Thoughts on a Birthday

I usually don't like my birthday. I always cry, I'm hyper emotional, and I'm extra sensitive.

But this one, perhaps because I braced myself so hard against it, was a good one. I went to the beach on Saturday, had a blast, followed it with burgers and chocolate, then had brunch on Sunday, and today, the actual day of birthday, was pain and sob free. I was happy-- happy to go to work, happy to have dinner afterwards, happy to open gifts, happy to take the phone calls, happy to wear my new dress, happy to celebrate me. 

Maybe I've grown up. Maybe I got used to it. Maybe I'm actually okay with a day of being special now.

I don't have a deep emotional post to put up today, much as I expected I would. Things are suddenly very simple. All I wanted was to feel loved. I felt loved all weekend long, and all day today. Everything was okay, and I am somehow, 1 hour and 15 minutes away from the end of my birthday, still okay.

I am at peace.

I am happy.

Everything is just as it should be.

What can I say? ...

Happy Birthday to me!

Making a Wish

When I make a wish I close my eyes and see a huge theatre with a big stage. I walk onto the stage and look out into the audience, who is in the dark. I am the only one lit. There, in the place where I do what I am meant to do, I make my wish.

And then I think of the people I have known in my life who would want that wish to come true for me. Family members come to mind first, then current friends. Then past friends, old friends, distant friends. Teachers, mentors, students, and co-workers. Lovers, boyfriends, crushes, the heart breakers and the heartbroken. People I've known all my life and people I've known for instants.

I think of them, one by one, and see their faces. Whether they know it or not, they want my wish to come true. Even if they have hurt me in some way, or if I have hurt them, they are part of my storyline, and so they are part of what leads me to the knowledge of what will help me grow.

And then, the lights in the theatre come up, and I can see the audience. All those people I thought of are there. A full house; hundreds of smiling faces. They live in my safe place, in my sacred temple, in my heart's home, and they want my wish to come true. They all want me to be happy, successful, in love, fulfilled, clear, and at peace. They all want to see me realize my full potential.

I thank them for being there. And they applaud me, because they know that is my favorite sound in the world.

I open my eyes, and I am the strongest version of myself. I am filled with courage and love. I have made my wish, not upon a star or into a fountain, but in the heart of every single person who has made me who I am today. I am unstoppable, I am alive, and I have touched the miraculous.

The Mystery of Happiness

"How lucky we are, when we're spared what we think we want!"  - Lionel Shriver

I read that quote in Shriver's brilliant novel We Need to Talk About Kevin (the film is great as well, but the book is filled with gems), and it resonated with me so much that I wrote it down everywhere-- on notebooks, bathroom stalls, other people's phones, soles of shoes, and all social media platforms.

It put into words a powerful realization I had made about myself and my life but didn't know how to describe. I seem to have less and less certainty of what makes me happy, and I think that's a very good thing to come to terms with.

There were many things I thought would make me happy. 

I thought being thin would make me happy. I thought having small, perkier breasts would make me happy. I thought expensive bags would make me happy. I thought being a movie star would make me happy. I thought having a tall handsome boyfriend who would one day become my husband would make me happy. I thought being financially independent would make me happy. I thought having clear skin would make me happy. I thought not having stretch-marks or cellulite would make me happy. I thought being blonde would make me happy.

As I look at that list now, I see all those things I thought would make me happy were just that: ideas. Moreover, they were not tied to any real understanding of happiness, but rather to a deep need to belong. I would look around, see what made other people fit in and be cool, and label it as a recipe for happiness. If I have that, if I look like that, if I do that, if I own that, then I'll be happy.

I did get a lot of the things on that list. Others I gave up on. Either way, happiness didn't come automatically with the package. Yes, there was a great deal of satisfaction in losing weight and in being seen next to tall handsome boyfriends, but I wasn't happy. I placed my happiness outside of myself, not only in these external "achievements," but in other people seeing me as good enough to have them.

It's comfortable to do what is believed to make us happy. Everyone is relieved when I'm thin, clear-skinned, financially independent, and next to a tall handsome man. Those are the things I'm supposed to want and, for long enough, they were exactly what I wanted. But it takes effort to maintain the illusion. One day you eat a cupcake, you get a pimple, you lose your job, your boyfriend bores you, and you wonder if it's possible that happiness lives in things that are inherently transitory.

In realizing this, I have felt both confused and clear. I look at myself, my life, my goals, and my dreams with new eyes. Is this really what I want, or is it what I think I want? Do I ever know what I want, or do I only ever get to know for certain what I don't want after I've had it? 
 
I always had clear pictures of my ideal future: married (to a tall handsome man), with children of my own, and traveling the world starring in movies and acting in plays. Now, those pictures are blurry. I don't want these things "in general" anymore. I still want them, but only if it feels like it's right for me when it happens, and not because they fit into this pretty picture that makes me, and everyone else, more comfortable.

Maybe I'll fall in love with a short chubby hairy man. Maybe I'll be a teacher and act in plays for free for a long time and it'll be okay. Maybe I'll live in a suburb. Maybe I'll have straw handbags. Maybe my boobs will sag and it won't be so bad. Maybe I'll gain five pounds instead of losing the always-goal ten. Maybe I'll stop getting pimples and start getting wrinkles and I'll miss my pimples. Maybe I'll adopt four Vietnamese girls and fall desperately in love with them. Maybe I'll be a single mom. Maybe I'll have three marriages. Maybe I'll make a big movie and miss acting in little plays. Maybe I'll shave my head. Maybe I'll be single for years. Who knows.

Whatever it is that I don't know I want, I am now open to it more than ever before, and I am so excited to live.

Image from here.

Have you been spared what you thought you wanted and now see how lucky you were?

The 11th Anniversary of My Plastic Surgeries

Please God make me pretty.

But God is for the poor. The rich can go to sleep and wake up pretty.

Rip
Cut
Suck
Tuck
Nip
Perk
Sew
Scar

And into little jars went the woman I was meant to be. 

Twenty-six thousand dollars worth of self-esteem plastered onto me forever, and no more t-shirts at the beach. No more hiding in the bathroom during pictures. No more getting asked out as a joke.

Drip
Drop
Splash
Shh


Eleven years later, I still taste like plastic.

The Smart Girl Act

I know a lot of big fancy words. I'm articulate and I have a knack for language. I am educated and full of degrees. I know how to be The Smart Girl. It's easy, comfortable, and keeps people at just enough of a distance while maintaining their admiration. Also, I love the sound of my voice saying smart things. I picked up the act and perfected it as soon as I figured out I wouldn't succeed at The Hot Girl Act.

In high-school, I wished that I could be hot and popular. But I'm not a disciplined person, contrary to popular belief, and unless blessed with the thin-no-matter-what genes, hotness takes work. I don't know how to control my cravings and I don't like exercising. I like to eat, and I like to eat bad food, and I'd sooner get liposuction than spend 45 minutes a day doing crunches. It's not that I'm not hot (I wasn't in high-school, but I grew into some degrees of it later), it's that I don't know how to carry myself with ease as a Hot Girl. I am too awkward, too insecure, and too self-aware. When someone thinks I'm hot, I smile cutely and try to hide that I'm waiting for them to discover that I'm really not.

Now, read a book, write an essay, and discuss a topic-- those are things I can do. To the point of bordering (frequently) on arrogance, I love knowing what I'm talking about and impressing people with how well I can phrase it.

As my title suggests, however, it is an act. The Smart Girl Act is a pose, a performance, and a deflection of who I really am. I know it is, because I can see it when it comes out. My voice kind of changes, I have these strange gestures that make me feel more like an intellectual, and I interrupt people frequently because what I have to say is certainly smarter. I often sound like a pompous ass, and I can hear it. But I can't stop it; as soon as the desire to be liked comes up for me (and it comes up all the time), I bring out The Smart Girl. It's my safety net: if nothing else, they'll admire me for being smart.

I am not that arrogant on the inside. Within, I am simply begging people to like me. I am waiting for someone to love me enough to see through the wordy exterior. And though I can say a lot of things and sound really good saying them, I hardly care to be the smartest person in a room. I do plenty of stupid things, so why bother to present such a polished mind? I just don't know what else to do.

I am learning, at least, to observe it in action. Oh look at me now, showing off that I read that really long book full of big hard words... And, sometimes, I remember to take a breath and stop talking. Just be, and be myself, without forcing upon others my idea about who I am. It's hard, and I'm not fully succeeding yet, but a habit takes time to break. Little by little, I hope to shed the inauthentic Smart Girl Act and trust that I can be liked without it.

Tough stuff...

Anyone else got an act?

Roar

I teach little kids, and the theme this week was a lion. A small child's first response to "We're lions!" is to roar. I have to roar too, but they are better at it than me. This is a precious time for them. It's before most of them will be punished into politeness, before You can watch TV if you stop screaming, and before their voices get tucked away for good. For now, they are rewarded for roaring. The bigger the roar, the better.

I was a shy child. If I had been my student, I likely would not have roared. I would have sat quietly in a corner and daydreamed myself into a different world, where no one ever made me do anything I didn't want to do. But that doesn't mean I didn't have a roar in me.

The first time I roared, I was nine, and I did it right at my mother. I was angry that she didn't let me sleep over at a friend's house, and while I would normally have quietly complied, my friend instructed me to at least put up a good fight, otherwise I would never be able to do anything I wanted. Your mother can't control you forever, she said. It was a new concept for me, and it gave me the courage to tread on uncharted territory: standing up for myself. I didn't throw a tantrum, but I stood my ground and used a voice I had not used ever before; a loud, demanding, unapologetic voice that sounded much like a roar. What will you do when I'm an adult? Keep me at home? You can't! You can't just not let me do things that everyone else does! I repeated what my friend had instructed me to say. I was using logic, but I was also being vocally fierce.

My mother thought her daughter had been abducted. She literally said, "This is not the daughter I know." I was afraid of my mother. The mildest misbehavior usually lead to being severely reprimanded, and I was a very sensitive child. I couldn't stand to be yelled at. But on that day, I was brave. And she did not scream back at me or punish me. She was in shock. She really did not know the child who stood before her. I, too, was being introduced to this part of myself for the first time. 

The next time I wanted to sleep over at a friend's house, she let me. 

Her reaction was the one most of my family members and teachers would have had. The Larissa they knew, the Larissa my mother raised, did not roar. She was not a lot of work. She was the good child. Polite, delicate, graceful, compliant, diplomatic, and sweet. My brother was "the terrorist." I was the saint. It was a role I was comfortable in, one of general invisibility and obedience.

But no child, no human being, is all terrorist or all saint. I had a roar in me and, from time to time, I would let it out and shock the people who knew me best. For the most part, no one was comfortable with this.

When I was 21, my dad and I were having an argument, and I started to roar. He interrupted me and said, "We're not going to talk anymore. We'll talk again when you calm down." I had a realization at that moment and burst into tears. I roared even louder, "NO! You will talk to me NOW. You don't get to choose to only talk to me when I'm calm! You have to deal with me NOW too, when I'm frantic and upset!"

As an adult, I was able to demand that my not-so-polite self be not only listened to, but loved. No one, not even my father, was going to get away with loving only the pleasant part of me anymore. You don't get the kitten unless you can accept the lioness that comes along with her. I had set my ultimatum.

It would, naturally, echo in other relationships as well, outside of family. At first, I didn't want anyone to fall in love with the good girl before they knew the bad girl. This extended to friendships as well as romantic relationships. No one was allowed to know that I wanted a monogamous committed relationship until they could accept and love the part of me that wanted to have sex on a first date.

It is a real challenge to find the balance between the gentle kitten and the roaring lioness. But if I ever try to repress one of them so that the other may flourish, it acts out when I least expect (and want) it to. Be the sweet, loving, kind girl for too long and a monster will come out. Similarly, roar and scratch for long enough and the desire to marry and have children starts to seep out of my pores. Despite my best efforts, I cannot keep either one silent for very long. If I listen to both parts of myself and let them out, then I am free. If not, I am a slave to the one I do not bring forth. That which you do not bring to the light will destroy you, we learned when we did shadow work at school. True words indeed.

Luckily, I have really come to love both of these creatures I can be. As I roared with my young students this week, with whom I have to be infinitely patient and kind, I felt my docility co-existing with my recklessness. ROAR and out came the lioness, followed by the sweet kitten, That's right boys and girls! Great job! I loved that I had both qualities in me, and that they could both serve me simultaneously and balance each other out.

I am grateful to that friend who, 17 years ago, encouraged me to find that first roar. I am so proud of my nine-year-old self who stood up for herself and kept on doing so, even though it was scary and didn't always please other people. I am also grateful for the well-behaved little girl in me who survived by going unnoticed for a long time, and who holds on to my sweetness, grace, and good manners.

And the lesson has been learned: inside every lioness is a kitten, and inside every kitten is the potential for a roar.

I think I look pretty good roaring.

That Damn Week of Positivity...

I am officially one week late on my follow-up post for my week of Extreme Positivity. (And I know you've been checking, because I check my google stats, even when I'm not blogging.) So I'm sorry.

In short, my week of Extreme Positivity was hard and I didn't like it, and I didn't want that to be how I started this blog post.

For a week, I wrote and re-wrote this post, trying to find a positive authentic spin on my positivity challenge. At heart, I want to- no, I live to- inspire. Whether on stage, over coffee with friends, in writing, or on my yoga mat, I find nothing more gratifying than to have fostered a reaction in another human being that reads, You have touched me.

But I have learned that when I try to force that reaction, I come off as arrogant. My audience shuts down. And I feel the one thing I absolutely cannot stand to feel: inauthentic. 

My week of extreme positivity left me, mostly, unchanged and uninspired. Not that I massively failed at it- no, I had my happy thoughts, my mantras, my good actions, and so forth. I did what I had to do. I smiled and heard my happy music and went to yoga and ate beautiful food and so forth. I focused on the good stuff, even as I was sweating through a fever one night and coughing up my rib cage.

But I didn't like it, and I didn't feel that rush of joy I was hoping to feel. There wasn't a major a-ha moment. And I kept lying to people about it. They'd ask me how my week of positivity was going and I'd, say, "Great!" Because what else could I say? I was being positive.

It's not like I learned nothing, though. I made a few discoveries that felt meaningful and changed my behavior:
- Wit is not often positive. My presence on social media, therefore, suffered from this week.
- Avoiding that which will cause a negative thought is not as hard as it seems. Don't drink as much the night before. Don't take the subway during rush hour. Don't let the dishes pile up. Etc.
- It is possible to catch most thoughts, if you set your mind to it, and shift them from complaints to gratitude. I can't believe they've blocked off this road for construction turns into I'm so grateful there are a dozen men and women willing to work outdoors in the cold in order to ensure proper roads for me. 

I wouldn't say it was useless, no. But it felt like a lot of effort with a side of fake. And it felt somewhat robotic. I am a fan of impulses and reactions- it is one of the reasons I mostly fail at enlightenment- so the week felt like being in an awful lot of control. Not my strength, to be honest.

It was, after all, an experiment. And while I like succeeding and I especially like major breakthroughs, I know I cannot force change or growth, and I am better off looking at things for what they are. There is always some benefit for me in setting up something difficult for myself, and there's always a lot to learn from that which I don't like doing, so I can appreciate it in that sense. But, overall, it was harder than I thought it would be, and the pay-off seemed much smaller than the bargain.

I hope this isn't too disappointing or uninspiring. Several people told me they might want to try it themselves, and I do encourage you to do so. People are different, and this may be a much, much better plan for someone else. And I may do it again myself at some point. I am a different person every day, and positivity will have a different effect on me every time I take it on.

My best advice from this is, take it one step at a time. One thought, one breath, one moment. Positivity, I found, is most comfortable in the present.

Challenge: One Week of Extreme Positivity

I am good at complaining. I play a really good victim. I can make most people feel sorry for me. Ask my ex-boyfriends.

This coming week, my brain already has its favorite complaints ready to shoot out and paint everything a nice dark shade of super-victim...
 
I'm sick. It's tech week. I'm not getting enough sleep. I'm working too hard. I don't get a day off. It's cold. I haven't worked out lately and I feel fat. It's Valentine's Day and I don't have a valentine and I feel old at 26 and my mother wants grandchildren yesterday and my heart is just exploding it's so ready to love so where is he???

It's exhausting.

So, I've proposed a challenge for myself: One Week of Extreme Positivity. (I was going to call it One Week of Not Complaining, but I didn't want a negative in my title). For this week, starting tomorrow, February 13th, I will practice Extreme Positivity. No complaints. No victim act. I will welcome smiles, compassion, gratitude, joy, and love.

Am I planning to just Pollyanna it out? Put on the Mormon smile and let my complaints fester within?

Not exactly, but sort of. I never thought it was healthy to not complain at all. I believe in balance. One must let out the steam. My problem lies in unconsciously shading most situations with, Oh, poor me. The idea is to bring awareness to my mind's fiercest habit and to encourage some, Oh, lucky me!, even in the unlikeliest of circumstances.

Sally Hawkins as Poppy

I loved the movie Happy-Go-Lucky. Sally Hawkins charmed me as Poppy, a somewhat modern, realistic, and accessible grown-up Pollyanna. I remember radiating with positivity all day after I saw that film. My goal this week is to maintain that feeling for a week. Look on the bright side, see the glass as half-full, and make some lemonade out of life's lemons!

How am I going to do it?

I have a plan:

- I've set up my phone to send me reminders 5 times a day along the lines of, "Practice positivity," "Love today," "Breathe in happiness," "Find gratitude."

- I wrote it on my planner: Focus on the good stuff!

- I have dug up the articles of clothing I own that are not black or gray. I think wearing some pink and yellow might help me remember to spread smiles!

- I have set aside five minutes every day for the deliberate contemplation of extremely good thoughts.

I think Lynda Carter would be proud.

- What's the opposite of a victim? My guess is a bully or a hero. Let's go with hero for this week. Wonder Woman is my screen saver for the week.

- I made a play list called Happy Songs. They will start off my day, every day this week.

- I will make a gratitude list at the end of each day.

- Baking makes me super happy, so I'm gathering my favorite recipes and will try to bake at least twice this week. Happy homes smell like chocolate ganache cupcakes as far as I'm concerned!

- Find time for some kind of exercise. It totally helps my mood, whether it's going to the gym, yoga, or taking a dance class. So, this week, even if it's just for 20 minutes, I'm committed to exercising at least four days out of the week.

- Keep a record of how I'm doing throughout each day.

Those are my initial plans. I may come up with or discover more. I do expect that complaining thoughts will still come up, but I am hopeful that I can keep them in check. Even in writing this, I am already feeling an abundance of warmth and joy. I am actually really excited about this- I love setting up time lines for challenges and coming up with a plan for executing them. It makes them seem so much more attainable.

So, here I go! One week of Extreme Positivity! Check back in a week, folks, and feel free to share with me any ideas you have on sustaining positivity!

The Importance of "Me Time"

Between four jobs and two plays, I have discovered the importance of doing things, every day, that are just for me. Something that gives me pleasure, that makes me smile, that warms my heart, and that improves my quality of life. I share some here with you, and encourage you to find your own and share them, for they have a very powerful effect on the people around you too.


- Having a chocolate chip cookie from pret a manger. 
Maybe not something to do every day (unless it's an especially hectic week), but every once in a while, it is necessary to indulge. Their cookies are perfect. In 30 seconds, they improve my day and spirits by 100%. Try them. I am sharing with you one of my best-kept secrets, friends. Do not take it for granted. Go to pret a manger. Get a chocolate chip cookie. It will change your life too.

- Listening to fun music. 
It has taken me a long, long time to find this. The thing is, I love folk music, so I have always assumed that it made me happy. But actually, silly and fun music makes me happiest, fastest. As it turns out, I don't always need meaningful lyrics and sad guitar strings. Sometimes I need... Lady Gaga and Lily Allen, over and over again.

Tiramisu I made last week. 

- Cooking or baking something complicated.
If you're my facebook friend, you've seen the pictures. Cooking and baking gives me a ridiculous amount of pleasure, and even though I often do it for others, the act itself is just for me. If a recipe takes 5 hours, I'm all about it. If it takes 3 days, even better. Orange marmalade, braised lamb shanks, chocolate mousse, or an entire Thanksgiving meal from scratch-- it all makes me incredibly happy. And I'm notorious for not wanting anyone in the kitchen with me. It's my me time, and I share it only with my sharp chef knife and my extra extra virgin Italian olive oil.

- Reading a self-help book.
I love self-help books. Curling up in a corner and reading them with a pad of paper next to me so I can write out all of the blazing insights I'm having about myself makes me so happy. Currently reading: "The 5 Love Languages," by Gary Chapman. Highly recommend it!


- Watching The Food Network. 
I can't watch anything for as long as I can watch The Food Network. It drives anyone who lives with me crazy, but I am an addict. I'm a foodie. It makes me happy to learn about food.

- Walking.
I often get off the subway one or two stops before my destination so I get a little walking time. It's just so important to me. I can think, clear my head, observe, listen to some music, feel the world around me, and decompress. Even 10 minutes of walking makes a difference in my quality of life.

- Writing. 
I always feel so happy after I blog. And I have four journals: my one sentence a day for five years journal, my dream journal, my morning pages pad, and my journal journal. Things are on my mind, on to the paper or screen they go. Toxic thoughts especially need to get out, but insights, gratitude lists, prayers, and hopes also need to be written down. And I like to be alone when I write. It's my me time. It's important. It makes me happy.

The Body Stories: Trailer and Website!

I am so excited to share this! It is my heart's work, my baby, my medicine, and my gift to humanity.

My project, created from scratch alongside Jeanne Joe Perrone, with Victoria Bennet, Melinda Graham, and Breanna Noel, has a beautiful trailer and website now!

Watch, learn, share, like, comment, and be inspired!

website: http://thebodystories.weebly.com

trailer: 

Thank you to Yvonne Yu, our videographer, and John Wyffles, our designer.

Thank you to all who have supported us! Come on out on January 22nd to see our first rendition of The Body Stories!

Extreme Deprivation: The Vegan Challenge

I set up for myself a one-month challenge called "Extreme Deprivation," where I would tackle the vegan lifestyle and not eat any animal by-products for the entire month of November. I had three reasons to do it: First, I had been feeling unhealthy and indulgent; it was time for a change in my diet. Second, I knew I would be asking for a lot in the upcoming month, due to The Body Stories, and I wanted to sacrifice something, in order to complete the karmic cycle. Third, I have always judged vegans and vegetarians very harshly, believing that they are not "really" living their lives. I judged the soft-spoken, always in control, unemotional stereotype I associated with people who don't eat meat. And I figured it was time to know first-hand just what I was so critical of. 

I had to call it "Extreme Deprivation" because I eat meat and dairy every day. I grew up in Brazil, where the word "vegan" brings forth expressions of confusion and disdain. I went to Sarah Lawrence, where there were a lot of vegans, and they always annoyed the hell out of me; I thought them extremist and often hypocritical. And, I'm a foodie. It is one of the great pleasures I find in life, and the thought of restricting what could inspire me in the kitchen made me very sad. For me, being vegan was extreme.

But it was just for one month. I can do anything for just one month. On September 30th, I stocked up on vegan cereal, nuts, almond milk, vegan bread, fruits, and vegetables. And on October 1st, I was pretty excited to get started. I liked the idea of changing my diet to what I supposed was a lighter, kinder lifestyle.

The excitement lasted about four hours. By the afternoon, I was hungry. I was paranoid that anything I bought to eat would have butter or milk in it and not tell me. I had long stretches of time throughout the day when I wouldn't be able to sit down for a meal, so I was depending on snacks, and all I had were nuts and dried fruit. I don't really love nuts and dried fruit, so I was kind of miserable. Also, I wanted coffee with tons of milk and sugar in it. I already knew I didn't like the taste of soy or almond milk in coffee, so I was left with the milkless coffee option, and what was the point of drinking coffee that tasted like coffee? This was starting to suck.

I was ready to give up by day 2. Not only was I not enjoying the things I was eating, it seemed to be inconvenient for the people around me. My family was in town, and they love it when I cook for them. Suddenly I was this boring vegetable and fruit person who couldn't even eat dessert. I was also about to go to LA to visit my aunt and uncle for a few days, and I was really anxious about making it hard for them to host me.

But I didn't give up. I knew that there would always be an excuse. No month would be easier than another. And that's when I learned the first lesson of this challenge: I was going to have to come to terms with being inconvenient company and stop caring about being fun for other people. I'm a big people-pleasing entertainer and can't stand the thought of giving anyone any trouble on my account, so this lesson came in due time. 

After the first week, I lost 4 pounds, and I felt amazing. My skin looked better, I had more energy, I was very alert, I felt a lot of lightness and space, and I was starting to enjoy the flavors of a fruit-vegetable-nut-and-grain based diet. I learned to pack things for the day and not let myself get too hungry. It's pretty easy to be vegan in New York City, there are tons of options and waitstaff is generally used to the question, "Is there any dairy in this vegetable dish?" This was starting to seem like a good idea.

By the end of week 2, I wasn't as excited. I was really missing the flavors of meat and dairy in my meals. I wasn't having cravings yet, but I was tired of fruits and vegetables. And my energy level wasn't that great. I didn't feel amazing all the time anymore, I felt pretty normal. I started eating more tofu and what I call, "fake food," meaning- vegan chocolate cake, made from ingredients I neither recognized nor understood.

By week 3, my stomach wasn't doing so good. I probably had too much soy and wasn't making sure my meals were balanced. I got to the point where I was tired of paying attention, and my meals consisted of a lot of guacamole and vegan chips. I didn't feel the physical benefits anymore; I was just as tired and worn out as usual. I had cravings and I was absolutely sure I couldn't be vegan forever. I kept telling myself that as soon as this month was over I was going to sink my teeth into a turkey and cheese sandwich, one of the things I was craving the most. This is incredibly dumb, I thought, and I can't wait for it to be over.

When week 4 started, I was ready to be done with this. I wanted a cheeseburger, a milkshake, an omelet, chicken rice soup, and real chocolate cake. And then, I got my period. Under normal circumstances, I know I'm getting my period a week before it comes. I have very clear physical symptoms, and I usually get cramps and headaches when it finally does come. This month, I was completely surprised by it. I even thought maybe it wasn't my period, because I didn't have a single symptom, and that maybe something was wrong with me. But it was my period indeed, and it was the healthiest, most pain-free period I have ever had. Enough to have me swearing off meat and dairy for the rest of my life. I started collecting vegan recipes and made delicious vegan pumpkin-coconut-walnut bread. I even looked up a vegan thanksgiving meal recipe and planned to make my family enjoy my new lifestyle with me. I can do this! I can be vegan forever!

And then, on October 30th, I started feeling like I was getting a cold. I took a bunch of vitamins and drank a lot of liquids, but my body shut down. I was pretty sick yesterday, still drinking lots of liquids and taking vitamins, and didn't even get to enjoy my last day of the vegan challenge. I woke up today feeling like crap, and my body screamed at me, Give me chicken soup! I could feel it; I needed protein. And so, I write this with a bowl of chicken soup next to me. I didn't eat the chicken in it, just the vegetables and broth, because I'm not ready yet, but I am pretty sure I will eat it all soon.

It has been an interesting and challenging month, and I am really glad I went for it. I learned to adjust my palate to milder flavors and appreciate vegetables in many forms. I got really creative making soups and salads, and I did feel kinder, less angry, and less impulsive. I found that I had more compassion for animals and genuinely cared about how they're being treated in farms, which was not something I used to consider all that much.

I am certain that I will cut down on my meat and dairy (especially dairy) intake a lot, but I don't think the vegan diet is for me. I feel proud that I didn't give up on this challenge, and I don't feel a huge need to run out and get that turkey sandwich I've been dreaming of. I do think that at least once a year, for one month, I may adopt the vegan diet again. It is a good way to appreciate food and pay attention to my body's needs and wants. And I'm not quite so critical of vegans and vegetarians now. But I learned what I needed to know: I am a meat-and-dairy eating girl, after all, and the best diet for me is to give my body what it wants.

My vegan pumpkin-coconut-walnut bread. Delicious, actually.

Please do share with me your experiences with veganism! I am curious and would love to learn more!

Where Are My Thoughts?

Clearly, I've needed a break from thinking. Result: zero blogging.

I've been mega busy. Like whoa. It's what I needed- 3 jobs and 2 creative projects that I absolutely love. Any socializing happens within these activities, as I don't have time to do much else. The dishes and the messages and the to-do lists pile up, but who's around to notice?

So I haven't been "thinking" a whole lot. I needed the break. Enough analyzing situations for a while, enough jotting down every brilliant realization, enough waking up in the middle of the night to post something deep and meaningful.

Instead, I've been a far more active facebook status and twitter updater. The word count restriction and informality of the venues have actually liberated me from my busy brain. Just have a little fun, Larissa. I can't sit down and write a blog that would be acceptable to me (present example excluded), but 140 characters to tell the world about how amazing this vegan chocolate cake is (more on that to come)? Yes, I can do that.

I usually believe that slowing down is a good thing. But this time, speeding up has been the better thing. I needed less time to think about things. I needed to just go out and live.

So, if you've been wondering where I've been (and I hope you have!), I've been out and about, doing and living, creating and being. And for now, it's pretty great.

The Artist's Way

Child Artist- image from here

I am working through Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, a workbook for recovering and discovering our Artistic Self. It's a 12-week do-it-yourself program, with daily and weekly tasks. I recommend it to anyone and everyone. It's the second time I am working through it.

I was given a used copy of it by a friend a couple of years ago, and it sat on my shelf for two years, untouched. Then, in May of 2010, I found myself deeply sad and stuck. I had spent my first year out of school auditioning and getting rejected, and I had gone through two major heartbreaks in the span of just a few months. I was lonely, uninspired, and in a lot of pain. Then someone sent me an article written by Jenna Fisher, where she talked about going through these periods throughout her career as well, and mentioned how helpful The Artist's Way had been. I picked up my copy, dusted it off, and started reading it. I committed to it because I didn't know what else to do; I needed to shift something within.

Early in the book, Cameron explains that when we are in pain, we are present. The future becomes too challenging to imagine and the past is too painful to remember, so we focus on the present. And that is when we notice the details of life, which is a propeller for creativity. I found that to be true. I was diligent about doing the exercises, and it didn't take long for things to start shifting. Before I knew it, I had created my own show, Leading Ladies, and I had four other plays lined up to perform in. And I fell in love.

The Ladies of Leading Ladies

Things got better quickly, projects were coming my way, and I was happy. I was glowing, in fact, and many people noticed it. So I made the mistake that many people in recovery make: by week 8, I abandoned The Artist's Way. I thought I didn't need it anymore. I was healed. I knew how to nurture my artist and the universe was responding; why spend 30 minutes of my morning writing morning pages, why take an hour out of my week to go on an artist date, why spend 45 minutes on a task, why repeat affirmations to myself? I thought my time would be better spent living, loving, and creating.

I can see now that what happened after that was no coincidence. Slowly, things fell apart. Auditions led to nothing but rejections. I got a job I didn't enjoy. I met people who sucked my creative energy out of me, and I didn't know how to protect myself. I turned into a version of myself I can't stand; bitter, angry, self-loathing, and victimized. My relationship, too, went down a destructive path and I didn't know how to save it. I saw myself losing everything, and I felt powerless.

I have been crying for just about 6 months now, and I haven't acted in a play in 9 months. It was time for a shift. Two weeks ago, as I was organizing one of my closets, I came across my copy of The Artist's Way. I felt such a huge relief in holding it in my hands that I burst into tears. I knew I needed to attend to my artist. I needed to do the work again.

It's only the second week, and already things have changed. Projects have come my way, I have felt my creative juices flowing, and I can feel a huge space opening in my heart again. This time, I hope I'll know better than to abandon the process, and I won't take my progress for granted. It's actually quite simple: Do the work. Results will follow.

I highly recommend this workbook, even if you don't think of yourself as an artist. We are all creative beings, and we all need to attend to that part of ourselves. Creativity, like a muscle, needs to be nourished and given the opportunity to practice and build upon itself. As a teacher of mine in grad school used to say, energy flows where attention goes.

And... I don't know if other people can see it yet, but I looked in the mirror today, and guess what?

I'm glowing.

I think this is a good example of what I look like when I glow. photo by Shirin Tinati.

And I'm 26

This year's intention:

May I have the courage, strength, and willingness to do what I am meant to do in this life, every day.

It's my day, may it be a happy one.

Birthdays Are Hard

It is almost my 26th birthday. I can count down the hours. I made plans, so that there would be plans as opposed to no plans. I have played up the yays and woo hoos, because I am good at doing what is expected of me. I am going to buy a dress tomorrow with my mom, since a birthday is a good reason to buy a new dress. I will pick up the phone, I will answer the text messages and emails and facebook wall posts. I will be grateful and polite and cheerful. Like I said, I'm good at doing what is expected of me.

But my birthday is really hard for me. It always has been. As you can see, it takes place in July, which means that throughout my entire childhood and adolescence, all my friends were away for the summer during my birthday. While everyone else got a cake at school and had their friends around on the weekend to celebrate, I spent my birthday with my family at whatever location we would spend our summers, which is only possible to appreciate when one no longer has a family- until that day I, like everyone I know, take their company and love completely for granted.

I tend to get really sensitive and emotional on the week of my birthday, and it sucks. I am already a sensitive and emotional person, often labeled as dramatic even, so it's like suddenly my sadness took a growth pill. Anything I've been storing, whether I'm aware of it or not, pours out of me and before I know it I'm crying on my yoga mat because my teacher said, "let's be grateful for what we have," and I don't feel like being grateful, I feel like being sad, dammit.

This birthday also has the disadvantage of being the closest to my last birthday, and suck by comparison. Last year, though I was hit with the same difficulties surrounding the time of my birthday, I was happy. I was producing Leading Ladies, a play I created from scratch and that I couldn't have been prouder of. I had two more plays coming up after it, so I didn't have to worry about what to do next. I was being creative and living the way I believed I was meant to live. I had just started dating a man I couldn't stop thinking about, and I was super ready to fall in love. I was going to yoga almost every day and feeling great about my body, mind, and spirit. It was a wonderful time in my life, and the birthday blues felt like a manageable learning experience, maybe even one I could have fun with.

But this year is not like last year. I haven't acted in a play in nine months. I haven't even auditioned. The man I was so ready to fall in love with last year; well, I did fall in love, but I ruined it, and he left me five months ago. Because I have been recovering from a surgery, I have not been able to work out, and I can only go to yoga once or twice a week, so I don't feel great about my body right now. I feel quite lost about what to do with my life, and not in that "I am bravely venturing into the unknown," kind of way, but much more like, "I don't know what the hell to do anymore."

There are good things too, and I am certainly able to see them. I am directing a play a friend of mine wrote and it is an amazing experience. I have found a theatre group that deeply nourishes my artist's soul and I look forward to seeing them the way a child looks forward to jumping in the ocean. My surgery was successful, and my body has been relearning how to function, which has been an important lesson for me in patience and compassion with myself.  I have worked in jobs that have taught me a lot about who I am, what I can do, and what I want, and I have met some incredible people along the way. There have been messages everywhere, and the post-break-up growth has been crucial to my understanding of myself.

There is a ton of sadness, though, and it is challenging to keep it from blinding me. I try to loot at a birthday as an opportunity to reflect and set intentions. I do not know what mine could be yet, but if I think of some by Saturday I'll post them. I am a fan, after all, of letting things shift, of watching heaviness and negativity do their thing and then leave so that something else can come in. Birthdays are hard for me, there's no way around that. I'm sitting with the difficulties, I'm acting out on them at times, and I am looking ahead. It's only the 26th time I've had to do this. Maybe by the 52nd I'll get the hang of it...

Until then, come have a beer with me on Saturday and tell me I don't have to smile for you.

This is every metaphor for every feeling. It is also my footprint, staged for this picture, at a beach in LA.

*Thoughts Simply Arise also has a facebook page now! Go like it!* 

Chipped and Changed

It dawned on me today that once you do something to someone, or once someone does something to you, it can never be undone.

I made a lot of mistakes in my last relationship. I don't want to get into the details, so, to put it mildly: I hurt someone I loved. I realized that I can be ugly, mean, vengeful, and dishonest. I did not like realizing these things. I want to see myself as a loving, gentle, truthful, and kind person. Bringing up all this- for lack of a better word- shit, was like being thrown into a storm after waking from a restful nap.

Was all of this always here, I wonder? I try to imagine looking at 13-year-old Larissa, who was so completely romantic, who believed in pure, eternal love, who saw the world through pink shades, and telling her, "You're capable of being a hypocrite, a liar, and a cruel, manipulative bitch." It breaks my heart to even think about it. But where did it all come from, then? Were my actions a consequence of circumstance? Have I been molded by life's experiences into a person I could not have foreseen becoming? I don't know. 

Sometimes it's been so difficult to face myself that I've turned away from it all completely. It's been kind of an all-or-nothing phase of analysis and coping. Either I'm all in it, looking at myself and seeing everything I don't like and having mini-anxiety attacks, or I'm all out of it, unable to think about it at all, distracting myself with life and what-not. 

Once upon a time, I could believe I was not capable of certain things, that I was above certain actions, that I was even better than certain thought-processes. Now, for better or for worse, I know things about myself I did not know before- things that I do not like, that I do not admire, and that I do not enjoy in the least. There they are- the chips in my armor.

As I thought about all of this, I realized: I am forever changed. I won't ever get back to square one. I can't erase and re-write my life. I am not 13 and pure. I am 25 and chipped. Tainted, imperfect, flawed. But also, I recognize, human. Grown, learned, lived.

I wish I hadn't hurt someone in order to learn the lessons I had to learn. I wish it had been cleaner. I wish I'd been responsible. I wish I'd known better. But it happened the way it did, and now I have to carry that around with me.

Though it's difficult to keep this in check, I know the bad doesn't cancel out all the good. My capacity to hurt someone does not kill my capacity to love. I can be mean, yes, but that doesn't mean I can't be kind. I can be bitter, and also sweet. I can be forgiving, and also remorseful. I can cause pain, but I can also bring joy.

I can be chipped and changed, but my heart is still beating.

The Koala Within

Children tend to have an obsession with a certain animal, and I believe these obsessions are very telling. My brother was a snake lover, my cousin a monkey lover, and I was always a koala lover. I do not think we chose these animals to be our favorites, I think they chose us.

The snake chose my brother, in my opinion, because it matched the aggression he was mostly forced to repress. Its unpredictable, deadly nature inspires respect and fear, granting the snake a power I think my brother craved as a child. The words I would use to describe a snake are applicable when describing my brother too: powerful, musical in movement, regal, sensual, calculating, and hypnotizing.

The monkey chose my cousin because its adventurous, silly, and mischievous nature gave her a sense of freedom. A serious child with an old soul, I think the monkey came to her to provide playful relief and an outlet for child-like recklessness. I would describe a monkey as artful, sly, smart, sportive, tricky, warm, and lighthearted- adjectives fitting for my cousin as well.

The koala chose me, I think, because its warmth and love were the things I could most easily give to others, as well as what I wanted most. The clingy, pacifist, protective almost-bear is so much like me I am sure I was one in a previous life. I was very little when someone gave me a book about koalas, and though I had never seen one, I immediately fell in love. I collected every image of a koala I could find, and I had no doubt I would one day meet one in person and it would love me as much as I had loved it my whole life.

My dad had an Australian friend who once gave me a key-chain that had a tiny stuffed koala hanging from it, and you could open up its little arms and make it cling to anything. That little koala was my favorite thing in the whole world. I loved it, and I wanted to be it. I wanted to be able to hold on to people and things like that and not be told I was being too needy and greedy. That little koala's ability to clasp onto people and things resonated with me as pure love, and, because it was so very cute, it was always loved in return and allowed to stay.

When I was about 15 or 16, my family took me on a trip to Australia and New Zealand. Of all the beautiful and interesting things I saw, the moment I remember most was when we went to a place where they let us hold a koala. I knew that koalas actually didn't like to be handled, so I felt my heart break as it was passed on to people who were undeserving of its love. None of those people loved koalas like I did, and so their upsetting that gentle animal was pointless and cruel. I wouldn't have held it either, because the poor thing looked like it wasn't enjoying the activity at all, but when my turn came, I couldn't help myself. I felt like I was meeting my long lost child and an estranged parent at the same time. In the 45 seconds that I got to hold it, I gave it all the love I had inside me. I didn't care that it smelled strange and dug its claws into my arms- I was meeting a part of myself I'd only ever fantasized about, and I was elated.

When I need comfort or am going through something difficult, my favorite thing to wear is still something fuzzy and gray. When I love someone very much, I embrace them, clasp my hands onto their arms, lay my head on their chest or shoulder, close my eyes, and give them my best koala hug.

My koala-love is part of my nature, as I see it, and I can learn from it. The detached, cynical, fast-paced adult I've become needs my koala self from time to time too. When there's no one around to give me a koala's love, I have to give it to myself. We are chosen by certain animals so that we can stay in touch with the parts of ourselves we repress and with the things we crave the most. It's important to listen to them and find ways to let them live.

I will always have a lot of love for the koala- the kind of possessive, maternal, stubborn, quiet yet unrelenting love that only a koala can understand. And I will always believe I am loved in return by the koala I have within.



Image from here.

The Ideal Me

I see a beach with very white sand and a very clear, blue ocean. Someone labeled this paradise, and I believed it. So that is where I live. The Ideal Me, that is.

And you know what's funny? The Ideal Me doesn't have the perfect yogi body, flat abs, perfect shiny hair, flawless skin. Actually, she has wild beach hair and a soft tummy. She wears a long skirt and a braless shirt. Her nails aren't done, her legs aren't waxed. She is neither old nor young, and she is most certainly not a young-looking older woman. She is timeless. She has no make-up on, not even the liquid Benetint blush I swear I can't live without. She is barefoot and her feet are not graceful and elegant. Her breasts are not unnaturally perky and her butt is not hard as stone. She is kind of messy, and she seems almost careless.

But this Ideal Me that is so imperfect on the surface is so unquestionably, contagiously, boundlessly happy. She is at peace. She glows from within. She is always smiling. She rolls around in the sand, she splashes about in the ocean, she floats with the calm waters, she skips along the shore, she dances in the rain, and she laughs and laughs and laughs. There is nothing in the way. There is nothing she is waiting for.

She is also alone. This paradise does not include a love interest, family, or friends. It is just her. But she is not lonely. She is not afraid of dying alone, of getting old alone, of not having children, of not being loved enough in this lifetime. She doesn't see a time-line for her life, filled with marks of when things should happen by. She doesn't have a map or a compass, she lives freely and she has an unshakable certainty that everything is just as it should be.

This image comes to me effortlessly, I have no control over it. Sometimes it visits me when I feel very anxious, sometimes it shows up when I am very happy. Sometimes I open the refrigerator without knowing what I want, hoping that in that cold white box full of food there will be an answer to my mind's noisy questions, and all I hear suddenly is her laughter. She lives inside me, but she is present outside of me as well. She's just there; a stranger I know so well, a part of me I had no part in making.

It surprises me that The Ideal Me is not some glamorous Hollywood actress with a perfect body and a hot husband who's madly in love with her. She resembles more of a tree-hugging unshowered hippie, actually. She can't even be described as confident and self-assured. She just is. She just knows the things I hope to know, with all of her being.

She exists because I need her to exist. She has no message for me. She is just a presence, a part of myself that is able to live only under the umbrella of the "Ideal Me". She is a guardian, keeping my essence safe from the masks and armor reality has me wearing. And she leaves me with a stillness that roots me. She allows me to be.

Somehow, I do not find myself seeking to become her. I have not made her a goal. I keep her in this "ideal" place because somehow I know I can not be her. I have to be this version of myself, who worries, clings, dreams, and always wants more. She exists in some parallel universe, and the best I can do is honor that. I pay attention to the image, I let it affect me, and I welcome it, but I can not strive to make it a reality. She lives on that paradise beach, and I live in New York City. She doesn't need a career, and I have to act. She isn't waiting for love, and I am. She is happy with herself, and I am still working on my relationship with myself every day.

That is The Ideal Me. A vital part of me, capable of breathing life into my deadest pores, but not me. That is all she can be: an image. The human being part, that whole living life thing, that can only be done by this me.

Perhaps she looks at me from her world and envies that I get to have all my humanity, all my flaws, all my short-comings, all my insecurities, all my wishes. Maybe she thinks I have it easy, I get to fuck up as much as I want, because this is all a learning experience for me. Hah. That makes me laugh.

That's just how it is this time around: she gets the Ideal world and I get the Real world, but we get to see each other from afar and keep things in perspective. We keep each other safe. And that's a nice comfort, I'd say.

A Message From My Body

I wanted to disappear today. I woke up and that was my thought: I want the world to not know that I exist today. Because if it doesn't know, then I don't have to take responsibility for existing. And then I can do nothing and no one will ever know.

But I had made plans to go to yoga. I could have canceled. I could have just not shown up. My friend would've forgiven me. Yoga would not have missed me. But, as if on auto-pilot, my body knew what I needed, and it dressed itself and made its way out the door anyway.

And the outside world was still there with its slushy New York streets and pretty snow-covered trees that make you wonder how the same substance can make something so disgusting and something so magical at the same time. The cold air slapped my face around a little bit, as if to say, You can't put life on pause, silly, you're alive and that's that. And the loneliness of an unexceptional Sunday settled in, matching my insides, making itself comfortable for the day.

Yoga was crowded and hot and I got a spot in the back of the room, which was exactly where I wanted to be. I noticed soon enough that my body was tired. I've been over-exercising and under-eating. My body was mad at me. It wanted to know why I was ignoring its needs. As I moved through the poses, I apologized to my body, letting it know I was ready to listen to it now. It told me, Overworking me and not feeding me is not going to get you an acting job or make anyone fall in love with you. Ignoring what you want is not making you stronger. All this tension is fear. This is your body, your feelings happen inside it, and they do not go away if you ignore them.

I realized I have been trying to build an armor so that I'll be less affected by the painful things in life, and it's costing me my relationship with myself. I tell myself I am searching for clarity, but I remain in a comfortable fog. I left yoga feeling more like myself than I've felt in days, possibly weeks. I feel different than I did this morning, I feel a desire to exist and to know that I am alive. I ate a full meal and enjoyed it. I rested. And now I'm sitting, waiting to find out what I need next.

My body took me to yoga today because it wanted my attention. It had to remind me that I have to listen to what I want and need, every day. I can't assume I know what will make me happy and bring me to life each day. I have to find the courage to face not only my fears, but the needs that they mask.

I am lucky I have a body that knows how to talk to me, and I am grateful I was open enough to get the message. May I be so lucky every day.

Treasure This...

As I walked out of the subway today, my older self visited me briefly to say, "Treasure this." And so I looked around and looked at my life at this point in time, and noticed what there is to treasure.

I treasure...

Walking through the Farmer's Market in Union Square on a lovely Saturday afternoon and being able to appreciate the perfection of leeks.

Spending two hours rehearsing today with extremely creative women and then drinking a bottle of wine (and then a bottle of champagne) with them while sharing stories of broken loves and snow sex.

Eating really good pad thai for lunch.

Finding a new novel to read. ("One Day" by David Nicholls. I'm loving it. I didn't think people wrote love stories anymore.)

Getting a post-card from my Italian friend whom I love and miss so much.

Living in manhattan while I'm in my 20's.

Finding a yoga studio that feels like a home.

My doorman asking me about my next play.

An email from dad about the importance of love.

Having brazilian coffee in the morning. And in the afternoon.

Finding Pocky's at my local grocery store last night.

The presence of my little brother on his computer in the living room.

The bitter sweet feelings of the last weeks of summer in New York, when flings either end or turn into love, and the air is a bit cooler at night.

Being given a starbucks gift-card yesterday.

Hopping into the shower soon to get ready for a good-bye party for a fellow blogger, who has become a new and wonderful person in my life.

The sunset I get to see every day from my balcony.

My Buddha, who laughs for me every day, no matter what I do.

My teeny-tiny herb garden, which lives on even when I am neglectful.

My new giant bar of soap.

Coconut water at the health food store. $4 very well spent.

A continuous email thread between me and three blog friends that is always hilarious, heartfelt, and completely inappropriate. - You know who you are.

A friend's baby, so incredibly sweet and loving.

Salt-water taffies. Which I always think will taste better than they actually do.

My shower being unclogged.

My mom sending me emoticons on skype chat.

The surreal silence of a new york saturday evening.

The consistent footsteps of my upstairs neighbor, reminding me that there are lives I know nothing about happening all around me.

...

And there are more, I'm sure, but those are today's treasures- today's particular collection of smiles.