Real Health Nutrition

I have this sectional sofa in my living room that seemed like a good idea when I bought it 9 years ago.  Now, not so much.  It is cumbersome.  It has limited configurations.  It smells like my pets.

I have been wanting to get rid of it for at least a year.  That hasn’t happened.  I ask myself, why?  Is it:

1. I don’t want to exert the effort to get rid of it?
2. I don’t want to spend the money on a new sofa?
3. I have sentimental attachment to it?
4. I’m afraid of the empty space it will create?

(Or, to get really deep, Who am I without my smelly sofa?)

All though 1-3 are really applicable, I realize that 4 is most relevant.

Empty space equals transition–the place of undressed-ness between taking something off and putting something on.  Transitions are VERY uncomfortable (think birthing a baby).  Transitions make me sweaty, confused and scared.  Transitions make me moan and squirm and curse (still thinking childbirth, here).

Moaning and cursing aside, empty space creates questions.  Like, “What’s up with the big, empty room and no couch?”  Empty space is unsettling.  Like a need that needs filling and me not rushing in to fill it.

That makes me really uncomfortable.

Perhaps a mind shift is needed here.  It is said with any stressor you can:

1. Change the stressor.
2. Change how you think about the stressor.
3. Get rid of the stressor.

Having attempted the first with my couch (I now have Febreze-scented pet urine), and the second (thinking thoughts of gratitude that I even have a couch didn’t stop the assault on my senses), I am ready to get rid of the blasted thing.

So maybe–here’s the mind shift–an empty space can mean something else.  Like hope.  Like promise.  Like a sofa that doesn’t smell like my cat’s butt.

I’ve decided that shoving out the old isn’t so scary after all.  I’m taking deep breaths during the transition.   I’m creating space for something new.

Question:  What “stinky couch” have you been putting up with?  Ask yourself honestly and kindly, “What’s keeping me from pushing out the old?”

Then take action.

Relax during the transition.  Position loving people around you to give you ice chips and a cool washrag and words of encouragement.

And even though the empty space may look like inaction to some, to me it is action.  Imperfect action beats perfect inaction every time.

Post script:  The room sat empty for 3 months.  Then I found not one but TWO leather sofas that are perfect for the space

Remember naps in kindergarten?  At an appointed time the teacher would very happily proclaim, “Nap Time!,” and like dutiful little soldiers, we would roll out our mats and lie down.

We needed somebody kind and warm to tell us to rest.

We still do.  Even my 5 month old grandson does.  When he is tired he is irritable, he pouts, he says things he doesn’t mean (in baby language, of course)  and he is generally not as much fun to be around.

Sound familiar?

Oh, I rest, you say.  I rest when I watch TV, while checking out Facebook, while helping my son with his homework.  I rest while tweeting and eating and reading a magazine.  I rest while driving and talking on my cell phone and learning Spanish from Berlitz.

That, my friends, is not rest.

Rest is long periods of staring out the window in thoughtless wonder.  Rest is feet up in the middle of the day.   Rest is slow, deep breaths.   Rest is a gentle stroll.

Resting is slowing and sometimes full out stopping.  Resting is forgetting about tomorrow or yesterday.  Resting is putting our ever restless mind on pause if  only for a little while.

As my yoga teacher says, we are not human-doings, we are human-beings.

Resting is being.

Remember when you were a kid on the merry-go-round and some big kid was pushing it with ferocity, ever faster and faster?   Everything in your vision was blurry, your stomach churned, your head hurt, and you just plain wanted off because suddenly you realized this wasn’t fun anymore?

What did you do?

You screamed, “Stop!” and you jumped off.

This is the epiphany: merry-go-rounds are fast but they go nowhere.

So I am telling you (and myself) kindly and warmly: Stop.  Stare.  Listen. Breathe. Be.

Have a snack.

Take a nap.

Rest.

Ok, call me cheap, call me root canal phobic, or maybe you’ll just want to call me to borrow my oil of oregano.

Yep.  A simple herbal remedy has saved me $700.  Impressed?  Read on.

To bring you up to speed:  Tooth hurt.  Bad.  Tears.  Throbbing.  Gnashing.  Called Mr. Regular Dentist.  Prescribes the dreaded antibiotic.  (Latin for anti-life!) So even though I am anti-antibiotic, I took the stuff.  I’d like to think it was because I am compliant to authority figures, but that would be self-delusional.  I took it because my dang tooth hurt, healthy gut flora be damned!

The pain stopped. Smiling resumed.

Mr. Regular Dentist follows up– You may need a root canal.  Sends me to Mr. Root Canal Dentist.  Oh, you definitely need a root canal (duh!).

Miss Compliant’s tactic– ignore.

Mr. Root Canal Dentist: Oh no, we won’t let you ignore. ( Phone call.  Phone call.)

Miss Compliant:  OK!  How much will it be?

Mr. Root Canal Dentist:  ONLY $700! (as he pencils in his next golf vacation)

Miss Compliant:  But I really would rather have a new rug and coffee tables!  And I am holistic.  Do you know what holistic means?

Mr. Root Canal Dentist: Does it mean you don’t like spending money on root canals?

Miss Compliant:  Yes!

So I call up Mr. Holistic Dentist.

Miss Compliant:  Is there any way to avoid a root canal–I’ve read they can be dangerous and spread infection to other parts of the body–and I really, really like this brown and teal rug on Rugs.com.

Mr. Holistic Dentist: Well some of my patients have success with oil of oregano.  You could try that.

Miss Compliant: (hope rising)  I will, I have some in my cupboard!

(Requisite cautionary note:  Mix oil of oregano with olive oil otherwise it will burn your mouth like hot sauce.)

24 Hours Later…..Other than having the taste of an entire Italian Pizzeria in my mouth and the urge to sing, “O Solo Mio!”–I feel really great.  Sensitivity down 50%.  Now able to use the entirety of my mouth, instead of a few quadrants.

Score So Far:  Holistics–2   Western Medicine–0  ( I just started keeping score in October)

Moral:  Try the BB gun before you go to the AK47.  Cheaper and a lot less destructive.

Hey, come by in a few weeks.  If this keeps working, I can show you my new rug.

Within us all, lies a critic.  He may be sitting quietly on the back row of our lives furiously taking notes, or in the middle frowning disapprovingly, or right up front shouting angrily and shaking his fist.  Nonetheless, he is there.  And as far as I can tell, he’s not leaving.

The inner critic is a powerful magnet, not unlike the ones used by third graders, who delight in seeing how many things they can get to stick at once.  The inner critic (IC–pronounced “ick!” because that is all he seems to say), delights in seeing how many foibles and falls and flat out failures he can collect.   Rude comments, raised eyebrows, whispers or stares stick too.  Failed grades, failed diets, failed relationships are particularly magnetic.  So are bad haircuts, bad skin days (or years), and being chosen last.  Bounced checks and messy cars.  Lost friends, lost money, lost opportunities.  Jiggly thighs.  Especially jiggly thighs.

The IC says things like, “That was stupid” or “Don’t get your hopes up” or “You don’t have a good track record” or  “You’ll never change” or “If people really knew you, they wouldn’t like you”…..and other such lies.  You know what they are.  You’ve heard them.  Although, they are usually said in first person and sound a lot like your own voice.  Or maybe your mother’s or father’s.  Or spouse’s.  Maybe they all rotate in your head in Sybil-like fashion.

Even though the IC can’t be killed, he can be silenced.  What silences him?  The truth.  The glorious, redemptive, truth.

Sure, you’ve messed up, but you’ve also done a lot of things right. Sure, you’ve lost some, but you’ve also won some.  Sure, you have character flaws, but you also have strengths.  I find it’s not the falling down in life that matters but the getting up.  Get up.

Getting up silences the critic.  Forward action silences the critic.

And if necessary, use duct tape.