Friday, December 21, 2012

Growing up, religion was never an influence in my life. My mother was Catholic only after being sponsored to come to America by a priest and his family, and shortly after marriage dropped from the Church altogether. I've never heard her speak of God, nor her faith in any sort of higher being. My father on the other hand, was deeply spiritual, which is something I've only come to recently realize in hindsight. He was a practicing Buddhist, though never pushed me to take up the beliefs. I would sometimes pester him to bring me to sermons when I was younger, not to learn the teachings, but simply to see what he was doing while he disappeared to temple. He also took to meditating every evening, sitting silently in his office with the lights off while counting his mantras on a string of prayer beads.

As I became older and began struggling with anxiety, it suddenly became frighteningly clear to me that my father, too had suffered the same distress. As a child I didn't have a name for his panic attacks, but as an adult experiencing the same, I finally became fully conscious of what he was going through. Buddhism became his solace, and after his death, it became my mother's as well. She went on to volunteer at his temple every weekend for the next few years, where she embarked on a healing process guided by his cherished beliefs.

I never discuss my faith, not as a principle, but simply because I feel like it never comes up. My circle of friends is for the most part very Liberal Millennial; you won't hear any of them discussing theology or feigning interest in it. But the teachings of Buddhism have helped me overcome a lot of my fear, worrying, and general distress about the things in life I have no control over. It's taught me to take a breath before I feel like I'm going to snap at a little thing, before I travel down a road of "what-ifs" late at night while I'm sleeplessly laying in bed, before I begin a list of complaints that only the selfish Me Generation can rattle off. I don't attend sermons, nor do I count my prayer beads, but I do carry essential admissions that I learned from my Dad close to me, and in that way he is still by my side, guiding me through as he had always done. 

Below is the Thought Catalog article "Good News: Happiness Doesn't Exist" that spurred my thoughts on the subject. I think it's a great, succinct piece about the core teaching of Buddhism that is universally applicable, whatever your faith may be. 

Good News: Happiness Doesn’t Exist

Happiness is slippery. It doesn’t like to stick around. We know we’ve had it before, but it’s gone away, and we know there are certain things we have to do to find it again. Certain ducks have to be in a row. After all, if you didn’t have to do anything to be happy, you wouldn’t do anything at all. It can’t be too hard to find. Other people seem to be finding it all right.

Yet for all our efforts, we never seem to get this happiness problem nailed down, and there’s a very good reason for that.
When we start talking about solving the problem of unhappiness, it’s hard to avoid the topic of Buddhism. I know not everyone is a fan, but they have lain some important groundwork, even for those of us who like the idea of improving our quality of life but aren’t prepared to buy the whole package, with all its baldness and orange robes. Despite its promises of peace and enlightenment, I haven’t leapt in with abandon, so don’t worry, this article doesn’t delve into pratitya-samutpadas and tathagatagarbhas. It’s about a plain-jane concept you know very well: happiness.
Buddhism developed as a response to mankind’s search for happiness. In the simplest terms, it’s not a belief system but a methodology for being happy. Yet Buddhist literature is known for focusing much more on suffering than happiness. Its curious preference for morbid subject matter has led some to describe Buddhism as preoccupied with negativity.
The reason suffering has become Buddhism’s primary focus, rather than happiness, is that happiness, as we conceive of it, doesn’t really exist — at least not in the same way suffering does. What we refer to as happiness is really just what the absence of suffering feels like.
Although it’s become the favorite term for the concept, “suffering” is really not an adequate word. The Buddhists call it dukkha. Suffering is perhaps the most common English substitution, but I’ve also seen anguish, unease, dissatisfaction, stress, discomfort, or unsatisfactoriness. None of them are quite right, and so many writings in English will use dukkha.
I avoid the casual use of Sanskrit or Pali words in my articles because I think they make a lot of readers tune out, as they sense they’re being led into an esoteric religious discussion. Books and articles about Buddhism can get pretty dry and cryptic, scaring away readers who would otherwise be fascinated by the very same concepts if they weren’t presented in such stuffy, user-unfriendly language. But for the rest of this article I’ll use dukkha, if it hasn’t scared you off yet.
“Unease” might be the best of the English translations of dukkha. The original word was meant to evoke the feeling of a potter’s wheel that would screech as it turned.
I often substitute dukkha with “suffering” but I realize that may be misleading for those not acquainted with the Buddhist meaning of that word. Before I encountered “suffering” in the Buddhist context, it meant something different to me. It meant great pain. Sobbing, aching, despair.
Suffering, from a Buddhist perspective, refers not so much to outright catastrophe as to the persistent, low-intensity feelings of dissatisfaction or yearning that human beings feel most of the time. Indeed, most of our “suffering” is extremely minor:
  • The faint hint of financial angst you get when you notice gas has gone up again
  • The tiny feeling of urgency you get when you discover you only have 19 more minutes to get ready to go, and you thought you had 30
  • The slight unease you feel when you’re opening a gift in front of the person who gave it to you, and you want to make sure you look pleased no matter what you really think of it
  • The sinking, “here we go again” feeling you get when so-and-so begins to get impatient with the waitress
This is dukkha. This is life.
Moments in which unease is not present are wonderful. There is a light, problemless, “everything in its right place” quality to them. We’ve all had these moments, and they aren’t particularly rare, but they are not your typical moment.
Often they happen when you experience something so powerful that it wrests all of your attention away from your thinking mind, such as a picturesque sunset or an incredible piece of music.
Other times, this peace blindsides you at a perfectly ordinary moment, maybe when you’re filling up a glass of water and you’re taken by a perfect, glowing triangle of sunlight on the countertop. Suddenly the mind shuts off, you can hear the delicate background noise of the kitchen and the surrounding neighborhood, and everything looks and sounds exactly as it should.
The potential for it seems to be always there.
Buddhism’s genius is that it reduces all human problems to a single one: the problem of dukkha. This is a very powerful perspective. The implication is that our ordinary state is one of peace, perfection, problemlessness, and clarity – the very things we are always ultimately seeking. Dukkha is the only thing standing between a problematic moment and a problemless one. The problem is not gas prices, or your bank balance, or your love handles. Without dukkha, none of them would be problems. The price of fuel would strike you as perfectly appropriate, as would your net worth and your physique.
The Buddha developed a method for transcending dukkha, but many other approaches have been discovered since by sages, psychologists, seekers and average joes. They all amount to overcoming your attachments in the moment.

Happiness is…

…what’s left when you take away unhappiness.
Since the only problem we ever have is the presence of unease in our moments — and not the absence of anything — happiness itself doesn’t really exist. It’s just what we call moments in which we don’t experience dukkha. And that means what we refer to as “happiness” is always there behind the current moment’s unease; ultimately, it is always accessible.
I find it’s more empowering to think of happiness this way — as the absence of unease, and nothing else — and here’s why:
We tend to think of happiness as something “out there,” waiting just beyond some future achievement or change in circumstances. This makes our happiness contingent on factors we cannot directly control. If we think of unhappiness (or unease) as a function of how we are relating to the present moment — whatever it contains — then we always have an opportunity to improve the quality of our moment. This way power over our quality of life resides with ourselves, and not with luck, status or other externals.
Happiness is too easily confused with gratification. Gratification is simply getting what you currently want. It provides a fleeting cessation of unease, which makes it feel awesome, like an end in itself. It is such an intense release that it feels as if the problem has been conquered, when really it’s only been chased away for a short while. As a strategy for happiness, gratification is a poor one for three reasons:
  1. You can’t always get what you want
  2. Depending on getting what you want in order to be happy increases your attachment to getting what you want, which intensifies the suffering you’ll experience next time
  3. Getting what you want often makes it harder to get other things you’ll soon want — for example, when you spend all your money on what you want right now
The typical approach to seeking happiness is to add something to our lives, because we perceive ourselves as needing something we are missing: more security, more money, another possession, the approval of others, a personal achievement. But on closer inspection even these actions are actually driven by a desire to remove something: insecurity, hunger, angst, tension of some kind. We are driven to acquire and achieve in order to remove dukkha from our experience.

There is no happiness

“Don’t seek happiness. If you seek it, you won’t find it, because seeking is the antithesis of happiness.” ~Eckhart Tolle
Happiness (or whatever you want to call that state we are all seeking — joy, well-being, peace) occurs when something is removed, not when something is added. Happiness is an opposite, a negative mold — an imaginary abstraction created to define precisely what it is not. It’s no different than darkness, which itself is nothing at all — only a way of describing an absence of light. Light is real, darkness is just a concept.
So why did we get it backwards? As with most of our inefficiencies, we evolved that way. For millions of years our behavior has been driven by dissatisfaction, which manifests itself in a sentient creature as desire. Our very clever biology has us desiring, non-stop, for anything that appears to put us into a better position to survive. It’s the ultimate carrot-and-stick setup, and we still fall for it because we don’t know what else to do. We can always use more security, more esteem, more power, so the desires never cease. It works very well to the survival end, by constantly creating a mental itch that must be scratched. This itch is unhappiness, unease, or to Buddhism fans, dukkha.
This is how the human mind works now. It creates unhappiness to keep us moving, with no regard for our quality of life. You can scratch the itch your whole life and it won’t go away. It will only put you in the habit of scratching the itch. The human mind has developed to a point where we are finally understanding this awful cycle, and developing ways of dealing with it. About 2500 years ago — a New York minute, in evolutionary time — a curious young prince nailed the problem down. He found we weren’t actually missing anything after all.
Happiness, it seems, is just a shadow. By continuing to gaze at it, we’ve overlooked what’s standing in the light. TC mark

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Your Best Skin Ever

Ladies, have you ever noticed how nice guy skin is? Most of the men in my life have flawless, smooth, unblemished visages, annoyingly framed with super long, lush lashes. Like, you don't need those features, give them to ME instead. And it takes so little to maintain their natural man-beauty; a crude bar of all-over-body Irish Spring will suffice. A boyfriend of mine was even notorious for using hand soap to wash his face. The pimply teenager in me still shudders at the thought.

I, however, have never been low-maintenance in the skincare department. My journey has been an emotional roller coaster that throughout my high school years often sent me spiraling into a Dashboard Confessional album to relieve the pain (#alternateen). Once I decided pregnancy before college was not in the cards and went on the Pill, my skin comepletely cleared up. No more pustules, cysts, or general grossness in the facial region. I WAS A NEW WOMAN. 

Cut to seven years later when the idea of oral contraception started to creep me out and I felt  like it was just not for me anymore (no one else thinks it's weird to take a pill EVERY DAY for like, so many years, that changes your body that drastically?) and my skin was once again a wreck. Fluctuating hormones not only made me a straight crazy person (hello, who cries in the dairy aisle because they have the wrong color milk??) but it also brought back the acne I thought I had escaped. 

Over the past year however, I've finally found the holy grail of products that has cleared those nasty zits and left behind skin that may even rival my man friend's.

1.Green Juice. I previously wrote a post about my juice cleansing and touched on the dermatologic benefits I experienced. I cannot stress enough how much of a difference adding two glasses of this a day has made to my complexion. My skin has never in my life glowed before these past few months, and I can only attribute that to my vegetal friends. My favorite recipe is simple:
        • 1/2 lemon
        • 1 cucumber
        • 2 green apples
        • 4 romaine leaves
        • 4 stalks celery
        • Handful of spinach
        • Handful of kale
Toss everything in the juicer and drink up, buttahcup.

2. Vitamin E Oil. I like Burt's Bees' brand because it smells like infants, but any generic will do. This has been a saving grace for the acne scars that persisted throughout the years, helping to fade them while also moisturizing at the same time.

3. Proactiv. Because if it's good enough for J. Biebs, it's def good enough for me. But real talk, I had no idea what Proactiv was all about until a few months ago, despite having seen the infomercials since birth. Its main ingredient is Benzoyl peroxide, which is, surprise! the stuff I was inconspicuously stealing out of another perfect-skinned ex-bf's medecine cabinet a few years ago. For a long time I was using acne treatments with a Salicylic acid base, all of which did absolutely nothing but exacerbate my problems. BP is a really great, and in my opinion gentler, alternative that has truly, truly worked for me. For a $1 or whatever the promo price is on TV, it's worth a try.

4. Roc Retinol Eye Cream. As a 23 year-old, I feel deep regret for not using eye cream sooner. It is never too early to start! And Retinol is not just some touted magical ingredient that makes lofty promises it doesn't deliver on. This shit is basically the only thing short of cosmetic surgery that has been proven to reverse aging. Don't wait until you see those lines creeping in the corners of your eyes. Integrating this into your nightly routine like, right now will prevent those pesky crows feet before they have a chance to surface. This has definitely helped with my zombie dark circles, and puffiness is no longer a thing for me unless I've been Claire-Danes-Cry-Facing.

5. ACV. Apple cider vinegar has sixty billion uses, but I like to believe that it's making my body more alkaline, and thus contributing to better skin. I put a teaspoon in a glass of water and CHUG (because I won't lie to y'all, it tastes foul) three times a day. Supposedly ACV also helps with a whole host of things like weight loss, regularity, and high cholesterol. Cheers for multi-tasking!

6. CeraVe Body Lotion. The skin covering the rest of my body is stupid scaly. As a child I had bad eczema, and despite it being clear now, things have stayed super dry. I have tried literally every lotion on the shelf, and this was given to me by my Mom's dermatologist after the drugstores failed me. I was under the impression this product was for old folks (just look at that awful outdated packaging, c'mon) and you know what, I think I'm still right because it is so damn good at effectively moisturizing skin on the brink of death (which is basically what an old person is, amirite?) Skin stays plump and soft for at least 24 hours, which is a special alchemy in itself. On top of that, it's dye and fragrance fee for you sensitive folks. For others like me who enjoy smelling like they tested every perfume at the Barney's counter, it's also a great base to add whatever scented oils you'd like to create a personalized body cream.

7. Water. The most accessible, least expensive thing you can do for great skin. Drink until you feel like constantly on the verge of puking and drowning in your own body.  

And just so y'all don't think I'm blowing smoke up your arses, a gratuitous selfie to show the progress I've made:

Friday, November 30, 2012

A Messy Relationship

An excerpt from a great article about a complicated relationship written by a distant cousin (or maybe just a family friend, but who really knows with Asian families??) that appeared in the NYT Opinionator Blog. Her prose is lovely and the topic really resonated with me. You can read the original in full here


In bed, my eyes trace the blue veins shooting through the milk of his skin, like eggshell cracks, then the prominent veins that stretch over the tops of his feet like nets. I’m fascinated by the differences between his body and mine — the skin underneath his alert eyes loosening the tiniest bit, the occasional gray strand in his dark hair. We don’t dare to talk about it, but it’s as tangible as the blare of car horns outside our windows: What will happen when he grows old?
I do the math: when I’m 30, Douglas will be 46; when I turn 35, he’ll be 50. More variables: if we have a baby when Douglas is 45, he’ll be 60 when our child is 15. Sometimes I feel cheated by time: if only we’d met sooner, if only he were younger. If X equals this, Y equals that. Y is always greater than X. 
Other times, I don’t think of it at all. Our four years together have been happy. Our apartment is comfortably messy, and I don’t often clean — the 1950s red Formica table that belonged to Douglas’s grandmother serves more as dumping ground than a dining surface: unopened mail, pens, receipts, loose change, a lamp with a ceramic dog base, two electric toothbrush chargers, a spool of green twine. Coats and jeans drape the backs of the chairs. We eat our dinners on the living room floor instead. I stretch my legs out in front of me and he scoots over, leaning against me. He carefully trims the fat off the edges of his steak and transports the pieces to my plate, where he knows they’ll be savored. In these times, our differences recede into the background. 
My mother and father still strip the sheets off Douglas’s parents’ bed, sponge the dried toothpaste off their mirrors, vacuum their rugs. Every two weeks, they dust the bedroom that was once his.
“Their son is an artist,” my father said to me years ago as we straightened the cushions on the sofa in the living room. “That’s him, over there.”
He pointed. Two dense pupils stared at us from behind the glass of the large framed drawing hanging on the wall. It was Douglas’s self-portrait, rendered in smudged whorls of charcoal. I didn’t care to look closer then. I’ve since studied the drawing, its intensity pulling me away from Thanksgiving dinners to examine the hollows and lines that I now know so well. He was 19 when he drew himself, the age I was when I first met him.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Fad Diet #256: Juice Cleansing

After spending the past five days gorging my way through a San Francisco Must-Eat-or-Don't-Bother-Coming-Home bucket list (food porn post coming soon) there are no words to describe the level of bloat, sloth, and intestinal sadness occurring inside of my body. Stepping on the scale upon arriving in Boston was horrific to say the least. I gained six pounds. SIX POUNDS. I know this doesn't sound like much and probably just illustrates how warped my body/eating views are, but real talk- on a person like me who has a generally small frame, that's a lot. Don't get me wrong. I don't regret for one second my daily Bi-Rite salted caramel or the million course meal at Mission Chinese. I'd eat it all again in a heartbeat, and probably even more at that. But goddamn, the consequences have been rough. 

So it's time to take some serious measures and bring in the big gun (read: JUICER).

For anyone who knows me, it's no surprise that I went out and bought a juicer straight after watching Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead, a documentary (available on Netflix, go watch it) about this formerly obese dude on the brink of death who decides to change everything around by drinking strictly juice for like 697 days or something. I love dieting (again, blame it on my totally unhealthy body dysmorphia) and will totally try anything. And this "fad" so far has absolutely been the one of the best things I've done for my health.

I knew before SF I wanted to do some type of detox to prepare for the imminent ice cream apocalypse that would invade my body, and really wanted to try the BluePrint Cleanse that all the hipsters are doing. At $97 a bottle or whatever outrageous fuckery they charge down at Whole Foods, this wasn't an option. Luckily the internet exists, and I found a great DIY hack for a fraction of the cost. I drank 6 juices a day, for 5 days, cheating and eating some cashews when I was really craving solids. 

Y'all. The results were great. Most of the juices taste awesome (except anything with beets, those things are truly nasty and no amount of washing will eradicate that straight dirt taste.) I never felt deprived or too hungry, but let's be real, 95% of the time I'm on some kind of restricted eating, so this may have helped. Weight disappeared, and the abs I had been working so hard for for the past month, seemingly without results, suddenly emerged. My skin cleared up completely, began to glow even, and not in the disgusting grease slick way. And interestingly enough, in the middle of my trip, after days of not having juice, I got big ol' zit. That's how real this shit is.

So now that I'm back in the real world, it's back to healthy and clean eating. Some have said that it's totally weird and unhealthy to be basically living off of just juice, and I've read some stuff that says it's pointless and serves no nutritional purpose. But if it makes me feel good, keeps my skin clear, and gets me into my high school skinnies, you can believe I'll keep on juicin'. 

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

My skin is as moody as a preteen, and a commercial airplane's environment of recycled air and altitude is one of its least favorite settings. With the holiday travel season upon us, I've compiled the perfect carry-on care package to keep everything in check.
  1. Weleda Skin Food. A thick and heavy cream created from all-natural ingredients and essential oils. This shit must have been personally formulated by God. I like this mostly for hands but occasionally slather it over elbows and ankles. Although the smell is slightly reminiscent of face-planting into fresh soil and earth, the deep comfort it delivers for dry spots is definitely worth it.
  2. Jurlique Mousiturizing Hand Sanitizer. Doesn't it always seem to be the case that the person you're sitting next to on this six hour flight has a nasty snot cold and can't stop sneezing? Gross.
  3. Josie Maran Argan Color Stick. It has been always been my luck that I fly at ungodly hours, and we all know that everyone (but ESPECIALLY ME) looks like a dead person at 5 am. Double-duty tints like this one bring some (faux) color back to my cheeks and lips, while also delivering a little moisture with its added argan oil. 
  4. Moroccan Oil. Dry cabin air=frizzy strands. A few drops of this on split ends keep brittle grossness at bay. Plus it smells awesome when you later fall asleep in a mess of your own hair. 
  5. Clinique All About Eyes De-Puffing Massage Serum. Waking up in the middle of the night and then proceeding to take sporadic naps wreaks havoc on under-eye bags. This roller-ball cools and pushes fluid out, helping you look less like you've spent the past hour crying through the in-flight movie. 
  6. Aesop Rosehip Seed Lip Cream. If you're anything like me, you hate peeing miles above ground. Like, where does that ish go? Will my intestines get sucked out of my butt? So I don't drink water, and when I don't drink water, my lips get chapped as fuck. This lip cream is really luxurious; it's packed with fancy oils and vitamins and sinks right into the barren dessert that is my mouth.
  7. YSL Touche Eclat. This undereye concealer is cult for a reason. What dark circles?
  8. Clean & Clear Oil Absorbing Sheets. While my cheeks get dry, my T-zone has a party at McDonald's where it swims around in the fry-maker. These sheets absorb all the nasty oil (sometimes I have to use two though, foul) without disturbing any make-up.
Happy Thanksgiving travels, y'all!

A Lesson I've Learned the Hard Way:

My life will never fit into a carry-on.

Jean jacket and tops by Madewell // Black skinnies by J Brand // Denim by 7 for all mankind // Boots by Frye // Sneaks by Superga // Sunnies by Warby Parker // Bag by MBMJ

No matter how hard I try to make this a reality, an entire closet, a bathroom's worth of toiletries, and no less than 12 pairs of shoes WILL NEVER cram into 45 linear inches. 

My first lesson in extensive packing was a semester abroad in London. I joyfully purchased two extra-large suitcases to fill to the brim with every grandma sweater I owned. I took comfort in knowing I would have my whole wardrobe with me in a strange country, relishing in the idea of having a million different outfits to impress British boys with. This satisfaction, however, was replaced with deep, deep regret up arriving at Heathrow. Lugging literally my own body weight's worth in valises through a major international airport and then through the Chube was nothing short of a nightmare (you can ask just my best friend who experienced this with me; she's still scarred.) But to be fair, although it was terrible for me, it was much worse for the poor ol' chap who stood behind me on the ascending escalator and became the receiving end of toppled luggage.    

Once we began traveling from one Euro City to another, I was determined to fit everything I needed in one backpack. This was college and I really wanted to fit the struggling young backpacker archetype to a T, you know? So I started writing down outfits for each day, trying to bring the most versatile pieces to re-wear with one another, and rolling everything.  

Tomorrow I fly out to San Francisco and I am proud to say I will be able to squeeze 10 outfits, 4 pairs of shoes, 2 bags, socks, undies, and pjs into the overhead compartment. 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Can I Kick It?

Since what seems to be since I could walk, my go-to sneaks have always been a pair of classic Chucks. From elementary school when I liked them high, to middle school when I embarrassingly opted for different laces and pen doodles (puke), to high school when I started becoming a normal human, they were absolutely the only kicks for me. With college came Supergas that made me feel a bit more sophisticated (MKA love them, duh), and some Frees that strictly belonged in the gym. To date, this has been the extent of my sneaker repertoire, and I have never felt compelled to purchase any others.. until I started following Lucy that is, who's beginning to plant a new little fashion obsession seed with how well she wears hers.