Winter Musings

Charity begins at home...and so does kindness.  When I need to make changes in myself, mostly in regards to fitness and well-being, I am far more successful when the changes become a source of pleasure and not torture.  And it begins with being gentle and kind especially when my inner critic is threatening to chastise me.

I reflected recently that any major changes I have made in my life I accomplished on my own.  I didn't rely on any program, facility, or guru...I charted my own course and stuck to it.  And in each case, I had success.  But the precipitating factor was always an abrupt unveiling of Reality which resulted in a quick departure from Denial and that is what fueled my return to well-being.

A friend asked me today how we can begin a health and beauty regimen without a future event, such as a wedding or trip, as a goal.  I wondered how I would do it without any particular motivation.  I decided it begins with kindness and a commitment to ourselves.

For me, I need to get my sleep issues under control again.  Without a good night's sleep, I eat the wrong things and I am too lethargic for exercise.  And no matter what promises I make to myself, the moment I fall short, negative self-talk kicks in and I am once again on the fast track to failure.

Winter is a perfect time for change.  The new year brings a fresh start along with the new pretty calendars.  But we have to give ourselves a chance to ramp up to the new scheme.  Kindness means understanding that our path may lead us two steps forward and one step back and that the real challenge is silencing the malevolent voice within.

I plan on being kinder to myself in my approach to beauty and fitness.  Instead of punishing exercise, I have gone back to yoga.  Instead of sleep aids, I am back to drinking frothy warm milk before bed.  I know I can eat and enjoy salad for lunch and give up afternoon caffeine.  If I need to indulge, I will...but then I will get back on track.  All that matters is trying because trying turns into doing.  And doing it with my head held high will get me there a lot faster.

~

Inconsequential Miscellany:

~I felt quite sad at the passing of Alan Rickman, one of my favorite actors.  I especially loved him as Col. Brandon in Sense and Sensibility where his brown eyes held a vulnerability that belied his vigorous regimented past.  And I am gladder than ever that he had the chance to get his girl at last. I never tire of watching him pace in his tall boots as he frets over his beloved Marianne.

~Storyline not withstanding, the clothes in this season's Downton Abbey have been exquisite.  I especially admire Mary's various dressing gowns - one in a perfect Asian print of Wedgwood blue. As well, we were treated to an amazing glimpse of Mary's skivvies as she undressed with lady's maid Anna's help.  As her dress dropped to the floor (for poor Anna to retrieve), her luscious bralett and panties were front and center in creamy lace.  A friend pondered if the internet mighten be lit up with searches for the brand.

~I recently wrote an article about upgrading one's at-home loungewear for the cold stormy days ahead.  Our model above is wearing a long cozy cashmere robe as she begins her New Year's beauty regime.  Here, I leave you with other choices to inspire (most impractical...all lovely):

Insomnolence

 

"I can get to sleep but I cannot stay asleep", I told my doctor last spring.  We talked about all the reasons why sleep is so important.  But I already knew.  And I still couldn't sleep.  My internal clock woke me in the darkest hours before dawn and there I would toss and turn for two or more hours only to fall into a blessed deep sleep just moments before my alarm sounded. 

 

Lunchtime car naps became de rigueur and helped me survive my daytime grogginess. I equipped my car with blankets, a pillow, and earplugs.  While my brief nap revived me for a while,  I found myself dead on my feet later at home.  And then...lather...rinse...repeat - the same pattern all over again.

 

So I was grateful when my doctor prescribed me a sleep aid.  A small dose, but a central nervous system depressant nonetheless.  It worked right away and my sleep began to last until the alarm went off.  The mild hangover headache was worth it.  But after a few weeks, on the nights I was truly exhausted, I tried to sleep without my med only to discover I couldn't even get to sleep which was never my problem. Was I addicted?  Probably.  I didn't increase my dose but a trickle of panic would set in as I saw the number of pills in the bottle dwindling.  I tried to order the refill early only to discover that because it was a controlled substance, the pharmacy wouldn't replenish until 30 days had passed.  One night I found myself driving to my 24 hour pharmacy after midnight on the 30th day, knowing I wouldn't get to sleep without my pill.  I had to ask myself what I was doing.

 

Distress really set in when my doctor's office merged with a larger practice and it began to take days for the pharmacy to reach my doctor for another prescription.  I was tormented on those pill-less nights and thought about going to my other doctor for a new script.  It was all just too much.  My work was suffering - I couldn't remember certain words when I typed;  I couldn't find things.  I was cranky in a "don't even..." way.  I wasn't me.

 

And then recently, a groups of friends and I had a lovely summer day together.  Naturally sleep or the lack of, came up in our discussions.  A friend who sleeps well suggested that since I am such a creature of my rituals, I should incorporate warm milk in my nighttime routine - the hope being that the tryptophan in milk would help me sleep.  When I balked at drinking milk, my friend told me to buy a frother and some honey, perhaps a little nutmeg or allspice.  "Turn it into a self-care ceremony", she said.  It seemed so simple.  I tried it.  And it worked.  Just before bed, I heat up a cup of skim milk in the microwave.  Swirl in a dollop of honey and then froth it carefully.  I dust fragrant allspice on the top, place the mug on a small pretty tray and take it to bed.  As I read a few pages of my bedside book, I sip my nocturnal potion. The spell of my pill was broken at last.

 

I don't know if it's the loving ceremony or if it's actually the tryptophan.  But it doesn't really matter.  I threw my pills out last week.  All thirty of them.