Funny Monday

It feels absolutely bloody marvellous to sit at home sipping mineral water and mint tea whilst typing away quietly for a few minutes. What a day it's been!

To begin with, I have my period. This is not an earth-shattering event, I realize, but since it's an annual occurrence at most (the last time I had my P, it started on Christmas Day 2013, and before that, it had been years), I'm not as good at managing it as I might be. It also explains why, on Saturday, my body felt as bruised as if I'd had a CrossFit workout the day before. So I'm annuating. Besides that, my scalp is at its driest and flakiest. This is not a beauty week.

On a positive note, work went well today. I had gotten myself into a knot about returning to my post after Christmas; when on holidays, I tend to romanticize laze time and make up reasons why I don't enjoy my job. But now that I'm back in the groove, I can see how lucky I am to be surrounded by a team of honest, hard-working people.

My immediate supervisor is kind and hasn't the slightest tendency to micromanage. She encourages me in anything that will help me to learn or grow. Our assistant, who was a little crusty when I first joined the team in September, volunteered to help me send out a mailing this morning, and in a friendly way alerted me to the fact that bits of my scalp were coming adrift on my shoulders so I could take care of the cosmetic emergency.

Some ad copy I had come up with didn't sit well with my Ueberboss, but she pointed out its weaknesses calmly and constructively, and I was able to make the changes she asked for quickly. She is a damn good manager.

So, a funny day, a bit. I'm just glad for the cosy silence in my apartment, and for the time to put a few things to rights at home. (There was no yoga for me tonight, period oblige.)

Je suis Charlie

Wednesday's usually my night to relax and cocoon. Now that Christmas and New Year's have passed, I'm settling back into my cosy old routine, with a twist: instead of tea on my night table, I've brewed myself a cup of delightfully dark decaf, and added a square of Lindt chocolate to complete the experience. A heavenly combination.

What's going down otherwise?

In the world culinary, I've found two recipes to test over the next few days: hunter stew and roasted butternut squash soup, both of which I discovered thanks to Paleo Grubs.

And now for more serious news... On the way home from work today, I saw a group of quiet but determined people, some wearing or bearing white signs, on the steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery and in the square immediately before it. The VAG -- gotta love the acronym -- is often the site of peaceful demonstrations. This time, a sombre atmosphere pervaded the square. There were candles glowing here and there in the small crowd, as if this were a vigil commemorating the victims of a mass murder. The language I heard as I passed by was French. When I came near enough to make out the words on a sign, I saw it read, JE SUIS CHARLIE.

A few hours later, sitting at my computer, I've discovered what the vigil meant. From what I can gather, three Islamic terrorists gunned down 12 employees of a satirical Paris weekly called Charlie Hebdo because... get this: the magazine published cartoons that made fun of the Prophet Muhammad.

I'm not generally a fan of publications that lampoon religion, and definitely not when the motive is malice pure and simple. But I have to hand it to CH, and especially to the cartoonists and journalists who lost their lives because they had the guts to point out what's wrong with fundamentalist Islam. It doesn't strike me as a faith at all, in the positive sense of the word, but rather as a cruel and humorless ideology that needs to be laughed at.

Props to CH and its brave staff, and to the people who assembled the world over to show their support for the freedom of speech.

Tea with a friend

I had the loveliest experience today. A friend of mine invited me for tea on the rooftop of her apartment building. She had just finished deep cleaning the suite where she and her boyfriend had been living. Their sublease was up; her suitcases -- one big and one small -- were packed and ready to go, and our tea was the last act before the curtain would fall and she would vanish into a taxi en route to a holiday in France.

So there were we at five in the afternoon, in a beautiful, old apartment, warm with the light of the late-afternoon sun. The walls were hung with canvases from artists new to me, and there was a bookcase devoted to music and another which was home to the kind of tomes that warm my heart: books about food by some of the most passionate and prolific writerly palates of today and yesteryear.

Mlle. Montmartre had scrubbed and tidied the place until it was as neat as it must ever have been, and she had only the fridge to empty and the bedclothes to bring up from the laundry before she could leave. Yet she was apologizing for being disorganized and inconveniencing me. I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head and assure her that she was doing no such thing.

Would I like the leftovers from the fridge, she wanted to know. Of course I would! There were blueberries and strawberries, olives and five different kinds of cheeses, an untouched pat of butter, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, an enormous jar of Dijon mustard, nearly a full bar of the best dark chocolate, a few pieces of ginger root, and other goodies besides. Heaven!

We managed to fill four bags with leftovers. These delicious spoils were topped off with a small collection French and English paperback novels. Then Mlle. Montmartre and I headed upstairs to the rooftop to enjoy a mug of tea in the sun. We chattered away, happy as two birds, with the West End below us and boxes of lavender and summer flowers for company.

Some people are so full of life and joy that they can't help but transmit it to those around them. Mlle. Montmartre is like that. She's as bright and sparkling as champagne. She fizzes and pops and lends charm and excitement to her surroundings. She carries a little bit of her native France with her, and spending time with her makes you feel like you've wandered into a corner of Paris.

A scant hour later, Mlle. Montmartre ran downstairs to pick up the bedclothes, still nice and warm from the dryer, and we made up the bed in record time before locking up the apartment for good and delivering the keys to the next-door neighbour. A taxi was called, and we found ourselves outside, me with my four big bags of groceries, and Mlle. Montmartre with her luggage. She insisted that I hop into the taxi with her so that I wouldn't need to carry my spoils home, and dropped me off safely in front of my building, laden down with good food and buoyed by the fun we'd have together and the plans we'd come up with for the summer.

Good friends are delightful.

Cleaning out your dreams closet, continued

I wasn't sure at first.

Both directors had been frank, knowledgeable, and kind. Yet my intuition was telling me in no uncertain terms that the plans I'd been incubating so carefully over the last seven years were not ones I'd be well advised to pursue.

It was a few days before I recovered enough to dig deeper. I still wanted to become a counsellor, and it was painful to admit that I might be on the way to giving up my dream. When at last I did face up to reality, I had to admit that I hadn't connected with the director of the counselling psychology program. In fact, we'd been at several wavelengths' remove. The longer we spoke, the more certain I became that my values were on a direct crash course with the school's social-justice bent. Although I wanted to help people who needed it, I was more interested in coaching than advocating for social and political change.

The outgoing director of the organizational psychology program was a different story altogether. I appreciated her warmth, business-like demeanor, and quick wit. She was clear on the relative merits and disadvantages of her program and she was funny. Not only that, but she was well dressed and well groomed. All this felt strangely familiar. Where had I met people like her before, I wondered. Oh, right -- as in right in front of me. In fundraising.

At this point in my analysis, a wise little voice from somewhere deep inside me piped up: "Forget a degree in psychology. You don't need to go there. Fundraising has everything you want already, including psychology, and it won't cost you tens of thousands of dollars to get started. You're already well on your way."

I had to agree with the WLV. I *do* like fundraising. I really like it. It's just that the grass had seemed greener on the psychology side of the fence. Consequently, I'd spent so much time gazing over the fence boards that I hadn't seen the meadow lushifying around me.

Here's the part where you might benefit from my experience. I had to do more than daydream about counselling to come to this conclusion. I had to take a good, hard look at what it was going to take to turn my counselling and coaching dream into reality. It wasn't only the chats at my school of choice that had done it. It was learning how difficult it is to start a private practice in Vancouver, how saturated the market already is, and how much effort it was going to take to get where I wanted to go. The exercise helped me to become clear about what I really wanted.

So if you've got one or two dreams in your closet that you haven't tried on for size recently, please do. Don't postpone the moment of truth indefinitely. The odds are, it will either fit you, which is what you wanted in the first place, or it won't, and you'll be able to fold it up carefully, perhaps with a sentimental sigh, then more cheerfully make way for one that does.

Cleaning out your dreams closet

Dreams are wonderful things. They inspire us, nourish us, propel us forward to new accomplishments, and often make us better. We humans are truly blessed to have them. We can also outgrow them. Sometimes, dreams need replacing, a little like clothing that has served so well we've finally worn it out or which, after years of service, doesn't suit our age and stage.

This happened to me a few weeks ago, when I laid a cherished dream to rest. As you will discover if you read on, however, I feel freer and happier now. I thought I would share the story with you in case you have a similarly outdated dream hanging in your closet.

The catalyst for this retirement was a conversation with a friend (somewhat influenced by The Big Bang Theory episode in which Penny proposes to Leonard.:)) We were talking about my aspirations so she could help me to make some important decisions. I told her what I'd been dreaming of for the last seven years, ever since I'd moved from Montreal to Vancouver. In brief, I wanted to turn my passion for mental and physical well-being into a career and, eventually, into my own business. I'd mulled over what this might look like and investigated a number of pathways, from nutritionist/personal trainer/yoga instructor to HR specialist to psychologist before settling on a combination of counsellor and life coach.

To make a long story short, we realized that I had two options: I could either keep dreaming and getting more frustrated with my life or I could act. Time has a way of speeding by, and if I didn't do something now, I wasn't likely to get around to it until it was too late.

Back at home, I proceeded to find out what it would take in terms of time, schooling and experience to go from apprentice fundraiser to counsellor/life coach. The answer: a handful of prerequisites ($2,700), two years' worth of full-time studies ($50,000), living costs ($36,000), and the courage to re-enter the work force at the bottom of the food chain. The price tag wasn't trivial, and there would be a certain amount of risk involved, but I thought I could handle it.

It took two info sessions, much web surfing and a handful of interviews with practicing counsellors before I'd narrowed down the contenders a single school. There was just one fly in the ointment. The institution in question has a strong social-justice bent, and I didn't think I shared its views entirely. As a final precaution, I made appointments to speak with two program directors -- one for each of the master's of psychology degrees I was interested in.

On a beautiful, slightly chilly spring morning, an expectant Ms. Slim found herself in the waiting room of her future alma mater. Exactly two meetings and two-and-a-half hours later, she stepped into the sunlight dazed and confused.

I'd gone in expecting to rubber stamp my plans for the future. I'd come out -- turned around. What had happened?

**Stay with me for the next post. I'm further from the finish line than I expected, and I don't want to foist a mammoth entry on you.**

How to go out (or party in) without overindulging

In my last post, I promised I'd share some of my triggers for eating too much at (and after) parties and, more importantly, the solutions I've come up with for avoiding this kind of social splurging. Here they are! See if anything rings true for you: perhaps you can use my coping strategies, too.

Trigger 1: Post-party cleanup. Often, after I close my apartment door behind the last guest and survey my apartment, I realize that I have a dispiriting amount of cleanup to do -- dispiriting at midnight on a Saturday night, at any rate, when thoughts of a comfy duvet-covered bed dance in my head. When this realization hits, it seems only logical that I should put off the inevitable by eating some of the delicious leftovers. This is a perfect procrastination mechanism, easily accomplished while standing in the kitchen halfheartedly tidying, and it makes the clean-up seem more palatable. The only problem is, by this point, I don't need anything more to eat or drink.

Solution: My guests are some of the nicest people around. Most of the time, at least one person offers to help me do the dishes before heading home. So, the next time I'm asked if I'd like help cleaning up, I'm going to say yes! Trust me, there's much less temptation to help yourself to another two slices of cake or five servings of cheese if you have witnesses.:) And cleaning up is easier and nicer with company.

Trigger 2: Tiredness. Late at night, after I've just come in from an evening out, my body seems to think food is an important part of my bed-time routine. "You need to relax before you get ready for bed," a persuasive voice purrs in my ear. "Think how tired and unmotivated you feel, and what a nice diversion it will make to eat something tasty! Just one little snack and then you'll be ready to wind down." Suffice it to say that the persuasive voice often wins me over, and my "one little snack" has a tendency to morph into an apres-dinner dinner which I heartily regret the next morning.

Solution: I make it as easy as possible to go to bed. If this means leaving clothes hanging on chairs instead of in the closet or going to sleep without flossing, so be it. And I firmly tell that persuasive voice how much I'd rather dream than eat, especially since breakfast is just a sleep away.:)


Trigger 3: Hunger. Whether I'm throwing or going to a party, when I get that oh-am-I-ever-hungry
feeling before the bash gets underway, I tend to overindulge. Eating with abandon seems like a good idea at the time, and it's rather fun if parties are few and far between, but it's an absolute killer if it happens too often in a short time frame.

Solution: When I'm decently nourished from the get-go, I rarely splurge.  Thus, if I haven't eaten for a few hours and am heading out or getting ready for a dinner party at home, I often have a snack -- preferably one that contains a bit of protein, a bit of carbohydrate and a bit of fat. Some of my favourite and most reliable combos are:

• lightly salted, roasted soya nuts
• 1/2C to 1 C of plain  yogourt (any kind that's creamy and yummy) and a few nuts
• 1 C steamed green and wax beans and baby (seasoned with a dash of sweet rice vinegar), a slice or two of avocado and a boiled egg
• a slice of extra-firm tofu, half a piece of fruit and a few nuts

You'd be surprised at how effective the pre-party snack can be. It makes a real difference for me, and I bet it will for you, too.

Trigger 4: Alcohol. Celebration and alcohol go hand in hand. Trouble is, even a single mixed drink or one glass of wine makes it harder for me to keep to my eat-(and-drink)-carefully-at-parties resolution, and I hate to disappoint my friends and family by teetotaling the night away. So, what's a good-natured, wine-appreciating gal to do?

Solution: Whenever possible, I take my drink with food and, should my host prove especially hospitable and quick to refill my glass, I usually have a glass of water going at the same time. This is especially important because I haven't yet trained myself to sip my drink in a ladylike fashion. The double-fisting technique slows down my rate of (alcohol) imbibement and pretty well nixes the threat of regrets the next morning.

I ate too much at a party -- again. What can I do about it?

I'm typing this post the morning after a dinner party with two of my closest girlfriends. As you might imagine, we had a great time together. Today, however, I'm suffering the consequences of feasting like a half-starved medieval peasant. And believe me, I was not half-starved, nor do I look it. Thank goodness foodie souls of self control like Mireille Giuliano -- the wise and witty woman behind French Women Don't Get Fat -- can't hear me or see me now!

Slight hangover? Tick. Overeater's remorse? Tick. In whose world is it okay to treat food, my mental disciplinarian asks me severely, as if it were a cure-all? What am I doing eating with abandon whenever the social opportunity arises? Is it not possible for me to host or attend dinner parties without spending the next 48 hours in purgatory, followed by a week of flawless behaviour to erase the effects of my rampage? (This math doesn't work anymore, by the way, since I have the great good luck to be eating with friends and family more often than once a week.)

So I made a muck of things last night. What can I do about? And if you've got the same problem, what can you do about it?

Admit that you ate more than you wanted to, then move on. You've just eaten enough to feed a sumo wrestler? It may not be easy, but you need to let go of it. Sure, it wasn't a great decision, and it moved you away from your goal of health and well-being, but it's not the end of the world. It's in the past now, and no matter how long and hard you beat yourself up for it, you won't be able to time travel back to change it. Not anytime soon, anyway. But you have the present with and the future ahead of you, and you can make better decisions starting now.

Try again, right away. And be kind to yourself. Instead of slouching through the day wrapped in a blanket of self-pity or stomping about your business with a storm cloud over your head, treat yourself and your near and dear ones with love. Eat a healthy breakfast. Get to that yoga class, or go for a walk or a run. At work, focus on moving your team's project ahead, not what you didn't do right last night.

Get to know your triggers, then come up with strategies for avoiding them in the future. (Caveat: You may need to come back to this step over and over again until you fill your tool kit with tricks that work.) Here are a few of my triggers:

• Post-party cleanup
• Tiredness
• Hunger
• Alcohol

In my next post, I'll share some of the strategies that work for me.