The Real Power of a Power Suit
My aunt, Kelly Parker Palace, wrote today's guest post. I write in my minimalism books about how the true power of a belonging lies in the memories and stories you attach to it, not the actual possession itself. I think this dramatic story illustrates that point perfectly. Once you realize that the memories are the treasure, you can let go of the old and let the new in. Enjoy. -- Genevieve
I often fantasize about how nice it would be to have an uncluttered organized closet. My clothes lined up by color or purpose, everything in its place. The huge dose of inspiration I needed for this came to me from reading my niece’s book, Minimalist Living. I felt I was ready, normally I am a purger-not a collector. Most of our home qualifies as minimalist. My closet was the last untouched area. I thought I was ready to conquer it, but when I went to take action, I froze like a statue standing in the doorway. Lucky for me I had access to Genevieve a world traveling, minimalist expert-author, who I knew could assist me. I whipped off the following email to her, asking for help.
Hi Sweetie,
I am reading your book on minimalism (and loving it) and it is inspiring me to de-clutter my clothing/closet. But I am having trouble getting rid of my "winter" wardrobe. Having moved here from NY and DC, I have a great collection of wonderful winter-wear: coats, expensive business suits, and all the accessories that go with these items.
Though we have now lived in hot Florida for 9 years, I still have all my winter coats, suits and clothes hanging in my closet. I keep thinking that "one day" I may move north again and would need them. Also, of course, I do travel to cold climates, so I may need a few cold weather items.
I know part of getting rid of the suits is saying goodbye to my fun and successful career with Pfizer. It makes me sad. Also some sadness is involved in the winter coat goodbyes. Any advice you can give me in letting these go?
I love you!
Aunt Kelly
Though Genevieve is time zones away on the other side of the world, she picked up the phone and called me when she read my email. After a quick check-in, she cut to my plea for help. Who knew what followed would be like one of the best, most cathartic “counseling” sessions of my life? That I would be shedding tears of deep emotion related to clothing in my closet?!
The Session
In our phone conversation Genevieve asked me to think about the feelings I got when I evaluated various pieces of my clothing. She recommended that I take a picture of items with which I carry powerful memories. Maybe write a story about the most important ones. She reminded me that by taking old things out of my closet/life I would make room for new/exciting things. She asked me important questions in my search for the reasons why I had held onto items for decades, without using them, even once. I answered. She listened. I cried. I thought about things more deeply than I had in a long time. After the call and this writing exercise, I felt ten times lighter! And I’m ready to really take action towards my fantasy closet. What follows is just one story of a “Power Suit” that was holding power over me, hanging in my closet untouched for the last 14 years. I hope by photographing this suit and writing its story I will be able to get rid of it and invite something new into my life that serves me better.
The Story
The day was September 11, 2001 and I felt extra good as I walked to work in my freshly dry cleaned, chartreuse, Liz Claiborne suit, pearls, tan pumps and hose.
It was also a “good hair” day, I noted with pleasure. I was living and working in New York City. Like many people in NYC that day, I had a spring in my step on what started as an exceptionally beautiful, crisp, clear morning. Additionally, I was happily anticipating September 12th, my 40th birthday, and was looking forward to celebrating the big 4-0 with friends during the upcoming weekend.
The route I covered daily from my apartment to my office took me by a charming old firehouse with an open truck bay and handsome, friendly firefighters that waved and smiled at me every morning while sitting at a round table and drinking coffee, as they started their shift. Seeing these men in uniform was of the highlights of my morning walk/commute. My office was located on 42nd Street on the 36th floor of one of Pfizer Pharmaceuticals buildings, our global headquarters in the heart of Midtown Manhattan.
Loving Life
I had a job I loved at Pfizer, great co-workers and thrived on the energy of the amazing city and all it had to offer. Life was good. In fact, in my “Power Suit” on the streets of NYC, I felt deep gratitude to be living one version of my dream life. I was smiling at people on the way to work, not always a common practice in NYC, but I did it anyway on this gorgeous day. Little did I know, in just a couple of hours I would be carrying my pumps and wearing holes in the bottom of my stockings as I ran down 36 flights of stairs in a terror filled exit from my office. That would be the beginning of a 16-hour saga of escaping the war zone New York City became that day.
I often feel guilty about mentioning any of my own sadness, grief, anxiety, confusion or pain which I experienced on 9/11. It feels as though it should be insignificant compared to the many that had worked at the twin towers or lost their life or a loved one. Yet, my experiences, memories and emotions of that day run so deep that to this day if I see the images of the planes hitting the towers, I am rocked with immediate tears and flashes of feelings that still haunt me.
The First
As I sat at my desk around 8:45 am on 9/11, a co-worker popped their head into my office and said, “Hey, come to the back window. A plane just hit one of the twin towers and you can see it perfectly.” Initially my mind conjured up a two-person “piper cub” plane just scratching the facade of the mighty tower. When I turned the corner of the hall to our big picture window facing south and looked at the towers, I was not prepared for what I saw. The clear day with low humidity provided a direct, flawless view of the towers from our 36th floor sight-line. There were no buildings tall enough to interfere with our view. What we saw made the TV images look meek. The plumes of red, orange and yellow flames and thick black smoke pouring from a gaping hole in the tower was huge and horrific against the brilliant blue sky. This was no piper cub. A giant aircraft had hit the tower and the tragedy and loss of life was obvious. BAM! Oh my god! Just as we watched the first tower burning, it was surreal to see a second plane slam into the other tower directly in our view. Not on TV, but live before my very eyes. This could not be real. Was I having a nightmare? Were we at war?
The Second
Fear and confusion struck many of us when the second plane hit . A wave of nausea came over me. One of my male co-workers, whom I particularly admired for his strong leadership, vomited in the nearest trash can. I felt like doing that too, but didn’t have enough breakfast in me to produce it. At this point time was both fast and slow. Several of us stood in silence watching ghastly clouds of blackness and flames rise into the sky. What we thought was debris falling from the towers, we later realized were people jumping from their offices. We were shaken out of our disbelief when emergency sirens to evacuate our building began to boom loudly through the halls. Panic mode was now in full swing for all of us. We were instructed to quickly grab our personal items and “walk” down 36th flights of stairs. I ran. So did many others.
A War Zone
Though I never saw the media cover it from this angle, several of us in the tall buildings of NYC had our thoughts race to Pearl Harbor. We felt like we were in a war zone. Would there be more planes flying into tall buildings in the city? I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I needed to get to the place where I felt the most protected, safe and loved on earth--my parents home in Richmond, Virginia. I needed to sit on Mom and Dad’s couch and sip tea and have them tell me things would be OK. Even though I was 39 years old, I felt like a small child, lost in the grocery store, panicked. But I was lost in NYC which was now a very scary place and I wanted out.
Running
The rest of that day is a blur. I ran all the way back to my apartment in bare feet. Sirens were blaring everywhere and the streets were filled with a parade of fire trucks. The sidewalks were crowded as people rushed to safety. At my apartment I tossed off my power suit and got into comfy traveling clothes and running shoes. My plan was to catch a train to Richmond. I packed a backpack of stuff and went to find my roommate Barb to say goodbye. She was on the roof of our apartment watching the sliver-view of the towers, with other residents. I found her shiny blonde hair among the crowd and told her my plan. That is when we heard a massive sound and felt the ground tremble. One of the towers was falling to the ground. My heart rate had almost returned to normal from the morning and my plan to get out of the city had calmed me a bit, but the tremor beneath me now was like another blow. As the first tower was falling to the ground, we watched what felt like slow motion. The storm cloud of dust was rising in the sky and I thought it would engulf us, even though we were a safe distance away. We all knew the death toll was rising as we watched. Panic struck me again. I began to run once more. Yes, real sub-8-minute per mile running. I was scared and wanted out.
Escape
I headed south to Penn Station to catch a train. I passed people covered in white dust heading north. People crying everywhere. Strong, handsome men in $3,000 power suits crying on their cell phones. Strangers hugging one another. Emergency vehicles were abundant. The streets were crowded. Taxis weren’t stopping. The amazing, powerful positive energy of the city was different. People were scared. When I arrived at Penn Station, I was met by a gruff policeman and barricades. The officer informed me that Penn Station was closed. No trains were running. In fact, he told me that “the island” (Manhattan) was being closed down. No entry nor exit. This made me crazy! “What?!” I screamed at him, “I have to get off the island!” Then he mumbled that one of the north bridges might be open. I felt trapped. Rumors were flying about the corpses piling up and how the city might become a health hazard. Now I was heading north hoping to find an open bridge. Again, I began to run, my anxiety still high, for the next few miles until I took a rest in Central Park. My heart rate was high, even though I was a competitive runner. Running with heavy back pack while scared can do that. I needed a rest.
Shared Grief
In Central Park I found a bench with only one person on it and plenty of room for me to stop and drink one of the water bottles I had packed. I sat down and got control of my breathing. That is when I noticed, in detail, the well dressed young man sitting next to me, his shoulders heaving with each crying sob he made. At first I noticed just the movement of his body, then I heard his waling. Maybe me sitting there with him allowed him to release his emotions. Or maybe the reality of the day had just hit him, but he was in pain. I put my hand on top of one of his and I gently asked, “Are you OK?” “No, no,” he quietly gurgled through tears. “My best friend was in tower two on the 101st floor. He was above the crash. I know he’s dead”, he continued. “I’m so sorry”, I said and began to cry with him. As each hour passed my emotions were getting more raw. It felt good to let out some of the pressure. My shock and anxiety was now grief for this young man and his friend. I couldn’t think about the other massive loss of life that day, or I never would have stopped crying. I felt stuck to the bench, drained of energy now. But again, as if on cue, I was jolted out of an emotional nightmare by a loud rumbling in the sky.
The rumbling rocked us. Hard to identify at first, but then clearly, it was the sound of a fleet of fighter jets zooming over Central Park and NYC. Everyone in the Park looked up, visibly shaken by another assault on our already damaged senses. Fear and adrenaline filled me and my fellow bench dweller. We speculated. Were we being attacked? Were those US jets or enemies’? Now my negative imagination was in over-drive. I needed to run again. After a quick farewell to my sad friend, I was off. I walked-ran many miles over the Triborough Bridge until I strained a hamstring. Finally I reached LaGuardia Airport by foot, where all planes were grounded.
The Last Car
At the Budget Rental Car desk I got their last vehicle to drive to Richmond. The trip should have taken 8 hours in normal circumstances but with the required detour around the city and the traffic it took 13 hours. Going south on I-95 I passed hundreds of fire trucks heading north to assist NYC in her hour of need. The fire trucks all had their lights flashing which helped keep me alert as I made the long drive. The processional of endless flashing fire trucks is a unique visual which I will always remember. I arrived at my parents at 2am. Mom and Dad were waiting up for me. I had forgotten to eat all day. Mom wrapped me in a blanket on the couch, brought me a bowl of cereal and both parents said, “Happy Birthday Honey, we’re so glad you are home safely.”
A New World
As I crawled into bed at my parents’ in the wee hours of the morning, I thought of my NYC apartment and what it would be like to be going back there. At that point, I didn’t know when I would be returning to NYC. I would learn many things had changed in this great city. My friendly morning firefighting crew lost some members from their shift in the towers. One thing I knew I would find upon my return was my chartreuse, Liz Claiborne power suit crumpled on the floor of my room where I had thrown it in my hasty escape on 9/11.
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1st photo credit: ifindkarma via photopin cc
2nd photo credit: Kelly Parker Palace
Welcome Fairy Tale Life Blog Community!
I've got some news.
I'm bringing my creativity coaching and blogging from my website FairyTaleLifeCoaching.com to Packing Lust. I'm combining both blogs so that I can keep all my work here, under one website. That means the Fairy Tale Life community is joining us here at Packing Lust.
Welcome!
To the talented artists and creatives who read the Fairy Tale Life blog, I'm so glad to have you here. I've moved most of the content from Fairy Tale Life over here to Packing Lust. (Click the "creativity" link in the menu above to see those posts.)
Sadly, the one thing I can't move is your wonderful comments. So, I'd like to take this chance to thank each of you by name who took the time to comment on a post at Fairy Tale Life Coaching. I hope you find continued inspiration + magic here at Packing Lust.
Thank you to:
SarahJH, Artist
Ursula, the Crafting Gypsy + Magic Button Maker
Natalie, Writer at All I Am Deciding
Maria, Writer, Queen of the Prairies, + Brainstormer
The Trog, Writer + Spoken Word Performer
Thanks so much.
I'm grateful for your support of Fairy Tale Life Coaching, and thankful for your support of Packing Lust (most of you are here already). To ALL who read Fairy Tale Life, I hope Packing Lust can be a place of fun, inspiration, and magic for you.
Warmly + Sparklingly,
10 Things to Know About Italy
I was a little worried about feeling lonely over the holidays, especially because we were planning to go to Italy, just the two of us. I wasn't that worried, because I knew it would be lovely to spend time alone with Prince Charming in one of the most romantic places in the world. I mean, Italy for Christmas? Yes, please. On the other hand, Italy for Christmas? Would all the Italian families be feasting with their massive extended families (and thus not around to open the museums or run the restaurants)? Would two feel like too small a group? Well, yes, and no, respectively. 
Here's why Italy for the holidays is still a good idea, despite most of the Italians being on holiday themselves, along with 9 other things you might want to know about spending your Christmas and New Year in Italy.
Rome-Antics
1. The streets are still filled with people.
Indeed, most of the Italians were no where to be found. However, we found that the streets were still filled with people, providing a joyful camaraderie.
On Christmas day, we took a six-hour walk around Rome, keeping in mind that very few actual museums or sights would be open. Our goal was to hit the major photo opportunities that were (or could be) outdoors, like the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, and Trevi Fountain. It was fun to be with the crowds of people, and romantic to not have any obligations on Christmas day other than to enjoy our time together.
Piazza di Trevi was alive with people. Pulsing with camera flashes. Everywhere we looked, we saw someone waving us out of the way so that they could take a photo of someone behind us. Overwhelmed, we got out of the virtual mosh pit that was the steps and space in front of the fountain. 
After catching our breath and a regroup, we dove back in, trading photos with another couple. Then we got out. There were tourists from all over the world. In this photo, you can see the range of headgear from Santa hat to beanie to hijab, reflecting the amazing diversity of the crowd. 
2. Foodies beware.
Maybe it's merely a testament to how much Prince Charming spoils me with his culinary skills, but I wasn't as impressed with the food in Italy as I was on previous trips. I am extremely spoiled when it comes to food. I also have very specific standards when it comes to restaurant service, standards born out of growing up with Southern hospitality, living in casual and friendly California, and being friends with a chef-caterer who would pray and send good vibes into the food as she was preparing it. So basically, food is everything: a feeling of welcome, an invitation to friendship, and a spiritual experience.
Food Should Not Equal Stress
Sadly, over the holidays in Italy, even choosing a restaurant felt anxiety-inducing. Once we did, we encountered stressed-out hosts, unimaginative fare, and servers who on more than one occasion, simply forgot to bring us what we ordered. And this happened despite researching restaurants, looking up reviews, and asking for recommendations. Arguably, our best food experiences were when we assembled our own picnic meals from piazza markets or from places like this butcher shop. 
And then there was the stellar gelato recommendation from our tour guide, Max. He said that we'd be tempted to settle for lesser gelato because shops popped up all around Giolitti to skim off tourists who wouldn't wait in line. But we waited and were rewarded. 
And of course, the coffee was astrologically good. 
3. AirBnB rocks. If you haven't gone for it yet, go for it! Pay to stay in a stranger's house. This is not just for the money you can save, but for the richness of the experience. When you stay on someone's home, you get to experience how a local lives, day to day. And when else can you get away with snooping around in someone's bathroom cabinet? Hotels can be fun, but eventually they all start to feel the same. With AirBnb, we could afford to stay in a prime location in Trastevere, just a stroll away from everywhere noteworthy in Rome, and a few blocks from the Tiber River. 
And our rooftop view was practically cinematic. 
Finally, the clock on the wall helped us relax -- and showed that the owner of our apartment had a Mediterranean sense of time.
4. Go ahead and dork out.
I'm not sure how to segway (groan) into this one, so I'll just say it: Go for it! Last time I was exploring a big city, and my feet hurt, I saw these people dorkily zooming by on Segways. I looked at them with skepticism laced with envy. And internally mocked them. But a Segway tour is as fun as your inner child thinks it will be. Or more fun. A Segway tour of Ancient Rome was part of Prince Charming's birthday present, but we enjoyed it equally. It's a bit pricey at 75 Euros a person, but WORTH EVERY CENT!
Florence
5. Florence has the world's best window shopping.
That is, if you like colorfully bizarre and offbeat displays, which I do. You go to Italy hungry for aesthetic marvels (and pasta) and you quickly get tired of beautiful ancient architecture. So in Florence, you hope to be surprised by new art, even after all this time. After all, Florence was the birthplace of the Renaissance. Maybe it's still happening, you hopefully think. Or at least I did, and wasn't disappointed when on our first evening stroll, we were beckoned into a art gallery that had some surprising works by a modern artist on display. It felt like a magical moment to duck into a gallery where we were the only two people enjoying the art, while outside the windows the Arno river sparkled in the night.
But then just down the road we found out where all the out-of-work artists are employed. Some of the storefront displays were wildly creative, including a Christmas tree made from toilet-paper wrapped Barbie dolls, 
a flamingo wearing a necktie, 
and this beautiful red ballgown, that upon closer inspection, 
is actually bedding.
6. Museums are stressful.
I have no idea how Prince Charming got this picture that makes me look alone with the Birth of Venus. The reason I'm looking so thrilled in it is because a) I'm afraid we are about to get caught using a camera (even sans flash) and b) I'm being jostled on every side by invisible hordes of exhausted and grumpy tourists.
I'm not sure if the crowds have gotten worse since I was last in Italy or the holiday numbers combined with the limited opening hours clusterf*cked things up. At Florence's Uffizi Galleries, we stumbled along with the waves of sweaty masses that trudged through each gallery. Museum workers had lost that "I'm-working-with-the-world's-greatest-art" sparkle in their eyes days ago. Perhaps years ago. Yuck.
Breaking the "Rules"
Oh, and also, I'd like to tell you that Prince Charming and I are officially "the reason Americans are hated" all over the world, as stated by another American tourist who seemed to pop up nearby us throughout our visit to the museum. We may have deserved her ire. You see, we know something that the other polite American, British, and Asian tourists in the line didn't know: Italians don't queue. There's no sanctity of place in line. Rather, it is respected to push yourself through the crowd where you need to go. Spain was like this to, and Israel and Palestine are similar. I'll never forget attending Mass in Spain and at the end, suddenly it's a holy mob shuffle to get up to Communion. It must be a Mediterranean thing.
No-No
So anyway, we knew that the Italians running the museum were probably laughing at the tourists standing in line. And they had sold us an appointment ticket to get in at 4:30. It was 4:30. The museum closed at 6. Other people in line had been standing there for an hour after their appointment to get in. We could go to the back, and get into the museum 15 minutes before closing, while watching the savvier travelers cut in line while our stress levels soarded, or we could cut. So yes, we cut in line. And we did it right in front of the official. He didn't care. In fact, he allowed us in, right after the Italian guy that cut in front of us. Still, despite doing something culturally approved in Italy, I felt bad for doing what I knew was a no-no in my own culture.
7. You may not want to get medical care here.
File this one under the sadly hilarious. Or hilariously sad. I'm not sure which one. 
Not only is this Italian health care worker smoking, but he's smoking in his ambulance. This was the first thing I saw as I emerged from Florence's central train station, and it tickled me. Do you think that he'll keep smoking as he speeds through the streets on the way to an emergency? Or will he throw the cigarette out his window? Or will he take the time to get out, stub it out, and throw it away safely, all while precious seconds on the clock tick away? Do you think the cigarette smoke will bother the patient in the back, possibly struggling to breathe what could be his or her last breath? Like the line thing, what he's doing is a cultural no-no in the U.S., and probably totally fine in Italy.
8. Pisa is a fun day trip.
Just a pleasant hour and change train ride from Florence,
Pisa was a decision we left until the last minute. We almost didn't go, because there is so much to see in Florence. And we knew that Pisa was simply a glorified photo op. Yet, we couldn't resist taking photos with the world famous icon, La Torre Pendente. 
The Leaning Tower of Pisa has become a symbol of travel, right up there with the airplane and the globe. It may surpass the Eiffel tour in its fame. It was exciting to be there, to see that it really does lean, and to take all the silly pictures that we swore we wouldn't take. Plus the weather was beautiful. 
After our photo shoot, we enjoyed sitting down for pizza. Less for the pizza and more for the location. After the host sat us, I looked up and saw that the Torre Pendente was in full view. "Really?" I said. "Really" the waiter replied, without missing a beat. Really. 
Venice
9. How to escape the snobbery of Venice.
If familiarity breeds contempt, I understand why Venetians seem to hate tourists. Venice is overrun, but that doesn't lessen the beauty and romance of Venice. 
I recommend a gondola ride on the Grande Canal. 
New Year's Eve in Venice was crowded, Bellini-guzzling fun. Followed by fireworks.
To escape the snobbery of the areas around the Grande Canal and San Marco Square, I recommend a trip out to Lido Beach, another island of Venice that we accessed by water taxi.
Ibernisti Club
There's a small club of crazies called the Ibernisti (it means hibernators) who bond over a daily dip in the frigid waters of the Adriatic Sea every winter day. On New Years, the tradition attracts bigger crowds, with families coming out to see the crazy swimmers start off a New Year in style. You know, with pain. A lot of pain. Followed by a lot of adrenaline.
Can I Join?
I had been telling everyone that I was going to do this - swim with the Ibernisti on New Year's in Venice. So I had to. And I wanted to. Because I had to. And I wanted to. Sort of. It was cold! Just moments before noon, when the first dip of 2014 was scheduled to take place, I couldn't see anyone in their swimwear. I had to join the group! Where was everyone getting ready? Finally, I saw a man in a red swimsuit duck out of a tent. I ran up to him, gesticulating wildly that I would like to swim with the Ibernisti. He smiled broadly, clapped an arm around my shoulder, and ushered me into the tent, where about a dozen men appeared to be hurriedly changing clothes. "Non guardere!" my guide said brightly to the other men. Don't watch her dress. Fortunately, I had my swimwear on under my clothes, so there was no need for nudity. And don't worry, the only Italian sausage I saw that day was the one they served us with lentils after our swim. We charged out into the water, decorated with red and white balloons. 
There appeared to be subgroups of the Ibernisti club, for example, one group of women all wore necklaces made of white ribbon. I quickly made friends, as one does when wondering exactly how far into the water qualifies as "swimming," when it's so cold. The answer? Up to your neck, but not past your ears because the frigid water can hurt your ears badly if you don't have a swim cap to cover them. After a respectable amount of time in the water, we emerged, took a hurried group photo, and ran through the now-warm air to dress. 
Afterwards, a band played Beach Music. Songs like "Sitting on the dock of the Bay," seemed out of place for Venice, but oddly fitting, and added to the warm, small-town cameraderie at Lido Beach. 
I made balloon animals for the kids, which was really the first time I'd been able to successfully do that in Italy. Italians and tourists become suspicious when you try to give them anything, because the M.O. of the gypsies and street salespeople is to "give" you something and then demand payment or donation in return. By the time I had gotten comfortable making balloon animals for the kids around me, we felt pleasantly far from the snobbery of Venice, and far from the tourist scenes throughout the big cities in Italy.
Milan
10. Milan is good for a Last Supper.
I'd been to Milan before, and it was raining. Guess what? It was raining this time too. 
We knew industrial, urban, rainy Milan wouldn't be our favorite city, and only planned to spend one day there. We wanted to see da Vinci's The Last Supper. You have to buy tickets in advance to see the famous quasi-fresco. It's one of those things where the museum sells tickets for an affordable price, and as soon as they go on sale, tourist agencies buy them all up and resell them at triple the price. When we arrived for our appointment, the museum was telling disappointed visitors that the tickets were sold out for several months. Yet we were able to buy them just a few days before our visit from an agency. If you want to pay the cheaper price, make sure you buy the tickets several months or more in advance. The Last Supper was more faded and in worse shape than I thought it would be, but still worth seeing. I appreciated that they let small groups in so that the space wasn't crowded. They also provided a docent who explained details for us about the painting. They didn't let us take photos in the refectory itself, but we got this one of Prince Charming with a replica just to capture the memory of being there. 
Milan was good for our own personal last supper as well. Finally tired of pasta, we went to a sushi restaurant, and also a sort of bakery-salad place with communal tables. Both delicious.
Your Turn
Have you been or are you planning to go to Italy over the holidays? Comment below on your experience and let us know if you have any questions.
3 Powerful Rituals to Stretch Your Spirit
I've been meditating daily. Sometimes I feel twitchy. Sometimes I get sleepy. Sometimes I feel completely unable to sit still, and just be. But I’m proud to say I’ve been sitting down (or sometimes lying down – that’s ok, right?) for meditation for 15-30 minutes almost every day this month.
Soggy Cement vs. Hard Cement
January traditionally is a month for focusing on new habits, or rituals, and Stretching Your Spirit was my habit of choice to zero in on this month. It’s one of the 12 Rituals that I've written about before.
If you want to focus on Stretching Your Spirit, then plan to practice a new ritual for 30 days. Some studies say that 21 days is all you need to cement a habit, but I find that my cement is still a bit soggy after only three weeks. I need a full month to make something a firm habit. I suspect this time varies from person to person. Experiment to discover how many days it takes before you do something on autopilot. You’ll know it’s a habit when you get a “something’s missing” feeling if you don’t do it, or if you find yourself doing it without realizing it.
Here are 3 rituals I have personally found to be amazing for stretching the spirit.
1. Meditation: a Sacred Stillness
The essence of meditation is presence. We make ourselves comfortable, and then tune in to what’s going on inside. Slowly, we let the brain-chatter die down, and we focus on our breath. Some find it helps to focus on a mantra, one word or phrase that calms the mind and gives it focus. When thoughts bubble up, as they often do, we let them pass without holding on. Without analysis. We return to our breath or our mantra. One of my favorite meditation resources has been the Oprah Chopra 21-Day Meditation Challenges provided by the Chopra Center for free from time to time.
2. When the Spirit Moves the Body
Spirituality and movement go well together. Yoga helps calm the mind while stretching the body. The combination of a calm mind and a sense of well-being in the body can bring joy, a fact evidenced by the massive and ongoing popularity of the Yoga movement. It’s global. There’s a popular yoga center where I live in the developing country of Palestine. Another kind of moving meditation is one that I learned in Los Angeles: feminine movement. To learn more, I recommend taking a class in feminine movement, such as a belly dancing class or a sensual movement class. A moving meditation is a highly personal meditation often done alone. It can take the form of dance, Tai Chi, stretching, prayer or yoga. It’s an outward expression of an inward emotion: a desire to connect with the divine. You can witness a moving meditation in the way that Catholics stand up, sit down, and kneel during a celebration of Mass. You can also see moving meditation in the way that Muslims pray. The spirit moves the body, and the body moves the spirit.
3. a Powerful Partnership
While our friendships can certainly be a source of spiritual growth for us , setting an intention with one friend to pray for him or her can help us grow spiritually more than leaving things to chance. When two people mindfully share their desires, struggles, and intentions, and commit to praying for each other, amazing things can happen. Knowing someone is on your side, sending love to God on your behalf is incredible, and praying for someone else keeps us focused on what’s important. I have most valued my prayer partner when in the middle of making important life decisions. When looking for a prayer partner, seek someone who is nonjudgmental, optimistic, kind, and honest.
What do you think?
I hope these three rituals inspired you or gave you a new idea about how you’d like to stretch your spirit! Please comment below and share with us what top three rituals you have find most helpful for your spiritual growth.
Yours,
[Photo credit: blinkingidiot via photopin cc]
2013 in Review
A month into 2014, and I've finally found space to look back at the last year on Packing Lust and review 2013. 2013 was the first full year of this blog's existence, since I started it in the summer of 2012.
2013 started out with visiting family on the East Coast, where planning for my mom's Cruzbike Race Across America (then 6 months away) to race 3000 miles for the cure for brain cancer was in full swing.
Down in beautiful and sunny Florida, I visited with my aunt and uncle, Trog, and Grammy.
In the meantime, Prince Charming was struggling through a very snowy week back in Ramallah.
In March, we left our new-but-problematic-and-far-flung apartment and moved into a fixer-upper, near the city center. Along with our new home came a bunch of new friends we are thankful for. We tried not to offend our neighbors.
It was a Spring of enjoying both Palestine and Israel, with trips to Jaffa and Herzeliya beach, where a bulldozer almost ruined our day.
In May, I officially unveiled Prince Charming's handsome face. For now, we are still keeping his real name off the blog. Our marriage turned one in April.
Also in May sometime, we took a trip to Amman and Petra, Jordan. I blogged it, then lost that post. Eventually I re-blogged what I could remember. [Update: that re-blogged post is here.]
In June, my mom won the Race Across America, and I was there crewing from California to Maryland and every state in between.
Jelly Bean turned one sometime in June. We forgot to celebrate, but we give her birthday presents almost every day in the form of treats, toys, and bones.
I celebrated my July birthday with a small, quiet celebration, and by posting some sun-soaked photos I took with my birthday present.
In August, it was back to the states again for another big traveling month, with visits to Maine to see Charming's parents, then down the East Coast to see lots of friends and attend two weddings.
Maine:
K&C got married:
And then my brother too.
In September, Calli came to visit us in Palestine!
Fall brought a fun trip to the Golan Heights, where we stayed in a yurt and tasted some nice wine. Romantic.
I didn't post it on Packing Lust, but I had a great time painting my own and some friends faces for a Ramallah Halloween party:
We found a home for this stray puppy.
Just before Christmas, Ramallah got hit with some heavy snow; despite the weather, my family still managed to survive and thrive on their visit here.
Then it was Christmas in Rome. I plan to post soon about our Rome-antics and Italy fun, but for now here's a preview photo.
Career
My writing got a boost when my first book, Minimalism for Grandparents, won an About.com Reader's Choice Award early in the year. In April, I started blogging for Fairy Tale Life and officially launched my coaching business, Fairy Tale Life Coaching, in May. Today, I'm planning to bring my coaching practice over here to Packing Lust, and to bring my blog content over here too. In November, I focused hard on drafting book number two, Minimalist Living, and launched the book in December.
Packing Lists
There was only one post in 2013 dedicated solely to packing advice:
Minimalist Packing for Visiting the Gaza Strip
Must remedy that in the 2014 with more packing advice!
On Community
A huge theme for the year for me was community. When we moved into this home in March of 2013, we instantly had good friends in our neighbors, and we also gained access to the vibrant cafe downstairs, where it's easy to meet up with or bump into friends and colleagues. Over and over, whether it was through what I was reading or in my life around me, I saw that community matters more than almost anything else. Whether it was my neighbor showing up at my door with fresh eggs from the chickens in her garden, family and strangers rallying around my mom's Race Across America in support of brain cancer victims, or my online community of beta readers and supporters of my book publishing, I felt deeply thankful for my community is 2013.
What were the themes for you in 2013?
What did you learn, experience, or do that you are proud of or grateful for?
Here's to a great 2014,
P.S. I thought this "year in review" thing was such a good idea, that I recently did one for 2012, too! I backdated it, but you can see it here.
How to Offend Your Neighbors
I had good intentions. I truly did.
I wanted to paint every room in my house a different color. At the paint store, Morgan (my downstairs neighbor) and I chose what we hoped would be a deep, calming blue, like diving into a swimming pool on a hot day. It turned out looking more like Smurf blue. Okay.
Once the blue was done, I decided to paint one of my favorite spiritual quotes on one wall.
I read "Only love is real" in a book about A Course in Miracles, and I thought it would make an inspiring quote for me to contemplate each day during breaks from work.
I began, painting high on a ladder in thick, white block letters.
I soon finished, happy with my wall.
But then Morgan gently noted that I hadn't left much space between the "is" and the "real."
Since I wrote it high on the wall, it was visible from the street below, as we are on the second story.
So to Palestinians passing by -- people affected every day by the brutal Israeli occupation -- it looked like my wall said:
"Only love isreal." Or, to the quickly glancing eye,
Only love Israel.
And I had written the unintentionally political message in white on a blue wall, exactly the colors of the flag of Israel.
Who does that? Sets out to write an uplifting spiritual quote and ends up reminding her neighbors of the bane of their existence?
Me. I did it. Hahaha.
Although this happened close to when we moved into this apartment back in March of 2013, I thought it blog worthy now, since each time I tell the story it gets funnier. Mistake + time = funny.
Don't worry, I hussled back up that ladder to paint over the "real" with my Smurf blue. I moved it way over to the right and down, at such a safe distance that "is" and "real" could never, ever, be in danger of turning into "Israel."
Now the wall looks like this:
Lesson learned. Don't move into the middle of an oppressed people group and write a pro-oppressor message on your wall.
Love is real,
How to Turn Conflict-Zone Living into a Video Game
Welcome to the first Packing Lust post of 2014! I'm so excited to get back to posting after a nice, long, good-for-the-soul holiday break.
Let me set the scene for you. It was mid December, and Charming and I were looking forward to our family's visit with warm anticipation. We decorated. Charming made a star-shaped tree topper out of aluminum foil whose star shape would later be called into question.
Morgan (BFF, land lady, and co-owner of the cafe downstairs) did an AMAZING job decorating the restaurant, turning its already warm atmosphere into a festive tribute to the season.
And then, as if perfectly timed, it started snowing. How quaint. I took this picture with plans to show you what I assumed would be a light, pre-Christmas dusting.
But then it kept on snowing.
And snowing.
And snowing. Until we were completely snowed in. Except for Jelly, who is an unstoppable canine force.
The power was out for days. Propane was running dangerously low. Charming was fielding calls from freezing employees who didn't have a way to heat their homes, but who were more concerned about the run-off flooding Gaza and displacing thousands. I spent a day downstairs with Morgan and Saleh complaining about how cold I was. They let me sit in the spot closest to the fire, piled blankets on my shoulders, and put their dog in my lap. I went out at one point and got into a life-or-death snowball fight with strange men. I survived and promised Charming (and myself) I wouldn't leave again during the storm.
The roads out of town were closed. My vision of greeting my family at the airport wouldn't come true.
When they landed at Ben Gurion Airport, they had to make their own way to a hotel in the city. Little did we know, Tel Aviv was sunny and practically balmy.
As soon as it was remotely possible, we got into a 4-wheel drive vehicle and headed for the beach. Getting out of town was like leaving the wreckage of a zombie-desolated city. Cars were sliding all over the road. At one point, I left the safety of the Jeep to make a mad dash over ice for an ATM. Armed with cash, a first aid kit, extra water and blankets, we started our journey to the coast, neither of us sure if the roads would be open or passable.
We made it. It took twice as long as normal, but once we were out of the treacherous hills, it was an easy trip. It was so great to finally see my family and enjoy a Tel Aviv coastal sunset.
I should note now that this isn't my entire family. My dad and two more siblings weren't able to make it for this trip. Maybe next time. We had such a wonderful time with our smart, funny, loving, and very patient and gracious family. We made sure their trip included lots of good food, starting on our first night together in Tel Aviv.
The next day it was back to Ramallah, where the snow was melting.
Charming outdid himself with his breakfast spreads. We ate.
And ate.
And ate.
and ate.
And went all around both Israel and Palestine, including an emotional visit to Hebron. Very few people were around, except for the TIPH observers. (Temporary International Presence in Hebron).
The family were good sports the whole time, turning the challenges of 3rd-world living into levels 1-5 of a video game. Level one being getting through passport control, and level five being a moment in Hebron when, upset Charming hadn't tipped them enough for their (unrequested) services, a huge gang of boys surrounded our vehicle and tried to trap us in the parking lot they had lead us to by closing the gates. We escaped our would-be captors by a very narrow opening. Perhaps our good luck was due to all the holiness, including a trip to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
Here they are stooping low to go in the door that was made small to protect the Church of the Nativity from marauders on horseback, and presumably, tall people.
We took them out to Ein Kenya, which is a beautiful spot of nature near Ramallah, and home of Juthour Arboretum. We got our exercise, and my mom, brother, and sister managed to hang out looking like models for sunglasses and active wear.
We went to Jericho and on down to catch a view of the Dead Sea.
The trip gave me the opportunity to do some Gensplaining. I love pretending to know what I'm talking about.
Prince Charming got to do some tour-guiding as well. It was a pleasure when our visitors were so open-minded, curious, and eager to talk about the joys and challenges of the region.
Seriously, family, your visit and wonderful mindset rocked and made every minute fun.
I thank all three of you for being intrepid & adventurous,
positive and resilient in the face of obstacles and setbacks,
and extremely stylish and radiantly attractive.
I was so sad when you packed up to leave.
We love you!
How to Create a Beautiful Website Without Wanting to Die
Do you ever want to just give up before you start working on your website? Ever thrown yourself down dramatically on a dock and said “How am I ever going to create a beautiful and functional website about my sea shell collection?”
Yeah, me neither. But if you want to create a powerful website with minimal drama, you’re in luck. I’ve got a list of my favorite tips and resources right here for you. This is for those who don’t want to mess with a lot of code and aren’t professional developers, yet want to have as much freedom as possible over the look and feel of their site.
Here, for free, are my best steps and tips (and what I do) for creating websites:
Steps
1. Use WordPress.org (not WordPress.com). Follow this tutorial to get WordPress working for you to create a self-hosted blog that you will turn into an awesome website. Self-hosting via WordPress.org is the single best, industry standard way to get the most out of your website. You will eventually regret it if you go with Weebly or a similar service because when you’re ready to grow, they can’t grow with you.
Think About Theme
2. If you are going to use a free theme, select one with lot of positive reviews, not a new, untried one. Look from the dashboard of WordPress under the Appearance > Themes > Install Themes tab. However, I recommend learning on one of the themes that comes pre-installed free with WordPress, and then paying for the Headway Theme.
3. Now it’s time to learn the basics of WordPress, such as how to add a new post, create a menu, and add photos. The WordPress Codex has everything you need, starting with some basic terminology.
4. If you are willing to pay for a theme, I recommend Headway, which you can download here. You’ll probably only need the base plan ($87). Headway allows more customization-without-knowing-code than any other theme I’ve tried. Not convinced? Read more about it here.
5. I recommend watching tutorials to help you learn how to design in Headway, which involves minimal coding. Search Google or Youtube to find a video that answers your specific Headway questions, or you can find free tutorials here. If you are willing to pay to make your learning process and time shorter and sweeter, I recommend Websites Made Easy, by Nathalie Lussier. She has a way of breaking down technical projects into actual human language. I personally use her Websites Made Easy tutorials and I love them.
5. My favorite website to find royalty-free images to use on your blog or site is Photo Pin. I love how it helps you give proper attribution.
6. For editing images, you could use a program like Photoshop that takes forever and slows your computer down, or you could use PicMonkey, which I recommend.
7. Install a few basic plugins from the WordPress Dashboard. I recommend Akismet, BackupBuddy, and JetPack by WordPress.com.
tips
Break it step down into bite-sized pieces. Make a list, and cross each one off as you go.
Pace yourself — don’t try to get your website up and running perfectly in one day.
All most every WordPress question has already been answered somewhere out there — Google and Youtube are your best, best, best, best, best, best friends.
Rock on!
Yours,
Your Worst Enemy
I recently wrote about enthusiasm being your best friend. So, if enthusiasm is your best friend—then what is your worst enemy?