Today I Listened...to my Body

                                                   Vegetarian Chilli-Cheese Dog. I smashed this!

When I tell you I lived for beef - I mean truly found LIFE in a steak - that is no joke. I remember one fateful day, my friend Dulcie and I stumbled upon Nelore Churrascaria, a place where I could play red light, green light for as much meat as I wanted. I was in hog, and cow, and chicken, and little lamb heaven! Being that oil and beef are king in Texas, there was never any real reason to ask the age old question, "Where's the beef?" It's everywhere you want it to be. No Visa. Even when I found myself on a diet, I'd still indulge in a steak weekly...as a treat I told myself. 

Fast forward to May of this year, and you'll find me sitting in the office of my new general practitioner, complaining of fatigue and "general malaise." That word is funny. Malaise. Reminds me of mayonnaise. As usual, I digress. My doc took my vitals, some blood, and a hefty chunk change from my flexible spending account, and sent me on my way. A few weeks later I received the results of the blood work in the mail with a note that said, "Cholesterol is mildly elevated; watch your diet." 

 I am 26 years old. I barely have time for the standard broken heart, let alone for diseases of the heart. I made the decision soon after to give up meat, and with the exception of a month-long slip (blame it on the chicken and waffles at the Breakfast Klub and the best bbq ever at Gatlin's), I have stuck with vegetarianism. 

There have been bad days. Days when the burgers from my favorite food truck seem to lift their buns in the air and shout my name. Days when I wish I were getting smaller, sooner from my new eating habits. Days when I want to curse my friends for describing their rendezvouses with ribs, chicken...bacon...oh bacon....

And then there are days like today. Days when I listen to what my body wants, and not what my mind wants.Today my body wanted mostly raw food, so that is what I ate. With the exception of some random junk food at a meeting this afternoon, I ate raw for no reason other than that is what felt right. It felt perfect. I swung by the grocery store at lunch in lieu of Chipotle, and I picked up a small hand of bananas, some pears, and two avocados. The total came to $2.38; a third of what I would have paid for a burrito, and I'm sure I gained twice the amount of energy. Not to mention, I didn't feel deprived at all today. 

After work, I went for a 2.25 mile jog and enjoyed every granny-paced step, even the last few where I wondered if my legs or lungs would give out first. But it is what my body wanted. I also know it's what God wanted. It may sound funny, but I know that he cheers on my trot just as fanatically as he cheers on Olympic marathoners. That is enough to make me sweat with a smile.

Even though I've placed a dietary restriction on myself, I feel more free than ever. At the suggestion of my therapist, I threw away my scale months ago. I'm not bound by a number; I am only bound by the requests and needs of my body. Now that I'm listening, she's got the simplest, most sound, and most beautiful things to say.

Lessons in Pride, Acceptance, and Rejection: Part 2

For years I walked around with a signature mean mug and a serious case of avoidance when it came to making eye contact with strangers. Up until recently, if you'd asked me why I never smile at people and why the perpetual stank face, I would have told you, "This is just my face." And to a certain extent, I was telling the truth.

I first became aware of the Mean Mug during my days at the University of South Carolina. Apparently, I'd passed a friend on the way to class and she'd decided not to speak, because I "looked pissed." I tried to remember if there'd been anything on my mind other than not having an outfit to wear to some fraternity party that weekend. I drew a blank. As far as I could remember, I'd just been power walking, in (what I'd thought was) the craziest heat and humidity, trying to not to trip over the bricks of the historic Horseshoe. Besides, I was going to class. What was there to smile about?

And there it began. What felt like a neutral face to me was in fact a stank face. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I catch myself walking around deep in thought with Grand Canyon-sized furrows between my brows. Not to mention the pursed lips and evasive eyes.

Of course, as I began to take my first toddling steps in my faith, I constantly wished people would notice that I'd changed. I wanted to be the light so to speak. The problem with that is, it's one thing to tell people how much you've changed, and it's a very different thing for them to just see it for themselves. Alas, no one sees your joy when you constantly wear the Mean Mug. So, I tried to smile more at strangers. I tried to be friendlier to no end. I'd freak out in my head as soon as I made eye contact with a stranger. What if they thought I was weird for staring? What if they were having a bad day? What if they thought I was hitting on them? What if they rejected me? So, I'd look away. I gotta tell you: it's pretty impossible to be the light if you can't even look at people.

One Sunday at church, the message was about making deposits into people's lives, and I'm not just talking financial deposits, though those are also important. Pastor Joel told a story of a woman whose mother had recently passed away. When she came to Lakewood she was greeted with a hug and pat on the cheeks by one of the greeters; this happened to be the exact way her mother used to greet her. Pastor Joel emphasized that there are over 270 doors in all of Lakewood Church. That woman went through that door, at the right time, to be greeted by that greeter. I'm beginning to believe there are no coincidences. That young woman was lifted from her sorrow by a simple greeting, by a deposit.

Finally it clicked! I had done it again. I had made this whole "being the light" thing about me. I wanted people to see me, when I should have been striving not only to see them, but to make them better. Lately, I've been walking the talk. I don't get it right every time, and sometimes the same insecurities arise. But mostly I get that even if I'm making that "deposit" and the person doesn't smile back or doesn't say thank you or calls me a weirdo for being kind, it doesn't matter because I've made my deposit and it's out of my hands. It's just not about me.

Lessons in Pride, Acceptance, and Rejection: Part 1

It is never about me.

This has been the hardest lesson for me to learn. Okay, maybe the second hardest behind learning self-control. And wouldn't ya know with my bag of chips in hand: I'm staring down both as I type...

If I start from the top of this day, from the top of this mountain, I can remember why I started this blog. This morning I awoke, took my first conscious breath of the day, and thanked God for air conditioning. You see on the radio this morning I heard there's a cold front coming to town that will take the temperature all the way down to......90 degrees *insert spirit fingers*! You know it's hotter than the devil's left pit (or other body parts) when you're shouting over a 90 degree cold front. I digress...

This day was a day of simple joys. My grilled cheese breakfast tasted superb. The slight breeze against my cheeks felt like an ethereal kiss. I am alive, and at the start of today there was nothing better, nothing sweeter than that fact that we too often take for granted. 

Then things took a turn from bliss to the pits. This evening I took a nosedive into self-pity. Up until very recently in my journey I'd found myself glowing from within. I remember leaving Lakewood after one late night service, and a woman stopping my friend and I to say we were glowing. To us we were doing nothing but dragging our weary, yet spiritually-filled selves to the car. To her we were alight with joy. 

But old habits die hard. I've got a few that don't realize they've been killed...they're like zombie issues. The need for acceptance and the overreaction to rejection keep walking, stiff-legged through my life.

I remember the first time this lesson appeared. I was presenting a workshop to a group of teachers. One of them made what I felt was a snide comment. Another seconded her. The others laughed. I felt like a fool on display. My mood was ruined for the day and I shrunk into a self-conscious, less than stellar presenter. Later that night sleep eluded me, prayer did not. As I often do, I asked to be shown how to change the situation. I turned to my Bible and found a verse on selfishness and it hit me: I'd made the workshop about me. About how much I was giving the teachers. About how great of a presenter I'd become. About how much they liked and accepted me. All of that over a workshop...I realized that none of the work I do and none of the words I say are about Karissa anymore. 

I forget sometimes.

Tonight I was invited to a poetry performance workshop in preparation for the upcoming slam season. Mind you, since I've been in Houston, I've been following the spoken word circuit and longing to share my own poetry with the city. Of course there were always some insecurities to hold me back. They took on many forms; they had many excuses. But it was insecurity nonetheless. And I'd thought I was ready to shirk them. In fact I thought I had. Until a few well-meaning people threw some constructive criticism my way and I was right back to what felt like square one. I longed to be accepted and that criticism felt a lot like rejection. 

I'm sensitive. I can be awkward. It seems I can even make others awkward by osmosis. 

More importantly sometimes I forget why I've chosen to become the woman I was always meant to be. It's not about me, but it's definitely for me. Today I realized sometimes I'll have to bob and weave and cringe through some uncomfortable ish to stay in my place of joy. I'll have to take some criticism, some flat out rejection, some risks to do what I was made to do...to share my story with someone else. 

I'll fail. I did today. But luckily enough tomorrow promises nothing but to be a brand new day...