We're eloping!

Anyone who has ever planned a wedding knows that it can be a little…stressful. When it came to planning our wedding, Richard and I ran into many hurdles. Vastly disproportionate family sizes, asking almost every single guest to travel, not wanting to spend an exorbitant amount of money, complete aversion to most wedding ‘traditions’ and about a hundred other things; this lead to some hilariously out-of-the-box wedding ideas. (All of which I probably would have really done.)

Nine months into our engagement, we still had no idea what we were doing. For a couple of months my brain imploded and I didn’t even think about the wedding. I started to feel disgusted with the whole process. I was not even excited about having a wedding. I just wanted to get married to my puzzle piece.

It was time to tackle the controversial question of what a wedding is ‘supposed’ to look like. Actually, we didn’t tackle it so much as we scratched and clawed at it. Then we started talking about what a wedding looked like to us. After much searching, we managed to find the common thread in our thought. That is when I decided that I really did want to elope. This was shocking even to me. I love parties and I love my family more than anyone can understand. But when I saw it in my mind, it felt right. And Richard wanted to elope too! And then it happened…I finally got excited about planning our wedding! We were not going to have a big, impersonal, showoff of a wedding and we wouldn’t be any less married.

A wedding is a personal thing; to each his own. Cover everything in flowers and serve lobster to 300 people if that is what you want. Or hang out in a barn and drink beer while a country band plays. But for us, a wedding is very intimate. And I can’t think of anything more personal than tying your heart to someone else. Except maybe giving birth and is that something you want a bunch of people witnessing either? That was the real problem I was having. I felt like it was about everyone except us. We were beating ourselves up trying to accommodate everyone and everything.

And so the decision was made. We are going to have a beautiful day together doing the things we love to do. We will get to eat the food we want. We won’t have to worry about where anyone is sitting. We won’t have to do the damned electric slide. We won’t have to stand in unnatural formations with our loved ones for photos. We will spend the day worshiping each other and fully understanding how lucky we are.

We hope you will think of us and send love.

From our hearts,

Jennifer and Richard

Tied down or tied together?

For so many years, I was some kind of gypsy. I would move to a city for some grand adventure (joining the circus, dancing in NYC, touring with theater companies, etc.) and after about six months or a year, the itch would begin. I would find some other place that I ‘needed to be’.

I did not own anything but clothing and a vehicle. The less I had the easier it was to pick up and leave. I rarely worried about furnishing or decorating where I lived. In fact, I once lived in Raleigh, NC without a single piece of furniture for six months. I slept on the floor. No air mattress for me. That’s just one more thing to move with me.

While this life was one that I truly enjoyed, I never felt ‘at home’. And honestly, I was alright with that for a long time. And then I fell in love; real, serious, grown-up love.

And that part of me didn’t die, it changed. I began to understand that the desire to up and leave was fueled largely, but not completely, by a need to escape. I could choose to see that as running away from problems, people, or situations. But what I really think is that I was running toward something. I am not the kind of person that has trouble telling people what I think or how I feel. I believe that when your heart tells you “this is not your path” then you have to listen.

It has never been an easy choice; choosing a new path. Someone always got hurt. Usually me, but not me alone. But as soon as I took the first step onto a new path, I could feel the weight lift. The steps became easier. And before I knew it, I was running.

When my heart led me to Richard, I knew that every good and bad decision in my life had led me right to this path. And I am grateful.

I admit, the itch to get up and go did strike. But it was different. Now I have this beautiful and precious person in my life. I do not feel tied down, but rather, tied together. There was a time when I thought; “If I do not get up and go right now then I am going to burst into a million pieces and I will never get them all back.” Now I feel like all those pieces are safe.  They are in good hands.

Now my desire to travel is fueled by a need to experience the world with someone that appreciates it in the same way that I do. When I want to go someplace, there is not a doubt in my mind who I want to go with me.

I'm NOT supposed to look like me?

I have a big butt. That’s right. And my hips are 40 inches wide. My arms are not as toned as they were when I was a dancer and some parts of my body move independently when they should not. However…

The setback to having an impossibly positive outlook, is that I have a strangely skewed body image. The vast majority of the time, I think I look great. Not in an I’m-better-than-you-look-at-me sort of way. Not even in an I’m-so-sexy-you-can’t-stand-it kind of way. More of a this-is-what-I-got-and-I’m-working-that-shit-hard kind of way. And like everyone else, I have days when I want to throw on a pair of sweatpants and drown my bad mood in ice cream and chocolate sauce.

I am sharing this because a recent conversation got my brain cooking. This was not a conversation I was having; I was eavesdropping. Don’t judge me.

Girl 1: I have to start working out. My thighs are touching.

Girl 2: You’re thighs aren’t supposed to touch?

Girl 1: No!

I can hear you sighing. And then I thought, what train of thought is this conversation going to trigger for Girl 2? How do the things we say about ourselves affect the way other people feel about themselves? Could the flaws we find in our own body be a catalyst for someone else’s body image issues? I had never thought about this. But once I did, I could think of a hundred times that I made a nasty face at my thighs or pinched at my waist and a derogatory jibe slipped out of my mouth.

And then it hit me like an elephant on a motorcycle. Somewhere in the depths of my brain a tiny nugget of truth peeked out. I remembered my catalyst. I was at cheerleading practice in the eighth grade. A boy, I can’t even remember who, had stopped to talk to one of the other girls. During casual conversation he matter-of-factly stated that I had thunder thighs in comparison to someone else. I didn’t even know what that meant. But I instantly felt like I should. And he said it so passively, the way you would say something like "she's got a nose."

I had always thought I had strong legs. Having been athletic as a child, I naturally had larger thighs. I secretly liked flexing them as hard as I could and tracing the edges of the muscle. But suddenly I questioned them. I wondered if they weren’t supposed to look this way. I had images of walking away from a conversation and people silently shaking their heads and say things like “Such a nice girl. It’s a shame she’s got those thunder thighs.”

And now I wonder if some arbitrary comment I had made had ever planted itself in someone’s psyche. It probably has. I feel bad for that.

So here is my challenge to you my friends:

Think before you speak.

And when you think, think good things.

Remember that there are a lot of shapes your body will be in your life.

And if the shape it is now isn’t the shape you want, it’s still yours. It keeps you alive. It shelters your soul. So respect it.

And as a little peek into the eye of the beholder, tear yourself away from the glossy magazine and check out these images of what is deemed beautiful in cultures around the world.

Your long, eleant neck would be treasured in Burma:

Your scars would be revered in Ethiopia:

In Mauritania, your volumptuous curves would the envy of everyone:

Just food for thought.

Are we human or are we dancers?

I recently wrote a paper for school in which I featured a company called TERP Corps. After one night of viewing what this company does, I was a believer. The paper received huge response from my classmates and professor. So I would like to share a few snippets with you.

"It is late in the evening and I am making my way through the crowds on Canal Street. I find the building marked 392 and follow the instructions on the note on the door. Tonight’s experience will be all about following directions.

The elevator opens into a large studio space with colored handkerchiefs hanging from the ceiling. The floor is speckled with colored dots, arrows and lines. I notice the pile of shoes next to the elevator so I follow suit and leave mine in the pile as I silently chastise myself for not wearing socks that day.

As I make my way through the small crowd of smiling faces, I spot the waving arm of my friend Jen Roit. She directs me to have a seat as she continues to fiddle with wires and other electrical things that I am ignorant about.

Jen is the Project Manager for a little company called TERP Corps. The name is a shortening of the name Terpsichore, the Greek muse of dance.  The TERP system allows total strangers with no dance training to perform together in what ends up looking like a completely rehearsed dance piece. Jen has invited me to experience a TERP experiment. Apparently, this is the only way to really understand what TERP Corps does. I am ready for the challenge.

Jen introduces me to Patrice Regnier, choreographer and inventor of the TERP system of movement. She shakes my hand firmly and I sense that her infectious energy seems to have no limits. I instantly like her. As the rest of the participants trickle in, Patrice and Jen walk us through what we will be experiencing. Their friendly banter instantly puts the room at ease.

Then it’s time to get to work. We are strapped up with receivers and head phones and I am suddenly excited. I don’t know what instructions are going to come through those headphones, but I know I can’t wait to hear them. We find a spot on the floor and the experiment begins.

We are all being sent different directions on how and where to move our bodies. Sometimes, we are moving fluidly in unison and other times we are creating abstract figures and lines. The vibe is one of togetherness. I am hyper-aware of the people around me and how they are moving. There are moments when I am instructed to interact with someone close to me. We move together without having any knowledge of what will come next. It is beautiful. There is no music, just a gentle voice guiding your movements. But somehow, it feels like there is music playing.

We end up back where we started and the voice has gone silent. The only sound is the slightly labored breathing of everyone in the group. Then we erupt in applause and laughter. We have just performed a choreographed piece of art without having a single rehearsal or knowing at all what we were doing.

The atmosphere is one of pure, child-like joy. Everyone in the room is all smiles. Someone calls out, “Can we do it again?” Patrice is clearly happy with the experiment. Then they prep us for another one. We fan ourselves and wipe the sweat from our necks, but no one is daunted.

As the second phase of the experiment comes to an end, I watch Patrice’s face as her eyes sweep over the crowd. With her chin thoughtfully cradled in her hand, she smiles a crooked little sideways grin of success. Then it dawns on me, it is not about the execution of the choreography. The choreography is just a tool, not the product. What Patrice and her team are trying to produce is real human connection; social networking in its most raw form.

After a couple more experiments, we take some time to chat and reflect on the experience. Some of the participants are dancers, many are not. But the movements are not so complicated that they would alienate someone with no movement experience. We begin to laugh and reminisce about the experiment as if it were a cherished childhood memory. And by the time I leave, I realize that I have made an honest connection with these people; a true human bond that suddenly seems rare in a world of technological wonders. "


"As I wave goodbye to the group, I find myself hoping I will be in this room with them again soon. I had an unknown hunger for this kind of raw interaction and now that I've had a taste, I'm definitely going back for seconds. "

For more on TERP Corps and to watch videos of the experiements, visit their website:
http://www.terptribe.com/

What's at the end of your rope?

We have all been there. You wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to conquer the day. But quickly it becomes apparent that the forces of the universe are conspiring against you. Your hair won’t fall properly, you’re running late and what the hell is that stain on your shirt?

Take a deep breath.

As your day deteriorates, you can feel your posture change. Your face becomes a crinkled maze of furrowed brows and tight grimaces. And just like your mother said, your face freezes that way. Suddenly, you are surrounded by inconsiderate morons. This makes it increasingly hard for you to be the bigger person and maintain your polite demeanor. Still, you push through and manage to force pleases and thank yous through gritted teeth. But soon you are at the end of your rope.

You find yourself thinking, “If one more person so much as blinks in an annoying way, I’m going to lose it!”  Just then - as if you willed it to happen just by thinking it- someone sets you off.

Take a deep breath.

This person, perhaps unknowingly, has become the mascot of your bad day. As you recount the injustices of the day to anyone within earshot, this person becomes the “last straw”; a dark red cherry on the blighted sundae that was your day. Even if what they did was not the worst thing that happened to you that day, somehow it has become the most atrocious. Because shouldn’t they have sensed you were having a bad day and they should be extra nice? Because don’t they know that you have been dealing with idiots all day and just need someone to demonstrate some manners?

Now stop for a minute, and image you are the mascot of someone’s bad day. You may not even know it, but someone is carrying the image of your face in their head and it is the epitome of all that is wrong and awful. How does that sit with you?

Maybe you didn’t even do anything mean or terrible. Maybe you just didn’t smile when they said “Excuse me” or maybe you bumped them and didn’t say sorry. But if you took the extra 30 seconds to do those things, would it make a difference?

It takes a lot to work someone up enough to really ruin their day. But one simple gesture can be all it takes to disarm them and change the direction of their thoughts.

I recently had a day like the one described above. Except, right when I got to the point where I thought I was going to get real crazy on somebody, someone offered me their seat. It was as if a boiling pot had suddenly been removed from the fire. I could feel my body relax. I smiled and said “Thank you”. And I really, sincerely meant it.

And I realized I never want to be anyone’s last straw. As often as I can, I want to be the one that reminds that person that people have not totally lost their senses. And wouldn’t it be nice to be the face someone carries in their head when they think of how their day got a little bit better?

The Power of Lipstick

I am sitting on the train, following the rules when someone inevitably breaks one of them. A man getting off the train commented on how lovely the flower in my hair was, just before breezing past me and shuffling up the stairs. Although it is wonderful to get compliments, the real reason this is worth noting is because at that very minute I was contemplating “the power of lipstick”.

During a week-long visit with Dancing Classrooms, one of the instructors gently used this phrase to emphasize the importance of feeling professional. She called it, The Power of Lipstick. Since that time, I have been running my own extremely rudimentary experiments with this idea and many that have stemmed from it. For instance, “If lipstick makes me feel more powerful, will people see me as being more powerful?” Or even stranger, “Would someone give me better service if I were wearing lipstick?”

Over the last few months, I have been testing these … theories in a variety of ways. I have seen many of the same store clerks and cashiers during this time, and received mixed results.

One lovely Saturday, I threw my hair in a ponytail and made a trip to the supermarket in yoga pants. But I made sure to swipe on some lipstick before I left the house. At the deli counter, I spoke with a young man that I order my coldcuts from almost every Saturday. After asking me if I wanted to sample anything (for the first time ever) he asked me if it was my first time in the store. I simply raised an eyebrow and said, “I have been coming here for three years.”

Ok, so what about women? Men, no offense, are easily befuddled when it comes to ladies. But would women react any differently?

Recently, as I opened the door to our school and greeted a parent, she immediately noted how nice I looked. I wiped the sweat running down my right temple, tied the laces of my dirty converse sneakers and decided not to tell her I had just come from a wild game of T.V. tag. And then I checked my lipstick. Still there.

I got a grand total of six compliments on how ‘cute’ I looked from moms and nannies that day.

Sidebar: I wore my favorite, super cute dress and NO lipstick the next day and no one said ANYTHING! L

I don’t know what this says about society or sexism or…..anything really. But what I do know is that I have discovered a love for lipstick that I never had before. For the first time in my life, I carry lipstick in my purse. When I put on that lipstick, I am making a commitment to be some kind of fancy today; maybe just a little fancy, maybe full time fancy. Who knows? And I also know that without it, my smile is just as bright and my face is just as lovely.

So would the man on the train still have complimented me if I wasn’t wearing lipstick today? Maybe, maybe not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I would have felt down right adorable anyway.

It's not a wedding, it's a FESTIBRATION!

According to most of America, I am completely nuts. I am a bride-to-be and my whole world should be consumed by seating charts and invitations. I should be agonizing over which shade of lavender our napkins should be. My mind should be slowly disintegrating under the pressure of which dress I should spend a small fortune on. And if that’s not enough to turn me into a drooling, zombified stereotype, there’s also all that competitive and unrealistic expectation to be met.

Sorry America, I just can’t give a shit.

While I experience a wide variety of reactions to my thoughts on weddings and marriage, there are a few that stick with me. Mostly from the people I love. So of course, I wrote about it. After posting these thoughts on a wedding website, it received a HUGE amount of response. So I thought I'd share with you what I shared with them.

A letter to our loved ones.

I have always been a girly girl/tomboy hybrid. As a child, I insisted on wearing a dress everyday to go tree climbing or frog catching. In college I played Snow White at Disney World and lived in a house full of my crazy male friends and worked on cars. I see how this duality could be confusing to some. But for me, it is just my life.

I have always marched to my own beat (which most people couldn't hear). Y'all - my dear family- love to regale each other with stories of my strange childhood antics. But you always do it lovingly and I like knowing you paid so much attention to me as a kid although I didn't realize it. 

So when I announced our non-traditional wedding plans I expected you to say "I knew it. Your wedding is going to be SO cool." Instead, what came out of your mouth blew me away. "What happened to your princess wedding!?" (Cue brain-splatter) 

My WHAT?! When did I plan that?

After much discussion, it became clear that you had been planning my wedding in your head for quite some time. This is not something new to most people. But it is just not what I expected from my motorcycle riding, free spirited mother. Also, I have four sisters, so I just assumed you didn't have the time or energy to do that for all of us. (Color me incorrect.)

We made our plans with a naive thought "Let's have three weddings and that way we all get what we want!" FH wants a ceremony with just the two of us. I want a Native American ceremony with my family. You all said you want a party. And our friends just want to get drunk and have a good time. 

So we are doing all of these things. However, it is HOW we are doing them that apparently has many a panty in a bunch. The ceremony with our dear family is a Native American ceremony and does not utilize an officiant. It is spoken by each member of the immediate family and you pronounce us as  members of the family community together. This ceremony is very important to me and feels exactly like what a wedding should be (for us).

You seem to be coming to terms with these plans, but you REFUSE to call it a wedding. Simply because there is no officiant. We feel that it is so much more meaningful to have you (our family) perform this ceremony than to have someone we don't know tell us we are married. 

So you win Mom, it is not a wedding. It is not a mock up of everything you have been told a wedding is. It is not regurgitated words and jordan almonds. It's our month-long Marriage Festibration! It is a six country adventure to begin our biggest adventure of all. And most importantly, it is what we believe a wedding should be about: us, you, our past, future and the people that make us who we are. I can only hope that when the day comes, you will see the beauty and intimacy of this ceremony and recognize it for what it is. A union of our hearts and our families.

Who do you think you are?

I was a dancer. I was confident and ambitious. I was making it in NYC. I was headed right where I wanted to be. Then I almost died.

In the middle of pre-rehearsal workout, my heart flooded and I stopped breathing. I felt my chest tighten. One of my fellow dancers held me up in a sitting position. I wanted to lay down. I couldn't breathe but I was conscious and I was dying. I was never more sure of anything in my life. These were my last moments. And they hurt like hell!
I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks. Was I crying? My throat started to ache as I tried in vain to pull in a breath. I could feel my heart now. It was beating so slowly. Every beat felt like a balloon growing in my chest.
I squeezed my friend's arms. I remember telling myself that if I held on to her tight enough, I couldn't die. She must have had bruises for days.
Someone in the background was talking to me. Telling me to breathe. I'M TRYING! I can hear Kathy on the phone trying to tell the paramedics where we are. We're somewhere along the Hudson river. It would be 30 minutes before they reached us.
Oh shit.
My arms started to go numb. I dug my fingernails into Afton's arms to try to get the feeling back. My eyes must have begun to roll back because she began to tell me firmly "Look at me. Look at me." I couldn't. I couldn't see. I was losing consciousness.
Damn it!
Then it felt like a lead ball was trying to punch its way out of my chest. This is it. My heart is going to explode. I want it to. Just so it will stop hurting! No way. I can't believe this!
And just like that, my heart started to beat faster. Pumping like I was running for my life. And somewhere in my head, a voice said "BREATHE!" And I did. I took a breath. I was so surprised that I started to take large panicked breaths.
My heart rate slowly returned to a relatively normal pace and I could breathe normally. Every muscle inmy body felt bruised. I could feel the blood returning to my limbs. It felt like hot lava pouring through my veins.
I realized I was drenched in sweat and tears.
I would later be told that I suffer from a heart condition that should have killed me. That if I would have laid down, my heart would have fully flooded and I would surely be dead. I was lucky.
But I would never dance again. My body would never again be able to handle such strenuous physical activity. I'd rather be dead.

It took two years for me to come to terms with this fact. That the career I worked so hard for was gone. In one day, all my years of hard work were swept away. But in mourning the loss of my dream, I found out who I really am. I learned things about myself that I never would have tried to learn before. I tested myself. I addressed things that needed to be changed. I worked on ME. And it was the best thing that could have happened to me.

I know its ok to let life happen. I know that no matter how well I plan, life will mess with me. And I can fight it, or enjoy the ride. And I am really really enjoying the ride. And I like not knowing where I will end up.

Its the ultimate adventure.

Addicted to Chaos

Chaos is present in many forms in every person's life. It is stressful, exciting, time consuming and strange. Some people thrive in chaos. Others crumble and break. And most, walk the fine line of managing the chaos while still holding on to a normal schedule.

If chaos has been a part of your daily life for as long as you can remember, what happens when it stops?Could someone be addicted to chaos? And if so, is that a particularly bad thing?

A recent discussion got me thinking about this. My life has been a whirlwind of chaos. For years I moved from state to state, job to job. Just enjoying life and new experiences. There were periods of great joy and periods of great despair. And then, I started equating change with chaos. And equating chaos with bad things. And the downward spiral began. I would find a new place and have new experiences, and then I would get a desire to move on. Try something new. I would instantly begin to resent the time I was in and long for a new experience.

Somehow, I had told myself that in order for me to try new things or move forward, I had to HATE the life I was currently living. And one day I realized that that is completely ridiculous. I can appreciate the experience I had and move on to a new one. And there doesn't have to be anything wrong with what I left behind. It was there and it was good.

And then I realized, I know lots of people that think the same thing. Its crazy! I know people that are perfectly happy with their life, and yet when its time to make a change or have a new experience, they must be "unhappy". Why? Why would you jump right to that conclusion?

Life is about experiences. It is an adventure. And the desire to have more adventures is not unnatural. And it is also not an indicator that you are somehow unhappy with your life. I would argue that it is the exact opposite. Perhaps you are so happy and at peace, that you feel safe taking a risk. You feel supported.

So next time you get an itch to change your career, move to a new place or have a grand adventure. Don't assume you must be bored or unhappy. Take it as a sign that your happiness has reached a new level and that you are ready to learn something new. Because if you are done learning and experiencing new things, then what are you living for?

What are we learning from our kids?

I am the black sheep.

I'm used to it. I've been wearing this badge my whole life. The odd one out.

When I was a kid, my sisters used to tell me all manner of fibs and fairy tales about my early years. According to them; I'm adopted, I had my brains sucked out through a tube, boogers are parts of your brain that die and fall out, my mom only brought me home from the hospital so I could be a family servant and so on and so forth. (Quick side note: My mother was no help, since her nickname for me was Jenerella. And if I would have thought about it for a minute I would have argued that if my brains had been sucked out through a tube, how could I have boogers?)

I listened to opera at a young age. I enjoyed the ballet. I had imaginary friends. I thought I was a mad scientist. I held elaborate funerals for all of my fish. I was always coming up with new 'businesses' I could start. I used to put on full performances of rhythmic gymnastics on the trampoline. I was a strange child.

And although I was frequently picked on, I am thankful for what others may call eccentricity. I developed an imagination that continues to serve me well. I don't find it difficult to dream up new games for my students to play or to forget my to do list and just play a game of rock tag.

What I do find difficult is seeing a child that reminds me of myself. Kids are so grown up nowadays, that the kids that are imaginative and silly are often labeled as immature. How can you call an 8 year old immature like its a bad thing? Why would we, as adults, chastise a child for being...a child? That just makes us look dumb doesn't it?

The stupidest thing I've ever heard was an adult telling a child to 'grow up'. But only slightly less stupid was a child telling another child that they were 'some kind of weirdo' for asking if they wanted to play knights. Really?

So I decided this would not happen with my students anymore. I talked to them about role modeling and what it means to be a role model. I gave them 'buddies' that I knew they didn't get along with. I let them reward each other for being good role models. I required that every time the class went out of the room for anything, the boys must escort the girls arm in arm. I required that they give me a hug before they leave for the day. I explained the concept of consequences to them. And constantly reinforced the idea that when they choose an action they choose the consequence, good or bad.

At first, it was rough. I questioned whether this was really going to work, or if I was needlessly making my job harder. But after a couple of weeks, these things just became second nature to them. They took pride in being told they were being good role models. They tried hard to set a good example for their buddies and the other kids in school. The boys automatically took the girls' arms when it was time to leave the room.

It was like magic! And slowly but surely, the level of respect among them grew. And continues to grow. The 'strange' kids are strange no longer. We have our occasional rough day or slip up, but they are quick to adjust their actions in accordance with what they have learned.

So this begs the question, if we treat kids with the respect that we expect from adults, could they end up setting the standard for us?

Burn this mother down!

I am pretty easy going. But for some reason, the only thing that can really get me in a tizzy is when I mess up in the kitchen.

I can sit calmly through a fifteen minute subway ride that turns into an hour long trip. But if my scones don't rise properly, all hell breaks loose. Why does this happen?

My fiancee could care less if I mess it up. He always just encourages me to try again. I'm not selling these confections to anyone or giving them as gifts. So why do I care?

I wish I knew! So I told myself I was going to try a new recipe and NOT get upset if it went awry. And boy did it go awry! And I was using a bread machine! Its pretty much a no-brainer. As I sat waiting for the smell of fresh bread to waft through the house, Richard chimed in with "Do you smell smoke?"

DAMN!

I went to the kitchen and sure enough, smoke was billowing out of the back of the machine. I scrambled for the instruction manual. It was pretty close to an episode of I Love Lucy. Richard was trying to unplug the machine, I was telling him not to because we should consult the book. After I confirmed that the book said we should in fact unplug the machine, Richard pretended he hadn't already unplugged it.

Turns out I used a teaspoon too much yeast and the dough had overflowed onto the heating element. The bread looked like one of those volcanoes you make in elementary school. And I didn't freak out. I simply allowed the bread to cool, cleaned out the machine and started over.

But, crap! Had I missed my epiphany? How did I do that? What happened in my brain to keep me from freaking out?

Then I realized, I just understand that its a dumb thing to freak out about. Hmm. EPIPHANY! I am growing up! Its not some deep-seeded issue. Its just bread. And it is no big deal.

Positively irritating?

I have been hearing alot lately that I am too positive.

Yup. My name is Jennifer and I'm a positive thinking addict.

I have a philosophy that if all you focus on is what has gone wrong, then when you look back at your life that is all you will remember. We have selective memories. We can't remember everything. So why would you choose to remember mostly bad situations and feelings?

I won't do it. I am sticking with my addiction. I know that some people find it irritating that I am always trying to find the bright side, no matter how small. A friend once said to me "Can't you just say 'this sucks and I hate it?'" Of course! And I do. But what should my next course of action be? Wallow? Whine? What will that do for me? Will it put me on the path to recovery or happiness? Or will it spin me down into a woe is me attitude?

It may be harder to look for the silver lining, but aren't you worth the work? You get to choose how you feel. You cannot control other people and their actions/reactions. But you can and should take responsibility for how you act and react. Don't get me wrong, I am not claiming to be perfect. Sometimes I have trouble finding the good things about a situation. But I always get there eventually.

My past is riddled with heartache, trouble and misfortune. And it easily could have consumed me. It is easy to point fingers, place blame and give yourself up as unlucky. For years I spouted the phrase "I am so unlucky! I must have done something horrible in a past life to deserve all this bad luck."

But the hard truth is, you are responsible for the path your life takes. When you are given a challenge, it is because you need to make a change. It is because somehow you have strayed a bit from the path you are supposed to be on. And the only way back is to make the hard choice to salvage something good from the situation.

If you ran into a brick wall, would you try to punch through it, or would you find another way around? Trying to punch through requires alot of energy. And will it be worth it in the end? Or are you punching through a wall only to get to a pack of rabid dogs on the other side?

Take a step back and think about whether this is a self-enriching challenge, or a self-induced challenge. Self-enriching challenges bring you closer to your potential. They challenge you to make improvements to yourself in some way. But self-induced challenges are energy draining blocks in the road.

I know lots of people would say, you don't know MY life. You don't know what I have been through. You don't understand. But I do. And I'd be more than happy to compare battle scars. But only in the spirit of reminding myself how I used those scars to move toward a better life.

Next time you run into a challenge, think about whether this is an obstacle you may have put in your own way. And think about what you can learn from it.

I hope that this does not come off as preachy. It is merely an attempt to put some positive energy into the world. And to let you know that you are not alone.

I think you are thinking too much about thinking

'Five things you never knew your friends thought about you'
'What your clothes say about your success'
'How to market yourself to men'

According to these magazine articles, we're really not thinking enough about what everyone else is thinking.

It is not news that we are obsessed with what others think. Humans have always been a little vain. Hell, we created vanity. No other creature in the world even knows what it is. Gorillas don't eat less so their thighs look leaner.

But what happens when we care so much about what other people think that it affects major life decisions?

A conversation with a girlfriend of mine took a turn down this path. She is a fun and wild spirit. A self-described 'black sheep' in her well-to-do family. And she is entering what should be an exciting time in her life. She is considering purchasing a house. She loves the house. It is small and cozy and exactly what she wants. But she believes that her friends and family expect her to have a much larger, more expensive looking home. And all she could ask me was what would other people think about it. This decision in no way negatively affected anyone around her. But she could not get past what other people might think about her choice. The thought of any one person having a negative reaction had given her some sort of social paralysis. This house that she so loved had become a dirty little secret. She had not shown it to anyone.

I tried to convince her that it didn't matter what they thought because it was what she wants. And I could hear in her voice that she was thinking "My mom is going to hate it."

Our desire to be accepted is not unnatural. It is in our genetics. We are a communal species. But if other people's reactions to your choices are the meter for which your decisions are measured, then who is living your life?

Obviously, there is a difference between not caring what other people think about you and not caring how your actions will affect people. So let's be clear about this. I'm not saying to live your life with no thought of the feelings of others. But you must also understand that not every decision you make affects the whole world. And sometimes it's alright to gently hurt some feelings in an effort to better your quality of life. Chances are, in the long run, that the person you hurt will have a better quality of life as well.

You have to live with the decisions you make. I always tell my students, "If you choose the action, you choose the consequence." And that applies to good and bad decisions.

Will you be judged for the decisions you have made? Yes. Someone will always be there to judge.
Will you really care what other people think if you are happier? Probably not.

If you are living your life for someone else, when that person is gone, who will be left with the consequences of that decision? YOU!

Thnx! U r gr8!

As I sit writing out almost 100 thank you notes, the voice of Charles Osgood gently bellows through the house. Watching the Sunday Morning Show is our little ritual. Coincidentally, they are discussing the lost art of thank you notes.

I have long been a believer in the power of the handwritten note. Doesn't it surprise you to receive one? Don't you secretly think to yourself, "Who has time for this?" Isn't your grinchy little heart slightly warmed by the thought that someone else was thinking of you?

So why is this tender, albeit tiny, gesture on it's way to extinction?

As one of my young employees recently explained, "You can just send them a text or something." Really? That doesn't seem like an equally thoughtful gesture. Yes, we have the luxury of an enormous array of communication systems at our disposal. We can let someone know right away what we're thinking, how we're feeling or that we can't be bothered. But that's just the problem.

Its not about you!

When your spouse sends you a text, that's nice. When they call to hear your voice, it's even better. But when was the last time they wrote you a letter? Wouldn't that be nice? Would it totally floor you?

The handwritten note is all about the idea that you are not too busy (or self-involved) to stop and do something for someone else. You're not shooting a text while you simultaneously buy eggs and read a tabloid.

A handwritten note is a teeny tiny sacrifice of time. And in this culture of instant gratification, isn't that a sweet notion?