The 27-28 theory

I have a theory about women between the ages of 27-28. This theory was born of my own experiences at that age, and it was further confirmed with the experiences of almost every woman I know. Not exaggerating here.

So here it is:

Women ages 27-28 undergo a massive shift from the angst-ridden and messy uncertainty of their 20s in preparation for the more focussed and confident 30s. On the inside, it feels like insanity, but if you don't weaken, you begin to discover important realizations bubbling up through the noise.

• What you really want to do.
• What you really don't want to do.
• Who you want to be with.
• Who your real friends are.
• How to make your ideal life happen.
• What's happiness?
• And how you intend to find it.

As a result: friendships and relationships may morph or come to end, career paths change, attitudes towards your environment are transformed, plans for marriage and children are hatched, bodies begin to reshape, etc.

It's kind of like a second adolescence - but you have better shoes and a little more money.

It's an awful period but it's important work that needs to be done -- survived. As I approach 37, I'm beginning to wonder if there's another shift ahead and what it will mean for who I eventually become in my 40s. Whatever happens, I'll keep you posted.

Ballet, oh ballet!

I visited the offices of Les Grands Ballet Canadiens this morning to see an old friend. My mouth was absolutely dry with excitement - many of you know my love of bodies and dance.

As I mounted the stairs towards his office, on the second floor, I saw a flurry of little girls in blue satin body suits and white tights scurrying into their practice hall.

On the third floor, we walked by mirrored rooms where men and women with densely packed thighs bound into the air with pointed toes and arched arms. The beauty of it brought my own legs to a standstill.

OD works in a space just down the hall from the dancers. In fact, while we stood talking outside his office, a male dancer wandered in, looking for someone. I don't think I even registered the dancer's face - I was too enchanted by the rippling of his back muscles as he walked.

There is no point to this post, really. I just wanted to say this: Today, I saw more beauty and it was good. That's all.

Pushy grandmothers

There's a radio ad running on CJAD that cracks me up every time. It's for a local podiatrist and it consists of two women talking. It begins like this:

"I know I'm only her grandmother, but I noticed that Allison's foot turns in when she walks..."

Perhaps this is a stupid question, but where does one find non-meddling grandmothers like this? Do tactful grandmothers exist? Does anyone have proof?

My Italian grandmothers thought it was their God-given right to meddle in pretty much everything. They had an opinion about... well, everything... and they gave it to you whether you asked for it or not . Also, they didn't believe in personal space.

Need examples?

My paternal grandmother, Adelia, when I was a teenager, regularly liked to gauge the development of my breasts herself. I leaned over to kiss her hello, she lifted her hand to cop a feel. No one thought this was weird. You certainly didn't put up a fight.

My maternal grandmother, Ida, when I was teenger, decided that my favourite pair of khaki shorts made my back end look too wide. She aired her opinion but when I insisted on wearing them anyway, she just dumped bleach on them in the wash. The family thought this was cute. And funny.

If it were my grandmother in the radio ad, she would be yelling - and probably take the opportunity to note that my mother obviously wasn't feeding me enough either.

Thanks nonnas!

Random notes from this week

• Why do I feel compelled to apply full make-up before going to MAC? I'm afraid that if I go there with nothing on my face, they'll deem me unworthy of the Lucky Green eye shadow I want. "No eyeshadow for you!"

• I love getting my eyebrows threaded. It's the whole experience. Lovely young Indian woman leaning over you, quietly humming some Hindu love song, her hair smelling of coconut oil. I often get a little sleepy on the bed...

• Why are compliments so important? Yes, it's important to love yourself first and best etc., but have you noticed that when you don't get any compliments from the opposite/desired sex for a period of time, it's sometimes harder to pick yourself up? You feel all *moche* and look for ways to make yourself feel more attractive (see points 1 and 2). I used to think that compliments are frivolous, but then I read this:

Compliments exert enormous influence in the exchange of good will between people. They generate mutual feelings of happiness and joy between the givers and recipients. Compliments to others are like small gifts we give ourselves when we pay attention to how we appreciate those around us. Paying a sincere compliment to someone makes you very attractive.

• Miss Chievous has the best-est video make-up tutorials.

When not to do yoga

During yoga teacher training, we were given a detailled list of when not to practice yoga:

* if injured
* if menstruating (opt for a gentle restorative practice instead)
* if you have a head cold
* if suffering from disabilities, severe, acute or chronic medical conditions (unless your doc says okay)

But I would also add:

*when your body and mind do not want it

Let me explain.

Yes, it's true that left to its own devices, your body will always opt for another hour in bed or one more episode of Twin Peaks on DVD.

And yes, yoga (as does most exercise) will give you a lift to get past your anger, stress, etc.

But if you have a fairly disciplined practice already, you probably also have a very intuitive understanding of your body and its cues. And there are moments, when the messages coming from your body are asking you to not practice yoga.

Maybe you're sleep deprived.
Maybe a cold or migraine is coming on.
Maybe you feel mentally tired from all the demands put on you recently.

In such cases, I'm all for taking a day off. Sleep. Or meditate instead to quiet your mind. Spend a quiet afternoon on the couch with a good book. Have a good, healthy meal.

Although it does not happen often, I have moments like that. Had one this past Saturday. In the past, on such days, I dragged myself to yoga, only to muscle my way through the practice and end up feeling even more disconnected from my body.

I find, however, on those days when I make the conscious decision to feed some other need, I return to the practice with a little more joy and a little more focus because the foundation of my practice - my body - is more stable.

Lack of sleep and poor nutrition is just as disabling as an injury. Despite its many lauded benefits, yoga is not the cure to all maladies - it is merely one tool towards greater well-being.

Throwing yourself into the practice when you are not physically open to it could even lead to injury. So if your body and mind are saying "not today", maybe you should give it some attention before slipping on those yoga pants.

Photo by Jacques.

Beautiful

Remember that James Blunt song, "Beautiful"? Made all the girls swoon?

Well, not me. But I've always had an ambivalent relationship with the word.

As much as I hungered in my youth to hear that I was beautiful, I never inspired that kind of poetry from men. One boyfriend once remarked to someone else that I had beautiful eyes, and another one tossed, "Hey, you look beautiful tonight" as he bolted out the door, late for work, but no man has ever described me as beautiful while looking me in the eyes (like he meant it).

I do get a lot of "cute" though.

But don't start thinking I'm fishing for comments - plenty of people call me "beautiful" and mean it, i.e. my friends. And they offer it spontaneously, genuinely, while looking me in the eyes (like they mean it). Recently, one of my fellow yogis (who is quite possibly one of the most naturally beautiful women I've ever met) even described me as having a "beautiful Portuguese baker's face". Je suis émue.

We are all accustomed to thinking that certain emotions are only meaningful when they come from a significant other. That we are not really beautiful or special until a beloved arrives to make us feel as much. But the truth is, there is love around us all the time and that feeling of "being special" is always there - if only we can stop complaining long enough to see it.

Whether any man will ever find me beautiful (and mean it) is entirely conjectural, but I am daily surrounded by loving people who think the world of me. As long as I have their love, I think I'll be okay.

That being said, don't forget to remind someone of how beautiful they are - you have no idea how it may touch them.

How yoga is saving my life. Again.

In the three weeks since I’ve returned to work, I’ve barely practiced. My body has been rebelling. Its displeasure is clear and I’ve had to accept a less rigorous practice – or no practice at all.

Once the imbalance in my hips was resolved, the strain in my neck returned. That was taken care of in turn, thanks to the osteo, but only to be replaced by a cold that knocked me out for four days. I am finally getting back to “my old self” and look forward to resuming my yoga practice on Friday.

So how is that yoga’s been saving my life when I haven’t even been practicing?

I’ve had the pleasure – and privilege – of assisting one of my favourite teachers at AYM. Being an assistant may not seem like a glamorous affair, but it’s been very educational for many reasons.

• I better understand the range of limitations and flexibility issues experienced by different bodies.
  
• It’s triggered my inner problem solver.
  
• It’s increasing my confidence.
  

But best of all – it’s given me back my sense of satisfaction and purpose.

I see a problem – or a student asks for assistance. I address it gently, attentively. Immediately I see the student’s face relax or his spine extend – or I hear the sigh of release.

And there it is.

Results. Goodness. Ease. Someone has been helped.

A feeling I don’t frequently achieve. I write marketing copy. It gets reworked by the client, their partners. I rarely see – or even recognize – the final result. Sometime later I might hear that the promotion generated $$$ of sales.

My daily work is abstract. Twice and three times removed from my act of writing. I don’t see the results. I never see the faces of those that read it. If they read it.

So yes, as I return to the routine of “mandate in, text out”, yoga has been saving my life with its promise of results, goodness, ease, help.

Be a man!

It's not easy being a man. And no, this is not some segue way into a rant about the stupidity of men. I just don't envy the pressure they're put under.

The best way I've heard it described: "Men are expected to know the answer before the question is even asked".

So if I understand this correctly: perpetual certainty is a must, displays of weakness are to be avoided at all costs, and must he-man skills include car maintenance, home repair, techie skills, the ability to to survive in the wilderness, puppy cuddling and a six-pack.

Did I leave out "must be sensitive" and "mind read"?

Living up to these ideals is impossible and yet the expectations keep getting heaped on - by parents, by girlfriends/wives, by the media, by other men. We've already see the same thing happen with women and all the roles we're expected to undertake.

And when you drop the ball, there's always someone to remind you of your failure as a man/woman.

I bring up the topic because there's been a lot of discussion lately about what it means to be a man. On Sunday, a friend tossed out, "I can't figure out which pipe is leaking. What kind of a man am I?" Then the other night, Powell and I watched Revolutionary Road, a movie whose statements about gender in the 50s is still relevant today.

To (potentially) inspire some good conversation, I polled some lady friends and discovered that most of us don't care if our men can't do half the stuff on that list... as long as they have a good sense of humour about it.

Are we being desperately optimistic, sure to turn into shrews once in a relationship? Have our neuroses mellowed with age? Or is anyone willing to back us up?

On your marks...

Last day - Yoga teacher training

To kick-start my return to regular-life programming, I stayed up late and saw Camera Obscura live at La Tulipe tonight.

We had decent seats behind the sound guy. Right before the encore, I glanced over to see him stretching behind the board. Neck rotations. Arms straight up in the air. And then, he squirmed his hands between his shoulder blades into reverse prayer position.

My first reaction was, "Can I go ten seconds without thinking about parsvottanasana? Or is it parsvakonasana? AH!!"

But ten seconds after that, I smiled and thought, "How lucky I am to see yoga in everything, in everyone."

The word being bandied about during our last class today was bittersweet. How we all wished that we could stay in the studio cocoon just a little longer. And yet, how much we all needed to return to our lives in the outside world. The other words frequently heard in those last precious hours were thank you.

The decision to enroll for yoga teacher training came after considerable reflection. I was prepared for the physical rigours of the intensive program. I read my texts early to prepare my mind. I even stocked up on tiny comforts to get me through the inevitable rough spots.

What I did not expect was how my life would be impacted by my fellow students.

If you're ready for it, yoga can help make your heart so open that no heartbreak - no matter how big - can ever close it again. Thanks to the support and encouragement of my 25 fellow students, I was able to follow - and stick to - the path, even when the temptation to just go back was strong. If my heart is stronger, more open today, it's because I was loved and well-taken-care-of for 30 yoga-filled days. I only hope that I was able to return the gift.

So I'm ready to be in the world again. Or in the words of Tracyanne Campbell et al: I'm ready to be heartbroken.

Snaps from the studio

Where I spend my day

What I spend it doing

Who I spend it with

Thanks to Jacques for the great snaps.

Day Ten - Yoga teacher training

Why is a shower so comforting? I just took the longest, hottest shower in the history of the world and am essentially ready for bed.

Except I have to read. And my notes need some attention. And I don't have a lunch for tomorrow. And So You Think You Can Dance is on.

Buuuhhh.

So the fatigue has set in - and it arrived exactly when I expected it would. My body has finally caught on that this new schedule isn't as transitory as it was hoping, and it's been whining the last two days. Mild complaints from the lumbar spine. Groans from the hip sockets. Occasional bitching from the sciatic nerve.

Thing is, I'm getting enough sleep and food. The part that's kicking me in the butt is the rhythm. As a copywriter, you quickly learn how to ride the waves of your creativity, arranging your tasks to suit the time of day. If you know that your attention span dips between 1-3pm, you research or read industry blogs. When your eyes get tired, you gossip with your colleagues by the espresso machine for a change of scenery.

This new rhythm requires me to be conscious and attentive every minute of our eight-hour day. My teachers are a wealth of information and every word is gold. I can't burn off restlessness by chatting with Marty or watching Steve and Marco play foozball. I have to be in top form or else I'll miss something crucial.

I have to be present in every moment, obviously!

So to help my body relax (and stop complaining), I've taken extra measures. More hot showers. Better snacks. Reading in bed for a better transition to sleep. There may even be a pedicure in my future.

Bref: I'm listening to my body and taking the necessary measures. I already felt more energized today. That being said, I will now watch SYTYCD for an hour and then get me to bed.

Pinching pennies

I had the pleasure of going to the ballet tonight - Sleeping Beauty by the Grands Ballets Canadiens. Since discovering ballet some three or four years ago, I have tried to see one performance every spring. It's generally a contemporary piece.

I love the powerful surge of bodies against gravity. Ballet's ability to unfold intricate stories with a flick of a wrist or a turn of the head. Le gestuel. And how to describe how sacred I feel when beneath the silence of the room, I hear the dancers breathing.

It's a privilege to see such beauty. And I feel especially fortunate to afford such a privilege.

For many years, when I worked as a freelance writer, I would lie awake at night calculating and recalculating expenses, trying to find a new strategy for paying everything off on time. There was no pocket change for ballet tickets.

Although I'm not 'rolling in it' today, I can afford the occasional ballet tickets. Or pedicure. According to my mother, I spend too much - and she's right, given the fact that she calculates costs based on 1970s standards. It feels good to be able to afford these little luxuries, but the mental calculations never really stop. I still find myself making purchase decisions based on how much money I actually have in my pocket.

"How much...? $7! Right. Then lunch will just have to cost $7."

"Gum would be good. Hmmm. No change? I can live without gum right now."

Certain habits never fade. I'll bet that even if you're rolling in it, you still make calculations... just on a much larger scale.

"How much...? 1.4 million! Right. Then I'll only buy a company worth $1.4 million."

They can probably afford better ballet seats too :)

My mother wins. Again.

When I decided to get a tattoo, everyone said, "Wow! What will you tell your mom?"

When I got the tattoo, everyone said, "It's gorgeous! What did your mom say?"

And now that it's been a month, everyone is asking, "You haven't shown your mom yet?"

The truth is, I've been putting it off, not wanting to deal with the inevitable explosion of how could you? and why would you waste your money? and what are people going to say? and have you changed religion?

Tonight I finally stopped being such a scaredy-squirrel. I paid a visit to my mother, telling her beforehand that I had a surprise to show her. I strode into her kitchen, propped my foot on the table and lifted my pant leg with a tah-dah!

[pleasedontyellatmepleasedontyellatmepleasedontyellatme]

My mother nudged her glasses further up her nose and said, "Why did you put it so low? I'd have put it up higher. Do you want another piece of cheese?"

Even after 36 years, she's still outsmarting me, dagnabbit!

(Sound familiar, Sandra?)

Pheromones and your period

Oh, the cruelty of the menstrual cycle!

Somewhere between ovulation and your period, it has been said that women secret sex pheromones, or as the non-sciencey people call it, invisible sexual magnetism. Biologically, our bodies are silently calling out to fertile men, letting them know that this "land" is ready to be "seeded".

Some of you ladies may have noticed that in the week before your period, the number of compliments you receive increase significantly. Suddenly, you are a total sex bomb and everyone is smiling in your direction with eyebrows lasciviously waggling.

No makeup? Old t-shirt? No matter! The pheromones are doing all the work for you!

For example, despite no effort on my part, in the last four days, I've been:

• overtly ogled in the gay village (by a non-gay I imagine, let's not over-exaggerate my charms)
• talked at in a lively fashion by a group of middle aged Portuguese man outside a sports bar (don't understand Portuguese but their eyes said it all)
  
• hello-ed by a young blond thing on his bike while crossing an intersection
• accosted by a pug dog who tried to make love to my shoe

So why do I lament the "cruelty" of the menstrual cycle? Because this increase in my charms generally coincides with a degradation of my verbal skills. My jokes fall flat, nothing I say makes sense to anyone except other hormone-addled females, and my ability to speak coherent French takes a four-day vacation.

So what's the lesson to be learned here, ladies?

In the week before your period: smile a lot and say little. 

Learning Anatomy

I think I've already mentioned that in preparation for yoga teacher training, I've been learning more about anatomy with the aid of Anatomy Trains and Barron's Anatomy Flash Cards. In fact, I called a social moratorium this past weekend and spent both days immersed in my studies.

It felt as if my brain was lit up. With each page read, the flame grew. I know that what I am learning is nothing new - but it's new to me. I'm loving this so much - I wish I could eat the pages so that the information they contain would stay with me always.

First, there is the poetry of our bodies. Muscles with names like soleus and sartoris. In the foot one finds bones called cuneiforms. In the pelvis, one finds the sacrum and the ischium, ringing in my ears as more likely referring to a priest's ritual object and a Greek island.

And then there's the ingenious way in which our bodies function. Mechanisms and collaborations that we are never aware of and mostly take for granted. For example:

The gastrocnemious (superficial muscles of the calf) reaches up and around the hamstring tendons to insert onto the femur. The hamstrings reach down and around the gastrocnemii to attach to the tibia and fibula. As long as the knee is bent, these two units go their own way. As the knee extends, the two units tighten and function together as if they were two pairs of hands gripping at the wrist.

Both muscle groups must work together to successfully flex your knee. Think about that next time you lean over to pick up dropped car keys. Or the next time you melt into this asana.

Confidence

In preparation for yoga teacher training, I've been reading a lot about science, anatomy and other things outside my ken. Despite my fears to the contrary, careful attention to the words on the page, handy reference resources and friends willing to answer questions about neural cells are helping me to learn the material.

Vague memories of secondary three science with Mr. Karwatsky are also proving to be useful.

Here are the three most interesting things I've learned this week:

• In an article about the social life of plants, science reporter Carol Kaesuk Yoon writes: The sea rocket, researchers report, can distinguish between plants that are related to it and those that are not. And not only does this plant recognize its kin, but it also gives them preferential treatment.

• In Anatomy Trains, author Thomas Myer writes: Muscle is elastic, fascia is plastic. Stretched, a muscle will attempt to recoil back to its resting length. ... Fascia does not 'snap back' - although over time and given the opportunity, it will lay down new fibers which will rebind the area.

• To attract females, the male Australian bowerbird (thanks g :) builds a bower with a variety of collected objects. The bird spends hours sorting and arranging his collection of shells, leaves, flowers, feathers and stones. No two bowers are the same, and each reflects the personal taste of each bird.
  

You don't have to understand anything about plants or muscles to grasp this one thing: nature has equipped all of us with what we need. Plants protect their own. Our bodies know how to compensate and heal. Birds know what it takes to attract a mate.

And yet, as humans we doubt ourselves all the time. We second-guess everything. Will my brother and I reconcile? Will I finally lose those last ten pounds? Does he like me? We spend too much time worrying about the things that we cannot predict and not enough time trusting in our inherent ability to thrive and survive.

We cannot know the answers to any of those questions. We cannot predict the feelings of others or how situations will ultimately play themselves out. We can however trust in what nature gave us.

You know that you want to reconcile with your sibling because you recognize the importance of family.

You know that you can lose the weight because if you help it along, your body will know what to do.

You know how you feel about him because he builds beautiful "bowers" of actions and words that make you smile.

So just do it. Pick up the phone. Throw your arms around his neck. Drop the cupcake. And just trust that nature will provide.

Don't be so shallow about sex

This isn't dirty, I swear.

It's just that Powell and I were having that conversation again - that conversation about the importance of sexual attraction in a relationship - and whether or not our answer makes us shallow.

You see, Powell and I concur that sexual attraction is indeed important for the long-term survival of any relationship. But we also feel (are made to feel?) guilty about holding this opinion.

Why? Because most people fail to make the very important distinction between:

(1) needing to feel a sexual connection with someone, and

(2) only being able to feel a connection with someone who fulfills a very limited physical description.

Sexual attraction should not be confused with physical beauty.

The truth is, the men I have dated fall into all kinds of categories. Short, tall, skinny, fat, hairy, bald. Some of them had movie-star looks and bodies, while others had obviously spent too many hours in the library being fried by the bad lighting. But the truth is, I thought all of them were gorgeous, sexy creatures.

That sexual attraction was mostly the invisible workings of 'chemistry', but it was also based on word play, sense of humour, the ability to banter, and their willingness to explain new things. Who they were contributed to that sexual attraction as much as their kind eyes, the size and shape of their hands, their thighs, etc.

Sexual attraction is far more complex than most think. I know people who have very limited guidelines when it comes to a mate: "I need a guy who's at least six feet tall", "I can't date a girl who weighs more than 120lbs", "If he doesn't make at least 50K a year, I won't even talk to him". 

Not only is this mindset narrow and unrealistic, but it doesn't take into account that some people don't find Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie remotely attractive. If sexual attraction was really that cut and dry, then wouldn't I too be swooning over Brangelina? Why is it that I find Clive Owen more appealing? Or Kate Winslet?

Sexual attraction should not be mistaken for lust-at-first-sight either.

And let's face it - sexual attraction isn't immediate either. Upon meeting one man years ago, I immediately thought, "Thank God, I don't find him attractive, there's no danger here," only to find myself wholly smitten four hours later. Smitten. Like a kitten. Meow!

You've known this since your youth, remember? In the classic tale, Beauty falls for the Beast not because the Beast harped incessantly on her good Catholic guilt until she caved. She falls in love with - becomes sexually attracted to - the Beast because of his kindness. The attraction wasn't there initially, but if it had not developed, there would be no story.

Without sexual attraction, there would be no reproduction, so don't knock it. And if someone tells you, "I'm just not feeling it", they are just not feeling it. Don't take it too personally.

If they say, "Hey Beanpole, why don't you come back when you've grown a butt worth grabbing," then I admit that may be a wee shallow.

But enough of me and my opinions - which side of the bed do you fall on?

New glasses!

Before!

After!

Tango lesson 3

Sometimes, the small Armenian man who teaches you tango will explain quite clearly:

"torso over hips, move with your whole body, always keep your feet in contact with the floor when moving, extend the leg backwards, don't shift your weight so soon."

You generally nod in understanding before puffing out your chest and following your partner down the scuffed dance floor.

But sometimes the words sound a little garbled in your head and your nod is a little less confident. Your partner is feeling gimpy because of a capoeira incident and you're mostly hungry, but you puff out your chest bravely anyway. 

Turns out, your torso and your hips aren't talking and insist on moving in two separate directions, your feet have decided that they might like salsa instead, and your balance is off pouting in a corner with your cranky hamstrings.

The Armenian tries to work with you and you start to get it, but that's when the arms decide to show you who's really boss, and you have to admit defeat.

LESSONS OF THE DAY

• Always eat before class.
• It'll be better next time.
• Better shoes are in order.
• Practice. Practice. Practice. 

Tango lesson 2

What I learned in tango today:

• There's no need to apologise all the time. Give one blanket "sorry" at the beginning and let the dancing begin.
• Tango is about lines. Straight. Forward. Sideways. Diagonal. No circles or swirling. Lines. This is not a salsa class, missy!
• To dance tango, the woman must listen to her partner's body. If you concentrate your attention on his energy, you will easily 'hear' the direction you're supposed to move in.
• Heels together, toes slightly apart.
• "Make your decision and move!"
• I would like a tango shoe with polka dots. White on black. With a little red trim maybe.