Bokwa & Tai Chi

No, I haven't just randomly typed letters into the heading, those are in fact the names of two new gym classes I tried this evening.

Firstly Bokwa. Bokwa is the latest dance craze since Zumba hit our shores. Which admittedly wasn't that long ago, but turns out we needed another craze. As it happens I never got round to trying Zumba although I wanted to. I thought about it. A lot. But it would seem thinking about something isn't quite the same as getting off your arse and actually doing it.

Anyway, back to Bokwa. Bokwa is Zumba for people who can't dance, have no rhythm, no coordination and can't be arsed with complicated routines. Basically you just make out different letters with your feet on the floor..ie you sort of step round an O shape, or an Lshape etc with a few bounces in between. And that's it. So as long as you have feet and you can spell, you're in. Sounds pretty lame. Except because there are no cringey steps and compulsory dance moves, you can pretty much do what you like within those shapes. So if you want to go all JLo and shake your booty round the place, you can. Or if you want to just step politely round the edges you can do that too.

Why am I telling you any of this?  Because I loved it.

I love dancing and music and being an old married in the berbs I no longer get to do it that often. Other than by myself in a dark room with my headphones on. I also get quite frustrated by dance classes at the gym when they start yelling at you to do moves you don't want to do,(or can't do more to the point) or that involve back breaking feats even a non dodgy back would wince at. I haven't done a gym class for an age...too busy, wrong time, crap timetable, back hurts blah blah am lazy and can't be arsed but making up various stupid excuses, that kind of thing. So I miss a good bit of group sweating and floor pounding.

Hence I signed myself up and off I went.  It was great. The moves are challenging enough to not be boring so you feel a sense of achievement when you have mastered them. The music is upbeat and uplifting, everybody is essentially doing their own thing, in the same vague shape with some ideas chucked in by the instructor, it was fast and high impact enough to get a good sweat (and a nice rosy face) on without being so gruelling I might never walk again. Perfect. ok, not quite perfect, it starts at 7pm which might be too early for me to ever make it home from work in time again but where there's a will...

So I repeat, why I am telling you this? Because it made me happy.

Why did it make me happy?

Because it was exercise. Because it was stretching (actually, like most gym classes, there wasn't much of that) but achievable. Because I was able to achieve a 'sense of mastery'. Because I could let myself go with the 'flow'. Because there was uplifting music. Because I felt a part of something bigger than myself. Because it was new. Because there was a community of us doing it together.

And then I thought to myself, the tai chi class is starting now. I could stay for that. Shall I? Well I wont get home until later. So? Well I hadn't planned to do that. but I suppose I could. I was going to start that next week. And so my inner monologue continued until I remembered something I read on Fat Girl Ph.D's blog earlier today. Stop thinking about it, just bloody do it. Nobody ever regretted working out, thinking about exercising or not is more exhausting than just doing the class. So, I stopped thinking about it and just went for it. I turned around and walked straight back into the same studio I'd just come out of and signed up for tai chi as well.

I have always wanted to do tai chi. There is something very appealing to me about it. It seems to graceful and considered and flowing and peaceful. And after the frenetic leaping around-ness of Bokwa it seemed the perfect antidote. It was.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I loved it! and again, it made me happy.

This time it made me happy for slightly different reasons.

Tai chi made me happy because e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g w.a.s s.l.o.w.e.d r.i.g.h.t d.o.w.n. giving me some much needed space. Space to breathe, literally and metaphorically. Because tai chi has to be so effortless I had to stop the trying so hard I seem to do the rest of the time. Because it is all about mindfulness and meditation. All the movements are really hypnotic and relaxing and I found myself really switching off from the outside and totally focusing inwards. Because tai chi is more spiritual than physical. Because I was learning a new skill...and as in Bokwa, actually managing to do it. I met new people. I relaxed. And I finally found a way to do something I have wanted to do for ages.

I should probably mention that I am also signed up for Anti Gravity Yoga next week as well so watch this space for yet another 'my new thing I learnt today' post.

So, the upshot of all of this is that I'm feeling rather proud of myself today. I got through a lot of work, I ticked off a whole load of chores, I ate well and I've made all my food ready for tomorrow. Then I went out and tried not one but two new exercise classes and enjoyed them both.

I know not every day will pan out like this, but it's worth stopping and appreciating it, and myself, when it does.

So, for now, well done me!

My love affair with autumn

Kicking through crunchy  leaves. Watching conkers bulging on horse chestnut trees and willing them to drop. Their beautiful, shiny, swirly, deep brown-ness that you have to catch quick before it fades.  Breath on a chilly night.  Pumpkins, butternut squash, soups,stews. Russets and golden browns. Long walks. Crisp cool air with bright blue skies. Snuggly jumpers and scarves. Bedding down. Boots. The crackle and hiss, the nose tingling of bonfires in the air.




I absolutely love autumn. I love autumn with a real unbridled child like joy. I experience a real sense of excitement every year when I start to feel it coming in the air. When I realise that soon I can go in search of conkers. Or when I spot a big pile of nice autumn leaves to crunch and kick through to my heart's content.




Take this evening or example. After a long day in the office I really fancied a little walk before settling down for the evening, to get some fresh air and clear my head a bit. Alex came with me. It was just what I needed. The air was nice and cold, but not too cold. The moon was bright. There were some leaves on the ground and I kicked through them absent mindedly as we chatted. And then I spotted there were conker trees lining our route and I could on longer focus fully on the conversation. It no longer mattered that we were only out for a short stroll before needing to get back for dinner. Time ceased to exist. Conkers were afoot. And underfoot, and all I wanted to do was find them and pick them up. I set about filling my pockets and hands with the biggest, shiniest bestest specimens I could find. My favourites are the ones still in their spiky green cases, so you have to carefully prise them out yourself. Or the ones that, when you open them up, actually turn out to be two twins in one case. It doesn't matter how many conkers I have about my person already, or how many times I've been out collecting that day/week/year, or how many years I've been doing it for, it never stops being fun and exciting and satisfying. And Alex knows this and so he joined in. It's weird, because it's not actually about having them, or taking them home. They almost lose some of their magic and romance once you do get them home. The joy is in finding them in the first place and marvelling at their number, and their beautiful deep colour. I know I'm probably quite weird in this way but there we go. I've talked before on here of my love of all things nature, and conkers are really the absolute pinnacle of all of that.

It's not just conkers I love. I don't just love autumn because it happens to be the home of conkers. I love acorns too, for example. Because squirrels love to squirrel them away and I have a particular affinity with squirrels (also documented on here) and because Peter Pan thinks they are kisses and gives one to Wendy which is just too cute. To be honest, I pretty much love all that autumn has to offer. And photographing it, all but one of these pics were taken today which was kind of my inspiration for the post.

I know I'm supposed to love spring best, with its promise of new life and rebirth and jolly prancing lambs and pretty flowers. Or summer, with its clear blue skies and long evenings and floaty skirts and barbeques. And I do love all of those things. But best of all I love autumn. Others might not understand. For many I'm sure Autumn signifies death and decay and bleak long dark nights and rain. But I never tire of it. Autumn has a lot to thank spring and summer for I suppose. If it weren't for all the nice new green leaves that grow in spring or the humid hottness of summer, autumn wouldn't be half as fun. Yet all too soon the leaves will have turned to mush, the conkers have faded and shrivelled and the lovely crisp blue air replaced by wintery ice, and snow, and hats and gloves.

But then again, I love all of those too.

So if I were to spin this around and try to find a link worthy of a blog that purports to chat about happiness as opposed to just about conkers, I'd say there are a few happiness tips in action here:

1. getting out and about and into nature is proven to improve happiness
2. being mindful and in the moment and noticing what is going on around you as opposed to lost in your own head, snap
3. getting a change of scenery, stepping away from the desk and the daily humdrum to clear some metaphorical space
4. moving and exercise, another biggie in the increasing happiness stakes. Nobody ever got happy sat on the sofa all day
5. finding things to be grateful for, whatever they may be, even if on the face of it things seem bleak
6. togetherness and socialising are key. Whilst getting some alone time is also important, holding Alex's hand and mooching around together was lovely
7. Conkers are amazing and I defy anybody not to smile when they find one*

*NB point 7 not quite as scientifically robust as the other 6, but I stand by it.

Silence

It can be golden, or it can be awkward. Whichever way you look at it, silence is definitely reigning strong over my blog at the moment. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's because there is other stuff going on in my life at the moment that mean I don't feel as much need to write things down in here as I did before. Or it could be that my blog is just the latest casualty in a long line of things that I start and then drop by the wayside as I move on to the next shiny new thing. Or it could be that other things have just taken up more room so I haven't had as much time to research, read and reflect on happiness type stuff. Or is it that there are things going on that actually I'm not quite ready to write about for whatever reason?

I don't know the answer.  I still have ideas about what to write about in here, but lacking in the inspiration to actually make it happen.

So rather than sit and stare at a virtual blank piece of paper any longer, I would just write about not writing to see if that helped at all, or unblocked anything.

It was actually an idea that sprang from some writing training I did at work the other week (my new work being something else I haven't written about, but then I never wrote about my old work either I suppose). Anyway, we had writing training and I loved it. It reminded me how much I love writing. Proper writing, with a pen and paper, not typing. Although I enjoy that too, in the write circumstances. Like now for example. I digress. Most of the writing training was focussed on 'free writing'. I have come across this concept before, mostly in the form of 'brain writing' as a brainstorming type technique, but never tried it in the way we did in the training. Basically we were given a series of prompts and had a set time to just write whatever came into our heads. The only rule was that the pen had to keep moving across the paper. No stopping to think, no going back and editing, just writing and moving forward.  If you got stuck, you could either write 'blah blah blah' until something else came into your head and out of your hand, or you could write about being stuck.

And so I come full circle. It gave me the idea to write about being stuck, sort of, on here.

As it turns out, starting out to write about being stuck has now actually led to writing about something I have rediscovered that makes me happy. Writing. Creative writing. I'm now going to start free writing as a daily practice. This is something the 'teacher' also suggested. The reason being it gets your creative juices flowing, allows you to muck about with metaphor and ideas and practice daily so your real written work (which there is a lot of in my job) becomes more fluent, more elegant as a result. She also talked about 'writing as thinking' which also really struck a chord with me. I hate that blank page feeling, but often I wont let myself commit pen to paper until I have a fully formed idea and know what I'm going to write. Daft she says. Where is the fun in that? Then the writing just becomes a chore because all of the fun bit and the creating and the thinking has been done. Instead use free writing as a way to eek out and form your thoughts. Often we dont know why we're stuck but free writing helps us to uncover what's really going on

So, here I am free writing, well typing at least, on my blog. I'm going to stick to her other rule and not read this back at all. I'm going to press 'publish' and then close the page down and walk away.

I wonder when I'll be back?

Mind them

A while back, when I was working through working out my values (and writing several posts on the subject) I read one piece of advice that really resonated more than the rest. It was to pay attention to when something really upsets you. When something gets you really fired up and you just feel so wrong about it. Those moments when you get wound up about something are probably to do with your values. So whatever it is that's upset you and your sense of what's right, is probably the opposite to what you value. And today I experienced the perfect example of this in action. Several times in a row! And all at a service station in Stafford on the way up to Walney.
First of all, as we were coming out of the service station somebody barged through coming the other way ( ie coming in) so we had to step out of the way. I caught the door as it was closing behind her to walk through it myself, only to find three more people streaming through and I ended up holding the door for them before eventually getting out myself. There was then another door and again, the people coming in continued to do so forcing me and Alex to stand to one side and wait.
Not one of them said thank you. Which is one thing, but more to the point, am I missing something here? Are the unwritten rules on right of way in and out of doors different in Stafford? Doesn't everybody know that people coming out are invited to do so before people going in? Is that SO difficult a rule to follow?
I was still muttering about this when we got back to the car and probably still would be now, had I not then spotted something that horrified me even more. A bunch of blokes crammed themselves into some cruddy little car and looked about to set off. Then the front door opened again and to my utter disgust, horror and total disbelief, the ignorant, lazy nobhead in the front seat proceeded to empty a load of rubbish out of his footwell and onto the carpark. Crisp bag followed redbull can followed malt drink carton. It just kept coming and when they eventually drove off it just sat there, floating around the now empty space. There was a bin about 15 feet away.Ok it was raining, but surely those big blokes are hard enough to cope with a bit of rain for a few seconds? They had managed to get to and from the service station to stock up on lard after all.
Speechless. Insensed. Utterly flabbergasted. Shocked. Total disbelief.
I simply just cannot understand this behaviour. I am so far from understanding it that I find it hard to put into words why.
I mean, am I just an incredibly uptight poncey southerner with an outdated sense of loyalty to a bunch of arcane social rules and niceties? Or, do I just believe in common courtesy, decency, respect and manners?
Needless to say, whatever the answer, we struck gold with the whole value identification thing!
I don't think I'm alone. We were watching the Tour de France the other day which I have never done before and I was particularly drawn to how the whole thing pretty much seems to operate on a series of unwritten rules, gentlemanliness, manners and common courtesy. How very civilised. And on a day when the radio was full of chat about all the effing and blinding in football, how refreshing.
It really isn't difficult, if only society in general was as considerate and observing of the unwritten rules as the peloton.
I bet Bradley Wiggins doesn't barge threw doors the wrong way or throw rubbish out of his car. And I bet he always says thank you.

3 stone

I was just reading an article about the link between obesity and the brain, and a particular study on mice. It showed that eating a high fat diet increased cells in the hypothalmus, the part of the brain responsible for metabolism. They then blasted those cells back off again in half the group and continued to feed them all the same high fat diet. The group with the new cells blasted off gained weight at a considerably slower rate than those who kept their new cell growth, plus they used more energy and were more active despite being fed exactly the same diet.

Whilst this is an early days study and hasn't been replicated in humans, it does go to add weight (pardon the pun) to the theory that being fat makes you, well, fat.

And as I was reading the article it struck me that I hadn't actually written a post about my own weight loss, or the 20 years of battling with my weight that preceded that.

So I thought I would.

What I am about to write is my own personal experience, and I am in no way trying to speak for anybody else. We all experience the world and ourselves in totally different ways, and this is how I experience me.

before

As well as making me fat, being fat made me miserable.

There it is. There is no dressing it up or getting around the issue.

Although you could argue that being miserable made me fat...that is also a possibility and it's hard to really tell which came first. I expect I started to feel better about myself enough to realise I didn't need to stay that way. Really I expect it's a vicious circle with one feeding (pardon the pun) the other until eventually something breaks the pattern.


Well after years off yo-yoing and trying every diet under the sun, I eventually succeeded and I cannot begin to put into words how much better I feel, both physically and emotionally, both about and within myself since I have lost weight.

before

Silly things like not needing to spend hours in front of the mirror every day trying to find something to wear that was acceptable (in my eyes). Or dreading standing up in front of people to present for fear they'd just be thinking I was fat instead of listening to what I had to say. Or continually looking at my reflection in shop
windows as I walk past to check what I'm looking like. Or being the only one sweating during a pilates class. Constantly arguing with myself over food choices, about going to the gym and constantly beating myself up when I made the 'wrong' choice.

Silly little things in the real world that made daily life in my world really quite painful.

I can hardly believe when I look back on those days that I actually managed to get through each day with all of those hang ups and worries going on, all the time. No wonder I was stressed and fed up and tired and emotional. It was a special day when I first realised that I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. That I couldn't remember the last time I'd worried about how I looked when I got up to present. That I no longer fretted and faffed over what to wear every morning (extra time in bed, great!). It is very liberating.

I'm not perfect. I still have my moments, but they are only moments, they are no longer the constant soundtrack to my every day. I've killed my inner conflict over food with new found NLP processes, I'm making better choices and giving myself a break when I fancy a break. And I'm learning to love myself rather than stuff myself with food.

A very lovely lady from my NLP course said to me "you strike me as a really big person, who's been making herself quite small". She meant it metaphorically, but it made me think.  Would a 'big person who makes herself small', in some way try to compensate for this inner smallness by unconsciously making herself appear bigger on the outside? Interesting.

after

Anyway, I was a physically big person who has successfully made herself smaller and is now able to be much bigger as a person as a result. I am so proud of what I've achieved, and maintained subsequently and so happy that I now feel (and look!) much more like me.

Those 3 stone (and 3 dress sizes, actually 4 from my biggest moments) are a massive weight not just off my body, but more importantly a massive weight off my mind.

........

Now, as it happens, I actually drafted this post quite a while ago and haven't until now plucked up the courage to publish it. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because it's intensely personal. Maybe it's because it's a bit sort of self trumpet blowing. Maybe it's because actually, I don't totally believe it's true. Mostly it is, but not all of it, at least not all of the time. Yes, I have lost a lot of weight. Yes I look a lot better. Yes, I feel a lot better. But I don't think I have really resolved my relationship with food, and recently I seem to be rebelling somewhat. I've started finding it almost impossible to stick to a routine with food, I've started letting bad habits creep back in and the pounds have started piling back on. I do know that when other areas of my life go a bit squiffy, so does my diet and eating, so going through a load of interviews and soul searching questions about career paths, resigning from my current job etc etc would count in that arena I guess! We're not talking anything too major here, but today, for example (and ok, after a particularly cake heavy hen weekend!) I'm 9lbs above the lightest I got to before. And while people are still telling me how skinny I look and blah blah blah, I can tell the difference, and I simply can't let it go any further northwards. It strikes me that unless I want to spend my entire life on some ridiculous scale watching, weight yo-yoing, in and out of dieting scenario I need to be tackling the emotional side of eating head on now.  I know all about nutrition, I know all about portion control, I know about carbs and sugar being particularly attractive to my fat stores...but knowing doesn't actually always help. Something clicked in my brain when I started doing the Dukan diet back in Oct 2010 that switched off all the other emotional signals and I was able to follow it to the letter for 8 months, even over Christmas. Whatever that something was, it's clicked back off again and I seem to have misplaced the bastard switch! It's not even just eating, I realised the other day that my inability to stop biting my nails here and there, even at 35, is just another oral fixation. I have no off switch when it comes to drinking either.

So, what to do, other than continue to swing wildly from protein eating tea-totaller one minute to cake scoffing alcoholic the next? Well, I've decided, since counselling never really touched the sides with this one, and since these are all habits deeply routed in the unconscious that my conscious mind seems completely pathetic at controlling, I will bypass the conscious bit and try hypnosis.

I've wanted to try hypnotherapy for ages, for various reasons and afflictions (!) and have decided that eating/weight management is going to be the one to try it on. I have 2 sessions booked in from next week and a load of self hypnosis mp3s to listen to so fingers crossed.

I shall report back shortly!

today...

Today I felt a bit sorry for myself.

The glorious long weekend was over.  The once jolly bunting was now hanging all limp and soggy. My beautiful sweet smelling peonies were browning and stinky. My head hurt, my tummy hurt, my back hurt. I had no energy whatsoever. The weird poorliness I'd noticed creeping in over the weekend was making a final bid to take over.

I hauled myself up and out and into London, only to realise it had been a mistake and carted myself back off home again.

Where I sat in the cold and dark and stared at the wall wondering what to do next.

My options were: feel sorry for myself. eat things. go back to bed.

I tried all of those and got bored of each in turn.

I stared at the wall a bit more, just in case the answer was written there and I just hadn't noticed it before.

Then I had an idea.

I used to read. A lot. I have a Kindle onto which I have downloaded a multitude of books, from frivolous fancy to downright dry. But over the last few months, since I've become more and more interested in all this happiness chat and have been buying more and more books on the subject, I've also, paradoxically, been reading less. I can't seem to make myself read all these books I've been buying. They just sit on the shelf staring at me, reproaching me for bothering to buy them in the first place. Do I think their wisdom will transfer by some kind of osmosis just by being in the same room as me?  Or am I just rebelling against things I think I should do rather than what I really want to do? I read so many blogs and articles and reports online that actually, what I really want to read in book form is pappy nonsense. The kind of pappy nonsense you fill your suitcase with for a beach holiday. The kind of pappy nonsense that concerns itself with cupcakes and cocktails, where cliches abound. But I've stopped reading that too recently. I think I feel guilty reading such vacuous rubbish when I have a shelf full of terribly interesting sciencey type stuff to read instead.

There's a certain irony in there, that a little treat I used to enjoy, that acted almost like my sanctuary, has been dropped in the muddle of this happiness journey of mine. Which just goes to prove the old adage that you cannot search for happiness, you just have to realise where you had it to begin with.

Well reading nonsense was certainly a happiness of mine and I'd let it slip. But now I'd realised it, it was time to put it right.

So today, I gave myself a break. I dug out and dusted down my kindle and downloaded a suitably dreadful sounding book called "Through with men". And then I sat there and read the whole thing in one day. It was rubbish. And I loved it.

And feeling buoyed by this I took myself off to the Chinese Doctor who told me my Qi was too low because my meridians are all bunged up and proceeded to stick all manner of needles and weird cups all over me and then left me to fall asleep under a nice hot lamp listening to whale music. He then prescribed me some funny herby things and gave me some herbal plaster things to slap on my achey bits.

And now I feel much better.

Better because I gave myself a break.
Better because I allowed myself what I wanted and needed rather than what I felt I ought to be doing.
Better because I've picked back up an old pastime I used to enjoy but had let slip.
Better because I forced myself to stop moping about and to focus on solutions instead.
and better because this weird herbal plaster thing is actually working.

So today turned out ok after all.

And tomorrow is another day.

Hip Hip, Hooray

I feel moved to try and capture some of the spirit of this fantastic Diamond Jubilee weekend with a post, but fear I shall fail miserably. It has been too lovely by far to put into words, although I shall still try.

There are so many reasons why I, for one, have had such a jolly lovely time, and as soon as I try to separate them from each other they all lose something...I think this weekend the whole really has been far greater than the sum of all its parts.

It has felt almost like Christmas, where the whole nation, and beyond, has been focused on the same thing, on the same joyful celebration. The atmosphere has been truly amazing, it has really taken my breath away and has been absolutely lovely to see and to be a part of.

There's been flag waving and bunting, pork pies and fireworks, good old British spirit in the face of driving rain, good cheer & merriment all round. We've always said us British know how to throw a good party and I think we've certainly proved it this weekend.

But I think what I have been most moved by is the outpouring of affection for the Queen herself. Including by me.

I don't really think I'd stopped to think about what the Jubilee was really all about in the run up to the weekend, or to contemplate what it involved. It wasn't until a few days beforehand that I really understood what the running order of the weekend was and what was going on. So I was totally taken aback by the sheer scale of the thing. By how many people came out in force both in London and further afield to celebrate. By how people really came together.

It really did feel like something from another age, with crowds of people lining the streets spontaneously breaking into chants of God Save the Queen. I have never seen anything like it and likely never will again.

I have also been absolutely mesmerised by the Queen herself. I have been glued to the television watching every moment, every wave, every smile. I have loved all the footage of her through the years and listening to all the stories of her times gone by. Even her standing up for so long at a time over the weekend was remarkable enough! There are so many things about her, her role, her family and her background I didn't know before and never really felt inclined to find out. Now I could sit and watch her all day, and have done!



We didn't travel into London, we didn't go and line the streets ourselves, we didn't arrange our own street party (does a small house party count?) or even really attend one (although we went and looked at several!), we didn't watch either of the two beacon lightings near us. But we joined in in our own little way and it felt very, very special indeed to be a part of something so huge and so wonderful.




It is lovely to see such spirit across the UK given the doom and gloom we've been surrounded by in recent times. Whether it be double dip recessions, financial collapse, political disillusionment, war, terrorism, fighting, rioting and so on. It feels as if the combination of last year's Royal Wedding, the Jubilee and next the Olympics are bringing a new dawn of hope, renewing our faith, lifting the mood and reminding us of all the good stuff again.




For me, this weekend has been very, very special. And I'm aware that I've now said that twice but I can't say it enough. It has been truly humbling and inspiring in many ways and it has made me very proud to be British, amongst many other things. It has been much too big a deal for me to even get anywhere near to capturing here.




Over the last 4 days we've had compassion, community, good cheer, faith, dedication, affection, optimism,celebration, pride, being a part of something, giving back, gratitude, resilience, emotion, direction and meaning.

In bucket loads.



And that sounds like a pretty good recipe for happiness to me.

Long may it continue, and long live the Queen.

Hip Hip, Hooray! Hip Hip, Hooray! Hip Hip, Hooray!