The Beauty of Different

A year ago, I visited Bright Sky Press here in Houston and was immediately captivated by a particular book on display: The Beauty of Different by Karen Walrond. One glance at the cover, and I knew the book would be a wonderful experience. I didn't get a copy at the time, but a month or so ago, after loudly announcing how intrigued I had been by the cover and the title, I snagged a copy of my own. 

I wasn't disappointed. I love anything slightly off the beaten path and insist on finding the beauty in things most people sneer at. Someone has to buy the misshapen pears at the supermarket. Someone has to root for the villain, right?  Some might call me a contrarian, but after reading The Beauty of Different, I'd say I'm in good company. Walrond tells the stories of eight ordinary extraordinary people, weaving her own history into the mix with words and gorgeous photography.

I'm a sucker for beautiful books, so at one glance, I knew I would enjoy this one.  I felt like going out and conducting my own interviews after reading the stories of these people—their passions, their motivations, their heartbreaks, their unapologetic authenticity, and their creativity. Their stories don't make them seem like pristine, perfect people who I could never be like. They are unique human beings who put one foot in front of the other and make things happen outside the status quo. In short, they are the kind of people I want to be.

I'll freely admit that I liked the book largely because Walrond echoes my own world views on inclusiveness, spirituality, travel, authenticity, and life in general. It feels like a book I could have written, but my version would pale in comparison, devoid as it would be of Walrond's lovely photos. The imagery and her curious approach to lofty subject matter make every topic extremely accessible to any reader. I would recommend it to anyone, not just because her perspective resonates with me, but because her photography will captivate most everyone.

The book teems with insight and lovely phrases, but it certainly isn't the best writing I've ever read. Despite that, as a whole, physical book, it beats most bestsellers on the market today. This isn't a classic novel, after all.  It's a book from the heart, full of meaning and earnest sentiment.  Most of its effectiveness comes from the careful combination of words and photos. Even if you never actually read the book, you won't regret the moments you spend luxuriating in Walrond's stunning images and colors. The book is a complete, satisfying package.   

I feel like I found a friend in Karen Walrond, like I want to meet her friends and encourage her as she continues to pursue a creative life of writing and photography—a second life for her after a decade as an attorney. I sit here, a writer and musician who has only recently chosen to leap from full-time corporate to full-time creative, and from this place, I'd characterize my reaction to the book as jealousy.  Yes, definitely jealousy.  I wouldn't take anything Walrond has away from her, but I certainly would like a taste of it. Things to come… methinks. 

As all good books should, The Beauty of Different makes me want to live life a little differently, visit new places, meet new people, and create new art. It's inspiring.  If you need some color in your life right now, pick up a copy. You can find it at Bright Sky Press and at Amazon. And don't miss Walrond's treasure of a website, http://chookooloonks.com. How can you not fall in love with a name like that?

The Battle Is On

Well, I'm at it again.  If I said I was reminiscing about my time bingeing in college, I would be misrepresenting the current state of affairs. For the past two (possibly more) weeks, the binge has been all sorts of ON.  I am not bingeing every day, nor am I eating all the time.  However, most days, I cross the line.  At least three times, I've completely gorged myself—and not on the low-cal fruit and veggie fare that has become a staple over the last couple of years.  I'm veering more in the direction of my fantasies, the ones I never fulfilled during college—the boxes of cookies, assorted desserts, whole loaves of bread, and more. 

I am completely aware of what I am doing as I do it. I know I'm eating too much, and I usually embark on the binge when not particularly hungry. I know that I am using food for the following reasons:

• Reduce anxiety
• Feel comfort
• Gain a sense of liberation from rules and restrictions

It’s a distraction from the overwhelming amount of things going on in my life.  The vast majority of my life is positive and good.  I feel empowered.  Sure, I feel frustrated with my day job, longing to live without the time constraint of a 40 hour work week. But I am taking conscious steps to one day move into full time writing and music making.  I struggle to remain patient as opportunities spring up around me and as I grow and mature in new ways.  Doors are opening, new people are entering my world, and I am uncovering untapped emotional worlds to investigate and unknot. 

These are all positive movements, but movement requires energy. And if I don’t know where I’m moving, it entails fear.  It’s difficult for me to book gigs, which requires facing rejection and dealing with unpredictable (and often unreliable) human beings.  As I deepen my relationships with others, I trust and am let down multiple times.  I wonder if I really am strong enough to continue to speak my truth and be myself out in the world.  Will people like my music?  Will people be annoyed by me?  Can I ask for the time I need at work?  Will I have enough money to live on?

I eat not only to distract myself and feel numb or slightly comforted.  I eat because I’m afraid.

Food is safe.  Food has been with me in good times and in bad.  Now, as I chart new territory, can I leave it behind? I think that, in a way, the food obsession itself is afraid of me letting go of it. 

I will let go; I will move into my new quarters. Until then, though, I seem to be inching my way along, with the food as a crutch to get me through this initial fear and pain. 

Examining old scars, working to make new connections, and walking through doors is scary but necessary. I do not want to stunt my growth any further with an eating disorder. It’s time to say goodbye.

My first instinct in the midst of turmoil is to redirect, to change course, to figure out what I’m doing wrong and fix it.  I used to think (and still often do), “What is wrong with me that is causing me to binge?”  This time, I’m not changing course.  This time, I believe that the bingeing is not an indication that I am on the wrong track.  It’s a sign that I am on the right one… and that I am afraid.

Authentic Discomfort

Sitting down to write this blog entry, two ideas come to mind:

1. What is most comfortable is not always what is most authentic.
2. We must push our limits to figure out what is best for us.

I’ll start with number one.  Just because something comes easily does not mean it accurately represents who we are.  There are many things I do, not because they are true self expressions, but because I’ve learned that they are means to be accepted and get rewards.  It basically amounts to rerouting my desires to please other people. 

Society teaches us that to be successful, we must adhere to certain social mores or participate in particular activities so that others will accept and promote us.  Because of this, many of us have trained ourselves—since childhood usually—to say what we think others will like rather than what we truly feel.  Even if we don’t want to do X activity, if someone says we must and that it won’t hurt anyone, we do it. 

Over time, these alternate responses overshadow our natural inclinations.  For people with eating disorders, this can mean always choosing the “good” food rather than what we are really craving.  Often, the decision to select the “good” food or the “healthiest” food on the menu is so engrained that we don’t even think we want anything else.  Many anorexics (including myself) say quite honestly, “But I don’t LIKE cookies,” or, “I don’t LIKE cheese,” or any other kind of food that might be frightening. They may not realize that fear is fueling these responses.  The anorexic may actually like cookies, but she doesn’t like the anxiety that comes along with eating them. 

It takes time to decipher which foods we honestly don’t like from those that we have simply decided, at some point, are not an option for us.  It’s okay to genuinely dislike cookies, but I suggest testing the assumption of dislike first.

For me, I had to try all kinds of foods I thought I hated, consequently discovering that I actually enjoyed many of them.  I had to face those fears.  Now, I can choose foods I truly like, even if it might be food that scares me a little.  I can usually tell now when I want something but am simply afraid.  That’s an opportunity to push my boundaries.

And so I come to number two.  We have to push our limits to know what we are truly comfortable with.  Sometimes, the most authentic thing we can do is test our own boundaries.  Even as children, we intuitively know that when it’s time to grow, it’s time to push things.  Kids eat too many cookies and learn what is enough for them.  Kids act out emotionally in public and wait for responses to tell them if it was appropriate or not. 

Kids try to climb things they’ve never scaled. They wear impractical outfits and find out later why their mother tried to make them wear layers.  Kids run as far and as fast as they can, eventually learning just how much they can push those limits so that the next time, they can run a little farther and a little faster.

We have to do the same thing.  Again, I’ve demonstrated this with food.  To know what full feels like, I had to eat beyond it.  Of course, when overeating becomes habitual, something is off-kilter, but to reach fullness, a person has to know what it feels like.  Only then can a person appreciate all the different levels of satiation that feel good to her.

To learn to eat new foods, I have to actually try them. To learn what I feel comfortable wearing in public, I have to purchase and put on different clothing.  To refine new songs, I have to play them in public. To learn how to trust, I have to open up to trusted friends.  These actions all feel uncomfortable at first.

Discomfort isn’t always a signal that something is wrong.  It’s a signal that something is happening that we don’t know what to do with yet.  Sometimes, we need to pull back and reach a more comfortable spot.  Other times, we need to try that new thing, sit in the discomfort, and see if we find peace instead.

I know it’s time to push my limits when a little urge inside of me crops up repeatedly, asking me to try something new.  Often, that urge scares me in the beginning.  But if it stays with me, I know I have to try it.  With the eating disorder, the urge may have been to eat a brownie fudge sundae.  In other areas of my life, it was to try a new singing style, to reach a new level of honesty, or to visit a place where I’d never been.

So many things in life are uncomfortable.  That discomfort doesn’t mean that what we’re doing is wrong or doesn’t express our true selves.  Going beyond boundaries is how we find out whether those boundaries are safety guards or prison walls.  Sure, I may eat too much now and then.  Sure, I may say things I regret.  Sure, I may end up going to places where I am utterly bored and disappointed.  But after those experiences, I know how much is enough, what is truly me, and where I feel most alive.  I can also learn to ask forgiveness when my tests infringe on someone else. 

When it’s time to grow, it’s time to get honest, ask ourselves if we are really being authentic, and live in different that reflect our true selves a little better. Stretch yourselves, people!  I’ll be right there with you.