The World is My Runway

My inspiration for this idea comes from, oddly enough, Yitta Halberstam. She made it very obvious to me how one carries oneself can make all the difference. (She didn't realize her point while she was making it, but I am firm in my belief one can learn something from everyone.)

My conclusion from her article was that it is not the looks that we are born with that hold us back, it is how we present ourselves to the world. If someone is crippled self-consciously, even if she had been blessed with the best genetics can offer, she will then be less charming, less personable, less attractive. 

If someone doesn't feel that inner verve, then one has to adopt it externally. 

"Why are you so calm?!" a friend snaps. 

"I'm not calm; not by a long shot. My nerves are frayed inside. I just pretend to be calm." 

Like at times when I'm in the car with a dangerously driving date or, better yet, my Hatzolah member brother-in-law; my innards may be clenched to pieces but I smile serenely, unwilling to let him push my buttons, even when he steers with his knees. 

Confidence is less about actuality and more about how one acts. I make a conscious decision to walk with my back straight, my head held high, no matter what thoughts are going through my head. That affectation of security does wonders.   

I have become mistrustful of those who are insistent as to their qualities. "I'm confident," she says. "I don't care what other people think," he says. But from the way they behave, they aren't as confident as they would like to believe they are. 

Never mind about saying it. Just fake it, and walk that runway like you own it. Even if you are just getting some milk. 

Don't plod. Don't slouch. Don't frown. 

Chin up. Eyes strong. Smile. 

And down that runway you go. 

Less Brimstone, More Support

David Brooks cited a letter written by Nick Crews, a British father who could no longer stand to watch the undisciplined lifestyles of his children. He sent them a stinging e-mail, now referred to as "The Crews Missile." 

Captain Crews, while he does have a point, is not completely in the right; being in the navy means dad isn't around to be a father. Then he shipped his kids off to boarding school. My take: What did you expect, Daddo?

Brooks' disagrees with Crews' angle for another reason: haranguing does not encourage change. 

People don’t behave badly because they lack information about their shortcomings. They behave badly because they’ve fallen into patterns of destructive behavior from which they’re unable to escape. 

Crews had signed off his letter that his children should only contact him once they have worked out all their issues. That's not remotely helpful, Brooks says. 

It’s foolish to imperiously withdraw and say, come back to me when you have a plan. It’s better to pick one area of life at a time (most people don’t have the willpower to change their whole lives all at once) and help a person lay down a pre-emptive set of concrete rules and rewards. Pick out a small goal and lay out measurable steps toward it. 

Rabbi Yisroel Reisman once said the age of fire and brimstone ended with Yirmiyahu HaNavi. That's right, Churban Bayis Rishon. That was approximately 2,500 years ago.

 

Children learn from observation, Captain Crews. If a father is never there, what will they learn? Self-survival. Which can manifest as selfishness. 

Human behavior flows from hidden springs and calls for constant and crafty prodding more than blunt hectoring. The way to get someone out of a negative cascade is not with a ferocious e-mail trying to attack their bad behavior. It’s to go on offense and try to maximize some alternative good behavior. There’s a trove of research suggesting that it’s best to tackle negative behaviors obliquely, by redirecting attention toward different, positive ones. 

As an example, if one has an issue with overeating, I would not recommend starvation as a method; rather, replace bad foods with good ones, and eat as much as one likes. Eat apple after orange after banana, instead of chips then cookies chased down with soda. Now that behavior has been replaced by something healthier. Eventually the next step will be to cut back on portion size.

When it comes to bad habits, real change can be achieved only with support. That's the point of A.A.; even when strangers have got your back can one succeed. Crews didn't raise his children, then he is furious at their behavior and decides to cut off contact, leaving them more lost than ever.  

To quote Rabbi Reisman again, he asks why "friend," rayah, has the same root as rah, meaning "bad." Because a friend, a real friend, knows your shortcomings and still accepts you as is. That is why a new couple is called rayim ahuvim—they accept each other as they are, warts and all (initially, that is . . .)

Back to his observation on the end of fire and brimstone, change is from positive encouragement, which is especially needed in today's insecure society. We doubt ourselves constantly, as well as our ability to triumph over our lesser natures.  

Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks explains why Yehudah is the ancestor of our melucha, as opposed to Yosef, the tzadik.

Tamar is the heroine of the story, but it has one significant consequence. Judah admits he was wrong. “She was more righteous than I,” he says. This is the first time in the Torah someone acknowledges their own guilt. It is also the turning point in Judah’s life. Here is born that ability to recognize one’s own wrongdoing, to feel remorse, and to change – the complex phenomenon known as teshuvah – that later leads to the great scene in Vayigash, where Judah is capable of turning his earlier behaviour on its head and doing the opposite of what he had once done before. Judah is ish teshuvah, penitential man. 

In the same shiur about rayim, Rabbi Reisman says that Yehuda sent a goat to the woman with whom he had an "encounter" via a friend, rayayhu. Despite the fact that that incident was not Yehuda's best moment, he was honest with his friend as to the goat's purpose. He could have made up a story, claimed it was a belayed payment for rent, or something like that. But the only way this friend was truly rayayhu means that the friend knew all. 

It was then that Yehuda took the first step toward teshuva, when he has his friend by his side, not his brothers. 

Captain Crews thought he was being his children's pal, when he should have been a parent. He was no friend, in any sense of the word, then, nor is he one now. 

I Will END You

Before I launch into my post, kindly read this article from The Lakewood Scoop, entitled "There is NO Shidduch Crisis—Mazel Tov!" He pretty much echoes my sentiments, although I don't agree with every point. Thanks to Jewish Dating Chronicles for linking it. 

8D8 must be planning to take me somewhere really nice and exotic, I thought, as we cruised past three Starbucks and two hotel lobbies. 

He pulled up in front of 7-Eleven.  

In November, yet.

Why didn't I wear boots?

The Tao of Kermit

No matter what we claim, on some level, we care what others think. From childhood on, we seek to be accepted, even at the risk of silencing our own inner selves. 

Martha Beck fabulously provides advice for how to deal with external judgment. She begins that an individual has a generalized view of what "everyone wants" from them. Then we base our behavior on what this mental panel desires, not how we desire to live. 

Much of my life has been dominated by Everybody Committees that were totally misaligned with my true self. As a result, I did things that held no joy for me, never felt I was good enough, and believed that if people knew who I really was, they'd hate me. Sound familiar? You, too, may live in fear of being rejected by your Everybody Committee if you set out to live your best life. And you know what? Your fear is well-founded.

Each time I've chosen to live more authentically, I've been roundly rejected by my Everybody Committees. There's my old Religious Committee, who will gladly tell you I'm going straight to hell; the Intellectual Committee, who believe I'm a delusional moron; and the Classy Materialist Committee, who cannot believe I wear a plastic watch from Target in publicity photos. All these folks are still alive and kicking (kicking people who don't share their values), yet every cell of me knows that what they think of me is none of my business. 

How to ignore the judgmental expectations of others who should truly have no say? Get a new mental panel. 

If there are people in one's head that ever belittled one, kick 'em out. Now, replace that fresh vacuum with someone who is one's own personal cheerleader, a provider of unconditional love. 

If you don't know any unconditionally accepting people, you must find one. This person doesn't actually have to be alive. Or even human. If you're stumped, consider these candidates: anyone who treated you with respect and kindness when you were little (a teacher, your nana, Kermit the Frog); any author, blogger, or performer whose work makes you feel understood and encouraged; any nonhuman mammal that loves you (in a pinch, a highly affectionate bird will do); your higher power.

For a constant boost, get some Kermit slippers for emotional as well as physical snugliness.

This may sound like a slippery slope to narcissism, if someone needs this exercise to begin with than the ego has a long way to go before hitting self-obsession. Loving oneself is a necessary component to give on healthy affection to near ones.

I began my current Everybody Committee with a possibly fictional Chinese philosopher who died 2,500 years ago.

In order to solidify the selection of one's personal life coach, one has to hang around them as much as possible by association. She explains it in the article better. 

I want you to oust your internal critics, the ones who say you're not good enough, who think you're on the wrong track. I want you to be supervised, all day every day, by people who forgive your errors and believe in your destiny. I hope you try this method of achieving that. And if you think that makes me a bit smarmy or completely insane, go right ahead. That's really none of my business.

Altogether Now

I bring forth examples of fashion no-nos:

A) There was a girl in shul, freshly engaged. I don't think she enjoyed dressing up much. She was wearing a suit that I can still recall clearly in my mind's eye; magnificently structured pink wool; a drop-waisted skirt that fell into pleats; neat bows interlaced at the waist. 

To this breathtaking bright suit she wore . . . serviceable black suede loafers. 

B) A teenager sat next to me during davening. Her skirt was of detailed craftsmanship; made from heavy black evening-ish fabric, it was a certainly charming garment, reeking of quality. 

But the top was a cheap, unstructured, mesh tunic-something with a layering tee beneath; the shoes, inelegant beige driving mocs.

C) In the dead of winter, another female proudly enters wearing a dainty thin purple cotton blouse. And no, I never saw her wear it again, not even in summer.  

Time out. 

When it comes to coordinating, a major factor is tone.

Such as: 

1) dressy vs. casual

2) dressy vs. evening 

3) seasonal fabric weights

To clarify:

A) That gal (or her mother) should have purchased a pair of nude heels. 

B) The skirt was perfect for evening wear, but not the rest. Either it should have been kept for a wedding, or to wear it to shul, she should have purchased a ruffly blouse, which can look very polished, along with a ballet flat of any color. 

C) It is 30 degrees outside; now is not the time for frail cotton. Now one wears cuddly sweaters.  

When it comes to an ensemble, thought must be put into every choice, be it in shoes or tops or skirts or accessories, which can make it a "Two thumbs up!" or a "What was she thinking!?!" 

You Make Me Sick

After a surprisingly unpleasant early Sunday date, I arrived home in a state of weakness. I figured it was psychosomatic as I shivered within my sweatshirt and under the covers despite the balmy June breeze flowing through the windows. Nausea wracked my stomach. I figured that was a reaction to the many awkward moments of earlier that day. 

I awoke in the night soaked in sweat, even though the air was chilly. In the morning my pajama top clammily clung to me; I shuddered as I crawled out from beneath the sheets. All this for a bad date? I wondered. 

My stomach was no more settled as my breakfast threatened to reappear. My mouth tingled as though blistered. I flung myself back into bed and called in sick. 

"Ah," my family said knowingly, figuring it was due to the end of my current short-lived romance. I spent the day feebly fending off phone calls from those trying to give me love advice while I tried to watch Law & Order: Criminal Intent reruns. 

But as the day progressed, my strength came back. The nausea subsided. The chills dissipated. 

Wait a sec, I realized, I actually had a fever!

Or did he spike my drink?    

Oily Hair is Happy Hair

In the humid summertime, I iron my hair for Shabbos to ensure no frizz (maybe just less frizz). 

Usually, by Sunday, my hair looks great—enough oils have redistributed, making my locks shine with health and manageability. However, right after ironing . . . not so much. Even with leave-in conditioner and anti-frizz serum, the ends of my hair are somewhat stiff and crispy. 

Sephora once gave me sample sizes of Josie Maran's Argan Oil. In the pursuit of experimentation, I dribbled a drop or two onto my palms, rubbed them together, then ran my hands through my hair, which thirstily drank up the offered nourishment. 

With literally the amount of a raindrop, my hair now had that shampoo-ad smoothness and "flip"-ability; instead of waiting for Sunday for my hair to look good, it looked great right off the bat.

There are many argan oil-based products for hair and body, as well as the 100% oil itself, available on Vitacost.

In the Science Section (of all places) there was a query as to why some hair types frizz in the humidity. The answer was that hair that is dry sucks up moisture from the air, which eventually leads to frizz. Meaning, the more moisturized hair is, the less it will frizz.

I've recently become aware (thank you, StepItUp) that many hair products have alcohol as the primary ingredient, which actually dries hair out instead of moisturizing it. That's why this 100% oil seems like a good bet.  

Aware Much?

Self-awareness is so hard to achieve. Like when people wax poetic about their divine qualities, but don't quite realize that they have been guilty of hypocrisy in more than one instance. 

"I am so nice. What is up with your hair?"

I thought of this as I read about runners, and their own cross to bear (so to speak). Running, while made glamorous by sneaker ads, doesn't look that pretty in real life. Those partaking of that grueling exercise may feel fabulous, but when they see photos of themselves in action they can't quite believe that energy translates as an image of an unfashionable dying buffalo. 

Sadly — horribly — the list of ways these photos can and almost always do go wrong is wide and deep: Muffin top. Earthquake quads. Wind in the shorts, making it look as if you’re wearing your derrière backward. Front wedgies. Let’s not even get started on facial expressions . . . 

My husband describes looking at his triathlon images as “soul destroying.” “I am their most willing customer, I am so ready to spend big,” he said of Brightroom, which charges $39.99 for four 5-by-7 prints, or $59.99 to download your entire photo gallery from a race. “But then you start clicking through the pictures, and the mortification just builds and builds. The camera pretty consistently fails to capture my own sense of speed. I feel like a gazelle and yet I look like a hippo.”   

Since I try to avoid strenuous exercise, I have not opened myself for that particular brand of torture. But that same premise is applicable in so many other cases. 

I try to be self-aware. But I, too, have failed, as I realize the very thing I mocked I do. 

Tolerance can help; if one permits their vision to be blurred when it comes to others' vices, than one will not be held accountable for such harsh judgement. Then there is always silence; shutting up about one's own virtues. 

That, however, is not permissible in the dating scene; one is pushed and shoved into crowing their own achievements to make oneself more sellable. Since I refuse to view the sacred alliance of marriage as being based on a market economy (the premise of bridal price and dowries has been defunct for quite some time) then I shall stay quiet for as long as possible about my assets.

Walkin' Out With My Baby (Not Exactly Mine . . .)

I have mentioned beforehand that I am a professional aunt, so whatever research I have made regarding the kiddie world I feel compelled to share. 

There is a carriage that I really, really, like; and between the many babies, b"H, I have pushed quite a few over the past decade. 

In terms of getting your money's worth, my vote is for the Baby Jogger City Mini line. 

1) The canopy. No children that I know like to have the sun shining in their faces, and other awnings just don't cut it. This bad boy comes all the way down, keeping your little one cool and protected from the elements.

2) The wheels don't have to be inflated. I have pushed carriages that have wheels that have to be constantly maintained, and when they are full the carriage pushes like a dream, and when they are low it is absolutely impossible to navigate. I'd rather not start. 

3) Folding it is an absolute breeze—simply pick up the cord lying across the seat. Now it's folded. I'm not bothering with a carriage that needs the wheels removed are some other stupidity. As a mother put it, "With the other carriages out there, you need a PhD!"

4) For all these great features, the price is pretty reasonable. For how much a baby carriage is used, and all its convenient features, it's definitely a good deal. 

5) The double carriage has individual awnings, instead of a communal one, meaning each child's sunny preferences can be accommodated. 

6) While this shouldn't count as a factor, I love the colors they are available in. Red, green, blue, purple, orange—kids are supposed to be a convenient excuse for indulging in loud hues. I would want to be able to to take full advantage. 

For the other mommas (or aunts) out there: What carriage gets your vote?

It's Got No Feelings to Hurt

"Laddie, dinna ye think ye'd better visit our Shrieking Tree?" she asked with a smile. It was an ancient clan custom in the old country that somewhere near the dwelling of the oldest woman of the laird's family would be the Shrieking Tree.

When Ian was young, Granny Dunross was the oldest, and her cottage was in a glade in the hills behind Kilmarnock in Ayrshire where the Struan lands were. The tree was a great oak.

It was the tree you went out to when the deevil—as old Granny Dunross called it—when the deevil was with you, and alone, you shrieked whatever curses you liked.

" . . . and then, lassie," the lovely old woman had told her the first night, " . . . and then, lassie, there would be peace in the home and never a body has need to really curse a husband or wife or lover or child. Aye, just a wee tree, and the tree can bear all the curse words that the deevil himself wanted . . ." 

—Noble House by James Clavell

The granny here is giving advice to the young woman who has just married her grandson. For the sake of her marriage, Granny tells her she must always have a Shrieking Tree selected wherever she is; her grandson has the family fiery temper. 

"Remember, lassie," Granny Dunross had said to hear privately the day they left, "if ye want to keep your marriage sweet, make sure this Dunross always has a Shrieking Tree nearby. Dinna be afeared. Pick one, always pick one, wherever you go. This Dunross needs a Shrieking Tree close by though he'll never admit it and will never use it but rarely . . ." 

So wherever they had gone they had had one. Penelope had insisted. Once, in Chungking, where Dunross had been sent to be an Allied liaison officer after he was well again, she had made a bamboo their Shrieking Tree. Here in Hong Kong it was a huge jacaranda that dominated the whole garden. "Don't you think you should pay her a wee visit?" The tree was always a her for him and a him for her. Everyone should have a Shrieking Tree, Penelope thought. Everyone.   

I certainly should allot some poor tree to verbally abuse. Not because I let things out; I hold them in. Genetically, I tend to internalize aggravations, allowing it to wreak havoc on my digestion and blood pressure. While the benefits of catharsis is still under debate in the psychology field, one should have a place, whether it be internal or external, to bring oneself back into control.

One of the biggest mistakes one can do in life is to allow angry emotions to spillover onto those who are innocent of wrongdoing. A bad day in the office can have a man bellowing at his wife, who in turn takes it out on the children. 

It's an injustice. 

Therefore, everyone has to become maivens on themselves. If one is angry, one is annoyed, one is ready to blow, stay quiet. Go for a walk. Think about what the price of "honesty" will be.  

In the penultimate scene from Pygmalion (Act V), Henry attempts to smooth-talk Eliza into coming back. She retorts that he has never cared for anyone, he has absolutely no consideration for another soul, what should she come back for? 

HIGGINS. [arrogant] I can do without anybody. I have my own soul: my own spark of divine fire. But [with sudden humility] I shall miss you, Eliza. [He sits down near her on the ottoman]. I have learnt something from your idiotic notions: I confess that humbly and gratefully. And I have grown accustomed to your voice and appearance. I like them, rather.

LIZA. Well, you have both of them on your gramophone and in your book of photographs. When you feel lonely without me, you can turn the machine on. It's got no feelings to hurt.