#SelfieFreeSummer - My Unfiltered Life

So perhaps you remember way back in May when I posted my diatribe about selfies and the downfall of humanity. The rest of this post may seem particularly ironic, since it will be filled with selfies. But they are selfies with a purpose, y'all. They are, in truth, the end of my selfies.

In that post I also referenced this lovely selfie from Instagram, in which I pranced about au natural:

Said selfie was taken the morning of my backpacking trip (you know, the one were I almost died in the middle of the night), where I was fresh out the shower and headed out to the woods, so I had a makeup free face and hair full of ponytail frizz. 

This was a statement selfie, even though I didn't make a big deal about it at the time it was posted on Instagram. Okay, I may have hashtagged #nomakeup #nofilter, but I promise it was more to prove a point to myself than to declare any sort of pride over what I look like here.

Posting a pic of myself, of my real self, isn't something I typically ever do.

Because, let's be honest. In my selfie posting prime, this is what you could expect to see:

What is even going on in the lefthand pic? Am I an Anime cartoon? A Star Trek action figure?

Uh. I'm sorry. What? Let's do a little side by side comparison here:

Wow. Notice any striking differences? Is the girl on the left even the same person as those pics on the right? It sort of kills me that in my selfies (which, honestly, I took multiples of before posting the perfect pose), each pic was staged to highlight whatever my current idea of beauty happened to be. Skinny? Fit? Blonde? Heavily mascara'd? (it's a word, hush) Snarky? Sure. If it showed the most pleasing image of myself to the world, I posted it.

I'm not saying this is true for all selfie snapping girls and boys in the world. But it was true for me. I could blame it on many things. The thick purple scar that drew a heavy line across my right cheek as I was growing up. The endless bullying. Living through my twenties as "the fat one," and countless other things.

But the truth is, regardless of my past, my present need to be seen as somebody other than who I felt like I was on the inside is what dictated my selfie habit.

I can't really pinpoint when I decided to stop snapping and posting so many pics. At some point, it just felt silly. In part, a piece of what was broken on the inside healed after I spent six weeks in an intense round of almost daily group therapy after Dos moved out. But that's another story.

So why am I telling you all of this? It feels radically different than those filtered, make-up laden pics above. This is the real me, filter free. I'm starting my #selfiefreesummer this weekend, which includes as much time away from the mirror as possible also. I'll cover my bathroom mirror, and avoid obvious gazes into any other reflective surfaces as possible. Obviously, as my Seestah pointed out, I have to use mirrors when driving and I'll be in front of mirrors in public restrooms, and probably some other places I haven't really thought about yet. But perfection isn't what I'm looking for.

I think that's what my goal was in my selfie phase. Some perfect image of myself, some idolized idea of what I was supposed to look like.

This challenge is about being free of my outer self-image and focusing on inner-beauty and strength. It's about ignoring what I see with my eyes and listening to who I am on the inside. Along the way, I'll post pictures on Instagram of things that matter more than how much eyeliner I'm wearing, or what angle I have to hold my arms in to get the best shot of my face. Each photo will be tagged with #selfiefreesummer.

I'll be posting every Saturday through the summer with updates on how it's going and what I'm noticing. 90 days of being selfie and mirror free carries me right to my 40th birthday. A serendipitous realization made when looking at the calendar to decide when this little challenge should end. Maybe you'll join me, and post your own #selfiefreesummer pics on Instagram. I'd love to see what you're looking at that tells the story of your own unfiltered life. Feel free to grab the graphic in the sidebar and use it when posting on your own blog about your #selfiefreesummer challenge, or toss it in your sidebar. And leave me a comment, so I know to come check out your posts!

So. Let's begin, shall we?

#EveryDayinMay - O Selfie! My Selfie!

Oh, the selfie. Or should I say #selfie? Truly, the self portrait has been around for as long as art has existed, although The Public Domain Review says the first ever photographic selfie was taken by a rather dapper looking young man by the name of Robert Cornelius. It wasn't until social media exploded that what we know as today's selfie became popular.

I mean, let's face it -- it's a thing.

Even the Oxford Dictionary says so. And seriously, the beloved selfie even has its own song.

I've been thinking a lot about selfies lately, and what their prevalence means for society. When I read Becoming Odyssa by Jennifer Pharr Davis, she talked briefly about how after spending four months on the trail with nary a mirror in sight, her definition of herself changed. Beauty became less about her appearance and more about her strength.

I don't know about you, but that's the kind of beauty by which I want to define myself.

Earlier this week, musician (and Neil Gaiman's wife), Amanda Palmer posted a link on FaceBook that deepened my thoughts on how this selfie culture is changing the value we place on beauty. It seems some women are actually having their left hands re-beautified. I shared this little tidbit of pop culture with The Husband and he couldn't figure out why on earth anyone would have their left hand worked on. Then I held up my hand and waggled my ring finger in his face.

"Because," I said, "how can any proper lady possibly take engagement ring selfies if they've got mangled up fingers?"

He just shook his head.

And more and more, that's what I seem to be doing as well. There was also research conducted recently on the disease of the selfie. Thinking about young people falling into depression and becoming suicidal because of body image makes me ill. No one should ever have to feel that way. Granted, most people that fall victim to this degree of body dysmorphia are typically already suffering from other mental illnesses as well, but I don't think we need much more proof that narcissism is on the rise.

Top all of that off with the tragedy that happened earlier this week in California, when Elliot Rodger killed 6 people and then himself, decreeing in his manifesto that he was troubled (among other things) by his lack of success with women. Then add the fact that he was highly visible on social media with a large number of his own selfies.

If I hadn't already decided to go on a selfie-free, mirror-free challenge, all of these things combined would have sealed my thinking on it. I just have to wonder -- how differently might I view myself if I wasn't primping in front of a mirror each morning? If I didn't check my reflection in the window or take those selfies -- the ones I only seem to take when my hair and makeup is just right? So be on the lookout for some posts about how I will accomplish this vanity-banning challenge. Maybe you'll even want to join me!

I guess that's why I took my final selfie and posted it on Instagram the morning I left for my overnight backpacking trip. It was, I believe, the first picture I've ever posted of myself completely sans makeup. I could be wrong, but I can't think of another one. At the very least, it was the first intentional picture I've taken of myself not all glammed up. It felt like a turning point. I don't want to be defined by what I look like.

I want to be defined by who I am.

#EveryDayinMay - Poetry Friday

You can find more wondrous words over
at Crystal's blog today!

I'm sinking deep into the moment tonight. All this talk of hiking and hidden hot springs and finding adventure in my ordinary life brought me to the doorstep of the poet William Stafford. So many of his poems speak to me, fold themselves around me and say, "Stop. Listen. Rest a while," and I do, thankful for a place to lean my busy mind, if only for a moment.

***

Waking at 3 a.m.
by William Stafford

Even in the cave of the night when you
wake and are free and lonely,
neglected by others, discarded, loved only
by what doesn't matter--even in that
big room no one can see,
you push with your eyes till forever
comes in its twisted figure eight
and lies down in your head.

You think water in the river;
you think slower than the tide in
the grain of the wood; you become
a secret storehouse that saves the country,
so open and foolish and empty.

You look over all that the darkness
ripples across. More than has ever
been found comforts you. You open your
eyes in a vault that unlocks as fast
and as far as your thought can run.
A great snug wall goes around everything,
has always been there, will always
remain. It is a good world to be
lost in. It comforts you. It is
all right. And you sleep. 

***

I am happily lost in lines like "you think slower than the tide in / the grain of the wood;" and "It is a good world to be / lost in." I've always loved poetry, and am just a smidge reverent when I come across a poet like Stafford, whose words make me want to call him up and say, "Yes! This! Exactly!"

For more excellent poetry around the webosphere today, check out the link-up at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

#SOL14 - The Difference

Another walk. Another round of Pilates. The tight pinch that pulls all my muscles together somewhere between my shoulder and my neck is beginning to loosen. The ache in my lower back, though still there, has become more of a murmur than a yell.

Resting meditation. Nighttime visualization. Daylong focus on what matters.

More water. More real food. Even though this puppy is interfering with any hope of a full night's rest (okay, it's my fault too -- puppy is snoozing by nine and I'm lucky to be asleep by midnight), I have more energy right now than I did a week ago.

I haven't stepped on the scale. I won't. I know I'm not fit, and I'll know when I am. The scale is a liar that creeps in and whispers disappointment. No "before" pictures. No measurements.

What matters is I'm moving. I feel better already. The focus is on health, not appearance. That's what matters.

Each day a littler healthier, a little happier, than the day before.

SOL Tuesday: WTMNBN, Part 3

This post started here, moved forward here, and has landed rather quietly on the doorstep of today's Slice of Life post. I hadn't intended to share this today, but it seemed to want to be heard. Sometimes, you just have to follow the words home again.

My last WTMNBN post left my story ten years ago, in 2002. I struggled with my self image and my weight for the next 4 years, shedding and gaining the same 20-30 pounds -- as if my body were part of some twisted bungee jumping adventure. Always bouncing around, never stable.

In 2006, my mom flew in from Illinois for a visit.  It was a normal Mom visit -- filled with food, food, and more food. Mom loves the following things more than most things in life: onion dip, M&M's, Coca-Cola, bread & butter, and Taco Bell. Or McDonald's. This sounds cruel, but it isn't intended to be. I love my mom dearly. It's her lifestyle that makes me cringe.

She woke me early in the hours just before dawn on the day she was supposed to return home. She was in tears, her body hunched over, her arms wrapped around her belly. It didn't take long for me to realize this was more than an ordinary stomach ache. As the sun came up, we headed to the hospital.

My mom was rushed into a room that was roughly the size of a walk-in closet. Honestly, there are probably closets out there larger than her room at the hospital. There was nothing on the walls, no counters or cabinets, just stark white floors, walls, and ceilings. A rounded bench jutted out from one wall; as if seat and wall had been molded together from a single piece of Play-doh.

Later, the nurses told us that they had been out of rooms, so my mom was placed on a gurney in their holding room for drunks and other "crazies" that can't be trusted in a normal room. It made for an interesting experience, to say the least.

I watched my mom sleep through the next several hours, only waking to request something to drink or a warmer blanket. She was pale and weak; her face tired, her body slack. I had no idea why she was in so much pain, why her digestive system had blood in it, or what the possible diagnosis would be.

I was scared.

Hospitals have always petrified me. I've spent way too much time in emergency rooms, outpatient clinics, overnight stays -- you name it, I've been there. To this day, every time I walk into any type of medical environment I have to fight back a wave of nausea.

But this was more than my typical hospital-paranoia. I spent hours that day worrying that I might lose my mom.

After 10 hours of sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting and letting my mind wander rampantly through the land of the delirious and back, we found out my mom was suffering from diverticulitis -- a completely treatable disease caused by her years of atrocious eating habits.

I remember a few things vividly from that day:

1. I was angry. Watching her lie on the hospital bed, I envisioned the same situation years into the future -- with my own kids sitting by my bedside. Me, missing out on graduations and weddings and grandchildren -- all because food was more important than family, my own health, or my future.
2. This thought crept around my brain, and refused to leave: every choice we make to eat foods that are from a fast food place, too fatty, or fried... every time we choose to sit on the couch all night instead of being active... every choice we make that favors flavor over fitness -- is also a choice for a long, slow, painful suicide.

I stopped over eating. I stopped indulging in Ben & Jerry's. I stopped drinking soda. Stopped smoking. Stopped the secret McDonald's stops on the way home from class at night. 

I started walking. Every day. I started researching heart healthy, nutrient rich recipes. I started truly taking care of myself, for the first time in my life.

I invested in the art of being me.

By 2008 I was healthier, stronger, and slimmer than I had ever been. My 35 year old body put my 17 year old body to shame.

And I wasn't doing it for vanity. I didn't want the skinniest, prettiest body. I didn't place an emphasis on how attractive I was.

I wanted to live. Plain and simple. For a long, long time.

The measure of my success was found in the energy I had, the laughter I shared with my kids, the ease with which I could run and play outdoors with my nieces and nephews.

If something was known to be unhealthy, I didn't let it near me. It wasn't difficult. I thought of my mom, lying in that terrible hospital room, I looked at my children, who deserved a mom that cared more about them than she did about food.

And I just did it.

It would be a perfect fairy tale if that were the end of my story. It is, after all, a beautiful "happily ever after".

But there's more to this story.

Today just isn't the day to tell it.

Ode to My Mama

Here are some things you need to know about my mom:

She took my sister and me to the library every week of our childhood. Seriously. What the United States Postal Service is for your mail? That's my mom and literacy. Girlfriend isn't playing around.

Every holiday, without fail, was made special by Mom. Yes, every one of them. We even had visits from The Great Pumpkin.

The woman can sing. I'm not talking about your run of the mill karaoke style jams. When mama sings, people listen. Partially, it's because they have no choice -- I mean, when a middle-aged woman is throwing down Joan Jett opera-style, you can't help but notice. As a teenager, this was the bain of my existence.  But on those days when I'm feeling bummed and have a ton of housework to do? Easy fix. Slip on some earbuds, turn on the iPod, and belt out some tunes. I'll never be asked to sing at weddings, as she once was, but I've got some pipes! I'm pretty sure I got those from her.

If you need a prayer warrior, call my mom. She has a direct line. She'll hook you up.

Growing up, my mom's goofy childlike antics were soo embarrassing. After all, I was 15 going on 50. I never quite knew how to be a kid. Apparently I age emotionally in reverse, because now? If you peek in my window around dinnertime, you'll see what I was growing up with. Every once in a while I pause, a little mortified -- I've become my mom! -- and then quickly go back to the dancing, singing, giggling antics of my own. I learned from the best. May as well use it.

She sends cards. Like, way more than the normal card-giving status quo. You could open up your mailbox one day and have a card for Groundhog's Day and a "Just Because I Love You" card waiting there for you at the same time. Who does this?? My mom, that's who. It's basically impossible to be around my mom and not feel unconditionally loved.

If you're dying for a good home-cooked meal, don't go to her. Mom, you know this is true, so don't even pretend to be offended! She will, however, stock her pantry with every one of your favorite ready made foods, drive 30 miles to find the perfect meal, and send you an insane amount of Christmas goodies for you to enjoy over the holidays. Oh, and if you're having a party? Yes, invite my mom. She makes THE best seven layer dip, chocolate eclair cake, and weird-yet-delicious blueberry cream cheese glob of dessertesque food you will ever taste. So, lesson here? My mom is more of a party girl than a wine and dine sort of chick. Go figure.

Oh, and you should know this. She is an amazingly talented writer. When I was a senior in high school, she took a writing class and shared her writing with me. It may have been one of the first times I realized we had some pretty important things in common.

There are many, many more things I could tell you about my mom. How she caught me hiding two baby birds when I was eight and called the Vet to help me put them back in their nest. Her unceasing praise and encouragement for every single thing I've ever told her I wanted to do. The countless surgeries and therapy sessions she shuttled me back and forth from when I was a kid. How she held my hand when I was in labor with my first son. How she's held my hand limitless times through the years when I have stumbled, fallen, and picked myself back up again.

My mom always tells me that I am all the things she always wanted to be. Strong. Independent. Brave. A go-getter! In fact, she told me all these things again just last week.

Here's the thing I need to tell my mom about herself: I am all those things because of who she is.

So thanks, Mom. A million words do not begin to describe the gifts you have given me, the lessons I have learned, the love I have gained.

Happy Birthday. Don't forget to make your wish when you blow out the candles tonight.

Tuesday Slice: time for the sun

I promised myself that as school began this year I would not stop writing.

It appears that has been more difficult than originally believed.

So I am sort of proud of myself for making time to write this Tuesday, just 45 minutes before midnight.

Tonight, as I googled and researched and wrote in student files and signed papers, I chatted on the phone with my 15 year old. He's been living with his dad for the past year, and although I spent the year in a flatlining stupor, I've finally begun healing.

In fact, I was told today that I seem more at peace.  And I am.

I'm at peace enough to not let the little things feel like impossible mountains. And I'm at peace enough to spend most of the evening on the phone with my sweet boy, when I really want to be sitting by his side.

He had a poetry assignment tonight; his teacher asked him to write a poem based on Identity by Julio Polanco. He's always been a good writer. Words come easily to him. But he has always had difficulty accepting that he could actually be good at something.

I hope tonight changed his mind.

Here's what he came up with (I have left it entirely as is, no editing of grammar or spelling):

The Life Giving Sun
Let them be the moon
Always cool, mysterious, the controller of the tides,
But only able to reflect the sun

Id rather be a bright, warming sun,
Beaming down on all, like eyes in a meteor shower,
Always giving, but never taken from.

To break through the surface of clouds,
To shine, to be uncontainable in a never ending sky,
To shine in a forever lasting universe,
Day by day, it will be free,
beyond The blackholes and galaxies,

I'd rather shine on my own,
Then to be alone, in the darkness,
Only to be howled at by the wolves,
Or chased by the astaurnauts,
To be walked on.

I'd rather begin a new day,
Than shine through the night,
If I could sail through the sky independently,
I'd rather be the life giving sun


Written by Daegan Lifsey


I love what he did with this, and I love that we worked on it together, and I love that we are still close enough to do these things -- even if it is just over the phone.

Indira Makeover Giveaway Winner!

I am super excited to announce the lucky winner of the Indira Makeover Giveaway!

I was so impressed with the service and style I received while I was there, so I love that I can share this experience with someone else!

Thanks again to my friend Crystal over at Straight On Til Morning for sharing this opportunity with me. You should check out the sale she's having on her blog right now for some sweet deals!

So, without further ado -- the lucky winner, who will receive a cut, color, and makeup application, is Lisa Dominy!!

Congratulations, Lisa!

Lisa, I will email you with the information you need to contact the salon and I will give them your information as well.

The winner was chosen using Random.org.

Finding Beauty

If Indira means Beauty, then Beth Ash Ayrton has done an amazing job matching the environment of her Carrolton salon to its namesake.  I walked into Indira a little frenzied from the usual stress of traffic and searching for a place I've never been before, but within minutes felt relaxed and at peace. Part of this is due to the invigorating scent that fills the salon and the rich, earthy decor, but Indira is a place of great beauty because of both the aesthetics and the people.  There is a friendly, comfortable vibe that flows through the salon and invites you to stay a while.

The Aveda concept salon has tons of product with testers so you can sample to your heart's content. I wasn't familiar with Aveda, so it was pretty interesting to find out about this innovative company. Besides the amazing products that are made from naturally-derived plants, they really strive to give back to the economy and ecosystems where the plants are harvested.  I love this dedication to being eco-friendly, and was amazed by how well the products work.

After being offered a drink (white wine, anyone?) and an iPad to play with, Beth and I took my "before" pics:

Needless to say, I was definitely ready to meet Nina, my stylist for the day.

It didn't take long for me to realize that Nina is a true artist at heart.  She took time to sit with me and discuss the look I was hoping to achieve, then added her own creative insight and launched into a plan. I was treated to a to-die-for neck and shoulder rub before we began the process of lifting my bland mousy brown locks into the gorgeous blonde I wanted for the summer.  The shoulder rub might be worth the visit alone -- Nina, watch out, I may come back just for a quick mini-massage!

I don't know about you, but often the time spent with a stylist (which can be hours, right ladies??) is sort of awkward.  Not this time.  Nina and I chatted about music, design, art and more, all while she kept me informed about why she was choosing certain techniques and products. She was consistently focused on my comfort -- did I mention the neck and shoulder rub? Or the arm and hand massage while my toner was setting? Oh, or the hot towel wrap?  One of the things we talked about was Sanskrit, and how the word "bliss" in Sanskrit can be said in more than 30 ways. My experience with Nina at Indira is a perfect example of why people need more than one word to describe things like bliss. 5 letters just doesn't capture it!

Next, LaToya and I sat down to look at the Aveda makeup. LaToya is the first face you see when you walk in the door, but she is also the resident makeup whiz. I think it must be pretty difficult to meet her and not instantly feel like old friends. She is just another reason going to Indira feels like an afternoon hanging out with your besties. After I chose some colors (you know I went all bright and colorful, right??), she set to work on making my eyes really pop. In just a few minutes, we were done and ready to take my after pics!

So, here's what you've been waiting for -- the final product AND the rules you need for the giveaway one of my lucky readers is going to win!

Rules For The Awesome Indira Summer Giveaway (rules must be followed correctly for entries to be counted!)

1. Follow Indira on Facebook and leave a message on their page about my makeover! Then post about the giveaway on your own FaceBook page. You can use this message, or make your own: "I just entered the Indira Summer Giveaway at http://www.projectchameleon.blogspot.com to win a complete makeover!" (mandatory entry)

2. Follow this blog (one entry)

3. Follow Indira on Twitter and tweet this message about the contest: I just entered the @indirasalon Summer Makeover Giveaway at http://www.projectchameleon.blogspot.com! #indiragiveaway (one entry)

4. Blog about this giveaway, and link back to this blog and the Indira FaceBook page (3 entries!)

5. Leave a comment on this blog telling me exactly which entries you have completed, tallying your points, and leaving links to the FaceBook, Twitter and/or blog posts you made. Don't forget to leave an email address so you can be contacted if you are the winner!! (mandatory entry)

On Tuesday, June 28, we will use Random.org to choose the lucky winner!!

All winners will be chosen via Random.org. Winners will be chosen within one week of the giveaway closing and will be posted once the prize is claimed by the chosen winner. If the person(s) chosen do not respond to our contact within 72 hours a new winner will be chosen.