I’m strolling down Lexington Avenue on a sunny Saturday morning, feeling proud of myself for having risen at seven to work out.  Despite the chill, I’ve decided to walk home from the gym instead of taking the bus.  As I approach 28^th Street, a disheveled man wearing a raincoat splattered with stains approaches me.  I feel around my pockets for change, but find none.

Trapped under scaffolding, the cool air damp from lack of sun, I make a split second decision to fly in the face of conventional Manhattan wisdom – and smile.  As we pass, he leans toward me and screams “You’re fat!” right into my face.

That happened to me over 12 years ago. My ego held onto it for quite some time, basking in the misery I allowed it to create. The funny thing about being fat is that when someone reminds you of your fatness, especially in such a rudimentary fashion, it makes you want to eat.  Not a lovely crudite.  Or a fresh salad.  But a giant, gooey, chocolate-covered ice cream sundae that slides down the throat and drowns the pain and shame in its sweet elixir.

Of course, I’ve received other suggestions:

“Just eat less.”

“Exercise more.”

“All you need to do is change your eating habits.”

Helpful advice offered by well-meaning people who have made different choices in their coping mechanisms. Sometimes I feel like screaming back,

“At least I’m not married to an alcoholic.”

“No one will ever accuse me of being the town gossip.”

“You’re homeless!”

Retaliating doesn’t solve anything, however.  In fact, it perpetuates fear and anger.  It would be great if my friend could admit that her husband is an alcoholic, see the devastation it wreaks on her family, and make a healthier choice.  It would be awesome if another friend could realize the damage her gossiping does and recognize that she does it because it’s easier to focus on other people’s troubles than to look in the mirror.  And it would be amazing if that homeless man could find a job; then he wouldn’t be homeless. Unfortunately, life is not so Dr. Phil simple.

Our ability to live in denial about any number of things that are apparent to those who know us surpasses every other creature in nature.  The behaviors we use to prevent us from seeing the truth are designed to protect us from what we subconsciously believe will cause us inordinate pain.  From cigarette smoking to popping Vicadin, we all have our survival mechanisms.

Many people who are fat were abused, raised by alcoholics, adopted, molested, abandoned, or otherwise traumatized. The only difference between those who are overweight and everyone else who experienced similar circumstances is that their method of coping is worn on the hips and buttocks.

Instead of drinking a six-pack every night, cruising the Internet for anonymous sex, spending thirty hours a week at the gym, or working until midnight – some of which can be carefully hidden from loved ones, and others are even accepted practice or marks of success in society – fat people eat.

Food is how I chose to deal with that which was undealable.  It was how I opted, as a child, to cope with the trauma of sexual abuse.  Then it became the way I dealt with any and all trauma.  A habit, fraught with emotional anchors and psychological complexities, which has been as tightly wound around my being as the cellulite that covers my thighs.  A habit that I have yet to eradicate, despite the level of difficulty that exists when one is fat in America.

Now, had I been born in Europe at the beginning of the 17^th century, the story would be completely different.  Then, being fat was symbolic of wealth, prosperity and class.  If you were thin, it was assumed you were stupid, had no class and were of little value to society.  With the exception of an occasional gleeful daydream, I wouldn’t want to live in that society either.  Because a community that belittles any of its members is fraught with issues that go far beyond making fun of fat people.

Despite the societal vagaries, the choice to eat excessively has been mine.  No one has ever hog-tied me, pardon the pun, and forced either Ben or Jerry upon me.  Yet, I cannot help to feel a bit resentful that my chosen method of coping has placed me on the receiving end of myriad messages constructed to desecrate my self-esteem.

For years, gaggles of razor-thin models and actresses layered with the absence of anyone heavy ever “getting the job, the man, the glory” in the media – be it sitcom, film or news – cast a subliminal voodoo spell, hypnotizing my mind until I believed I could never have any of those things.  Add to that the childhood taunts, the nightmare of dating, the bigger nightmare of clothes shopping, and the horror of shocked stares at the pool, and what little self-esteem I salvaged evaporated like a puddle on a hot summer day.

I’ve never actually gone up to someone and said, “I’m sorry if my being fat bothers you. I’m so sorry for not living up to your standard of fitness, beauty, or worth.”  I didn’t have to. It was written all over me.  The fear in my eyes, the false bravado, the concave posture all trumpeted: “I’m sorry I’m fat – please don’t make a scene” to anyone who, upon noticing me, responded with an averted glance or snicker.

In a perverted Pavlovian twist, I grew so accustomed to this response, that although not everyone shared that opinion, I anticipated the disdain, like Mary Antoinette waiting for the guillotine.  I didn’t just anticipate it; I expected it.

Feeling sorry for who you are is a tenuous way to move through life.  It made me fragile in invisible ways, noticed mostly by those who are also damaged and whose primary method of survival is to create and then manipulate negative attention onto someone else.

Yes, “society” contributed to the depth of my own brand of self loathing.  But I know plenty of people who behave in ways that say they are sorry for who they are, even if they don’t have a plump rear or bat wings to show for it.  The truth is that the responsibility for feeling good about who I am rests on my shoulders, not on those of actors, the amorphous “media” or society at large.

Despite the challenges of being fat, it appears that people are ending up this way in droves. I now have a family of fat people who are now demanding wider car seats, longer seat belts and fashionable clothes.  Now that there are more than 60 million obese Americans, the capitalistic bottom feeders have found a way to profit from the feeding frenzy by providing designer jeans in double-digit sizes and sturdier toilets.

Some might say I’m being harsh.  Manufacturers and businesses are just giving fat people what they want.  Where’s my fat pride?  Don’t I see that fat people now constitute a powerful economic force?  Shouldn’t I be overjoyed at finally achieving some semblance of equality?  Perhaps they’re right.  I certainly benefit from some of the products now available.

All I know is that after living more than 30 years as an overweight person, I want the focus to be on something besides being fat.  I’ve heard all of the suggestions, advice and responses. I’ve done Atkins, Weight Watchers, South Beach and the Dolly Parton Cabbage Soup diet.  I exercise on a regular basis.  I have a physical almost every year with a complete battery of blood work.  And I’m still fat.

Recognizing and accepting the value of what I bring to my experiences and giving myself credit for accomplishments, healthy relationships and tough choices that honor me have ultimately created a stronger foundation of worth than I ever believed I could have.  Now where did I put that pint of Chunky Monkey?

Congratulations to Tampa resident Mintie Das whose manuscript for the novel Brown Girl, is at the McVeigh Agency in NYC. I worked with Mintie as both a book coach and an editor. If you know someone looking for support in writing his or her book, I’m available to help. Whether fiction or non-fiction, I can provide direction in structure, outline development, querying agents and indie publishers, and also offer guidance in evaluating self-publishing options. Call me at 813-598-1624 or e-mail backauskas@yahoo.com.

I’ve been working in the library a lot lately and am fascinated with how many people use their one-hour allotment of Internet access to play online virtual reality games. Brian Carter, 56, and unemployed turns into Dagmar Manfred, 24, a successful real estate investor. Betsy Carlow, a 35-year old secretary becomes Pussycat Dawl, a 22-year old barista by day/rock star by night.

I used to think fantasy wasn’t all bad – if it makes you feel good and doesn’t hurt anyone in the process, what harm is there in a little escape from reality? Part of me wishes that was still my perspective because then I could ignore that I am responsible for creating my own life, my own reality, my own feelings. I try to persuade myself it would allow me to live in the bliss of ignorance.

I’ve often asked myself what makes me afraid.  What makes me believe I can’t have what I want or that I need to settle?  I’ve called it the devil, said it was destiny, told myself it was punishment for bad behavior, blamed it on karma from past lifetimes I couldn’t control.

I sought comfort in all types of spiritual texts, found momentary solace in explanations given by teachers and gurus, and delighted my ego and intellect with enlightenment that made sense at the time. I appreciate all of those experiences.

But after all of the searching, I’ve concluded that having an answer makes me feel better for a while, but it rarely has anything to do with the truth. Once all of the sifting and sorting is done, the only thing that makes any sense is to stop looking for it.

This process requires me to sit still so the false beliefs I’ve invented have room to bubble to the surface and burst. It means I must stop thinking, something that seems incredibly difficult a lot of the time. It forges faith and demands trust. It leaves me feeling naked and raw. Most of all, calling off the search forces me to return to a place where I am filled with wonder and utterly relieved I don’t have an answer.

I’ve been AWOL for a month . . . so much going on. And as always, insights into ego and Self come with the territory.

Treasures:

In the midst of selling the house, discovering where I’m going next, writing articles for clients, creating the script for the Next Top Spiritual Author contest then shooting and editing the video, and processing all of the emotion that accompanied all of these experiences, I entered a contest on Tongal.com to create a concept to advertise the new Iphone ap TextPlus, which allows you to text large groups at one time. The goal was to use a scene from American history and show how things would have been different if the ap were available then.  Here’s what I submitted:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A group of hippies sits around a campfire at Woodstock partying to the music when they each receive a message via TextPlus: FUZZ. They quickly swallow all of their illicit party paraphernalia, sit up straight, and act sober. One of them sprays air freshener. The cops run in, ready to make a bust, but can’t find a reason to arrest anyone. As the cops run off, a camper takes out an Iphone and texts other friends as a warning. As the campers leave at the end of the concert, they see cops with three hippies in handcuffs. The camper with the Iphone laughs. “Dude, you shoulda had TextPlus.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The giggles the idea gave me are worth more than any prize money . . . but that would be nice, too!

Tchochkes:

When I bought an ad in the Flyer for the moving sale I scheduled for the 3/20, I thought I had done enough. Not ever having thrown a garage sale before, and not being one who seeks them out as a buyer, I had no idea that I was doing anything wrong . . . until the sales at the end of the day totaled $1, obtained in exchange for a rusted out wheelbarrow.

So this weekend, I’ve stepped up the game and hope to pass on what no longer needs to be with me. If you’re in Tampa, stop by. You never know what kind of joy you’ll find in what someone else is releasing!

Terrific Thoughts:

Throughout the processes of selling the house and beginning the journey for the Next Top Spiritual Author contest, ego has been glued to my hip, determined to remind me of who I am.  Thanks to it, I’ve become aware of more patterns and habits that keep me from living life as me.  Thank God for ego.

If you haven’t seen RuPaul’s Drag Race, treat yourself. It’s hilarious, snarky, and glam-a-licious.

What a joy to move through the process of seeing how I tried to make a friend into someone she’s not and accepting her for who she is.

How exciting that I went to a junkyard all by myself last week, got a new-to-me mass air flow sensor, and the Pathfinder is running like a top! I felt like I was in the middle of  a Joe Pesci movie.

I’m amazed at the level of appreciation I have for myself and the two friends, Jeff and Christian, who brought the video for the Next Tip Spiritual Author contest, into this dimension. I love creating!

The next time I post, the house will “belong” to someone else. Not sure where I’ll be, but I know it will be fabulous! If I can continue to create in the midst of all of this, you can do it to, so go express yourSelf!

A trip to the beach in Indian Rocks always opens the door for insights, understanding and inspiration. It also makes me the slightest bit snarky.  Here’s what went through my mind during the process of going to the beach today:

* I wish I could scrub the inside of my brain with a bucket of soapy water, rinse, and repeat.

* It was stunning to realize that I’ve always believed that the way to deal with pain is to push through it.  Not to walk away from what’s causing it or to stop what I’m doing that makes it hurt.  Head down. Nose to the grindstone. Push through it. That’s what I’ve done.  Because my belief was that when you push through the pain, it goes away. It does not. You just get used to it.

* I saw a guy getting onto the interstate driving a motor cycle wearing a neck brace, but no helmet. Seriously.

* I really had a taste for a Greek salad. One of my recent intentions is to “look for what I say I want,” so on the 20 minute drive back to Tampa, I looked and looked, but saw nothing. Trying to read the tiny type on the strip mall signs even made me almost swerve into the next lane. I reminded myself I merely had to keep my eyes open, not hunt for it. I was almost at Panera’s, where I planned to write for a few hours, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of eating there . . . again. I almost pulled in, but something made me keep going and what was in the very next block? A new (open for a week “new”) Greek restaurant called Gogo’s Greek Cafe. God’s a funny guy.

* I read that Chris Brown spoke out in support of Tiger Woods. Really.

* When Kevin Smith got kicked off the Southwest Airlines flight a week ago, it hit a nerve. As someone who has been heavy most of my life, the news created a tornado of memory and anxiety. Once I moved through it and no longer felt emotionally connected, I had a thought. What if it was a publicity stunt? What if the whole thing was a set up because he had a movie opening in a few days and no box office success in years? No publicity is bad publicity, right? I shuddered at the thought. After reading the reviews for Cop Out, my thought had been upgraded to a theory.

* I’ve taken things because they were available, not because I wanted them. Like a to-go Pepsi from Panera’s. From this moment forward, let me take things because I desire them, because they make me feel good. Not because I’m afraid I’ll want it another time and it won’t be available.

* For years, I’ve interpreted the tight feeling I sometimes get around my throat as my body telling me that if I didn’t so the thing I was thinking about doing, that I wouldn’t have what I needed.  Now I realize I was wrong.  What my body has been trying to tell me all this time is, “You don’t need to do this. There are other options you can’t see yet. Sit tight.”  This changes everything.

* Measurement has always been an obsession of mine. Grades, time, sales figures, hips. If there was a way, I’d measure it. It’s been more than 11 years since I left my corporate job and I still find myself placing value on my accomplishments based on the amount of time it took to achieve them. Today while walking on the beach, I turned around to see how far I’d gone. It looked to be a little over 100 yards and like some kind of idiot savant, I began calculating – 5,280 feet in a mile, 1760 yards, so if I go 300 yards, that’s . . .  then something stopped me. Why was it so important to know if I walked 1/8 of a mile or 1/4 or 1/2?  Measurement can be an effective method of evaluation, but what was I really evaluating?  The important thing to measure is how I feel – not how far I’ve gone, how many books I’ve sold, canvasses I’ve painted or money I’ve earned. Measure the joy. It’s all that matters.

* Free the damn whale.  Quit capturing wild animals so you can make money and then get pissed off when it does what it was created to do. When you play in a snake pit and get bitten by snake, you’re an idiot to be angry with the snake.  Let the whale go and find another way of “entertaining” the masses before more people die and are more people are traumatized because they paid to watch it happen.

*Wearing the Pashmina shawl my friend Barb bought me in Pakistan makes me feel wildly feminine.   Why is it that draping material over your shoulders brings out the girly? Maybe it’s the fringe.

I once remember a former boss saying, “The only consistent thing in life is change.” Twenty years later, I have a deeper understanding of what she meant.

The biggest change for me right now is my absolute commitment to doing only what makes me feel good.  So there are some things I thought I’d be doing that I’m choosing not to pursue.

What I am doing is working on my third novel. I’m selling my house because I want to live in an apartment overlooking Tampa Bay. I’ve approached a literary agent who I feel would make a great partner and expect to sell the work I’ve done over the last few years.

I’m also writing for the Lazy Days RV center and learning lots of interesting things and meeting the most fantastic people.  I invite you to check out their site at www.betterRVing.com.

As of next week, I’m returning to the old blog format, so you’ll see the new blog immediately when you arrive.  For now, it’s below. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts and experiences with you. I look forward to hearing about yours.

staci

The Significance of Insignificant

For years, I struggled to find the discipline to wash my face every night before bed. I know it may sound silly, but it’s been one of the tiny battles in my life – the kind that don’t require the general and all the troops, but one that has consistently redirected energy without my awareness.

When I’m in the groove, there is no doubt how much I love the feeling of a steaming hot washcloth laid over my face and the fresh smell of facial cleanser. It is a symbolic “wiping away” of the day and allows me to retire for the evening feeling good because the last thing I did was take care of me.

There always seems to come a night, however, when I say I’m too tired and convince myself that missing one time won’t matter. But it does. Because somehow, one night turns into two, then seven, and before I know it, I’m back in the middle of the struggle wondering how I let it happen . . . again.

Recently, something shifted and for several months now, I’ve washed my face every night. When I didn’t want to or felt too tired, I reminded myself how good it felt to crawl into bed knowing I’d taken the time to do something that made me feel so good. I didn’t give myself any “outs.”

It wasn’t long before something interesting began to happen. In the mornings, I noticed that regardless of how I slept, no matter what happened the day before or what I was facing next, I smiled – because I knew that I had taken five tiny minutes to feel good and nothing could ever take that away from me.

What continues to amaze me is how this relatively minor decision turned out to be the linchpin that created enormous change in my life. Changes that were waiting to happen, but required me to turn around and walk confidently in the direction of what I wanted.

They say that change happens in an instant. It’s resistance to change that takes a lifetime. Who knew that keeping the commitment to wash my face each night would gradually erase the resistance that has prevented the change?

Thank you for being such beautiful light!

I’ve done a lot of thinking recently about all of the people on Twitter and Facebook who assert that they are financially prosperous doing everything from Google adwords to Law of Attraction coaching.  And I wonder what I would find if I asked them all to send me their tax returns for the last three years.

There is such a feeling of inauthenticity in so much of what I see online and I still ask myself regularly how to present what I do with integrity and honesty – how do I let people know about what I do?  I mean, did Jesus put signs on camels and send them out into the desert advertising his sermons?  If Buddha were alive, would he Twitter? Would Krishna be my Facebook friend?

By asking those questions, I’m not drawing a comparison between myself and them as much as I’m asking, “’how do I get the word out?” I once had a friend who said, “where I come from in Georgia, if you want to preach, you stand up on a soapbox and preach and trust that whoever needs to hear you will show up.” Her wisdom always rings true for me.

So, from my tiny soapbox in the middle of cyber space, this is me saying: I can show you how to cut through the smoke and mirrors of ego so you know more of your light.  If I can be of service, please let me know.

Lots of interesting discussions going on in the TLOL group on Facebook.  Join and jump right in.

Finally, just a few weeks til the “official” book launch for ego: A Primer, but you can learn more or get your advanced copy here. Want to see what it’s all about?  Get a free chapter by filling in your e-mail below.

Be light!

staci

Thanks for adding your light!

In the last month, I’ve come across two kindred spirits who are doing similar work and want to share them with you. Sandy Gluckman works with individuals and corporations to manage ego and create lighter environments.  Learn more about her at www.sandygluckman.com

Carolyn Herfurth has a great new web site called TruthU – www.truthu.com – where she openly discusses her encounters with her ego.  She has inspired me to keep my commitment to doing video stories of my own experiences and provides a great reminder that no one has the answer to your questions but YOU!

We’ll be doing the first flash chat in the next couple of weeks.  To get all the info, you need to be a member of the TLOL group on Facebook.  Why not take a second and join now?

A mere four weeks til the “official” book launch for ego: A Primer, but you can get your advanced copy here.

Stay connected by subscribing to the monthly newsletter or the Daily Haiku by entering your e-mail address in the box below.  And finally, an opportunity to change your perception about “disadvantaged” people in the blog below – just scroll down.

Be light!

staci

The Disadvantage of Using the Word Disadvantaged

On a recent episode of Celebrity Jeopardy, Alex Trebek and Christopher Meloni chatted about Smile Train, an organization that provides low-cost surgery to repair cleft paletes. During the conversation, Trebek made a remark about the importance of taking care of “the disadvantaged people.”

To most, this may sound kind, compassionate, and even generous. To me, it was merely ego disguising itself as benevolence.

When we label someone “disadvantaged,” it automatically puts us one step above. It allows us to feel good about “helping” because “they” “need” “help.” And ego falls on the floor, laughing its ass off that it’s driven us to do “good” instead of seeing the truth.

The truth is a child with a cleft palate isn’t “disadvantaged” – she is merely having a different experience than I am. Only I have the power to judge, or not judge, what that means to me.

Putting a label like disadvantaged on someone only serves to make them less than. Then, by default, I must be “more than.” The only thing that makes ego happier than to believe it’s “less” than someone is believing it’s “better.”

It’s not ever content with the concept of oneness and it will do whatever it can to make you forget the truth and anchor you in the illusion that you’re either better or worse off than whoever you’re judging.

The next time you’re thinking about “helping the disadvantaged,” why not say something like: Let me be kind and compassionate.  Period.

Welcome!

As 2010 rises on the horizon, I am incredibly grateful for everything – and that includes new developments and directions for The Language of Light, many of which will make it easier for all of us to serve and support each other on this journey.

Beginning in January, we’ll be hosting flash group chats through Savor Chat. I invite you to connect with the TLOL group on Facebook so you can participate in sharing your stories and successes around ego awareness.

The “official” book launch date for ego: A Primer is February 3rd, but you can get a jump start here. There are also a never ending stream of inspiring opportunities – developing and facilitating a workshop for women and men who’ve experienced sexual violence, co-creating a mentoring program for those who’ve experienced prison, and so much more.

To stay connected, you can subscribe to the monthly newsletter or receive a thoughtful Haiku every day by entering your e-mail address in the box below.  And get a head start on 2010 with the blog “Perception May Equal Reality, But It’s Far From The Truth – just scroll down.

I wish you all a peaceful, joyous and prosperous 2010!

Be light!

staci

Perception May Equal Reality, But It’s Far From The Truth

For years, when I sought advice from my mother about a major decision, the conversation deteriorated into an argument. Because of perceptions locked within both of our minds, no matter what she said, I heard, “You are not capable of handling this.” And when I didn’t agree with her, she heard, “My opinion doesn’t matter.” This led to some awful disagreements and much unpleasantness.

My pattern has been – Ask her for advice, repeat the negative exchange, make a commitment not to involve her in my decision making process, forget I made the commitment, ask for her counsel, repeat. As we’ve both evolved and become more of who we really are, the intensity level of the pattern has been mitigated, but it still existed.

For some reason, mothers and children seem to fall prey to a pattern like this more frequently than any other relationship. Perhaps it’s the cellular memory from childhood of striving for independence and perceiving the mother doesn’t support that when she corrects or redirects. Whatever the cause, the result is the same – hearing subtext where there is none and creating chaos and negativity.

Last night, my mother and I discussed the solution I’ve chosen for selling my house. There was only one hiccup and we sailed right through it and had a meaningful conversation filled with valuable suggestions and receptivity. This morning, I realized that all of those years I heard, “You can’t handle this,” what she was saying was, “Let me help you empower yourself.”

Too often, we allow ego to “hear” what it wants, covering the truth with its smoke and mirrors and preventing us from experiencing peace – which is where power lies. How grateful I am to have broken that destructive habit, to hear what is being said instead of what ego perceives. To rise above perception, ignore “reality” and know the truth.

Each month a new Haiku supports your commitment to staying in peace no matter the circumstances around you.

All it takes is 10 seconds.

10 seconds to read and remember the truth.

10 seconds to silence the orchestra of thought called ego that created the chaos.

10 seconds for the 2010 Haikuware calendar to inspire you to find your center.

Order yours now.

$19.99 with Free Shipping

Order by Tuesday, December 15 for delivery by Christmas

Browse the TLOL Bookstore why you’re here.

For T-shirts and other items with the designs in the calendar, visit The TLOL Cafe Press Store