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YELLOW BRICK ROAD

2/28/2015

So how to get back on track. The news isn’t all doom and gloom but apparently I need to check my expectations. Folks, we’re back to baby steps.

Well, more like concrete, reasonable steps that can be measured, or so states Ray Williams in his post, “Why New Year’s Resolutions Fail,” which I read on the Psychology Today website (Originally published on Wired for Success.) Among the plethora of articles I found online, Williams covered 3 of my January touchtones: baby steps, mindfulness, and changing neural pathways. Williams, the author of Breaking Bad Habits, would have us focus on one, not several, resolutions. The resolution must be realistic and specific and we shouldn’t wait for New Years if we’re looking to make a lifestyle change. Aim for small steps and have an accountability buddy--and celebrate milestones! Okay, I’m already feeling overwhelmed just listing these, but there’s more. Focus on behavior (we’re trying to change neural pathways here!), and on the present. And be mindful. Really, just read the article.

Williams also introduced me to the term “False Hope Syndrome,” which lead me to read the ever-so-depressing treatise by Peter Herman and Janet Polivy on the subject.

So, back to my expectations. Apparently, I fail because I am not reasonable in my goals. False hopes are buoyed on the tide of lofty (read impossible) dreams.

Here, I would like to point out that my husband, the level-headed engineer--who would not find any of the above tips even the least bit daunting--has never in his life set a New Year’s resolution.

My point is that those of us who are drawn to the thought that in one magical night we can, in a sense, review and renew ourselves, by setting a New Year’s resolution in the first place aren’t exactly the audience these articles seem to address. Moderation! Accountability! Keep a chart!

But we’re the ones reading them.

So now I must take a breath and break down what I’ve read, put it into language I understand.

Those are my baby steps.

This is my year of change. I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.

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ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

2/27/2015

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I should have called this segment, “Where New Year’s Resolutions go to die,” because the answer apparently is February. Studies show that while almost half of us make resolutions in January, most of us give it all of 30 days, abandoning our goal by the next month.

I can’t say that I failed because Dry January had a beginning, a middle, and an achieved end. But the fact that I didn’t experience lasting change by modifying my behavior for one month has left me feeling, well, like a failure.

Apparently, I am not alone. Psychologists suggest that there may be an entire cycle of defeat at work here. We set unrealistic goals and when we fail the resulting hit to our self-esteem bleeds into other aspects of our life. In that sense, making a New Year’s resolution can actually do more harm than good.

The premise appears to be that if we are using our resolutions to attempt lofty goals or to reinvent ourselves, then we’re doomed to fail. And if you really want to get depressed, read about the “False Hope Syndrome,” identified by psychology professors Peter Herman and Janet Polivy, which basically posits that when we set a difficult if not impossible task for ourselves and ultimately fail, we interpret our failure in such a way that, with a few adjustments, we believe success to be within our grasp next time around. Like hamsters on a wheel, we continue the cycle of failure, renewed attempt, failure. Possibly indefinitely.

To put the final nail on my resolution coffin, statistics show that attempts to rid ourselves of unhealthy behaviors that are intrinsically rewarding, like over-eating or drinking alcohol, might just fall into that “impossible goal” category. So when I revisit my January text to see that, indeed, a great part of my New Year’s resolution involves losing weight and moderating my drinking, I can only think, yep. Hamster on the wheel.

Because I’ve always been of the belief that we fail ... until we don’t. I am my own Renee Zellweger. I just happen to be in my Bridget Jones Diary phase. Chicago is just around the corner. Which apparently makes me the very incarnation of the False Hope Syndrome.

So welcome February. Take a seat. Have a cocktail. While I try to figure out how to modify my goals and get them out of the gutter of unrealistic. Possibly make some real progress.

This is my year of change. I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.

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WHEN LIFE GETS MESSY

2/24/2015

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There may be something to the Wet February theory.

I didn’t so much as fall off the wagon as land in New York. I went for a week, to see my daughter, an actress and writer, and to meet with my agent about my current project, which, like me, seems to be in search of a new identity.

Let me make this perfectly clear: I heart New York. One of my sweetest memories is taking a cab across Central Park to the West Side. Fresh snow had fallen that night and it was early enough that the blanket of white remained pristine. I drifted past a winter wonderland as Paul McCartney crooned Michelle Ma Belle from the radio. This was before Big Brother-esque television screens padded the back seat of every cab, blasting tourists with restaurant and shopping opportunities. That morning with Sir Paul was surreal and I will never forget it.

But I don’t like the cold. And it’s always cold in New York in February.

Born on a tropical island. Check. Live in Southern California. Check.

I had a frequent flyer ticket that would expire if I didn’t fly before the 27th of the month. A series of unfortunate events the year prior had prevented me from going earlier to enjoy more favorable climes. Now I was forced to brave what was typical for this time of the year: a high of 32 and a low of 8.

I thought I was prepared. I really did. I’d studied abroad in Paris during winter session. I’d traveled to the very tip of Scotland once for a friend’s wedding in late fall. I had a really great coat. But nah.

My solution for inhospitable weather? I would eat and drink my way through the city.

My daughter served as my able guide. I feasted on butternut squash schnitzel, spaetzle with spinach in a delectable garlic and chili meyer lemon butter at Freemans. Gorged on grilled corn with chili powder and lime and Cuban sandwiches (voted best in NYC!) at Cafe Habana. I got my Southern on at Sweet Chick where I indulged in a bloody mary adorned with maple-glazed bacon and the best shrimp and grits to tease these taste buds. Really, it was a Foodapalooza. I’ve done the work for you. If you go to New York, just follow my bread crumbs ... or maple-glazed bacon, as it were.

But we left the best for last: dinner at Recette.

I could be irritated with my daughter that she has known about this gem for three years but mentioned Recette for the first time on this visit. But I’m a writer and I understand point of view. My daughter exercises daily, varying from kick boxing, distance running, and yoga to avoid muscle fatigue--she wants me to join her in something she calls the “squirrel diet.” So yeah. Delicious food, probs something she tries not to think about all that much. And she certainly wouldn’t throw down serious cash on it. On her weak calorie days, I imagine a jar of peanut butter or Girl Scout cookies may be involved.

But even she admitted, “I can’t believe I haven’t taken you to Recette before now!” She knows I’m a foodie. And Recette is foodie heaven.

We should have just put in for the tasting menu. That would have been the smart choice. But along with my daughter, we invited a good friend of hers, and as three intelligent, strong-willed women, we thought we knew better.

I ate a lot of food that night. A lot of wonderful food. It was culinary Christmas and we just kept ordering.

I’ll mention the high points here. Location: Recette reminds me so much of classic Paris that I felt transported. Quiet, romantic, timeless. Cocktails: Fleur de Citron, featuring, you guessed it, St. Germain with sparkling wine and lemon-thyme foam. And the J’ardin D’Eden, Hendricks gin, cucumber, basil, fresh lime and ginger syrup. Not since attending the José Andrés Mezcal festival in DC had I drank such inventive and delicious cocktails. Food: Of course, there is the “Buffalo” sweetbreads with pickled celery and blu di bufala dip, the sweetness from that tender crispy goodness complimented by the kick of sriracha and the sharpness of the cheese. But the most amazing thing I ate that night was the beef carpaccio, burrata with tomato jam, porcini puree, basil seeds and watercress, a decadent purse of carpaccio filled with the creamy richness of burrata cheese--melt in my mouth scrumptiousness complimented by the tang and sweetness of tomato jam.

There was another wave of deliciousness involving salt cod fritters in a lamb sausage ragu with curry aioli and guinea hen with flavors of coq au vin, pear, and trumpet mushrooms, as well as berkshire pork belly with rock shrimps, turnips, romesco, and sherry caramel. Later, I licked the plate clean of the apple upside down cake while the girls devoured the chef’s unique interpretation of S’mores.

I’m not a food writer but everything that night was innovative, balanced, and, to use a very technical term, yummy. I will miss that beef carpaccio. I will miss you, Recette.

I came home to a disastrously gutted couch, doggy revenge for my absence. Given my foodie hangover from New York, I thought it a fitting metaphor. As I snipped off strips of kelly green duct tape--this was not my dog’s first rodeo--to piece together my leather couch, I wondered how to do the same with my grand plans for change.

This is my year of change. I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.

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POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE

2/1/2015

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With Dry January behind me, I am taking a moment for quiet reflexion. For me, Dry January ended on Friday, when I had wine with dinner under the theory of “good enough.” Wait, what? No special cocktail with St. Germain? I was actually surprised at how little pomp and circumstance I gave the moment--although there was a selfie with my husband to our kids hoisting our glasses. And, no, I didn’t wait until February 1st. I’m not much for those kind of details, believing more in the “spirit” of the proposition rather than its “letter.”

Here’s what I learned. Change requires effort and despite all my kicking and screaming I can participate in substitution, distraction, and meditation. I even tried mindful attention when negative thoughts had me circling the drain of, “Fat, Fifty, and a Failure.” Blogging really helped. So did my Brain Trust, my neighbors, with whom I meet once a week to discuss our efforts at achieving lasting change in our lives. I returned to therapy sessions and even tried hypnosis.

The whole thing is a little like eating your spinach. Maybe you hate the taste at first, but eventually you learn how to incorporate it into your diet--although I still haven’t figured out how to be “happy” about my metaphorical spinach, so maybe I’m not at the point where I’m mindlessly picking out a sprig from the salad to munch on while I cut tomatoes. But it’s a start.

And that’s the point. It’s a start. But can I make it a lifestyle?

Go Pats!

This is my year of change. I hope you join me.

Please feel free to comment below.

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YELLOW BRICK ROAD

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

WHEN LIFE GETS MESSY

POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE

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