same chapters. That limitless place we used to play may have long since been filled and forgotten, but it hardly matters.

Because I know what all architects remember: that building even the tallest skyscrapers starts one way–with a hole in the ground.

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged to a wonderful black man, she spends way too much time in coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

Filed Under: Chicago, Nostalgia Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Happiness is….

09/02/2011 By Dashing Gray 2 Comments

I consider myself to be, generally, a pretty happy person. This doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days or that stereotypical redheaded outbursts never happen—as my supervisor and fiancée can attest. But overall, I do ok.

It doesn’t hurt that I’ve got a good job, a wonderful fiancée, a supportive family, and a home I love. Nonetheless, happiness is also about making small commitments every day to look on the bright side —one of those lessons from mom I generally ignored as a teenager. When I was in the midst of a tirade, my mom would occasionally try to get me to voice affirmations—positive statements about my life designed to put the stressor into perspective. This strategy never worked for me (and still doesn’t—if I’m ranting, the rant must run its course); however, I have since come up with my own adaptation. This is an adaptation which, in all my wizard wisdom, I shall now share with you (Wicked reference. Anyone?).

So here we go. Dashing’s tips for lifetime happiness. Or something like that.

  • Expand your “friendwork.” I have never been exceptionally great at making friends. I’m not an outcast or anything, but I’m relatively shy about inviting new people into my life for fear of getting burned. It’s always been my style to have a few close friends and to leave it at that. Recently, however, my fiancée has introduced me to a whole bunch of interesting people, thus regularly expanding our network of friends. The different personalities, interests, and stories these new friends bring add dimension to our “friendfolio.” For the first time in my life, I have a whole group of people to invite to an event rather than just individuals. It’s exciting! As an added bonus, plans are never ruined by one person’s prior engagements—we have lots of people from which to choose!
  • Make something good out of something bad. Example: I hate winter. Nothing makes my outlook on life crash and burn like the darkness and cold of wintertime. To avoid sinking into a deep depression, I have to find something to make these potentially moody days better, and I’ve found that bright-colored scarves, mochas, and festive coats make everything a little better. Although I am currently still desperately grasping at the last wisps of summer, at least I’ve got a lovely new pea coat awaiting me when the snow starts to fall.
  • Seek opportunity. It is easy to continuously rag on a bad situation, especially in reference to jobs where you feel stuck. I am fortunate to have a supervisor who wants to see me move up the ladder and who encourages me to try new things. But even if you do not have that luxury, you can try looking for whatever opportunities your situation does present. Work for a park district? Make use of the perks, and take a class that interests you. Part of a huge team project? Volunteer to present some ideas at a professional conference. A stalwart organizer? Take care of that project no one has had time to do—your coworkers will love you. Whatever your situation, always try to consider what possibilities are being presented and take advantage of them—the more experiences you have under your belt, the better your chances of getting out of there!
  • Embrace your inner nerd. Trust me on this one: It is a lot easier to be happy when you’re not so worried about external stresses, like dressing a certain way or being perceived as cool. To all you high schoolers out there, I feel you. Being confident in yourself is a lot easier when you get older, I promise! But if you’ve passed the trying teen threshold, consider pursuing a new interest. My friends and I have become really good at developing creative opportunities for fun—ranging from an at-home wine tasting that concluded in an amusing conversation about “legs,” to “train day,” where we explore our hometown transient-style for a day. Whatever it is that makes you happy, even if it’s unusual or unpopular, give it a try: after all, aren’t some of the coolest people you know the ones with unusual interests?

And my favorite of them all:

  • Always look forward to something. Whether it is a small reward, such as an after-dinner ice cream run, or a large event—like a vacation—it is always nice to have something to anticipate. Anticipation helps to put the dreary parts of your life into perspective; it’s much easier to get through a tough week when you know you’ve got a glowing orb of awesome floating just over the horizon! As my least-favorite month of November creeps closer, I am not looking forward to the loss of outdoor greenery or the dreary dampness of fall nights. But you know what I do like? Road trips! So as I plan out my social calendar for the next few months, I should definitely consider the possibility of some autumnal travel. In fact, I better get planning!

What are your secrets to happiness?

Dashing Gray is a 20-something lifelong learner who works in higher education and embraces her semi-yuppie, child-free life. Recently engaged, she spends way too much time in local coffee shops drinking high-calorie espresso drinks and blogging out the many questions of life and weddings. Because life is never just black and white, learn about her adventures navigating — and embracing — The Beauty of Gray.

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Filed Under: Chicago, Motivate