Turning 40

I lay in bed on the last day of my 30s suffering from insomnia. I listened to my family as they slept. I walked around our apartment in Rome. The minutes crept on and there was no denying it anymore that I was going to be 40 come the new day. This day had arrived a lot sooner than I expected. I had built up this day in my head for a while now, mostly looking at this age with dread and lamenting. In my head, my thoughts went like this, “I can’t believe you are so old,” “How did 40 arrive this quickly?”. “Wait, I haven’t reached my goal weight yet,” “This is not where I thought I’d be in my career,” and so on and so forth. You get the point. I was approaching 40 with feelings of mourning (mostly of my youth), foreboding and unease.

As the sun started to rise, my eyes slowly drifted asleep, I realized that I had been approaching this day wrong. I should have listened to my husband who always seems to be so sensible and mature given these situations. I alone define myself. I alone have the power to make of the moment and feel of the moment what I want. While my age and the lapse of time are simply out of my control, what I think about it, what I feel about it, are solely within my wheelhouse.

So as I woke up, I was greeted with the delightful songs of my kids singing me happy birthday, kisses from my husband, messages from my parents and brother and the sun shining into our beautiful apartment. I was blessed and felt beyond grateful. As I read the beautiful cards my family wrote and sat watching dear friends from around the world sharing beautiful moments of my life, I was reminded of all that I had experienced, all that I had lived, and all that I am.

The expectations I had had for this day slowly released their grasp on me and instead, feelings of acceptance and love embraced me. It turns out that 40 is not that bad afterall. And there’s some relief in knowing that.

Welcoming Spring with a New Look

Welcome to my new site! With spring around the corner, it’s time to refresh, reboot and renew. I listened to one of my favorite podcasts, How I Built This by Guy Raz, the other day on my way home from Springfield. Anthony Casalena talked about how he built Squarespace in his dorm room at the University of Maryland back in 2003. I was intrigued. I started poking around and discovered that his website is much easier and more intuitive for building websites, including blogs, than the service I had been using. I was looking for a website creation platform, or a “publishing platform” as Casalena calls it, that had more clean, modern templates. Finding Squarespace and refreshing my website is a great way to bring in a new season.

There’s something to this notion of “spring cleaning”. Especially living in a cold-weather climate where hibernation tendencies seem to abound, the opportunity to welcome the warmth with a clean slate is especially enticing. How do you approach spring? How do you come out of hibernation? What will you do to start fresh this spring?

The Power of Song

When I play this song, I feel powerful.  If this song is playing as I’m walking down the street, I walk to the beat, with a stride that exhibits power and strength.  I feel like I can accomplish anything when I hear this song.  That’s what a power song can do.  It can reach to your core by empowering and emboldening you.

I like to play this power song as prep for a big meeting, or en route to my company’s headquarters in Springfield.  I crank up the volume and just play it.  I absorb it all- the feelings and images that are created by the music.  I still don’t know all the lyrics.  And honestly, the lyrics are not what make this song a power song for me- it’s the music, the beat, the ability to walk in sync with it and the gait with which I carry myself.  I find that when I play a power song, that I feel more confident, that I feel better about myself and that I can conquer anything.

I’ve had different power songs for different periods of my life. Songs that I listen to over and over again, because they usually help me through a difficult time or inspire confidence. During my senior  year of college it was Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of by U2 and while running the marathon, Remember the Name by Fort Minor provided me with the added umpf that I needed to push through and cross the finish line.

My power song at the moment is You’re Mine by Raving George; what’s yours?

New Year Intention- Letting Go

Happy New Year 2019!  I’ve been anxious leading up to the start of the new year because this year I will enter a new decade. Frankly, this freaks me out! How did almost 4 decades go by? How am I here already? I have so much more to do, see, and experience. As I go down the rabbit hole of questions and self-reflection, my husband gently brings me back to reality. 40 is the new 30 according to him (and the rest of the country it seems). If you can’t change it, embrace it. It is what it is. C’est la vie as the French would say.

So as we enter the new year, there is no better intention for me than letting go.  Letting go of expectations- of what I had expected to achieve and accomplish by now, of what I thought my life would look like and of what others expected of me. Letting go of negativity, toxicity, ill feelings and low tendencies.  Letting go of the small things.

What I intend to do is to embrace the new year with excitement, joy and healthy anticipation.  To embrace the “swerve” as Michelle Obama calls it and enjoy the ride. This is my ride and only my ride to go on so what others think of me is irrelevant.  I will surround myself with positive, well-meaning people who want the best for me.  And I shall focus on the bigger things- the people and things that matter.  

These are lofty ambitions, but a new year brings an opportunity to reassess, reframe and reposition you in your own life.  To make small adjustments to your life such that you can achieve more happiness, joy and fulfillment.  For me, this means letting go and embracing all that life can be in a new decade!

What are your intentions for the new year?

Post-Marathon Blues

On October 7th, I experienced one of the best days of my life when I finished the Chicago marathon. It was a magical day, from beginning to end, and one that I will replay in my mind for years, and even decades, to come. In an earlier post, I discuss my second chance at training for a marathon, a goal that was 10 years in the making. And on this overcast, fall day in Chicago, this dream-goal of mine became a reality. I crossed the finish line with my hands up high in a sign of triumph.  Nothing could take that perma grin off of my face...

...until after I accomplished this goal. After spending the better part of 2018 training and gearing up for this moment, I've spent the last 6 weeks in a slump despite another major positive change in my life (a topic for another day, but I've recently changed jobs). I've started referring to this period as the post-marathon blues and a period for which I was wholly unprepared.

While in this post-marathon haze of feeling down and out, I've had to re-calibrate my mindset and refocus my energy. Here are some of my tips to combat your own post-achievement blues:

1. Don't quit cold turkey.  After running a marathon and training for months, it was easy to stop running for a little while (and my legs thanked me for the respite).  However, I miss running- the discipline, the routine, the feeling.  Even though it might be difficult to sustain motivation, quitting cold turkey whatever you have been working so hard towards automatically lends itself to feelings of loss, both of purpose and of a goal.  So it's best to taper down whatever it is you have been doing, unless you are burned out from it.  In my case, I love running outside so I've been running outside on the weekends despite the cold.  And I just joined an indoor running studio so I can run on a "special" treadmill that is kinder to my legs.

2. Re-focus on other areas of your life. While I loved training for the marathon, by the end, it was all-consuming. I now have my weekends back! I can sleep in on Sundays! I can indulge in a glass of wine (or two) on a Saturday evening. I can spend some quality time with my children and husband. By trying to focus on the areas of my life that I had been neglecting, I've been able to emerge from this slump by redirecting my attention to these areas.

3. Set another goal. I approached the Chicago marathon thinking that my goal was to complete one marathon in my life. In the past six weeks, I've realized that what I miss so much is working hard towards something. And for me, these goals tend to be athletic-related. Having completed one marathon, I'm reassessing the "only one marathon" notion and thinking of training for something else. In coming up with a new goal, I've tried to have fun in the process. I'm also discovering new things about myself and my resolve to compete and constantly improve.

4. Meditate. Doesn't it seem that everything these days can be cured by meditation? You have weight issues, meditate. You feel down, meditate.  You feel lost and unmotivated, meditate.  And the list goes on.  But I just started to meditate (read my post on the importance of creating a morning routine) in earnest and I can honestly say that I feel different when I am meditating.  Even if it's for 5 minutes a day.  So when all else fails, meditate 😉

Have you ever felt low or depressed after having completed a major achievement?  What strategies and tactics worked for you?  Please share your thoughts below!

The Battle with Tech

We are surrounded by tech.  People are obsessed with their devices, from iPhones to tablets to Bluetooth this and that, we cannot escape this thing called technology. On the subway, on the street, in the car, on the bus, at work, at home, on the plane, in airports, in bathrooms, in Starbucks and grocery lines, on football fields, and in stadiums and at concerts, people are glued to their screens.  It’s almost like a zombie effect has taken over our society and all you can see are the masses, hunched over, eyes glazed, emotionless, staring into the ether that is their screen.

Long gone is when you find yourself in an elevator striking up a random conversation.  Or making eye contact with the person behind you in the grocery line. Or exchanging pleasantries with your neighbor.  In our attempts to be more connected, available and up-to-date, we have lost touch with people, places and happenings right in front of us and of our physical realities….

You’ve heard me rant and rave about this before. But here’s why I have a bee in my bonnet. Reading the newspaper a few Sundays ago, I came across this article about how “Silicon Valley Nannies are Phone Police for their Kids”.  You’d have to live under a rock to know the damage that excessive screen time can have on a child’s development.  Recently, there’s been talk that the very people who create, sell and market the use of technology in Silicon Valley expressly prohibit their own children from viewing any type of screen whatsoever.  Now that’s unsettling. But these Silicon Valley types and those with means are taking it one step further and hiring nannies to expressly police and protect their children from screens altogether.

The articles goes on to talk about the hypocrisy of these parents who limit or deny screen time while simultaneously being glued to the so-called criminal devices themselves. They are addicted and need to hire outside help to prevent that very addiction within their offspring.  Now, I get it. If you’re ever out to dinner and look around, you might see that family where everybody is on their respective device, barely engaging in a conversation.  Or you may see a group of teenagers messaging their friends, who all happen to be sitting right next to them at their very table.

But have we taken this all a little too far to now be hiring nannies specifically for the purpose of playing tech police?

And taking this one step further, is this just another way that the privileged will leave those who are underprivileged behind? Yet another learning gap that will have to be surmounted in order to be successful in the future?

It all seems a little preposterous to me.  But, these are the times we are living in.  Here’s what we do in our household to battle what ails us of tech:

1. Limit screen time to 20-25 minutes/ day. They are allowed to watch 1 show on PBS Kids and generally no commercials. There are a few caveats to this rule. Because of where we live, during the warmer months, if the kids play outside with their friends after school or summer camp, no screen time that day (mostly because there’s no time).  The kids happily forgo their screen time to play outside and thankfully, this has never been a problem.  If we are running late in our evening routine, no screen time.  We usually make this up with reading extra books before bed.  If we have any activity that runs later into the evening (an event at school, piano lessons, etc), no screen time.  Of course, we also make exceptions the other way when there is a major sports event going on (Go Sox! Go Djokovic!) or if there is a special I want the kids to watch. Ironically enough, my parents had limited my “TV-time” to 30 minutes a day back in the 80s when I was growing up so I feel OK with using this as the allotted time period.  The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends 1 hour of screen time per day for kids ages 2-5 years and kids ages 6 and above to placing “consistent limits on the time spent using media”.

2. Prefer the TV to a tablet or phone.  We have found that there is something more addictive to a personal device versus something being displayed on the television.  Plus it’s easier to turn the TV off instead of wrangling a device from the kids hand.

3. If poor behavior, no screen time.  Screen time is something to be earned and is a privilege. We are trying to dispel the notion that screen time is ubiquitous with being a kid or with life in general.

4. Do as I do. My husband and I are hyper aware of our phone usage around our children. When I pick up my phone around my kids, I usually announce what I am doing- “I’m looking up the weather” or “I need to check a work email” so the kids know that I have a purpose for looking at my screen. This has taken lots of getting used to but now, when we enter our home, we really make a concerted effort to be off of our phones. It’s certainly not easy and I can vouch that the addiction is real.

What rules have you adopted in your house to curb tech addiction? What have you found to work and not work? Do you have a nanny that serves as a tech police? Please share!

Establishing a Morning Routine

I’ve been all out of sorts lately and feeling out of my element. In one of life’s contradictions, while I love change and embrace the thought of it, with such change also comes feelings of anxiety and instability.  As I began a new job last week, I realized that I had grown accustomed to my former morning routine, my established way of beginning my day.  Now that I am commuting to work (in a car!) more frequently, figuring out a new job in a new role, and adjusting to the limited daylight, my body and mind are revolting.

Routine by definition means “a sequence of actions regularly followed; a fixed program.”

So if you have kids, a job, a spouse, or anything else that gets you out of bed, chances are that you do the same thing every morning.  Whether it’s brushing your teeth, drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, checking your emails, waking up the kids (or being woken up by the kids on a regular basis), taking a shower, these are all simple routines you have probably established and just do without thinking about it.  But when I refer to a morning routine, I’m not talking about just performing these types of tasks.

I’m talking about the deliberate stringing of tasks (whether they are for hygienic purposes or not), that in the aggregate create a morning ritual.  When completed, a morning routine empowers one to begin the day with purpose and intention.  It means waking up at the same time every morning, doing the same things in the same order, on a daily basis.  Obviously there is room for slip-ups or variation based on what is happening in reality, but for the most part, morning routines are performed to bring some calm, control and discipline to one’s life.

As luck would have it, as I’ve been floundering and trying to get my bearings after a week on the new job, the New York Times published this article about best practices for morning routines employed by highly successful people.  Here is a summary (including some of my additional thoughts):

1. Set your wake-up time after experimenting with it.  Figure out what time works for you.  If you want to exercise and do other things in the morning before you need to wake up the kids or go to work, then you may need more time and to wake up earlier (see #2 below).  Change your wake-up time gradually.  I’ve read changing in 15-30 minute increments a couple of weeks at each new time until you get to your desired wake-up time works best. For example, if you wake up at 7AM now, for the next few weeks, wake up at 6:30AM.  How do you feel?  If you need more time, then in a couple of weeks, change your wake-up time to 6:00AM.  And keep doing this until you’ve reached your ideal wake-up time.

2. Make time for what energizes you.  It can be many different things including exercising, yoga, meditation, etc.  For my husband, it’s making a cup of coffee and sipping it gingerly while reading the news and catching up on email.  I’ve noticed that when he doesn’t do this, he is more frazzled.  If you decide to wake up earlier (#1 above), then in the “extra” time you’ve gained, start doing the most rewarding things first to keep you motivated.

3. Create a sleep routine (or a night routine).  The quote from Ben Franklin comes to mind- “Early to bed early to rise makes a man  healthy, wealthy and wise.”  Try to go to bed at a reasonable hour and the same reasonable hour every night.  There is a direct connection between your sleep routine and your morning routine.

4. Adapt your routine to different situations.  If you travel frequently, create a morning routine that you can use while traveling.  Or if your kids have a terrible night, adapt your morning routine enough to allow yourself to feel grounded for the rest of the day despite the disruption.  Life happens, so there’s no need to be so rigid and dogmatic with your morning ritual.  Know the different parts of your morning routine, how long the different tasks take and what is absolutely essential to help you have a better day.

5. It’s OK to miss your routine.  It’s OK to not be perfect in establishing your routine.  It’s like a diet.  Just because you have one slip-up doesn’t mean you can’t get back on track the next day.  Or the day after that.  Remember why you want to create a morning routine and what the intent and purpose behind it is.  And then give yourself a break when you miss it.

I’m looking forward to experimenting in the coming weeks in creating a new morning ritual to bring more harmony, peace and calm to my life.

Do you have a morning routine?  Is there something that you do in the morning that is unique?  I love that Marie Kondo, the author of “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” immediately opens the windows to let in fresh air.

Heroes and Villains

In almost every movie or novel, there is a hero and a villain, a protagonist and an antagonist, a person who saves and a person to be saved, or a combination of any of the aforementioned. The time that I spent fighting sexual violence in conflict with Physicians for Human Rights ("PHR") is marked by this dichotomy. The good versus the bad.  Those who are harmed and those who harm. Obviously, it's not so black and white and there's much gray that resides here. But in the last six months, the hero and the villain of my story of combatting sexual violence have come to the fore.

Today, my hero, Dr. Mukwege, and Nadia Murad both won the Nobel Peace Prize "for their campaigns to end the use of mass rape as a weapon of war". Apropos to the person he is, Dr. Mukwege was in the operating room at Panzi Hospital performing a surgery when he learned of this news.

I met Dr. Mukwege almost four years ago as I started my job at PHR. PHR and its Program on Sexual Violence in Conflict Zones was in deep collaboration with Dr. Mukwege and his Panzi Hospital to create a cross-sectoral network of doctors, nurses, law enforcement and judges to more effectively prosecute crimes of sexual violence. We met in Washington DC in October 2013 as Dr. Mukwege was advocating for more resources and political support for his hospital in the Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It was an uphill battle for Dr. Mukwege to get the attention of the global community for sexual violence and this small region in Eastern Congo, but very personal. As we sat down at dinner, he discussed his motivations, his experiences and his dreams for his country. Here was a man, a MAN, who understood and promoted the rights of women. He understood that women were human, that women were equal, that women were to be celebrated and that women needed to be protected. Why were his views so very different than the men that he was surrounded by? Over the course of the next few years, I visited Panzi Hospital in Bukavu, DRC and met the many survivors who were helped by Dr. Mukwege and his incredible team. I visited Dr. Mukwege in his home and met his family.  He is as authentic as they come. He is real and is good.

But every hero needs a villain, every protagonist needs an antagonist. Earlier this year, I opened my email to find that one of my former interns at PHR was charged with child sex crimes. Joel Davis spent his gap year between high school and college with us in the Boston office of PHR. I had known this young man personally and went to many lunches and walks with him.  I had provided much support, guidance and mentorship to this then-teenager. He would go on to found an organization called Youth to End Sexual Violence. He was granted access to well-known international organizations including the United Nations.  He was the youth ambassador for the highly publicized Global Summit to End Sexual Violence in 2014. He was friends with Zainab Bangura who served as the United Nations Special Representative for Sexual Violence from 2012-2017. We had been in touch over the years. He was my friend on Facebook. We had discussed his pieces for the Columbia student newspaper over messenger.

I couldn't sleep for nights. I read the complaint. It was damning. How did this happen? What did we miss? He claimed to have been subject to sexual abuse as a child. And in this regard, perhaps demonizing him is incorrect because of the cycle of abuse. But it's hard not to do especially knowing full well that he deeply understood the consequences of his actions and the impact he would have on these children's lives. He had studied sexual violence, its impact on survivors.  He had met countless victims of sexual violence (and allegedly was one), both domestically and internationally.  He became a subject-matter expert on sexual violence. He founded an organization particularly for youth and ending sexual violence.  Beneath the disguise of credibility and legitimacy, his actions towards these children seemed especially cruel.

So as I rejoice today about Dr. Mukwege's well-deserved accomplishment, I am reminded that there is still much work to be done to combat sexual violence. I am grateful that heroes exist in everyday life and I am fortunate to have met one of them. However, I am deeply aware that villains exist everywhere as well.

A Second Chance

Yesterday, as my children and husband cheered me on, I finished running 20 miles.  I know that this may not sound like a huge accomplishment, especially for those who are marathon runners, but for me, this was huge.  And my family understood that.

Almost 10 years ago now, I was training for the Boston marathon, which was to be my first marathon, to ring in a new decade (the Boston Marathon coincidentally fell a few days after my 30th birthday).  Three weeks before the Boston marathon in 2009, I embarked on what was to be my longest run to date, 21 miles.  When I hit mile 12, something was off with my shin.  I've always suffered with shin splints so I thought it was my shin splints rearing its ugly head.  Mile 18 the pain got worse.  By Mile 20, I was in tears.  I should have stopped running but I was a novice at long-distance running and I wanted to finish 21 miles.  I barely crossed the finish line, aided by my Dana Farber marathon teammates.  As I got in the car, I knew that something was terribly wrong.  It was confirmed by the doctor the following day that I had sustained a stress fracture in my left leg.  I was devastated.  I had been so diligent in my training, followed the training schedule, trained during the harsh Boston winter, and had nothing but a boot on my left leg to show for it.

Fast forward nine years and I started thinking about entering into a new decade and what I wanted to accomplish before I turned 40.  I revisited my bucket list and finishing a marathon was still on there.  Dare I attempt it again?  With my children older, logistics not as menacing and an ever-supporting spouse, I entered the Chicago marathon lottery with three friends.  The Chicago course is supposed to be flat and it's in October so it would not require training during the winter.  Plus the added bonus of not having to qualify or raise money to run.  My friends and I were selected to run the Chicago Marathon!  I was thrilled but also super nervous.  Now, almost ten years older, would my shins hold up?  I was worried about repeating past mistakes.

I started training in March in earnest.  I decided to ramp up mileage gingerly through the spring and early summer to allow my legs to adjust and my shins to recover after each run.  I bought special compression socks to provide additional support.  I invested in good new running shoes along with an Apple watch (I love it on my runs!).  Also, I started strength training to build up muscle.  One of my friends running the marathon with me had worked with her running coach to come up with a marathon training plan (thanks S!).  I tweaked her plan a little bit to suit my running times and marathon goals.  During this time, when discussing my training with my strength trainer, we realized that I was running too fast during my short runs.  So I adjusted my mile times and ran slower (this sounds easy, but it's not)!  Taking these extra steps and being deliberate and patient with my training are lessons I could have only learned after having experienced failure during my first marathon attempt.

Needless to say, I was a ball of nerves all week leading up to this long run.  I iced my legs every night trying to reduce swelling and inflammation.  I went on two shorter runs during the week and diligently stretched and rolled out my legs afterwards.  I stopped drinking wine and ate relatively well.  I was ready.  My legs were ready.  I was in the zone.

Crossing the 20-mile mark yesterday felt surreal.  I was stronger both mentally and physically than I had been back in 2009.  I was prepared and more experienced.  Even though I suffered the usual aches and pains of having just run 20 miles, it felt good to be able to run across this finish line, by myself and smiling.  And having my children there to see me reach this milestone truly was icing on the cake.  Chicago marathon, it's been almost ten years in the making, but here I come!

Unexpected Grief

Last week, I found my son crying in his bed as he went to sleep. I rushed over to him and tried to soothe him. I didn't know why he was crying and showing so much emotion. My heart was breaking. After much pleading and prodding, he finally confessed as to the reason. Earlier in the night, as he had turned on the light in the playroom, he had seen his late grandmother's eyeglasses piled up in a heap on a shelf. Upon seeing her eyeglasses, it had hit him, months later, that his grandmother had passed away and that he would never see her again.

A little over four months ago my mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly in Delhi, India.  Thankfully my husband made it to her bedside as she drew her last breaths. I brought the children with me so we could pay our last respects for the very important Hindu rituals on the tenth, eleventh and twelfth days that follow the passing of a loved one.  Before, during and after our trip, we had discussed my mother-in-law's death with the kids, what it meant, whether there is an afterlife, and our feelings of sadness.  But it was the sanitized, non-alarming version.

Death is a very difficult concept to explain to children and even more so in our manicured, curated, picture-perfect society.  When my mother-in-law passed away, I was in India. As part of the rituals and similar to a wake, my mother-in-law's body was displayed in her favorite sari for friends and family to pay their last respects. Clouded by my grief, I remembered that a few cousins had brought their young children to the viewing. I was shocked.  I remembered thinking what seeing a dead body would do to these children at such a young age and how I would never expose my children to this.  But the children at the viewing seemed to not be phased by the whole episode. Dutifully they paid their respects and then carried on as only children can do; they played, laughed and had fun.

In hopes to protect my children from discomfort, pain, sadness and ultimately, grief, I feel like I may have missed the mark entirely.  Perhaps the way that other societies expose children to the realities of death, cancer, illness, and poverty better prepares them for the journey that is life. While I'm loathe to talk in generalities, it seems like that there is a culture in the United States of trying to preserve a  child's childhood to make it as perfect as possible.  In the era of helicopter parenting, we fail to see that our children are stronger than we think they are and more resilient than we give them credit for.   From the Tooth Fairy to Santa Claus, American childhoods are marked by illusions of grandeur, magic, and fantasy. Don't get me wrong, I love playing along with the masquerade of Santa Claus, but what messages are we sending children when we only expose them to fiction while simultaneously protecting and shielding them from reality?

So when my son, months later came upon the eyeglasses and made the leap for himself of what these eyeglasses signified, it was a reminder to me that reality catches up with even our littlest citizens despite vain attempts at protection. That while his grief was not immediate or showy, my son had absorbed the meaning and permanence of his grandmother's death and because of this, he was sad and grieving.  And that despite the tears, sadness and grief, my son ultimately will be a little more prepared for life and will become stronger and more resilient in facing our new reality, without his beloved grandmother but with her eyeglasses. And maybe that's not so bad after all.

First Gray Hairs

Today, I found my first gray hairs. It was my reaction to finding these gray hairs that surprised me even more- I was actually upset by it, rattled and shaken. It's not a logical reaction especially as I near 40. So much of my body has changed from my youth- from the loss of definition to my body and the appearance of fine lines on my face to the inability to bounce back after a night out, these are all the new realities of a body that is slightly worn and dated. My father turned gray by his early 30s and it was a look that he carried well. My mother started turning gray when she was in her early 50s. My younger brother has quite a few gray hairs as well. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise. But this discovery hit me like a ton of bricks. In the moment of unearthing these grays, I mourned my youth, what remained of my feelings of immortality, and my impending older age. As I stood there taking in the full weight of all that I felt was lost, quickly I was comforted with all that my body has done and continues to do.  The same body that produced these gray hairs has also birthed and fed two children, attempted to run a marathon and played collegiate tennis.  And the story of my body is not done as I train for the Chicago marathon this Fall. I suppose we all need these moments of humility and reminders of the fragility and brevity of life. It's funny how a few first gray hairs can provide one with that perspective. I'll take all of this with me as I cross that finish line in Chicago, gray hairs and all.

Pursuits of Perfection with the WLC

Last night I struggled to sleep.  I am doing the Whole Life Challengeand one component of my challenge is to get at least 7 hours of sleep a night.  At 10PM yesterday, I panicked. I needed to get to bed by 10:10PM so I could wake up at 5:10 in the morning to make it to my spinning class.  And then I remembered I needed to soak the overnight oats! I ran downstairs, prepared the almond milk, banana, dates and sunflower seed butter blend, placed the oats in a bowl and ran back upstairs.  10:08PM.  Good.  I proceeded to turn off the lights. And then sleep wouldn't come to me. It wouldn't envelope my body the way it does for my husband every night.  I begged it to come, closed my eyes, talked to it, but it just wouldn't listen to me.  It was now 10:30 PM and I was going to miss my target and lose 5 points.  Anxiety took over my body.  I am generally an anxious sleeper especially when I have to wake up early for an exercise class or for work, but now, the Whole Life Challenge was causing me stress.  And thus started the night of restless sleeping and 5:10 AM could not come any sooner.

In my quest to maximize my points and achieve "perfection" in my daily score count, I missed the entire point of trying to achieve 7 hours of sleep a night: to feel rested, calm and rejuvenated for the next day.  The point of the Whole Life Challenge is to make changes to your habits such that you feel better all-around.  Also in my haste to sleep, I had dispensed with my nightly routine of watching a little TV to decompress from the day and reading a book before I turn off the lights.  Tonight will be different.  As long as I feel rested, calm and rejuvenated in the morning, the number of hours I sleep should be secondary.  At least that's what I need to keep telling myself when I lose the next 5 points!  Zzzzzzzzzz......

WLC Warriors

Tomorrow, January 20, 2018, I will begin the Whole Life Challenge (WLC)- six weeks of trying to eat clean, sleep, hydrate, exercise, stretch and be mindful of various behaviors.  I completed a WLC at the end of last year with varying results.  This time, I hope to be more strict with myself, to hold myself to a higher standard and to truly challenge myself.  What I like about the WLC is that it truly encompasses your entire life- from morning to night, the different habits that you exhibit during the day.  Each category, of which there are seven. earns you 5 points. Some categories are all or nothing (for water/hydration, did you drink the minimum ounces of water that you were supposed to? if yes, you get all 5 points.  If no, then you get 0 points).  Other categories are on a scale, like nutrition for example.  You start out with 5 points for nutrition, and depending on the level you have chosen at the outset of the WLC (kickstart, lifestyle or performance), you deduct 1 point for each serving of non-compliant food consumed for your particular level.

This time around, I have selected the vegetarian lifestyle level that means no dairy except for yogurt, kefir and butter, no grains except for rice and corn tortillas, no sugar except for naturally occurring sweeteners, and limited quantities of legumes and nuts.  Oh and 1 glass of spirits or wine allowed per week!  I hope to strictly adhere to this food/beverage list this time around (last time I would have frequent "cheat" days or meals.  The last time I attempted the WLC, I found nutrition to be the hardest category to maintain especially on those days that I ate out at restaurants or attended an event.

Which brings me to my conundrum.  While I want to adhere to the food list and follow the WLC as much as possible, I don't want to be one of those people who makes a fuss when going out and have to restrain myself from the yummy non-compliant foods (bread basket anyone?) while the rest of the table happily indulges in these treats. And we all know that having that person at their table somehow reduces your own joy in eating the said non-compliant food. I have had friends who have shunned social activities both professional and personal during their times of intense dieting/food restriction so as to not be that annoying person. I don't see this as a sustainable way of living and being the social person I am, the six weeks of the WLC would be absolutely miserable if I couldn't see my friends or go out!  I had a trainer last year who suggested that you just don't make a big deal about it. You don't announce you are on any type of diet to the table or are restricting certain types of foods.  You order what you can eat without bringing much attention to what you are doing.  And by operating under the radar, you can hopefully still enjoy company while dining out or attending an event.  So this is the approach I am going to take and if you find dining with me annoying, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be "that" person!

If you are interested in joining our team, we are the WLC Warriors- click this link:  http://www.whole.lc/wlc1801/t/wlc-warriors-52344b8b-7b71-40c0-8661-9dcf54118a8a/join

And wish me luck!  It is going to take much willpower to complete the WLC!

My 2018 Word: STRENGTH

Happy New Year!  Perhaps it's the Aries in me, but I love all things new. New beginnings, new hobbies, new stationery, new goals, new dreams, new years.  One of the meanings of my daughter's name Navya is "new" and that wasn't by accident.  A new year brings with it the promise of hope, change for the better, and the practice of creating new year's resolutions. We can shed the images of our prior selves for the promise of a more improved version. For many this will mean the aspiration of a slimmer, thinner version or a more fit version or a kinder, more relaxed version. Whatever the fix is to improve oneself, a new year allows for time to readjust, re-calibrate, and reassess one's life.

And yet, for many including myself, sticking to their new goal is extremely difficult. I read somewhere that most new year's resolutions fail by February.  February! We start the new year with such gusto and resolve and then life gets in the way, stress takes over, and planning goes by the wayside. And within days or weeks, the first victim is usually our new year's resolution.

A few years ago, a work colleague introduced me to the concept of the one-word resolution.  Instead of creating a resolution that you will most likely not follow, you choose a word to which you aspire.  The process of choosing just one word removes the noise from selecting resolutions that are hard to formulate and keep and brings focus and clarity to your intentions.  Simply put, the word encompasses who you want to be or what character trait you want to exhibit, improve or solidify in the next year.  While the origin of this one-word practice is religious, I've adopted its secular aspects.

My one word for 2018 is STRENGTH.  I hope to become stronger this year mentally, emotionally and physically. I hope to cultivate my inner strength through affirmations, meditation, yoga, breathing, nourishment, laughter and joy. Simultaneously, I plan on developing my physical strength by routine exercise, good nutrition and sleep.  The culmination of my efforts will hopefully see me cross the finish line of the Chicago Marathon later this year!

Do you make resolutions? How successful have you been in the past?  What would your one-word be?

Have a happy new year and thanks for reading!

Enjoying Eating "Dirty" Again

For the past year, there have been many posts about "Clean Eating". While the phrase began as a movement to reduce the amount of processed food consumed, unfortunately "clean eating" now signifies much more.  Clean eating has become a fad diet - gluten-free this to almond-milk that- chia pudding to coconut oil-infused veggies, the whole thing is starting to smell quite rotten to me.  This morning I read a NYTimes articlethat articulated exactly what I have been thinking for some time now.

I've been thinking a lot about food and my relationship with food because I am finishing an 8-week attempt at the Whole Life Challenge (WLC). What NOT to eat has been weighing heavily on my mind.  As part of the 7 "daily habits". the daily habit of nutrition is perhaps one of the hardest for me to control. On the WLC, you can choose which nutrition regimen to follow based on how strict you want to control your diet. For my first WLC, I chose the middle of the road nutrition plan called "Lifestyle" and have been trying to stay compliant with the foods on the list.  These past eight weeks have been consumed by monitoring wheat, soy, dairy, and sugar consumption among other foods. To say it has been difficult would be an understatement. And as a vegetarian, these specific non-compliant foods are especially hard to curtail in a country where the meat substitute is often tofu and the fallback dishes when dining out are mostly carbohydrates covered with cheese. And never mind the hidden sugar in almost everything.

What I have realized over these past few weeks and what this article helped me articulate is that I have been approaching this diet and my food consumption for the past eight weeks (and past few years for that matter) with absolute fear. As I sneaked a peanut butter cup from my kids' Halloween stash this past Sunday after they went to bed, instead of enjoying it, every bite was filled with guilt. As I accounted for my score on WLC every night, I realized that all my reflections were more or less about how I failed in the nutrition category- by consuming forbidden or non-compliant foods. The constant analysis of what I was eating, how many points each transgression costed me, and the effects on the scale, all meant that I have not lost any weight AND felt miserable about food all the time.  And that doesn't sound right or healthy to me.

Food is so much more than just its ingredients (and calories).  Reading this article today, I was reminded of the good qualities of food: that eating food can be pleasurable, satisfying and nourishing. It shouldn't be met with fear of eating this or not eating that.  Food is the center of most celebrations, events, holidays and special occasions for a reason- food unites people and brings people together.  Food has the ability to transport people back in time and let one experience a moment again. Food is powerful and should itself be celebrated, not feared.

In my family, food is super important. My mother is the most amazing cook I know and her cooking has marked most of the special occasions of my childhood.  Her Thanksgiving feasts were simply that, pure feasts of the imagination. And because I grew up in my mother's house with food central to our family, food continues to be the ruler by which I measure my life's moments.  I can still remember an amazing brunch of local cheeses, jams and bread in Germany I had with my college roommates while backpacking through Europe more than 16 years ago.  I can vividly see (and taste) the dinner that was created for my then-new fiance and me upon our engagement more than 11 years ago. I can experience the dinner that celebrated my brother's graduation from his PhD program that was met with much happiness and laughter.  I can still taste the warming, and very pungent, foods my mother gave me upon the birth of my daughter to increase my milk supply. While it was the food that features quite prominently in these memories, the main star was the food's ability to bring people whom I love together and for creating moments of deep connection.  I wouldn't trade any of these meals for the gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free, sugar-free quinoa crap that I found myself eating last week alone in my office.

So what does this all mean?  As I end the WLC this week and approach the holidays, for me, I will take from "clean eating" what it was meant to be initially- to try to eat pure ingredients, food how it was meant to be eaten before Big Food manufacturers started spraying everything with chemicals or re-configuring ingredients for taste or longevity.  But that's where I will leave clean eating and any "fear" of my food.  I will rejoice in the qualities of food that are good, nourishing and bring people together, and enjoy the upcoming holidays, even if it means eating "dirty". And when I am in Paris in a few weeks, you can be sure to find me at the local patisserie, indulging, and finally enjoying, that chocolate croissant.

Finding My Forgotten Self

On Sunday, while my son took his tennis lesson on the court next to me, I played tennis for the first time in ages. Thankfully, the boy who shares lessons with my son has a father who is a good, consistent player. So after a few years of talking about playing tennis with him (we've been frequenting the same club since Kabir was 4.5 yrs), we took the opportunity to play tennis while our sons took their lesson. Playing tennis felt amazing. I was rusty, my shots were not as crisp as they once were, my backhand certainly needed some help and I was not able to chase down the balls like I used to. But it never ceases to amaze me what the mind and body remember- strokes, moves, reflexes that took years to develop came back effortlessly. I was having fun. As I hit a forehand down the line, I had a flashback to freshmen year in college where my forehand winner cinched the match for my doubles partner and me. I smiled as I hit the next ball. We continued playing until our sons' lesson came to an end. I left the court on Cloud 9, beaming and happy.

On Monday, a few girlfriends and I met to run the Tufts 10K for Women. I didn't plan to run this race but decided to join my friends last minute. And I am so grateful that I did.  While I didn't train for this specific race, running has become my default form of exercise mostly because it is efficient, doesn't require too much planning and coordination and can be done in the early morning.  As we started to run the race, my goal was to run the entire time and to cross the finish line with a decent time. Running with thousands of women felt great and empowering. With my music blaring, I hit my stride and had a flashback to when I was training for the Boston Marathon eight years ago. In 2009, I had been training all winter to run the marathon on what was to be my 30th birthday. Devastatingly, three weeks before the marathon, I had to pull out because I injured my left leg with a stress fracture.  Running yesterday reminded me of why I had begun the journey of wanting to complete a marathon. It reminded me that what I love about running is that it is all personal- why one runs, who one runs for, and what motivates you during the hardest parts of training for a race.  Holding my arms up in a sign of victory, I crossed the finish line with a smile.

Both of these experiences this past weekend reminded me of who I was BC (before children) and even before marriage. I used to love playing tennis, opening new tennis balls, anticipating the next shot and talking "shop" about the game. I loved pouring my energy and thought into training for the marathon, running with a purpose and challenging myself. In both of these experiences, I was reminded of what I used to enjoy doing and who I used to be. These parts of myself I had forgotten amid the chaos that is life right now.

Even though we have made tennis a priority for the children, I had stopped playing because I was scared I had forgotten how to play and that I had lost my skills. I had stopped training for running races because I didn't want to get injured again and have to go through the heartbreak of training for something and not completing it. I let fear get the best of me, denying me parts of myself that were buried for so long.  No longer. In the coming months, I want to incorporate my past hobbies into my future life and bring back parts of my forgotten self.

Have you forgotten parts of yourself or let parts of yourself get buried by life?

Mommy Tantrums

ast week, I broke down. As my children watched me while sitting on the stairs, I had a mommy tantrum. A complete and utter meltdown. I was crying in desperation, pleading them to cooperate, and feeling bad that I lost it in front of them, all at the same time. The kids became silent, absorbing what they were witnessing, trying to process what this meant, and figuring out how to respond. I emerged from my tantrum feeling slightly better and a bit embarrassed. I imagine that’s how my kids feel when they lose it too.

As I sit here, reflecting on my behavior last week, I am torn between acceptance and denunciation of this behavior. Toddler tantrums are largely seen as bad and they indicate a child who is unable to handle their emotions in a mature and reasonable manner. We tell toddlers who experience tantrums to take a deep breath, or many deep breaths, to remain calm, to think and to react only after you have taken these measures.  I get it and largely agree with that. But what happens when this happens to you? When you are the one throwing the tantrum in front of your children?

I swear that I had been using all different coping mechanisms to get me through the week before my tantrum. But by the time this moment came around, I had been solo-parenting for days; I lacked sleep, I was overwhelmed at work, the children started to bicker with one another relentlessly, and they stopped listening to me altogether. Screaming and yelling didn’t seem to get them to listen. So I literally started crying and melting down because I didn’t know what else to do. I was alone, at my wits end and had had enough. And I was late for work.

I know I am making excuses to explain my behavior and making it acceptable in my mind. But, in the moments and days after this mommy tantrum, the kids were nicer, kinder and helpful. Perhaps they saw me as a human being and not their always-right, controlling mother.  Perhaps they started to see me as somebody who was fallible, who makes mistakes and who has emotions. Perhaps they could relate to me more because I had shown them that their behavior does affect me negatively. And perhaps they felt bad to have sent me over the edge. Regardless of the reasons why, after this mommy tantrum, we seemed to hit a groove, the three of us. We were the 3 musketeers, fighting together to make it through the day, resolving to help one another instead of bringing each other down and accepting of one another’s mistakes in stride.

Truth be told, this lasted for all of about a few days, and then we were back to our usual ways, but maybe having a mommy tantrum once in a blue moon (not all the time) is a good thing for the kids. Or, I am simply trying to make myself feel better for my deplorable behavior. Regardless, today ends my solo-parenting stint for a while and I couldn’t be happier. I only hope the next time I’m faced with these feelings and emotions, my mommy tantrum is even more effective and a tad bit prettier. I am kidding, but you get the point.

Jasmine and Family

As I looked out on my porch this morning, I was greeted by the most pleasant sight.  My favorite flower had bloomed and with it, a flood of memories came rushing in. The jasmine that can be found in South Asia, particularly South India, is unparalleled in smell and composition. From this small white flower, the most heavenly scent emanates.  I remember so vividly falling in love with this flower as a six-year old girl, and mostly because this scent was strikingly different from the odors and fumes of the rest of India. Not only was I taken by the smell but also with the tradition of wearing flowers in one's hair. And from that moment, wearing jasmine in my hair became my "thing". Whenever I visited India, my family would greet me with strings of jasmine (side note- I almost named this blog Strings of Jasmine).

I stared at these flowers from my kitchen, sipping on my morning coffee, reminiscing about my family back in India. My aunt, older cousin and I used to spend hours on their veranda, picking jasmine. I would then sit next to my aunt as she skillfully crafted these flowers into long strings to be worn by the females in our family.

My most vivid memory was when I was 12 and another aunt had collected all the jasmine from her house and her neighbors' houses. She set to work for hours upon hours of threading the jasmine onto cardboard to later be affixed to my hair (see pic below- this is not exactly what it looked like but it was pretty darn close!). As I sat there patiently waiting for her to complete her work, it wasn't lost on me how much time and effort she was putting in making me happy. And how much she loved me and my love for these flowers. When she was done, she turned to me with the most amazing smile and gave me the flowers that had taken her so long to complete.  That gesture of selflessness, kindness and pure joy still warms my heart. While my aunt has since passed, I cherish this memory still. And smelling that jasmine today reminded me of that moment and how much she had taught me to give onto others selflessly and with joy. 

Staring at the jasmine this morning also flooded my heart with sadness. At the moment I write this, one of my paternal uncles is dying. My dad left this evening to spend his last days with him.  The last time I saw my uncle was last year at a party my aunt had thrown for us while we were in India. And I wore jasmine in my hair that night. If I close my eyes, I am transported back to that night, to the laughter and the smiles, to the hugs and the good fortune of being surrounded by my family and my uncle in particular.  It's amazing how smell has the ability to transcend time and place and help you relive moments as if they are your current reality. As I reminisced about all of this in the morning, my daughter crossed the porch and plucked a jasmine from the plant, inquiring about its pretty scent. I told her about the flower, its origin, and its connection to my family. I told her how much jasmine meant to me. She then asked if she could wear it in her hair.  Of course, I said yes.

High School Confident

A few weekends ago I attended my high school reunion. While I initially thought it would be a great idea, as the day got closer, I started feeling anxious. I started remembering how much I had hated high school. I started recounting the embarrassing moments, the moments that made me feel little and small, the moments I felt invisible and lost and the moments that left me feeling like I couldn't wait to get the hell out of high school. Why had I chosen to return to this place that had caused me such angst? Immediately, I regretted my decision to attend.

Flanked by my best friends from high school, I entered the reunion of Bethel High School Class of 1997. It was like entering the twilight zone. People whose names I had stored in the deep recesses of my mind were suddenly appearing before me. Thankfully, social media had helped create a present-day yearbook so I wasn't totally surprised by what people looked like now, their marital status, how many kids they had, etc.  As I started talking to the people in my past, I was surprised by my lack of the anxiety and embarrassment that had plagued me when I was a teenager.

As I danced from one conversation to the next, the person who I was in high school was overshadowed by the woman I was now.  I was able to talk to all different types of people, was able to joke with them and converse with them in ways that were unthinkable two decades ago.  I blurred in and out of high school that night, the flashbacks and memories presenting themselves in funny ways. Approaching one woman, I had a sudden flashback to when she was an all-star athlete in multiple sports, but present-day enjoyed doing a whole lot of nothing and rejoiced in "being lazy".  I talked to a boy who I had a mild crush on and while talking to him, the teenager within me was sweating bullets at finally having the guts to talk to him now.

I started talking to one woman who I had idolized in high school.  As she started talking, I realized the the pedestal I had put her on in high school was a product of my own low self-esteem and social status in high school. As she continued talking, I no longer looked at her through my teenage goggles and saw her for what she was twenty years later: a normal person who like me had the same anxieties about success and accomplishment, the same fears about raising children who were socially conscious, well-fed and nourished intellectually, and the same complex of trying to have it all while working a full-time job.

As I finally walked away, I felt a pang of nostalgia and of innocence lost. However, in that moment, I also realized how much I had grown from high school and how different I had become. Life experiences seemed to be the equalizer in that 20-year high school reunion. There were no longer classifications of people based on their "coolness factor"; it seemed now that all of us were in this same boat of life and most of us were just trying to make it to the next day with an ounce of self-preservation and dignity occasionally aided by a glass or two of wine.

I took all of these important lessons with me as I walked confidently across the room to my best friends and we celebrated and rejoiced in our 38-year old selves at a teenage party.

Who were you BC (Before Children)? (Plus some Montreal recs)

Happy Self

Last Thursday was my son's last of school. We packed up my son and daughter that evening and sent them with my parents to CT to begin their summer holidays. Kishore and I are without our children for a whole week! That's seven days that we have completely to ourselves and we are milking every minute of it. Along with most parents I know, we are usually in the throes of logistics from making lunches to worrying about dinner, from making sure the kids are properly clothed and sunscreened to ensuring that the children are trying a diversity of activities, let alone being responsible for the children's emotional and moral well-being. Simply put, it's exhausting. So we bid goodbye to our beloved children, put on our shoes, went for a walk through the neighborhood and grabbed a drink at the Charles Hotel. We continued our respite with an escape to Montreal for the weekend, rekindling our connection with each other as well as rediscovering parts of ourselves.

We arrived in Montreal on Friday afternoon and began our love affair with all things Montreal. This was our fourth time in Montreal but the last two had been with the kids. It's amazing how quickly we were able to maneuver through the city, how much we were able to see and do and how different of an experience it was for us. We stayed at a modern, boutique hotel on the edge of Old Montreal called Hotel Gault. From the high ceilings to the well-appointed rooms, we began our rendezvous in style.

Around the corner from our hotel was one of the best restaurants I have ever been to- olive+gourmando. What a treat! We literally ate there every day of our trip. From the presentation of the food to the use of local ingredients, it was pure heaven. We indulged our taste buds with fresh breads, tartines with homemade ricotta, seasonal fruits and vegetables, egg and cheese sandwiches with sriracha sauce!... I could go on and on and my descriptions are not doing justice to the quality and taste of the food (see the picture below). On Friday night, we were directed to Lov- a vegetarian restaurant. This place was chic and hip (the crowd was too!) and unlike any vegetarian restaurant I have ever been to. What was nice was that the fare was not just fake meats presented in conventional ways. From quinoa fritters (using jack fruit as a main ingredient!) to sriracha fries to sweet potato gnocchi we thoroughly enjoyed our vegetarian meal.

On Saturday morning, we deliciously slept in until 10AM! That never happens with our children. We rented bikes through Montreal's bike-share program called BIXI and biked around the islands, culminating in a visit to the Biosphère. Montreal has done an exquisite job of creating bike paths around the canals and the islands; there were many locals who were also riding on these paths. It made seeing the city fun and exciting. We had crepes for a late-lunch and then meandered through the streets of Old Montreal. After a short rest at the

Hotel Gault

Sunday was another great day of fun. After another brunch at olive+gourmando (yes, it really is that good), we went on bike ride up Lachine Canal. After eating a quick lunch, we left Montreal to make it to Gillette Stadium to see one of our favorite bands play, U2, and their Joshua Tree Tour. We remarked at how facile movement can be sans children including a 6 hour road trip. While we thoroughly indulged over the weekend, we did miss our children and spoke of them, and to them, often. We remarked on what we would like to show the kids upon our next visit to Montreal and took videos of the U2 concert in hopes of cultivating another generation of fans.

This much-needed respite enabled me to not only connect with Kishore but also to reclaim parts of myself that existed BC. I was reminded that I love traveling and discovering new places. I love meeting new people and experiencing new things. I love good food and conversation with wine as an accompaniment, of course. I love comfortable walking shoes. I love window shopping, crowds and people-watching. I love dressing effortlessly chic. In unearthing these parts of myself that have been buried by Pokémon, caution, stuffed animals and responsibility, I felt happy, light, and liberated. I felt alive.

I vowed after this trip to bridge more of my BC-self with my AC (After Children)-self. I vowed to let the kids see more of this side of me- the woman who loves discovering and exploring new things, who enjoys finding herself amid the different, who is light and carefree, who loves to explore on foot or bike, who wants to just be. My hope is that exposing my children to this side of me will also help influence them to be and seek who they are, encourage discovery and exploration and foster a love of traveling similar to Kishore and me.

Who were you BC? Have you been able to bridge your BC-self with your AC-self? How?

PS- Thanks to my parents for watching the kids! We are so fortunate to have you in our lives.

Sushi Momo.

Amazing vegetarian sushi