Out With the Old

Today is the last day of 2014. It is also the last day that I am going to write in this blog, Created by Chance.

I began this endeavor about five years ago. When I was laid off from my full time job at a television production company during the Great Recession, I was looking for something to fill the days while I decided what to do next. I opened an Etsy shop called "Created by Chance" where I sold (and still sell) upcycled gifts and accessories. I decided a companion blog was in order. It was originally named after my alter ego, Addie Chance, but I've never really adopted that moniker and have always felt that the name of the blog isn't quite in line with who I am or what I want to talk about.

Tomorrow, I am re-launching under a new name. One that feels more authentic to who I am now, who I have become over these last five years. Writing is something I've always thought I would be good at, but I never got into the habit of it until I started taking fingers to keyboard in a regular way with this blog. It has helped me to discover so many new things about myself, like that I love to garden and to cook, and that being creative every day is a necessary to my well-being.

Thanks to all of you who have ventured on this journey of discovery with me. I hope you will join me for the next chapter. We still have so much to learn, and I have enjoyed sharing this experience with all of you.

To quote the wise, venerable old sage, Taylor Swift:

Onwards and upwards!

Go Happy-
Amy

I Don't Give a F#@k About "The Interview"

If you've been following the news at all lately, no doubt you are aware of this thing called the Sony Hack and the pulling of the film "The Interview" from theaters. If you haven't, read about it here. And leave a note in the comments about how you are able to avoid something that everyone is talking about, short of never going online again.

Seems most in Hollywood are crowing about how shameful it is for theater chains to cancel showings of the movie, forcing Sony to cancel the release of the film. Aaron Sorkin's pretty pissed about it. As are Judd Apatow, Ben Stiller and a host of others. There's lots of talk about "free speech" and "censorship" and how un-American it is to capitulate to cyber-terrorists in this way.

Frankly - I think the reaction is about as American as it can get.

If you are under the impression that Hollywood exists as an exercise of our civil rights, you, my friend, live in a very idealistic world. One I'd like to visit someday, but I think might require loads of Xanax and endless pep talks from Oprah.

Hollywood's main interest is the bottom line. Entertainment exists, by and large, to make money. Making money is the American Way. If you put some sort of obstacle in the way of making money, it is quintessentially American to remove that obstacle. If "The Interview" were to play in theaters over Christmas, at a time when many American families will be taking in a flick or two, it might convince some folks it's safer to stay home. It's not like theaters haven't been subject to violence and terrorism in the recent past. If people avoid movie theaters over the holidays because of a perceived threat, remove the threat. "The Interview" is a threat to the bottom line.

Censorship is a part of the entertainment business. Why do you think you never hear the word "fuck" on primetime broadcast television? Because no writer ever wanted to add it to a script? Fuck no! It's because "fuck" will alienate some audience members, which will mean less eyeballs, which will mean advertisers won't be as interested in paying to have their ads run during your show. Most TV shows don't exist to entertain us - they exist as an advertising platform. It's the American Way.

Honestly, I really don't care one way or another about the film being cancelled. It's just as much an exercise of rights to pull the film as it is to show the film. Sony execs decided to make the dictator in the movie a real person because they thought it would be more provocative. They got exactly what they asked for.

What I DO care about are the work-a-day folks over at Sony whose personal information was leaked. Those in charge seem to be playing fast and loose with the private information of the girl in the office who gets the coffee or the guy who sits in the editing bay for 16 hours a day. I hope this whole debacle will serve as a cautionary tale to companies to take cyber security seriously. It's all fun and games until you piss off one of the most volatile dictators in the modern world.

Where Did These Boobs Come From?

I braved the mall yesterday. I thought malls were dead. Apparently, I was mistaken. As it was the second-to-last Saturday before Christmas, the place was absolutely mobbed. It took me 20 minutes to find a parking space! I even held my pee for three hours because the line for every bathroom was 20 deep. Well, for the ladies room anyway. You men have it so easy.

Why on earth would I submit myself to this insanity? In a nutshell - to buy some new clothes because mine don't fit anymore.

I've put on a few pounds this year. And by a few I mean 20. It's been kind of hard year over here, and I deal with it by eating my feelings. And eating my stress. And eating my boredom. And, hell, eating my happiness, too. Basically I eat everything for every reason. And now my clothes don't fit.

I had a talk with a friend about this recent phenomenon lately. She, too, has gained some weight, although hers was a result of two little humans she incubated, birthed and subsequently nursed. Her reaction to not fitting in her clothes has been NOT to buy new ones because, as she says, it will inspire her to lose the weight.

I used to feel that way, too, but I don't anymore. Because day after day after day of opening my closet, surveying the contents, and realizing I can only comfortably wear maybe 15% of what's in there is incredibly depressing. Instead of inspiring me to lose the weight, it's inspiring me to eat more. Because emotions. And I eat those.

When I went to Weight Watchers my meeting leaders would tell us to get rid of our fat clothes as soon as possible. This, supposedly, encourages us to keep the weight off. It just means I have to spend more money on clothes when I inevitably yo-yo back up. That's how it has always been for me. I've gained and lost the same 30 pounds for the last 20 years.

So I said - fuck it. I'm not going to be a party to shaming myself daily. I am heavier right now than I'd like to be. But that doesn't mean I can't LIKE myself right now and FEEL GOOD about how I look when I gaze in the mirror. Those size 4 jeans staring at me from the bottom of my dresser do like to whisper to me, "you used to be so thin that we were getting too big for you!" But there is no reason I can't have a size 10 pair of jeans sitting on top of them, shouting, "Girl, you still look fabulous! Don't let those skinny bitches make you feel bad!" Thus the trip to the mall.

Even though I am trying my best to be good to myself and gentle with my psyche, it is hard to stare at your underwear-clad body in the harsh light of dressing room mirrors (except for Ann Taylor Loft which, blessedly, has soft, warm and flattering light). There are things that bulge and sag that didn't before, and seeing it several times over the course of an afternoon is not exactly uplifting.

What I did notice, however, was that I was in desperate need of a new bra. Every time I took my shirt off it looked like my boobs were trying to escape. Some women gain weight in their face or their butt or their thighs. I gain weight in my boobs. Like, crazy, fucking weight. The poor bra I was wearing was waving the white flag of surrender. It looked really tired. And my boobs didn't care how they got out of there, whether it was over the top, out the sides, or covertly underneath, they wanted out.

Usually, when my boobs get big I try to be economical by buying a new bra at Target. When I lose weight they are the first to go, and bras are expensive. But the thought of going to Target AFTER the insanity of the mall was too much to bear. I decided to step into Victoria's Secret instead.

If you have never gone through the bra-buying experience at Victoria's Secret, I highly recommend it. As soon as I walked in, a sales associate came over and asked it I needed some help. I casually mentioned I needed a bigger bra because I gained some weight. No sooner did those words leave my mouth than she went into action as though she had been preparing for this moment her entire life.

She asked what size I thought I was. When I'm thin, I'm a 36A. When I'm not as thin, I can go up to a 36C. So I told her 36C. She got out her measuring tape, made some calculations, and informed me that I was now a 36D.

WHAT?! NEVER in my life have I had a D cup! No wonder my poor bra looked like it had been to hell and back. Where did these boobs come from? Is that what aging does? No wonder my mom has enormous boobs. I can see my future, and backaches figure prominently.

Anyway, she asked what kind of bra I was looking for, which for me is simple - no push-up and no lace. She filled out this little card and escorted me back to the dressing room where another sales associate met me. This woman took a look at my card and then consulted this GIGANTIC wall of sample bras in every size. She pulled out four and sent me back to a dressing room. Every bra fit perfectly and felt like heaven. I bought two. I'm actually EXCITED to wear them!

(On a side note, the only other woman to come into the dressing room while I was in there also commented to the sales associate that she needed a new bra because she had just lost weight. Is that the only time women buy new bras? When we gain and lose weight?)

What does all this mean? Well, I'm still going to make a New Year's resolution to take off some of this weight, because honestly it makes me feel gross. I didn't just toe the line between a weight where I feel okay and a weight where I can't stop obsessing over my body - I jumped over it with apparent glee. It's time to reign it in. BUT - I'm not going to give in to the shame of it. This is where I am right now. There is NO REASON that I can't celebrate myself, even with all my imperfections. I WILL dress in glitter this holiday and draw attention to myself, even if I don't look like my ideal self. And I WON'T get rid of these clothes as soon as a lose a few pounds. Because I may need them again someday and that is OKAY.

Oh - and if you need a new bra, you absolutely have to go to Victoria's Secret. They will HOOK YOU UP.

Venus at Her Toilet - Peter Paul Reubens
courtesy www.peterpaulreubens.org
creative commons license

“Step Away from the Mean Girls…and say bye-bye to feeling bad about your looks.

Are you ready to stop colluding with a culture that makes so many of us feel physically inadequate? Say goodbye to your inner critic, and take this pledge to be kinder to yourself and others. 

This is a call to arms. A call to be gentle, to be forgiving, to be generous with yourself. The next time you look into the mirror, try to let go of the story line that says you're too fat or too sallow, too ashy or too old, your eyes are too small or your nose too big; just look into the mirror and see your face. When the criticism drops away, what you will see then is just you, without judgment, and that is the first step toward transforming your experience of the world.” 

― Oprah Winfrey

I Am Not An Expert

I feel such relief telling you that.

I'm gearing up for a major blog overhaul for the New Year, and this morning as I journaled I contemplated what the focus of my new blog should be. I took a look at the types of articles I write, and they are all over the place - gardening, cooking, recipes, writing, relationships, self-healing, mindfulness, pop culture - the list goes on and on it seems. There is no one topic that I prefer writing about above all else.

That's when it occurred to me - I am not an expert. At anything.

Yes, I have a master's degree. I vigorously studied acting and theatre for seven solid years. I've easily reached the 10,000 hour mark that is supposed to signify mastery of a skill. Yet, I don't feel like an expert. I see how much more I still don't know, how many more skills in just that field alone I have yet to conquer. I can't pull a German dialect out of my back pocket (even though I'm of German descent), and I still sometimes have to look up the rules when I'm scanning Shakespeare text. Not to mention I don't know how to read a teleprompter, my tap dance skills are basic and rusty, and I still get nervous on set because my mind is completely encumbered with hitting my mark and making sure I'm doing the same thing with my right hand on that one word in each take so it can be edited together smoothly, let alone doing any actual acting that I was trained to do.

I realize that one of the reasons I have not been terribly successful at anything is because I lack the laser focus that is characteristic of truly accomplished people. James Clear wrote a fantastic essay on this idea, citing how Warren Buffett advises to make a list of all the things you want to accomplish. Pick the top 5 goals and ignore everything else until you reach those most important goals.

I love this in theory, but in practice I'm a complete failure. I've discovered that I find the world an endlessly fascinating place, and it is nearly impossible for me to focus on one, two, or even three things solely, at the exclusion of all else. Stop gardening so I can go to more casting director workshops? Don't make a fantastic dinner from scratch so that I can get in 1,000 more words on my novel? Never travel because I might be out of town for an important audition? I can't do that. I just can't.

One of the greatest joys in my life has been the discovery that nearly everything is interesting. I have finally found some level of peace and contentment knowing that I can find happiness in the smallest things, and that the more I know about all these small things, the more interesting and fulfilling life becomes.

So what does that mean? It means I'm not an expert at anything, and I probably never will be. It worries me as a writer that I cannot speak about any one thing with authority. But I'm coming around to the idea that maybe I am an expert learner, an expert student. Maybe what I have to share with the world is my enthusiasm about all the things around me, around us, in this big, beautiful world. I'm just not the type of person to put all my eggs in one basket. Why? Because look at that cute box over there, or that hand-knitted bag! I could put some eggs in those, too. And why limit myself to just eggs? Some fresh-baked croissants would look awfully nice in there as well.

My new blog is not going to share any expert insight into any one thing. It is simply going to be me, sharing my journey of lifelong discovery. I hope you'll find it compelling enough to take a walk with me now and again. Perhaps you'll also discover some of those wonderful, small things that make life so sweet, and so precious, and so worthy of our attention.