Por fin, my first equestrian encounter!

I am a firm believer in staying authentic and true to myself. I know without a doubt that what I value as an expat is establishing myself in this community and coming to know the city that I'm living in. I want to be active and involved. I want to be integrated and appreciated, at least by a few. But I also want to be a wide-eyed child and just explore. There is so much here that I don't get to discover on an average week because I'm busy with school and other activities.

I am thrilled, pleased, relieved, and blessed. Today I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams and longtime bucket list items: horseback riding! I know -- for those of you who know me, it's strange that this was my first time, since I'm from Vermont. But this experience is even more epic because I did it in Madrid, Spain! I'm proud of myself for persevering, because I almost didn't make it out there at all. I'm going to backtrack a little and give you the whole picture.

I was out late last night with some of my new madrileño friends. It was really nice to be out with locals and not be near any fellow Americans - in other words, truly on my own in a foreign city. I felt wonderfully and completely immersed. The beauty of it is that it was all natural and of my own doing - of my own initiatives since being in Spain. First I went to dinner with a friend I made at a language exchange meetup a week prior; later we went to a bar to catch up with a mutual friend and a German girl who's a student in Spain (and has practically flawless Spanish). During dinner, Alex and I laughed so much. It was extemely healing for me, despite the fact that I felt like a 5-year-old because I kept forgetting things and making mistakes with my Spanish. But I don't normally laugh that much with Spaniards, so it was totally worth the insecurity and frustration I have toward myself (I still struggle with the process of language learning...I just want to be 100% fluent already!). But this guy is pretty chill and smiles a lot, which is rare and refreshing around here. It was SO wonderful to be out of the classroom, completely away from the academic environment, to learn naturally and calmly through developing a friendship with a native speaker. These are the moments I cherish because this is what I have always dreamed of and expected from myself when I used to fantasize about living abroad; it wasn't necessarily about the number of places I was going to see, but rather the people I was going to meet and the depth and quality of my relationships with them. There's nothing like international friendships; we all have so much to share with, learn from, and teach one another.

Most of my classmates are gone taveling this weekend. I felt a certain excitement about having Madrid to myself (or feeling that way). Sometimes I just need that kind of space. I was originally going to be away as well, but only ended up stressing myself out a LOT over the last couple of weeks when I was trying to make travel plans. I felt a lot of anxiety and pressure...but what for? Nothing was working out as I tried making plans. I kept changing my mind and still felt unsure about the whole thing. I was creating way too much unnecessary anxiety for myself. At first I felt like I really needed to go somewhere far and exotic, because everyone else was. But then I realized that I didn't have any true desire of my own to do so. I mean, I'm an adult and I'm here in this Master's program pursuing my own goals, no one else's. I'm not paying thousands of dollars to just do what's popular. No, that's absolutely absurd. I want to be my own person and follow my own intuition. There's really nothing wrong with staying local on a long weekend. I can have just as many amazing experiences here in Madrid (or nearby) as the other people traveling in other parts of Spain or even in Paris. And it doesn't take much for me to prove it. The long weekend is half over and I've already accomplished what I feel are some amazing tasks.

One of the first things I needed from this weekend was to relax. I needed a vacation from all the emotions and tension I've built up inside over the last several weeks. I just wanted to chill out and breathe. I need tranquility. And the past couple of days have given me that. The silence of solitude can be lovely.

So before, when I was frantically trying to get a plan together for this weekend, one of my goals was to go to the country and ride a horse. I adore animals and have always, always dreamed of riding a horse. When I gave up altogether on reserving a trip, I thought I would have to postpone the horseback riding idea. Then, I was poking around on Meetup.com (super obsessed with this site), and God took care of me in an instant. There, before my eyes, was the page for a coincidentally brand-new horseback riding group in Madrid! I couldn't believe it. I hadn't expected to find anything right here in the city. I thought for sure I'd have to travel to another town to fulfill this dream. So anyway, of course I signed myself right up for what was plainly God's answer to my tumultuous ride of internal turmoil over the past few weeks. (You have no idea what the stress of planning for this weekend had been doing to me...I felt all sorts of shame and depression about not being able to get my act together and make something happen.)

During the week I didn't think much about planning for the riding lesson because the Meetup page said it was in Madrid. I assumed I'd just get on a metro and find the place fairly easily. But after I got home last night from my mixing with the locals, at about 02:00, I decided I should probably take a glance at the map to see where I needed to be in fewer than 10 hours. And joder, it looked as though it wasn't going to be feasible getting to the riding center by public transit alone. Great, I thought. JUST GREAT. Once again, my plans for the weekend had been crushed. And I felt kind of screwed because it was already so late and this woman who had organized the meetup was expecting me to be there. But I didn't have her phone number or anything...just the messaging page on the Meetup site. So I wrote her a message after 03:00 asking how I could get there without a car and hoped she would see it before leaving to meet me at the riding center.

Needless to say, since I went to sleep so late (or early, rather), I was still exhausted when my alarm sounded. I stayed in bed for a long time, contemplating whether there was any point in making an effort to go out today. I really doubted I could figure out how to get to this place. My exhaustion also made me feel depressed. I honestly felt like I may as well just sleep the entire day away. But then I thought about what it would mean to give up the horseback riding. Even though it certainly wasn't the only day I could ever possibly hope to do it, what would be the point in wasting a perfectly good opportunity? Also, I felt guilty at the thought of just not showing up and letting this woman, Barbara, down. Since she had just recently created the group on Meetup, I was the only person who had joined it and RSVP'd, so far. So I felt pretty much obligated to follow through.

By God's grace, I pulled myself out of bed. I checked my messages and found that Barbara had replied, telling me where the nearest train station was and that I could walk from there to the riding place. I looked at the clock and the map. There wouldn't be time to take a metro to the train and then walk from the train. As I threw on clothes and gobbled down some yogurt, feeling shitty for taking so long to get out of bed and for being in Madrid without any real plans (etc., etc. goes my silly brain), I decided to just take a cab. Fortunately (and divinely so, I'd say), there was a cab available sitting on the side of the main road by my street. Unfortunately, the driver had no idea where this place was, and we had quite some trouble finding it.

I felt awful when we started going in circles and then when the taxista had to turn off the meter because of it. It seems like this shit always happens to me. WHY ME?! I always want to shout out to the world. I'm always having a hard time with stupid, simple things. But this time I was legitimately annoyed because I didn't want to arrive late, miss the class, and have paid 30 euros in taxi fare for nothing (and then have to figure out how to get home after the taxi was already gone). BUT... As I got out of the cab, I saw a woman walking toward me. I looked at her and she looked at me. I think I made it a bit awkward because I didn't say anything. "Alissa?" she finally said. "¡Sí!" I replied. And that was that. I had finally freaking made it. The world hadn't ended.

Barbara was really sweet, and patient with my low confidence and awkward Spanish. She told me that the instructor was actually still teaching a class, so it was perfectly fine that I was a few minutes late. "He's Cuban," she said (in Spanish), "so he's on island time and very laid-back." Did she say CUBAN?! I thought. Holy shit, now I'm REALLY glad I got myself out of bed this morning and made it here!

It turned out that not only is Edgar from Cuba, but he's also very easy on the eyes! You've got to be kidding me, I thought. This day was just getting better and better! But then I quickly saw that he's a smoker. Thumbs-down in that department.

Anywho...the class was perfect. Barbara and I were Edgar's only students at that time, so it was nice and relaxed. The horses were sweet and calm. I was as gleeful as a child when I looked into the eyes of my horse that Edgar gave me. I really felt childlike in my soul when I took hold of the reins and Barbara and I began walking our horses over to where we would be riding. I couldn't believe this was finally happening. My only exposure to horses has been at the Champlain Valley Fair and Addison County Field Days once a year. Seriously, I think that's about it. I just love horses! I admire their anatomy, their beauty, and their strength. I used to diligently draw them as a child. These gorgeous animals have served humans for so long. What a wonderful gift to the world!

I felt real fear when it was time to mount. The horse's back looked very high up, as did the stirrups. I honestly did not believe I had the upper body strength to boost myself up with enough momentum. I thought I would almost certainly fall and either hurt my body or my pride in an instant. But Edgar thankfully helped me up, and it really wasn't so bad! Phew. First step down.

In my first moments in the saddle, sitting up high with no back support and not yet holding onto the reins (Edgar was, from his standing position on the ground), I felt insecure. I again felt that I would fall. But this feeling only lasted moments; after I had the reins to myself, I felt much better.

During the whole hour-long class we just walked the horses in small circles in a little sand-covered enclosure. We learned how to stop, start, and steer the horses. It was all very basic, but I loved every moment.

This one came out the best. Sorry the others are so dark!

Edgar and Barbara were also very pleasant to talk to. And guess what? I asked Edgar where exactly in Cuba he's from, and he said Matanzas. That's the same town where my maternal grandfather was raised!!! I love making these connections. The more, the better. Even though I'm in Spain for now, my goal has always been, and always will be, Cuba. My heart is there, even though I've never physically been, and even though my Cuban blood comes from my mother's side only. One day I will make to the island, and I will conduct the necessary research to learn about my grandparents and their family histories. Their stories must be known and must be told.

I was a bit sad when it was time to dismount and say goodbye to the horses. (I was also nervous to dismount! But Edgar helped me again.) At the same time, I now know that I'm capable of doing this, and I know that I definitely want to repetirlo.

Another blessing God provided me at the end of the day was that Barbara offered to drive me to the nearest metro station! Since I had arrived in a taxi, and definitely wasn't going to go back in one as well, I was a little anxious about figuring out how to get myself to a train station. I didn't know the area well, but I knew it would be a bit of a hike on foot. So I was extremely pleased that not only did I have a wonderful riding lesson, but I also was given the gift of peace about returning safely to the city. I mean, there's really no other way to see it; Barbara's kindness was truly a gift. Looking back on the stress of just getting to the place at the beginning of the day, I felt so relieved that the whole thing turned out so well. God just took care of me completely! Barbara even said that if I come back in the future, she would be willing to pick me up at the station and bring me to the riding center with her. How lovely!

A random tidbit to this tale: Part of my fantasy about riding horses came from the movie Titanic. I kid you not! You know why? Because I've always admired the way Rose continued to live her life after Jack died. I love the scene where she passes in her sleep and the camera moves to the pictures at her bedside, showing all the things she's done despite the tragedy she once knew. I love the picture of Rose on a horse. Something about that image is so signficant to me... It's like, I've had some of the same dreams as her. I know what it's like to be close to death, to even want it, and to come back from that with possibly more life than I ever had before. I have so many ambitions, dreams, hopes, and goals. I may never achieve them all, but if I can accomplish at least some of them, I will feel satisfied. I will feel invigorated, strengthened, and alive. When I engage in activities I have yearned for over a long period of time, I feel independent and capable. I feel like I've conquered the world of my fears and iniquities.

So I hope this entry may have inspired something in you, if you're reading this. I hope you get on that horse you've always wanted to get on, and pull yourself up even when you think you might fall. You'll never gallop if you don't get up and walk...

The Woman of My Dreams

This is going to be my last blog post in English for a while.  Tomorrow I move to Middlebury College for six weeks of intensive Spanish immersion, earning the first nine credits of my Master's degree (or so I hope!).  It's unnerving, exciting, scary, and overwhelming, all at once.  Even though I still have my doubts, I can't help but think that the past several years that have been so difficult for me were all part of God's master plan to bring me here, to the beginning of this most important chapter of my life thus far.

My twenties have been anything but easy and full of sunshine and daisies.  Sure, I have experienced many, many wonderful adventures, met some amazing people, and grown immensely in some important ways, but none of it has been without struggle.  The road has been extremely painful at times; I have suffered from depression, anxiety, E.D., hopelessness, despair, frustration, self-hatred, low self-esteem, and a bounty of other mental and emotional ailments.

College was especially difficult.  I hated most of my experience (at two different schools over 5.5 years).  I honestly only went to college right after high school because I was following the prescribed path that society had set up for me and everyone else in my class.  Looking back on my high school self now, I have so much sympathy for her, and I wish I had had the strength back then to follow my own path and my own heart, instead of looking at everyone around me, which I was constantly doing.  I never felt comfortable in my own skin and I never felt like a valid, substantial individual capable of blazing her own trail.  My classmates were all excited to graduate and go off to their out-of-state colleges and start whole new lives.  Me?  While I was happy to leave high school, I was terrified of the unknown and the big decisions I was faced with, and I did not feel ready or very willing to go far.  I only applied to four schools, was rejected from one, and in the end had to decide between SUNY Plattsburgh and UVM.  I chose SUNY because at least then I could say I was going out-of-state (little did I know then that I would end up attending both schools anyway).

Academically, I did well at PSU during my two and a half years there, staying on the Dean's List every semester.  My perfectionist part kept me in line with two majors and one minor, in addition to leading the church choir back home in Vermont, holding a volunteer position in the Plattsburgh community, and maintaining my part-time job in Vermont as well.  When you look at things that way, I was pretty successful.  Too bad I wasn't also happy.

When I was twenty I started dating my first boyfriend.  He was charming and sweet and everything I wanted.  But before I knew it, the E.D. fire I was playing with at the same time caught up to me and I was forced by my college to take a medical leave of absence for a semester.  This devastated me.  It was already five weeks into the semester and I had completed so much work that I never received credit for.  My entire world changed during this time; I would never be the same again.  I broke up with my boyfriend and it was the best decision I had made at that point in my life.  I could not be with another person while I was engaged in such a deadly personal battle.  I only wish now that I had stayed single until I was at a more stable place in my recovery.  All my relationships after that first one were pointless, wrong, and damaging.

While I was on medical leave, I knew I couldn't go back to PSU where I had so many memories and triggers.  So I applied to transfer to UVM.  It's funny that things played out this way, because amongst all my anxieties and worries during college, transferring to another college had been something I'd wanted to do while I was at PSU (before the medical problems) but never knew how, and thought I could never be capable of doing.  Transferring had always seemed like an overwhelming process.  Well, it's funny that when life itself prompts you in a certain direction, you have no choice but to act.  So when I knew I could not go back to SUNY, I somehow figured out on my own how to transfer.  This in itself was a huge victory for me.  I know it may sound silly to most "normal" people, but for me I'm very proud that I achieved that back then.  At the time, of course, it did not necessarily seem like anything important, because I was doing it to get away from Plattsburgh and simply finish my degree.  I was glad for a fresh start and different surroundings, but I still did not actually care about school.  I was just going through the motions.

I cried on my drive to UVM on my first day of classes.  And I cried every day that first semester.  I was miserable.  Not because of the school, really, but because of everything.  I hated everything about myself and my whole life during this early period of recovery.  I remember just wanting to drop out, every day.  Every day, I wondered if this would be the day I would drop out.  I also remember praying to God to just let me drop dead, just take me out of my misery and out of this stupid world.  I had absolutely zero desire to live.  But my body was growing stronger, so I knew it wouldn't be as easy to disappear like it had been before, when everyone really did think I would die.

It's a miracle that I pushed through two and a half years at UVM, hating the entire experience.  I had no friends there; I just went to my classes and otherwise had no desire to be on campus.  But I know now that GOD got me through it.  His grace carried me all the way to graduation in December 2011.  I remember sitting in my seat during the ceremony, and feeling the tears sting my eyes at the moment I realized how much I had gone through to get to this point.  Even though I picked the wrong majors and the wrong schools, and even the wrong year to go to college, I had made it through and I was finally receiving my degree.  This was really happening.  I was free to go on to something new.

I spent most of my time since college working a paycheck job that I hated because it had nothing to do with me and my fierce heart.  BUT I also learned to salsa dance (and became really good at it), traveled by myself, performed in community theatre productions, performed local gigs and open mics around town, got to know Burlington like I never did before, made more Spanish-speaking friends, attended Spanish conversation groups, started a portrait business, applied to volunteer and mission service programs, made many mistakes and poor decisions, and finally stopped trying to figure out my whole life all at once.

Last summer, after I returned from a trip to Washington, D.C. for discernment with a mission service I had applied to (and was not accepted to), I wrote an email to the Middlebury Language Schools with interest in their graduate program in Spanish.  I initiated a campus visit, where I met with the graduate coordinator and assistant director, and sat in on a class (it happened to be the last week of classes, so my timing in writing to the school was perfect).  I got home and decided to apply, even though I doubted I would be accepted because of how my grades had plummeted from SUNY to UVM, and the mere fact that I haven't taken a single Spanish course since summer 2011.  In December 2013, I was accepted to the Master of Spanish program in the Middlebury Language Schools.

I am 26 years old and I still live in the house I grew up in.  I don't know how to do many things.  The world is big and scary to me.  People are awful and incredible and I often want to be a hermit because of them.  I'm definitely an introvert.  I'm also a singer, a visual artist, a writer, an editor, a lover of foreign languages and cultures, a passionate salsa dancer, an aspiring humanitarian, and a follower of Christ (or at least I try to be).  I don't know where I'm going to go in life but I'm trusting that the Lord will connect the dots for me, as he has already been doing my entire life.  I spent the last two and a half years hating my life situation -- hating my job, hating the fact that I still live at home, hating not knowing what to do with myself or where to go, hating that I should have achieved so much more by now.  I'm 26!  I thought I would already be successful, in some fancy career, living in some sweet apartment in a big city, being super confident and using all my artistic skills to their fullest and not wasting a moment.

Well it sure as hell felt like I was wasting countless moments.  But it only felt that way.  See, the truth is, none of it was for nothing.  Now that I'm about to embark on this truly special opportunity with Middlebury, the pieces are all coming together for me.

That job I hated?

1. I did make some really great connections and friends, which is always important in life.  These people quickly understood my free-spirited nature and longing to spread my wings, and I sincerely appreciate all their encouragement and support along the way.
2. I made MONEY -- first, to travel to figure out what I wanted and didn't want -- and now for school (for which I've already had many expenses).
3. I made major steps in PERSONAL GROWTH from all the skills I learned and the people I had to interact with in that particular environment.  Those skills are coming with me to Middlebury and abroad!

Living at home as an adult?

1. The obvious: I SAVED A SH*TLOAD OF MONEY.  This is money that I would not have had if I had been living on my own in some crappy apartment like all the other twenty-somethings around here, just for the sake of having my own place.  I would have been scraping by to make ends meet every month, and I would most likely NOT have been able to go to school simply due to lack of startup funds.
2. I chose not to arbitrarily move into an apartment in Burlington just to be near the job I hated because I already knew all along that I did not want to stay in that job or in Vermont.  I have felt called to make important change in the world all my life, and I want to do this on an international level, not by living in the same cozy little place and working a 9-5 just because it's all convenient (or the norm).  It's fine for some people, but if I can help it, I want to avoid this lifestyle at all costs for myself -- at least, at this point in time.  So I took my time figuring out what I wanted to do, all the while considering my living situation as temporary.  It's been challenging to overcome my shame or feeling badly about it, but when I look at the bigger picture I know that I'm okay :).
3. Flexibility, Support, and Independence.  Even though I didn't know where I was aiming or what I was really doing in the long run, during this temporary in-between time I organically created a schedule and lifestyle that provided the flexibility I needed to explore my options in life.  I couldn't be nailed down by a full-time office job schedule.  So I worked per diem, creating my work schedule around my life goals and interests.  Living at home also provided the support I needed to do this, both economically and emotionally.  My family has been great about giving me this option so that I can "figure out what to do with my life"!  I also have enjoyed some much-needed independence; taking vacations by myself has been a huge blessing in this department, and already living at home means I had the money to do this.  My "me" time is sacred -- I am a naturally solitary person.
4. I am seeing and spending time with my family by living with them.  This is important because I likely will not have this time again, or at least not as much of it.  I am very close with them, but I have always known I wanted to get out and see the world, and have a constantly moving lifestyle.  I don't want to settle down.  I want my work to take me around the country and around the world.  I want to BE the change I want to see.

Many days have felt mundane, bleak, and repetitive, but God has taught me over the last few years that following your dreams looks different than what we are made to believe.  It takes commitment, passion, struggle, suffering, and the very willingness to struggle and suffer in order to achieve our goals.  It has been extremely painful not knowing which path I'm supposed to be on, or how to get to the paths I want, but somehow, I have still been heading in a forward direction (even when it didn't feel that way).  

I am now following one of my many dreams by attending the Middlebury Language Schools: fluency in Spanish.  My desire to be fluent in Spanish has been with me for as long as I can remember.  Cuchara was one of the first Spanish words I learned.  I remember my mother teaching it to me in the kitchen when I was a little girl.  And I remember how I named one of my dolls "Lupita" because I wanted her to have a Spanish name.  The beauty and intrigue of Latin culture and Spanish language is what keeps my beautiful inner child alive, and I cherish her!  I love the fact that when I think of Spanish or anything Hispanic, I see the color orange in my mind, and I think of heat and palm trees and the circular movements of hips swaying in dance.  Spanish and all things Latin make me think of vibrancy, of what makes my blood flow and my heart pump and my soul keep trying, every day, to be the Woman of My Dreams.  

Who is this Woman?  She is the one who walks with her head held high, her back straight, and who carries an agenda she intends to see complete in life.  She's a powerhouse humanitarian by day, a singer and salsa dancer by night.  She never stops learning languages.  She connects with as many people as possible.  She trusts in God and believes His Way to be the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  She paints (literally) the beauty she sees and experiences.  She laughs genuinely and lifts up those around her with the joy and grace she wants them to feel, too.  The Woman of My Dreams has no age; she is timeless, limitless, and overflowing with love and light so that she must share it around the world.  She is reverent and observant, wise to the finite nature of her body and respectful of the unknown.  

She cannot predict the future, so she uses her earthly life to be well and do good.

May we all seek the best of life, strive to do and be our best, and aim to serve God and others to bring peace to this troubled world.

Cameo Ed

March 17-18, 2014

Grief is a funny thing, Ellie.  You can avoid it and it's easy for a while, then all of a sudden it can hit you like a ton of bricks.  I've never experienced this before.  Not really.  It's still so hard to believe that you no longer exist on this Earth.  I looked at your timeline on Facebook at work today, and could have broken into tears.  You were a real, living, fighting, stunningly beautiful girl.  Why, oh why, did you have to die?  I know this sounds a little crazy or whatever...but I hear a small voice say, "It should have been me.  I wish it were me."  And on top of that, your killer makes cameo appearances even now.

He came to me in the dressing room, Ellie.  The same dressing room as before.  (Well, maybe not the exact same room, but the same group of rooms in the same store.)  I'm shocked that he could appear like that, in the aftermath of your death and right when I'm trying to convince the world and myself that I'm all recovered and doing so well.  But yesterday, Ed made me feel awful and embarrassed.  I looked at my body and noticed its shape.  Everything was detestable.  I felt old and wasted.  I felt defeated.  I lost the game long ago, the one I worked so hard before to win.  I looked in the mirror and felt like no one should ever see my body nude -- like I could never even get married because of it.  And this was just yesterday.

I was ashamed, Ellie.  Ashamed because of this strange contrast...  I still remember coming into these dressing rooms with my mother in 2008 when she was visiting me at school and I had to get new clothes because nothing fit anymore.  I remember taking off my shirt and being very aware that my mother was behind me, seeing the bones trying to poke through my skin and feeling who knows what in her heart.  I remember what we bought.  She bought me a dark blue robe, fuschia slippers, and two sets of pajamas -- because I needed them.  There were fleece turquoise pants with blue polka dots and a matching turquoise waffle shirt, as well as a red waffle top with red longjohn pants that had white snowflakes on them.  They were the smallest size, of course.  I was excited to have warm, comfy clothes that fit.  I felt loved, but I felt guilty at the same time.  My mother sacrificed all her emotions -- all her anger, her concern, her helplessness, her sadness, her horror -- to provide for me, her daughter.

I remember crying inside.  Even in my sickness, I still had the Old Me inside that knew how much Ed was not only hurting me, but hurting my mother.  Yet I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she was still willing to put clothes on my back, even though she was angry with me for my disease and obviously didn't want me to be wearing that size.  I didn't know what to do with this concoction of strange emotions.  I felt lonely, sad, and scared.  But I didn't want to let Ed go, either.  (I'm sure you know how this feels, dear Ellie.)  It's pretty much the most consuming beast imaginable when you're in the midst of it.

Ellie, I don't get it.  I still question every day if I'm overweight and should do something about it.  But I keep striving to be positive, assertive, and forward-moving (away from all things Ed).  The food thing is kind of ambiguous right now...  I'm not exactly healthy, but I'm not in any danger either.  I'm just kind of...getting by, I guess.  But I don't move enough.  Ed still tells me that I'm fat no matter what -- that my body shape is just BIG and unattractive and not fucking good enough.  I should be exercising like mad, every day.  I'm lazy.  I remember the weight that the doctors all said I should be, based on my height, when I was thin.  Obviously, back then they were trying to get me to gain weight, but even at the time I thought the number they told me was too low.  I had never naturally been that weight in all of my adult life.  I do look good at that weight, but I'd have to eat a very precise, rationed amount per day in order to maintain it.  I felt so much pressure and angst when they told me that number -- like it was easier to be underweight than try to be that perfect, ideal number they all mentioned (based off some stupid calculation of pounds per inch!).

Now the scale in my closet is collecting dust.  I'm definitely going to get rid of it because you know what?  It serves me no purpose.  I prefer to assess myself more intuitively -- by how I look and feel, rather than by a number that actually doesn't tell me much of anything about my health.  Ellie, I wish you could have known this for yourself.  And by "known" I mean experienced.  I'm sure your brain knew a lot of truthful information, but unfortunately it all conflicted with Ed's voice.

I don't know how much longer Ed will be making these cameo appearances, but thankfully they are so infrequent that he can't cause much damage these days.  I'm still going to walk on your team in Newton, MA next month and raise money for NEDA!  I'm still going to graduate school this summer.  I'm still hopeful that I will have a successful career in changing the world someday, and that I'll have the privilege of doing it in your honor, beautiful girl!  I'll not let Cameo Ed stop me, even if he tries.

Ellie, you know I could go on forever, but I probably should wrap this entry up.  I miss you, wish I could have been closer to you, and will continue to think of you and pray for your family.  Please be with us all who are grieving...

My Body, My Choice (Re-post from my Facebook status)

I wish the "my body, my choice" frame of mind could be applied to reactions to the fashion, diet, fitness, and media industries. WHY aren't women everywhere screaming this at all those businesses who are trying to get money off us by telling us our bodies are not as they should be? Who is anyone to say that my stomach should be flat or my arms should have a little bicep definition or I should have a thigh gap?! It's MY BODY, MY CHOICE. I can freely tell the whole world right now that I weigh considerably more than most female celebrities who are considerably taller than I am, as well as the ones who are my same height. I can also tell you that this is no indication of my health or the world's perception or acceptance of my physical self. So if I make the personal decision that I am okay with some flab and softness and curviture - that I can still travel and sing and dance and make friends and write and learn foreign languages with the body I am in - then that should be good enough for anyone, including myself with all its conflicting parts. If I am squishy to the touch and not hard or compact, that shouldn't be anything that complete strangers in some office building in a big city far, far away can have the authority to demand I change - so they can profit off it. Yes, we'll always want to be thinner. But when you get a second chance at life you kind of realize that truly LIVING is more important. So I refuse to give in to these fake worlds of calories and nutrition myths and diet foods (i.e. chemical shit) and time and clothes. I know my body well - I have been cruel to it and I have learned to respect it. It does so much for me. So if I want breakfast in the middle of the night because I come back from salsa and my tummy feels empty, I will refuel it and not care that it is the middle of the night. If I want to wear a cute dress that bares my flabby arms because the dress is cute and it's a sunny day and I'm young and enjoy smiling at people and feeling pretty in a girly dress, then I will wear the damn dress. I will look the other way when Ed tries to distract me. I will focus on being a beautiful woman - forward, classy, Godly, colorful, musical, passionate, cultural, and downright elegant.

You owe it to yourself
to live while you're alive.
To drink up the flavors of youth
and spread your magic everywhere
To be enamored by the fact that
you are here,
and not mistakenly so.
You were meant to be amazing,
and to know it by the way
you live your life.
We were meant to see your radiance
and feel its warmth touch our own lives,
encouraging our spirits to soar
Until we stop caring about not caring.

You have to give a shit
about yourself
us, the known, the unknown,
the Present,
Because you were put here
in Love.
You have no right to see yourself
as anything less than loved,
created in love, swathed in Love.
There's no such thing as wasting time
Just wasting life
and wasting love.

Dare to spread lies and rumors about your unending worth.
Put on your acting hat
and live a grand love affair of fantasies
that lift you up,
until one day, you realize they were always true.
That you can achieve and blossom
and that your dreams hold value
because they came from you,
a product of Love.

Fake it until you make it.

You can't afford anything less
than your best self
and neither can we.
You, unique, holy, sacred, held
and blessed to perfection
because you are who you were created to be.

Devour every moment that permits your beauty
to seep into every pore
of every being
and every crevasse of every space.
Be so fabulous you might even faint.
(But no need to feint your fabulosity...)

Let us all refuse the tragedy of treasured misery
The petty marathon of woes
The stillness of lackluster perspective.
Let no one keep you in their pigpen
If they cannot cradle you in their heart.

Silence, laughter, breath, water, crickets, stars
Blackness, light
A twinkle in our bodily system
You've got the idea, right?