Three years a Mighty Woman!

In three years of paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty
Women, I've reinvented myself--and earned all this bling!
 

Our blades in the water, the Mighty Women waited for the horn starting our last race of the season.

Perched on the edge of bench four in the dragon boat, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. In 30 seconds, I would be paddling so hard I would have to remind myself to breathe.

The horn blasted! We dug in.

I was completing my third year paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty Women. And I have the biceps--and the dragon boat bling--to show for it. It's been a wild ride!

In the past three years, I've reinvented myself. Dragon boating has changed my body, my attitude and my life.

My old life had fallen apart, piece by piece. Although life doesn't offer us a chance at a complete do over, my only viable option was to make a fresh start from where I stood: divorced, suddenly unemployed, broke and trying to find firm footing on shifting sand.

Three years later, I'm standing on firmer ground. Have there been tough times? You bet! That's life.

Am I better off now, three years after the bottom dropped out of my life? Absolutely! I'm happier, healthier, more confident and definitely stronger. We don't realize how strong we are until we have to paddle through challenging rapids with lots of debris blocking our path and threatening to overturn our boat.

But now safely on the other side of a series of rapids, I've learned how strong I am:

• I can learn to become a journalist 30 years after earning my journalism degree, even though I'm twice the age of many of my fellow reporters.
• I can live in 550 square feet for three months without a bathroom, heat or running water.
• If I have to, I can move three times in three months. But I wouldn't recommend it.
• If I am frugal, I can live on 29 percent less salary than I had before.
• If a day seems particularly challenging, I can look deeper to find joy in simple things: walking in the woods, marveling at a sunset or hearing a loved one's soothing voice.

I've learned my limits too. I am not willing to live without friendship, laughter, chocolate or adventures!

On a Post-It note attached to my laptop I've written this prescription for joy in my new life:

Believe in myself.
Listen to my inner voice.
Build the life I imagine.
Reach toward my dreams.

When I'm powering through the water in a dragon boat with my teammates, I'm doing all of those things.

During our final race, I concentrated on my rhythm, my stroke, my breathing, my rotation. It's a big no-no to look outside the boat, especially during a race. But my ears are more easily distracted. I heard boats closing in on either side of us as we neared the finish line.

We had to paddle harder, deeper, stronger than ever before.

My lungs burning, I breathed out an audible "whoosh." Then with my paddle, I reached for my dreams.

Food orgy: curbing the craving

I have a confession to make: I am a food junkie. I love the smell, sight and especially the taste of food. I am addicted to sugar and particularly to chocolate.

I was tiny as a kid and a young woman. Chalk it up to an amazing metabolism, but not to my eating habits.

At my first job out of college, one of my office mates had taken our donut orders, knocked on my office door and delivered my donut. She closed the door and left. Thirty seconds later, she opened my door and said, "I gave you the wrong donut."

I wiped the donut crumbs from my mouth. I already had wolfed down that donut. The wrong donut. Someone else's donut. She didn't believe me.

"You're kidding me," she laughed. "No, really! Where's Julie's donut? How could you eat it so quickly?"

I shrugged. I've never been one of those girls who eats daintily like a bird, gnawing on seeds and maybe a lettuce leaf.

After bearing children, my unhealthy eating habits continued. I began packing the pounds onto my petite frame. In my profound unhappiness with myself, I medicated myself with food. I nearly doubled my weight in 20 years.

At midlife, I made major changes to reintroduce health--and joy--in my life. In the past three years, I've lost about 50 pounds through mindful eating. When I've found myself reaching for comfort food, I ask myself: "Why are you eating? Are you really hungry? Maybe you're thirsty or stressed out. Maybe you didn't get enough sleep." I've made healthier choices, chose smaller portion sizes, eliminated processed food and fast food.

I've worked my butt off by exercising harder than ever. I've paddled a dragon boat three times a week, hiked, kayaked, used a weighted hula hoop, did endless crunches, walked miles of trails. And everywhere I went, I chugged water.

I've dropped five jean sizes. I am no longer consider obese, but now am just "overweight." I feel and look better than I have in 20 years. People who haven't seen me in the past few years don't recognize me.

I was so proud of myself. I'd conquered the Food Beast at last! Yay! Give that girl a gold star. (Better yet, give her a Dove chocolate!) Ha! What a joke!

Early in the summer, I caved and had a Burgerville strawberry milkshake. It tasted so good! Giving in to that temptation opened the floodgates.

The Food Beast began collaring me and whispering in my ear like an evil crack dealer: "Come on! It's only one Frappuccino! It's a really hot day. You've been working so hard. You deserve this. What harm is there in having one? Ask them to make it with skim milk."

As the summer progressed, my food decisions regressed. I've had French fries, Dairy Queen blizzards, even a fast-food burger. I caved to carrot cake, strawberry pie, hot fudge sauce, homemade huckleberry ice cream, brownies, cookies and a s'more made with a Reese's peanut butter cup.

As my annual trip to my doctor drew near, I dug my scale from the closet and stepped onto it.
The good news is that, despite my summer food orgy, I've gained only seven pounds. My saving grace is that I've continued to be physically active.

The bad news is that I've regressed to my old habit of medicating myself with food. Rewarding myself with chocolate or some other craving instead of considering why I want to eat. I've been stress eating like the old me. That scared me. Hadn't I already fought this battle--and won it?

I've realized that my food cravings have not stopped. They likely never will. Accepting that and figuring out how to cope with my food cravings will be a lifelong journey. I am up for that challenge.

Missing the boat

Last night, I missed the boat. Has that ever happened to you?

After working late, I drove to downtown Portland to paddle a dragon boat with my team, the Mighty Women. I texted my coach that I was almost there. Then I ran all the way through downtown traffic, into Waterfront Park and down to the dock.

For the first time in the three years I've been dragon boating, the dock was empty. Not a dragon boat in sight.

Figures.

It seemed appropriate. I'd been missing the boat all day.

I missed the newsroom boat--fellow reporters doing the weekly walk to Mighty Bowl to grab a healthy lunch. That boat left without me because I was on the phone trying to reach a government official for a story I'm writing. Of course, he wasn't in. I left a voice mail.

I'd been missing the boat connecting to sources for stories all week. July is a tough month for an education reporter. All K-12 schools are closed in July. District offices seem to be running on skeleton crews while most of the staff vacations. So when I am looking for a piece of information, quite often the person who might be able to provide that information is out of the office.

So Thursday night as I stood at the end of the empty dock, scanning the Willamette River for dragon boats, it seemed appropriate that I'd missed the dragon boat too. Some days are like that.

I pulled out my phone and called my dragon boat coach, Jeanie.

"Do you see us? We're right under the Marquam Bridge," Jeanie said. "We'll be right there to pick you up!"

Ten minutes later, I was paddling in rhythm with my team, matching the cadence of paddles digging deep into the water at the front of our stroke as we pulled the dragon boat through the river.

As we whooshed along the Willamette, a breeze blew through my hair. I sighed. What a glorious night to be paddling on the river, and a perfect ending to an imperfect day.

Paddles up!

Paring down to the essentials

Why did I keep this bear I bought on a family trip to Yellowstone when I was 10?
What "stuff and junk"  is cluttering your life? 

Opening a plastic bin, I found a little bear souvenir I'd bought on my family's trip to Yellowstone National Park when I was 10. One of the bear's front legs had broken off at the knee (do bears have knees?) and the paint was worn. Why had I kept this memento for decades? I took the bear's photo with my phone and then tossed him in the garbage. Goodbye, Mr. Bruin!

One decision made--and only 99 more and this one bin would be empty. Looking around me at the dozens of bins around me in my storage unit, I shook my head. I was overwhelmed with too much stuff.

How would I ever go through all this "stuff and junk" as my Swedish grandma, Lydia called it? More importantly, how--or why--did I ever accumulate so much stuff?

For almost four years, I've been in a drastically downsizing mode. It started as involuntary simplicity set into motion with my divorce, being laid off at work and then having to sell and empty a large house extremely quickly--a week before Christmas.

I moved five times in less than two years, out of necessity to live within my frugal budget of my new normal. I started with a 2,400 square foot house and continued downsizing, eventually shrinking my footprint to the 540 square feet of Wisteria Cottage, a cute artist's studio with no bathroom, kitchen or heat. It was really cheap and fit my budget. But most of all, it kicked my simplicity into high gear.

The only essentials I purchased for Wisteria Cottage were a mini-fridge and a Luggable Loo--a five-gallon bucket with a toilet seat and lid--for emergencies. Thankfully, I never had to use Loo, but it was comforting knowing she was there, just in case.

In Wisteria Cottage, I would not need a dining table. I'd already given away my best dining table to my friend, Henry two moves before that. I had been using an old garage sale table that once sat in our basement family room of our old house. With the moving truck arriving soon, I didn't have time to Craigslist it. I carried the table to the curb and taped a "FREE" sign to it. Minutes later, it was gone.



Last summer when I downsized to 540 square feet,
I had to let go of this old steamer trunk. These
neighbors were glad to give it a new home.

 

A cumbersome steamer trunk had been a fun antique in my enormous, 90-year-old house, but it would not fit in 540 square feet. I was paring down to the essentials, and the trunk wasn't even useful. It was locked and the key had been lost years ago. It was time for us to part ways. Two young women had moved into the duplex next door recently. I knocked on their door and asked if they'd like an antique steamer trunk. They helped me lug it up my basement stairs and into their living room. Grinning, they sat on the trunk while I took their photo.





This woman was thrilled to help me downsize
by taking this a basket of  dried lavender from my garden

Some stuff--such as an enormous basket of dried lavender from my old garden--I couldn't donate to charity. But I didn't want to throw it away. A woman interested in renting the apartment I was moving out of knocked on the door, so I gave her a tour. She left toting the basket of lavender. Goodbye lavender!

Living simply and mindfully is my new way of life. After four years of paring down my possessions, everything I own fits into my cozy apartment and a 10 x 10 storage unit.

But I still have boxes of stuff I don't need. Yesterday I took a load to Goodwill and spent a couple of hours sorting through boxes of papers and shredding a mountain of old documents. With each paper shredded, each object removed from my life, I breathe a little easier. Never again will I let "stuff and junk" prevent me from living joyfully and simply.

Even after so many moves and drastic changes, I am blessed beyond measure. For the past eight months I've been living in a lovely 600-square-foot mother-in-law suite in the home of friends Michael and Kathleen. Right out my front door I enjoy views of the garden and woods, bunnies and deer. I'm serenaded to sleep by coyotes.

Not only that, my new place has heat, a little kitchenette and a bathroom. I'm using my mini-fridge in my little kitchen. And the Luggable Loo is in my storage unit--just in case. Who knows what challenges are around the next bend? If the Zombie Apocalypse occurs and I need to live in a rustic setting again, I'm ready--and so is Loo!

Tips for paring down to the essentials:

* Keep a "donate" box near the front door. When it's full, take it to your favorite charity.

* Don't keep papers forever. Keep the current month or two. Shred the rest--unless you need them for an itemized tax deduction. Talk to your tax professional before you start a shredding spree.

* Keep your paper shredder in an accessible spot. When you sort your mail, toss papers that must be shredded into the shredder basket. Spend two minutes a day shredding and you'll never have to spend an hour shredding.

* Some people shop as a hobby. If you're serious about reducing clutter, find a new hobby. In my old life, I loved finding treasures at estate sales. In my new, streamlined life, I don't shop for anything unless I actually need something specific.

* Don't bring something home without getting rid of something old. If you buy a new shirt, donate an old shirt you no longer wear.

* It's OK to keep things for sentimental value, but make a distinction between your child's plaster-cast handprint or baby book and a broken souvenir from your childhood.



Little by little, I'm paring down to the essentials.

Maria von Trapp and the debit card

Today I'm counting my blessings. I've been reminded that Good Samaritans still exist. Sometimes I forget how many decent people are out there.

I'm a reporter for a daily newspaper in a busy metro area. My desk is so close to the police scanner that all day long I hear the horrible things that people do to each other. I've been hardened by the constant barrage of reports of criminal activity and the police sending the K-9 unit to bite the bad guys.

A little more than two years ago, before I became a newspaper reporter, I'd been described more than once as having the optimism of Pollyanna. The can-do attitude of Maria from the Sound of Music. Being as unworldly as Laura Ingalls Wilder, author of "Little House on the Prairie." As innocent as Mother Teresa. Some seasoned journalists might argue that I haven't changed much.

But sitting next to the police scanner and being exposed to the widespread ickiness of the world, I have changed. My edges are harder than they used to be. I'm more skeptical, less trusting.

This morning when I met my friend Patty for coffee, I couldn't find either my wallet or debit card in my purse. I'd gone hiking yesterday and had transferred my wallet into my backpack, so I was hopeful my wallet was still zipped securely in my backpack.

But when I returned home and checked my backpack for my wallet, it wasn't there. Then I conducted an archaeology dig in my purse by dumping its contents onto the couch. Aha! I found my wallet in the bottom of my messy purse. But my debit card wasn't there. I took everything out of my wallet to make sure I hadn't overlooked it. Still no debit card, but at least I'd found my wallet.

Last year when my debit card had gone missing, I'd stopped at the credit union to report it. As I climbed back into my car, there was my debit card, on the floor under the seat.

So I checked my car carefully, pulling the seats forward and back, looking underneath the seats, but I still didn't find my card. I wasn't ready to call "uncle" and report my debit card missing yet.

Retracing my debit card's steps, I checked online to see the last time I'd used it. My last transaction was Friday morning when I bought gas. Now it was Sunday afternoon, and there were no new charges on my card. That was a good sign. It appeared no one had stolen my debit card, but where was it? Had I seen it after I paid for my gas? No. I hadn't. It must have dropped out of my pocket while I was pumping gas. But with so many dishonest people in the world, what were the chances I'd find it?

I drove to the Arco station where I always fill up, walked in and asked the clerk if anyone had turned in a debit card Friday morning. Knowing my chances of finding it were slim, I held my breath.

He asked me my name. I gulped and told him.

"Can I see some ID please?"

"Yes!" I said, showing my driver's license.

He handed me my debit card! A Good Samaritan had found it in the parking lot and turned it in.

I thanked him profusely, clutched my debit card and smiled.

I wanted to dance, right there in the convenience store, next to the Ho-Hos and energy drinks. That's exactly the kind of thing to expect of Maria von Trapp.

Don't let obstacles block your happiness

Oh no! Something's blocking your way! What do you do?

When we walked into Mississippi Pizza ready to dance to Kory Quinn's music, I immediately noticed guitar cases haphazardly piled on the tiny dance floor at the base of the stage.

"They should move those guitar cases," I told Kirby. "Someone might trip."

The jumble of guitar cases spilling onto the dance floor was a roadblock to our dance plans. And in a way, to my expectations and happiness for the evening. Should I dance and risk tripping? Or just listen to the music from the sidelines and watch the other dancers having fun?

How do you approach life's potential roadblocks?

Do you carefully map out each step and consider potential obstacles to your success before you move your big toe a centimeter? Or do you leap from the ledge, letting the wind take you in whatever direction it chooses, without a care to potential roadblocks that might stand in your way? Most of us fall somewhere in the middle of these two extremes.

Not long ago, before I moved a pinky, I wrote extensive numbered lists of "pros" and "cons of a decision I was contemplating. I carefully considered potential consequences. After I made my decision, I moved at a glacial pace.

But in the past few years, more often than not, I've stood on the ledge and leaped. I might lick my finger and test the wind's direction, but recent experience has taught me that even if you plan very carefully, life doesn't always go according to plan. Let me revise that last phrase: In my experience, life rarely goes according to plan.

What's caused my philosophy to change so drastically? Having the carpet pulled out from under me and falling hard on my rear multiple times has made me a freer spirit. I'm no longer afraid of falling. I've already done it. I plan less and live more by the seat of my pants. So far, in my new normal, that philosophy has served me well.

If we look closely, any situation is fraught with potential obstacles. If I didn't try something because I might fall down, I'd never have an adventure. There is always the possibility of falling down, especially for me. Last year I fell on porch steps, hitting my head, neck and back and suffered a concussion. Many years ago, while sitting on my sister Judy's slick vinyl couch, I did a nosedive onto the floor. I wasn't even moving and I fell off the couch!

I seem to be much more graceful in a dragon boat or kayak, but put me on land, and I may fall down, hard. Without warning.

So as I scoped out potential obstacles on the dance floor, that pile of guitar cases seemed like a doozy. But I didn't let the threat of tripping over guitar cases or any other obstacles prevent me from dancing. I really wanted to dance.

As Kory started singing one of our favorite songs, Kirby led me to the dance floor. I stopped worrying about that pile of guitar cases and enjoyed dancing. Things went well--for about 45 seconds. I'd completely forgotten about the guitar cases until I backed into them, lost my balance, and dipped backward toward the stage, with my head swooping very low.

Thankfully, although I was mid-fall, my hands were still in correct swing dance position, allowing Kirby to grab my hands and pull me back up--without missing a beat of the music.

Perhaps people watching us dance thought, "Wow! How cool is that? Look at that deep dipping move! That couple dances well together!"

More likely people saw the panicked look on my face and thought, "That klutzy woman tripped over the guitar cases and almost fell over backward onto the stage. Her dance partner sure saved her patootie."

I'm thankful I took a risk. Yes, I tripped over the guitar cases, but thanks to Kirby's quick actions, I didn't fall. We had a fun and even memorable time dancing.

Life is far too short to worry about potentially tripping over obstacles. Don't worry that you might fall. Get up and dance--with gusto! See you on the dance floor!

What to do when life flings feces at you

Sometimes, life flings feces in our direction.

Yesterday morning, the open water source for Portland, Oregon, tested positive for fecal matter. Translated into plain talk: the water is contaminated with poo-poo.

The city announced that residents should boil their household water until further notice. Stores had a run on bottled water--with worried Portlanders filling up their vehicles--from their SUVs to their electric Smart cars--as if it were the apocalypse.

Close. It's the a-poo-calypse.

Portlanders are not alone. If you've lived long enough, you too, may have had had a close encounter with poo. Something stinking up an otherwise perfectly good glass of water. Feces flung your way. Poo-poo stuck to the bottom of your favorite shoes as you make your way through life.

Life is like that. Things might be going great and--bam! The feces hit the fan. It's OK. You can deal with the feces. Life is bound to fling 'em at you.

The trick is knowing what to do when it happens. As the Brits say: Keep calm and carry on.

First, do something that lifts your spirits to get past it: paddle a dragon boat, hug your honey, play with your kiddos, dance with abandon, run your fingers over the rosemary in your garden.

Next, put on your big-girl panties and deal with whatever crap is blocking your way to happiness.

Oh--and boil your water before you drink it.