Hot and gross. Too hot to think of a catchy title.

It's hot in the Philippines. All the time. And humid. All the time. This picture is pretty much my look now. All the time. Lovely isn't it?!

All the things I feared would happen here, do: my eyebrows melt off halfway through the day, my eyeliner smears and streaks, my clothes stink, my head sweats...not a pretty picture.

I got used to being pretty for awhile. I felt like I was getting the hang of making up my face to look like I had natural brows and lashes. I fit into my clothes well. Here, I've lost so much weight from the lack of gluten-free diet options that my clothes hang on me. I know, you're thinking "What's wrong with that?! I wish I had that problem?"...but it means I'm hungry a lot, and when you're bald you don't also want to look super thin. Besides--I've still got my baby tummy. :)

Anyway, the funny thing here is that I have totally stopped caring. When guys come over to do repairs on the house we're renting, I don't go check my makeup. When I go shopping, I don't put perfume on earrings on. Because, by the way, scents mixed with sweat and bug spray are just not okay, and for whatever reason I can't wear any of my earrings now without my ears getting infected.

So I'm finding myself without all of the beauty aids I was relying on. I feel ugly, frail, smelly, greasy (yes, I've had to go back to using Clearasil again here because my face sweats so much), washed out and just totally unfeminine. But I really don't care.

Life is so much harder here than in the US that suddenly appearances don't really mean much to me. Survival means more. I have this feeling that I'm here temporarily and have to "rough it" for awhile until I come home. Who knows how long "temporarily" will be, but the attitude is working for me so far. Luckily I have no occasions where I need to step it up and look nice in any way. At least, I haven't yet. For now, "hot and gross" is the new me!
Maybe this is the freedom I've needed.

Caring More for Shade

Do you know the story of Jonah? From the Bible? Jonah warned a city full of bad people that if they didn't get it together and change their ways they would be destroyed. They did change, and God showed mercy. Jonah didn't think they deserved it though. He sat and waited to watch the city burn, and he got hot. He complained with depth of feeling about how hot he was and how the shade tree God had made to cool him off had withered, thus failing to serve its purpose. God pointed out to Jonah that he was way more bothered at the prospect of losing his shade than that of an entire city of fellow human beings being put to death.

Today is World Day Against Child Labor. While researching it enough to ease my conscience and post some websites to Facebook as a concerned world citizen, I realized that one of my earrings was missing. One half of my favorite pair:

 

I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself to think of the children in forced labor around the world. But it remained in the back of my mind.

 

Favorite earrings vs. empathy for suffering. I think earrings won.

 

 I found the earring later on the floor. But not until I had been out running around with no earrings on, which is a big deal for someone with no hair trying to look feminine. This sounds incredibly stupid now that I'm writing it, but it just goes to show how easy it is to care about the wrong things. The trivial things. The self-centered things.

 

I need to allow the needs of others to matter more and stir my thoughts and guts more than a lost accessory. Sounds trite, but it's so simple that it signifies a great truth.

 

I know I sound pretty hard on myself, but this matters. I'm not going to sit in guilt, but I am going to do what I can: I will try, as I've tried before and failed to maintain, to check the origin of products I buy to make sure I'm not contributing to abusive labor practices. And I will practice feeling. I will practice empathy. I will notice my reactions.

 



Another Look

After almost ten years of marriage, I feel like I might finally be understanding something about my husband. He is multi-dimensional! I know, go figure.

When I first met him, I thought he was an obnoxious show-off (and he will be the first to admit that he was, indeed). Then he took the time to reach out to me during a period of intense homesickness and anxiety, and I saw a soft, loving, generous side of him. And then that was all I saw. He was up on a very secure pedestal, as most first boyfriends are.

Once the realities of family life settled in, my rose-colored glasses were ripped off and exchanged for an entirely new shade, something sort of brownish. I could only see his faults. Again, I think this trajectory is fairly normal (correct me if I'm wrong).

Another way I think of this is by comparing it to one of Chicago's biggest tourist attractions: The Bean. Technically, Cloud Gate--but it's earned a less lofty nickname due to its shape. You can be standing in the middle of this amazing city but only see a warped, distorted, bent image of one part of it--and if you stand in that spot long enough, you can slip into a different reality. You become mesmerized by the distortion and find it hard to look away. There's even a spot underneath The Bean in the center where you can look up and see yourself multiplied, with no sign of the city around you.

I feel like I have been looking at my husband in the reflection of a misshapen mirror for a long time. I have become fixated on this distortion, mostly because of that pedestal I mentioned earlier. My husband used to be one-dimensional, and now I am trying to reconcile that one dimension with the one I am allowing myself to see now. The key word here is one. I am still seeing only one dimension, one angle.

I need to tear my eyes away from the enticing yet distorted image I allow myself to get fixated on and turn around to see the entire, all-inclusive view. The view of the city after turning away from The Bean can seem flat at first, until you notice that you have a more grounded sense of space, distance, color and movement. Not to extend this analogy way past the point of ridiculousness, but I do think my husband is more like a city than a reflection of a building. He moves, he pulses, he lights up and then hides in darkness, he is assaulted and loved, he is tender and hard, he serves and he works and he entertains. He is simultaneously the past, present and future.

We all are. This is because we were created in the image of a multi-faceted God who is, was, and will be. The only difference is that God in perfection doesn't change (although God is always creating and renewing), whereas we are constantly growing, adapting and refashioning ourselves. I think I might slowly be learning to give my husband space to be all of himself and change as he needs to.

This applies, by the way, to anyone we have spent any amount of time with. Siblings, parents, children, roommates, friends, coworkers--they all deserve for us to step away from the bent image that kept us standing in one place and take in the entire picture, messy and frustratingly fluctuating as it may be.

Oh yeah...this applies to myself, too.

Birthday Blues

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. Not wanting to take him at his word that he didn't want to do anything special, I decided to put together a really special evening for him. 

And then I couldn't even get both candles to light. I spent the evening in tears. 

Let me fill in the middle of the story for you. I spent the whole day getting ready. I went all over town looking for the gift I had planned on giving him, but it was nowhere to be found. (Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating--I consider my two go-to stores "all over town".) I carefully studied the recipe for his favorite Egyptian dish and got all the ingredients--including a bag of wheat flour that really has no place in my gluten-free kitchen. For anyone who knows me, this is a huge sacrifice.  I got a balloon, I got out my blonde wig and planned nice, dressy outfits for myself and the kids, I got his favorite kind of cake...and these candles. 

I didn't time the cooking very well, failing to factor in the kids--pick ups taking longer than they should have, cries for attention, the whole bit. My attempt at Egyptian cooking was a colossal fail. I forgot which bag the cake was in and it smooshed to one side of the box. I didn't have time for any of us to get dressed up before he got home, I didn't have his Arabic music playing like I had planned, and I couldn't get both kids to make him a card. Besides that, I had a wicked headache and the kids were driving me absolutely crazy with their screaming. Happy screaming, but screaming nonetheless. 

And then one of the candles wouldn't light. 

And just like that, this selfless act of creating the perfect birthday where my husband would feel loved became all about me. 

Self-awareness can really be annoying sometimes. 

I am increasingly aware that, despite years of therapy for this issue, I still make everything about me. I still need affirmation like most people need water. I can only go three days without it. I know I set myself up to fail with this birthday dinner just so I could have a little "poor me, I tried so hard but nothing ever works for me" pity party and get loving attention and affirmation from my husband about everything that does work for me--or, more to the point, about me. I took on an incredibly difficult culinary challenge when I don't handle simple ones well; I actually thought my kids--my kids--could sit and make cards and dress themselves up; and I waited until the day of his birthday to shop for the gift. Somewhere deep, I think I knew I wouldn't pull it off. 

I'm pretty frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to accept who I am, inside or out. I see myself through the eyes of others, good or bad. And most of that is all in my head. 

Redefining my own beauty must involve setting realistic expectations for myself, even it means giving up all the attention I get when I fail. It must involve offering what I have, not what I wish I could have (like so-and-so does). It must involve looking at my mess of a meal and being proud to serve something that was prepared with so much love and such good intentions. 

The journey continues. 

Someone Else's Shoes

So, hopefully you've noticed that it's been awhile since my last post. Final exams and the grading that goes with it, holidays, school closures...writing hasn't exactly been a priority. Truthfully, I haven't known what to write about. How much can I really write about my life with alopecia and my journey toward a greater appreciation of my own unique beauty?

But, as happens every so often, I have entered a new phase of self-exploration. This new step was actually precipitated by the approach of another winter with bone-deep cold settling in to my body. More than anything, I truly dislike having a cold head and neck. Alopecia is a blessing in the summer, but a bane in the winter.

This year, I invested in some pashminas. Never heard of them? Apparently, they can be worn in twenty different ways:

I discovered that these thick, extra-long wraps keep my head warm, my neck covered...and people guessing about my background even more than usual!

Here is my new winter look:

I've gotten a few more "As-Salaam-Alaikum"s than usual. I feel like an intruder when I tell my greeters that I'm not Muslim. I have been questioning whether it's alright to wear the traditional garb of a culture and religion that I don't belong to. I don't mean to co-opt a symbol of the values of this culture, but it interesting what has happened since I started covering my head this way. First of all, I think this covered look is truly beautiful. There's something about a wrapping that signifies a special gift underneath that deserves to be hidden until it's intended recipient gets to discover it. Second, I feel that I might have a role to play in bridging a gap between my culture of origin and the culture I now look to be a part of. There is nothing to fear in the way people dress. As obvious as that sounds, I now know that the things which divide people are often simple ways of everyday living that look unfamiliar. I hope in this post to reflect my appreciation of a look that many people judge to be oppressive, or forced upon the women who wear it.

At any rate, this is my winter look this year, but when it warms up I will go back to baring my neck. Somehow I know I will feel much more exposed than I ever did before. Funny how stepping into someone else's shoes for a bit doesn't just change your opinion of them. It changes you, too.

Worth 1,000 words

"You're so beautiful."

"You can really pull off the bald look."

"Bald girls are sexy."

All of these lines and more have been told to me at some point since the onset of my alopecia. You'd think by now that they would have sunk in.

The problem is, a picture is worth a thousand words. And my identity and definition of beauty have been shaped by millions of images that don't reflect the truth of the words people tell me. I don't think in words; I think in pictures.

Pictures like this:



The princess with the long, golden locks shining in the sunlight. The dashing rogue kissing her in all her feminine loveliness. Well, if that had been a bald princess, the "man in black" would probably have fallen off the tower as his hand slipped off her smooth scalp...

Or this:


The mother of all hot kissing scenes. Sadly, kissing in the rain is not sexy when you're a bald woman. If you're wearing a scarf, it turns into a sopping rag plastered on your head. You can't brush that away from a lady's face. If you're wearing a wig, you turn into a wet dog--PLUS, the netting underneath shows through. If you happen to be sans headcover in the rain, then a wet mack session would turn into a manual slip 'n' slide for your partner. Maybe that would be sexy...but it's unlikely.

Ah yes, this one:



It goes without saying that this is an impossible look for a bald woman to pull off. And a scarf or wig in the wind? Too precarious.

Countless, endless images that do not represent me, yet continue to define what I want my life to look like. When I kiss my husband, I look at us from the outside and I cringe. Can you imagine a man kissing a bald woman and it looking even remotely romantic? Probably not. That's because there are no images of that to get into our psyche.

So, I'm on a search for some new pictures. Here are a few I found:


Rosanna Savone, bald bride and author of liv.luhv.rahyt (See it and love it here).


Kylie, another beautiful bald bride (read her story here).




Stefania Ferrario, model (check out her page here).


Sandra Dubose-Gibson, Mrs. Black North Carolina 2011 (See the full story here).


The only image I could find of a man kissing a bald girl...we need to work on that.

And, finally, I will add what I can to this growing bank of images:

A bald woman and a mirror. Not usually seen together.

So--if you find anymore for me, send them to redefinelabelleza@gmail.com or post them to my Facebook page!

Farewell?

Jennifer Lopez. I have loved her ever since Selena.

But I have to admit, she's not exactly a healthy role model. I mean, she's not someone I would want my daughter to emulate.



She seems very down-to-earth in interviews, but I have to wonder about a mom in her forties who does a photo shoot like this for publicity. I really hope I'm not coming off as judgmental here--I have just realized how important it is for me to examine what or who I follow in order to have integrity as the author and promoter of this blog. I'm using her as an example, but I could just as easily be talking about Madonna. Or Cher. Or etc., etc., etc.

Performers like Jennifer Lopez are in the entertainment business. They do whatever it takes to sell records. As a listener, I fund their message. And most often, their message is that sex sells and women are valued for their sexual potential. Sex appeal is even valued over motherhood:


(http://www.lhrtimes.com/2013/01/18/jennifer-lopez-would-like-to-have-more-children-134793/)

So I am faced with a dilemma: I love to sing and dance to her music. I mean, I really love it. But, her message gets into my head and my soul through the lyrics, the beat, the dance moves, the video--it's all affecting how I see myself and define beauty, whether I want to admit it or not.

So, do I totally ban her from my playlist? Or do I listen to my favorite songs once in awhile but don't endorse the videos? Or...do I chill out and try not to overthink this?

Some days I am convinced that it's fine to listen to popular radio now and then. I tell myself I really like the beat (which I do so much that I can't drive my car straight if I have dance music on) and that the music is not a problem for me. Other days I feel slimy listening to the radio, as if my soul were twerking off in a dark, sweaty club.

The problem with trying to stay true to the message of this blog is that cultural definitions of beauty and its enmeshment with sex are so pervasive that I would have to make some radical lifestyle changes in order to make any real stand. I couldn't listen to the radio, I would have to totally clean up my Spotify playlists and find new music to clean the house to, and I definitely couldn't go to Zumba. Which would suck.

When does "just feeling good" about music and developing some confidence as a living-room-only dancer cross over into the dark territory of complicity in the world's efforts to taint true beauty and keep women in subordinate citizenship through sexual objectification and enslavement?!

Sorry J-Lo, you might have to go.

I know our culture is hostile to any message that preaches radical lifestyle change (unless it's a diet), but I really think the benefits of a strict "no sex object" diet from my entertainment intake are worth examining, at least as this blog's creator.

What do you think? Am I being a little over-the-top, or is this just what the doctor ordered for the upcoming generation?

Not this again!

Toothpaste, cosmetics...and a razor?! What?! Since when do I need a razor? Hello, alopecia universalis.

Apparently, my body is a little wishy washy when it comes to my hair, as is the case with all alopecia alumni. After being totally and completely without hair for years, minus a little peach fuzz on my face, I am suddenly finding sprouts in highly undesirable places. My body can't grow hair on my head or give me eyelashes. Oh no. Instead, my body is functioning properly on my chinny-chin-chin and (worse yet)under my arms.

Why, of all the irritating....

"But", some people excitedly tell me, "this means your hair is starting to grow back! You should be grateful!"

First of all, this does not mean my hair is growing back. Sufferers of alopecia universalis learn to hold hair lightly. It may come, but it will almost definitely go again.

Second, I don't know any woman who is excited about hair under her arms. Having no hair anywhere else does not induce me to jump for joy when I see hair in the only places it was worth losing it in!

When I first saw the little black hairs while I was getting ready for a day at the beach, I grabbed the nearest pair of tweezers and just went nuts. Finally though, I had to break down and buy a razor. I know I'm just succumbing to socially-assigned rules of feminine hygiene, but I just can't go around with hair under my arms when I don't have it on my head. That's crossing the line for me.

So, shaving has once again become part of my daily routine. (Well, weekly maybe.) I lost THE best perk that came with losing all my hair. The only good news is that, if I wait a couple years, it will probably all fall out again.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 6

Straighten up!

Today's challenge is to walk, sit, stand and move as straight as possible.


(Image from http://coreconnexxions.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/straighten-up/)

For me, good posture is a confidence issue. I never wanted to stand straight it felt like I was trying to stick my chest out. I saw those girls at school, walking around with sway backs because they wanted everyone to notice their female endowments. I didn't want to be like that. Well, actually I did...I just didn't have the proper equipment. So I slouched. I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that my figure was anything but girlish.

I also slouch when I'm with people who are shorter than me. I do this, I think, to make sure they don't feel bad about not having the height I do. It's also awkward for me to talk down to people.

The problem with slouching is two-fold. First, it creates actual physical problems. Any chiropractor will tell you that. Second, and this is where the challenge comes in, it affects how you see yourself. When I see a picture of myself slouching, I feel old and bent. I look frumpy, tired, and sloppy. When I walk with a slouch, I actually have less energy to move around with.

When I catch myself slouching and straighten up my back, I suddenly feel empowered and confident. At least, I'm aware that I look that way to other people. I still have to deal with the issue of looking like those girls in my high school, but all in all I think I've realized that my posture really affects the image I have of myself. It feels good to walk tall.

Try to notice your posture a little more today than usual. Walk with your head high, your shoulders back, and chest unabashedly out. See how the world looks from a few inches higher.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 4

Part of my routine every morning as I get dressed is to find a color thread and match it to as many aspects of my exterior as possible. If I wear a blue and brown shirt (one of my favorite color combinations), I have to line my eyelids with blue and brown. I have to find a pair of earrings that matches the shade of blue on my eyes and a pair of shoes with the exact brown hue I need. My head scarf…well, that’s the element that takes me the most time. I have to find a scarf that incorporates the colors I am already wearing. With the many prints I have, I often end up wearing a plain blue or basic brown. I don’t often get to wear my prints because they clash with my outfit. Occasionally, I choose the scarf first and an outfit to match!

My challenge for today is to choose articles of clothing, makeup, jewelry and other accessories that look and feel good…without matching each other. Mix it up. Wear two different patterns. Combine colors you would normally not put together. Wear your favorite pair of earrings regardless of whether or not they complement the outfit. Show off what you really have in your closet!
Have fun.

Send pictures to redefinelabelleza@gmail.com if you feel like sharing and inspiring others.

PS--I'm writing this post on Thursday night, so by mid-morning I will have posted a picture of my choice of expression for the day.

Stains

This is one of my biggest pet peeves:



Stains. Especially on brand new clothes. Especially after pulling said clothes out of the dryer with the sinking realization that the stain I treated so carefully in the wash is now set in the fabric forever.

Stains really, really bother me. When my daughter was a baby, I lived in an apartment where the laundry room was in another courtyard, across a parking lot. I usually skipped the trip and washed my baby's clothes by hand in my tub. I got that Baby Oxyclean powder(amazing stuff!!) and soaked her onesies in a bowl on my kitchen counter, then scrubbed them with detergent in the tub, wringing them out for what seemed like hours before draping them over the drying rack by the back door. If I saw that a spit up stain (or worse) had not come all the way out, I repeated the whole process over again, adding even more Oxyclean and soaking the garment for even longer.

Those days are over, thank God.

Now I have a washer and dryer at my disposal, right in my kitchen! I can literally do laundry while taking a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. Not that I've ever done it.

I find that the convenience of having my own washer and dryer has really dampened the energy and motivation I once had for treating stains. That, and the acceptance I've had to muster as I watch my kids paint every surface of the house, our furniture, and their clothes with mango juice, yogurt, BBQ sauce, ketchup, salad dressing...you get the idea.

Oddly, stains from bodily excretions come out way easier than BBQ sauce. Well thank goodness for that.

Now that my kids are older and more active, I have dirt and grass stains to deal with along with food stains. I quickly saw the futility of trying to keep new kids' clothes pristine for any length of time. So, stained they come in and stained they go back out.

BUT...not only do they stain their clothes, they also have the audacity to give me a hug during dinnertime and get some greasy, oily substance on a shirt I happen to really love. I know, serves me right for wearing anything of any value to a dinner table where kids are present.

My immediate reaction when I pull a stained shirt of mine out of the dryer is to throw it in a bag destined for the thrift store donation center. I can't look sloppy, after all. By some twisted logic in my head, there are people out there who wouldn't mind looking sloppy and buying my stained shirt for a couple dollars.

Why am I so repelled by stains? If my husband has a stain on his shirt, I get totally grossed out. He doesn't mind wearing the same shirt in the evenings at home for a week or two straight. He knows the shirt is dirty, and he knows that attempting to keep it clean is a total waste of time for him. He knows I am the only person who will see it. For him, the shirt signifies play time, a relaxing evening at home after a day in Corporate Land, perpetual snacking, and freedom to be who he wants and spend time on things that matter.

For me, his shirt signifies mess. Unkempt, slovenly mess.

Why?! Stains don't hurt. They have stories. They are like scars, except the getting of them likely caused less pain.

I heard a sermon once about living "disposable" lives. Some of us are used to trashing that which is broken and replacing it with something new. Like a toaster or a pair of shoes. How many of us take the time to mend what is broken and continue allowing that object (relationship, self image, etc.) to keep its proper place in the world and function as it was meant to function? I feel like seeing stains on my clothing wouldn't repel me so much if I were the type of person who was comfortable with imperfection and conflict.

Instead, I can't focus on anything else once I have seen a stain. I can't rest until it's either cleaned or taken out of my house. Do I do the same thing with people?

I certainly see my own "stains" all too clearly. And I try to conceal them, or I live in the angst of wanting to trade in one "suit" for a new one. If I see a stain in someone else, that mark (not without its own story, mind you) can grow in my mind's eye and come to characterize that person. It can be hard to see around the stain and take in the whole person.

Well, I am daring myself to keep my stained clothing...and wear it out. Some might say this is disrespecting myself. I'm not planning to go out in total filth; I just want to free myself from the false perfection I hide behind when it comes to my clothing. I don't want to be so careful about keeping mess off of me, because mess is where life happens.

Spring Cleaning

The Big Switch.

That day when I decide the weather has gotten warm enough to dig my shorts and tank tops out of storage and pack away my sweaters and down jackets. A day which, incidentally, I always regret a week later when the temperature has dropped back down to sweater weather.

Regardless, I love this day. Not as much as I love getting my sweaters back out in the fall though--just a personal preference. But I love the springtime switch too, because it brings with it a freshness that promises new beginnings and long days. I find bright colors that, like me, have been sleeping all winter. I get to wake up, finding energy in bright pinks, oranges and blues.

And inevitably I find shorts that I wore last year but suddenly look like they came straight from 1992. I find blouses that I hang in my closet every year and have, to my sudden realization this year, only worn once. I find skirts that look too frumpy this year, scarves that inexplicably don't match anything in my wardrobe, and dresses that I find myself embarrassed to recall wearing last summer for a number of reasons.

These clothes get (finally) tossed in the donation bag. Some of these items have nearly ended up in the bag year after year, but somehow I hang on to them one more year. Then, one year, it's just time for them to be gone. No question.

I find that fascinating about myself. I wonder if it's true for all of us.

I hang on to things, people, places and ideas for so long--and then, one day, I'm ready to let go. And I wonder why I held on so long. I am suddenly ready to move on. I just wasn't ready before, although I can't articulate how or when or why my hands (mind, heart) finally opened.

What are you holding on to, not quite able to toss into the bag yet? What did you finally let go of this year, this week?

Is there anything that needs to be purged for this new season of your life?

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 28

Radical acceptance.



I learned this concept in Mindfulness therapy. We did this exercise where we had to close our eyes and think of an event or situation that filled us with a lot of tension and stress. We had to think of something we were saying "No" to. No, I don't want to come home for Christmas. No, I don't want to go to work on Monday morning and face my obnoxious boss. No, I don't want to have the same fight about finances again.

Then our leader had us practice saying "Yes". And with that simple word, it was amazing what happened physically. Just saying the word "yes" relaxed my shoulders and released the breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

This therapy session was a couple years ago, but the idea of "radical acceptance" has stayed with me. It's the idea so eloquently expressed on bumper stickers: "S*** happens". Life is not going to be easy. The more I can accept the situations and circumstances I find myself in, without trying to fight my way out of them, the more peaceful and healthy I will feel.

This is not to say that I should lie down and take everything life throws at me. I have choices to make. But if I spend my energy saying "This shouldn't be happening to me" then I will have no energy left to make wise decisions.

Sara Groves has a song called "Starfish" which expresses the same idea: "Peaceful creature, come and be my teacher. / Flotsam, jetsam, swish and swirl, and you don't even care."

I don't think it conflicts with my Christian worldview to practice radical acceptance. I choose to (try to) follow the teachings of Jesus, and he says not to be anxious about circumstances (Matthew 6:25-34). The reason I can practice radical acceptance and say "yes" to my circumstances is because a)I know suffering is part of the human condition for now, b)I am usually not in control of my circumstances, only how I respond to them, and c)I profess to believe in a God who cares about my life and is ultimately taking care of me. That's pretty hopeful in the long term. Radical acceptance puts short-term problems into long-term perspective.

The word "yes" is beautiful, but not always easy to say. I'm thinking of it today because I am having a hard time with this alopecia today, and I am facing unwanted truths about a difficulty my daughter is going through.

Can you think of anything you have been inwardly saying "no" to? Would a radical "yes" set you free?

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 27

Israel Idonije. Defensive lineman for the Chicago Bears. Nigerian-Canadian. Daycare teacher? Founder of a charitable organization that serves at-risk youth in Chicago and impoverished families in Africa? (Check out the Israel Idonije Foundation.)

I heard him on the radio today. I love hearing about people who surprise me. As much as I hate to admit it, I view the world and the people in it through stereotypes much of the time. I love being confronted by my assumptions and shown a different news reel, so to speak.

I have been listening to public radio a lot lately. I love hearing about people, places and events that are hidden from the mainstream. These stories open up whole new avenues for me. My city is taking on new dimensions now that I am hearing real stories from real people every day in my car. I have a list of places I want to explore and events I need to put on the calendar.

Here are just a few:
Louder Than a Bomb: Chicago Youth Poetry Festival
Peace on Earth Film Festival at the Chicago Cultural Center
On Being American and More: A community conversation

It's a beautiful thing to become invested in your city or your community. I am growing to love Chicago and all the amazing programs going on here. Now, I don't have time to become a local activist or anything. But I do have time to take a step back and appreciate the fact that Chicago is not always what I assume it to be based on my very limited experience.

What stereotypes have you recently been delighted to find are wrong?

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 26

Fuchsia. Emerald. Chartreuse. Ferrari Red. Electric orchid. Cyan.

No, these are not the names of celebrities' kids. You are probably aware that these are all colors. Colors of what, though? Sports cars? Nail polish?

Yes, at times. But sometimes, incredibly, they are hair colors!

One of my best friends recently dyed her hair this vibrant shade of red that can only be modified by the adjective "shocking". It's absolutely fabulous. It's a short, spiky cut that was made for this color red. And it's not that I really love the color. It wouldn't have been my first choice for her, actually. It's the fact that she took a risk and steps out every day in confident vulnerability that I love.


(Obviously this is not her, but the red is the same.)


Today I saw two women with similarly unconventional hair colors, and I couldn't take my eyes off their heads. Both had incorporated this beautiful, bottled purple color into their natural hair color, with stunning results.


I love the fact that we have the capability of decorating ourselves with such audacity. Not that we need it--but we can if we feel like it. And in my case, I don't even have to get messy. I just go down to the corner, buy a $30 wig from the neighborhood beauty supply store, and I'm good to go.



My absolute favorite is the black and purple combination. I love black and purple hair.
It is so sleek and darkly refined, strong without being tough.


Some say coloring your hair this boldly is unnecessary, wild, rebellious, anti-social, disrespectful, and on and on. But in this age, I think it's nothing but an expression of personality, mood, and/or desire. It's all in how you carry yourself. I personally think it's great that my kids have seen me put hair on and take it off without making a big deal of it. My daughter will have to think of another way to rebel, because I would love it if she came home with electric blue hair one day!

If you could try on a funky hairstyle for a day, what would you try? I thought I would be the last person on earth to wear chemically-dyed hair, but I've done it and it is pure liberation. Here are some looks I want to try:





Any votes?

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 18

Today I meditate on the beauty of grace. Of second (and third) chances.

I met a man named Pete today. Pete founded a company called Second Chance Coffee in Wheaton, IL. And it's not the coffee that needs a second chance--believe me, it's high quality. No, the "second chance" in the name refers to his employees. Pete hires, through a selective referral process, post-prison men and women to roast, package, sell and deliver his coffee.

The coffee has been branded "I Have a Bean". Without it, there would be seven more formerly incarcerated individuals trying to get back on their feet and reintegrate into productive society--and being barred at every turn.

The term "felon" probably evokes an image in your mind of a big, scary guy with tattoos and a scowl who is out to hurt you and your family--over and over again--unless we stop him by casting him out from our community.

But what if there were more to the story? What if this man, tattoos and all, made a mistake and had many valuable skills and a great personality?

In our society, certain mistakes carry longer-lasting consequences than others. I agree--obviously there are degrees to which people can get hurt, and there are corresponding degrees to which "offenders" need to be held responsible and make amends.

What I don't understand is why certain mistakes carry life-long sentences. Is there any mistake that one person should have to suffer with for the rest of their lives?

This is only the tip of the iceberg of this discussion. I know that. I'm not looking to spark any heated debates. I just want to introduce this unique organization as a model of grace and say that I think grace is absolutely beautiful.

I have made so many mistakes in life, some that have hurt others and some that have hurt only me. I depend on second, third, fourth (and on and on) chances all the time. I can't imagine trying to live my life if I had no access to those chances.

Check out www.ihaveabean.com and see how beautiful (and practical) redemption can actually be. And take a minute to meditate on the chances you have been given.

30 Days of Redefining Beauty-Day 5

It was so easy to see beauty today: in the rain, in my students, in the book I'm reading--everywhere. So I decided to challenge myself and look for beauty in places where I usually only see brokenness. I decided to look for beauty during my time with my kids after school. Sadly, our afternoons together are usually marked by stress, fighting, and struggle rather than joy and beauty. But today I made an effort to see good in my kids and in myself as we interacted.

And I found beauty in something that I tried today but have never been very good at: letting go. I was supposed to take my kids to their after-school park district activities today, but I didn't feel like battling my way through city traffic to get there late and leave early to rush to the other kid's site...so I blew it all off. I brought my kids home instead and made a plan that involved some early rounds of basketball (before the neighbors downstairs got home), some play-doh, and generous snacks. And it worked! My kids were delightful. I wasn't tense as my son did layups on the hardwood floor; I didn't once regret not taking them out to their sports activities; and I realized that not following the original schedule might actually serve us better at times. My kids are active and need activities, especially in the winter, but they also need the routine of coming home and being free to be themselves in a safe space.

I'm not saying I didn't experience any stress today, and this evening was certainly a test of my patience, but this afternoon was a lesson in learning to let go of my need to do everything I had planned to do and put the kids' "needs" first always. Today I tried to merge my needs with my kids' needs, and we made it work beautifully.

When was the last time you changed your plans or adjusted your schedule on a whim? How'd it go?

Transformations

I have been obsessed with aging. I see every new wrinkle as it comes in. I sit and think about what my bald head will look like when I'm 70 years old. And, lately, I have been trying out these photo-aging programs online.

Here's a fun one: The St. Andrews Face Transformer.
Totally hilarious. Not only can I see myself as I might appear years from now, I can also see myself as a West Asian, a half-chimp, or even a man!

Here is the photo I used as the control:

Here's me as an "older adult":

Afro-Caribbean me:

Get ready to be freaked out--here I am as a man in drag:

It's a fine line, right?! (Some of you will never be able to look at me the same way again...)


Okay, so getting really brave I tried it with this photo:

Sadly, the transformer didn't know what to do with my bald head. But I'm still pretty happy with the results...

Older me:

East Asian me:

Monkey me:

Try the site out--it's a hoot! And it will make you appreciate your own fine features that much more when you're done. :)