Right from the geck-go

So I have a houseguest. It started out harmless enough, but I'm afraid it's gotten ugly.

At first, he was polite, quiet, no loud parties or anything. Didn't eat much - the kind of low-maintenance do-my-own-thing kind of guest that's easy to have around. But then things changed. He got too close. Started expecting too much. Making a nuisance of himself, being sneaky. Going where he wasn't invited, and snooping around. He has the kinds of friends that I don't really approve of, too.

He's become very stand-offish. He's definitely avoiding me. And he scares me sometimes. Pops out from nowhere when I'm not expecting it. Watches. Stares. Makes me very uncomfortable.
And I don't know how to tell him. Whenever I feel brave enough to confront him, he runs and hides. Makes me feel guilty. I'm not a hater; I just think he should know his place. And his place is no longer in my life.

Here, Leezard, Leezard, Leezard.

No, Thanks. I've lost my appetite.

I’m disturbed. But not in that way.

Last night, in my quest to find some mindless, uplifting television, I found myself thrown into the sick, sad, shamefully amusing world of “Starved” on FX.

Well known for the controversial show, “Nip/Tuck,” which explores in graphic detail the world of flaws both character and aesthetic, freakish vanity, facial reconstruction, body dysmorphic disorder and plastic surgery in general, the FX channel has now added to its repertoire a show detailing (again, rather graphically) the ins and outs (you’ll get that pun in a minute) of characters with eating disorders: bulimics, compulsive overeaters, and anorexics. How should I feel about this show?

It was troubling. Confusing. Disappointing, Thought-Provoking. Sickening, and yet somehow ashamedly entertaining. Don’t hate me for saying that until you’ve seen it. (On the other hand, I’d rather you didn’t see it at all. No reason for you to have to wrestle this, too.) The show details the acts of starving, overeating, binging and purging, and the lives of those who do so. Offensive. Disgusting. Horrifying. And yet it wasn’t so gross that I had to turn it off. Or maybe it’s BECAUSE it was so offensive that I stayed glued to the set. Isn’t that awful? Some Hollywood writer has actually made the concept something that (at least to many) is considered entertaining, engrossing, and probably even funny. But as I watched, I just didn’t know whether I should be light-heartedly entertained, principled and angry, or just terribly, terribly sad. I guess in one degree or another I was some of each. And that made me even more sad. How should I feel about this show?

The show, unfortunately, is really pretty good. It’s well written, and well acted. The characters are quirky, flawed, and extremely likeable. I could see the quality of character development, the creative, interesting story lines, and occasionally even good-hearted and harmless humor, hidden between gag scenes (no pun intended) and offensive nonchalance about the seriousness of the illnesses portrayed. Hours after seeing the show, the images, the characters, the dialogue, and the not-so-subtle jabs about being fat, were still invading my thought processes, and threatening my sleep. How should I feel about this show?

<>There’s a storyline about a very overweight male character, preparing for gastric bypass, who goes on a liquid diet – of liquefied pasta, cheeseburgers, and pepperoni pizza. “Liquid in, liquid out, right?” he asks.

Another character (again, a male) has an unhealthy addiction to Nemo’s chocolate cake. He buys four at a time, and in an effort to exert some kind of self control, keeps them under lock and key in a desk drawer until something triggers an episode, during which he consumes all four (or more if he can find them) in one sitting, and then promptly makes an appointment with his porcelain commode. The opening scene in the episode shows him getting up in the morning, weighing himself, using the bathroom, weighing himself, eating cereal, weighing himself, and then throwing up before weighing himself again.

Another character (another male,) actually teaches a male protégé how to regurgitate on command. “BE the purge,” he tells him, as they share a stall in a public bathroom, proudly demonstrating with a head bow, a silent and unimpressive purge, and then delicately wiping the spittle from his mouth with a smug grin.

And all the characters are obsessed not only with their own weight, but the weight, size, and appearance of others. The Puke-on-Command Guy actually tells his student, “It’s not important how you feel. What’s important is how you look.” The “student,” a good looking, black police officer, takes notes. Literally. And practices his new mantra. “It’s not important how you feel. What’s important is how you look.”

In the middle of the show, the police officer, who has by now mastered the art of purging without so much as lifting a finger (again, quite literally), uses his police power to stop a man on a bicycle for running a red light. The man explains that he doesn’t run red lights. He runs yellow lights. The police officer asks his Chinese detainee, “You got chicken lo mein in there?” motioning to the parcel on the back of the bicycle.

“No,” the man says, in a thick Asian accent. “Chinese egg roll and moo shoo pork”

“Drop the Chinese egg roll and moo shoo pork on the sidewalk, Old Man, and I might just let you off with a warning.”

Cut to: cop eating egg roll, shoveling moo shoo pork into his mouth as quickly as he possibly can, and then finding a place in a dark side-alley where he can get rid of it. Unfortunately, after the first lurch of the cop’s stomach contents, the trash on which he is vomiting moves, revealing the occupant of said alley – an old, homeless man, who now is not only covered with remnants from the trash he was using to keep warm, but the contents of another person’s stomach. The cop, surprised, pulls a gun and says, “That’s illegal! Go get a real house!”

At least they’re all in therapy. “Group” is led by a brash, insensitive female therapist, who starts the 12-step like group by saying that “By creating an environment of accountability and shame, we are helping each other.” One by one, the members of the group introduce themselves, and divulge their eating disorder of choice. After each person in the group reluctantly confesses his or her food-related sins, the whole group, in unison, shouts, “IT’S NOT OKAY!” Some therapy, huh? It’s irresponsible and unethical. So how should I feel about this show?

Keep in mind that the whole thing is done with a dry, tongue-in-cheek, completely irreverent tone that makes the whole thing look and feel more like a drama than a comedy. Very dark. Nip/Tuck-ish.

It’s not funny ha-ha, but somehow funny sad-funny.

Funny “Shame on me for almost laughing“ funny.

Funny “That’s just wrong” funny.

It’s very not funny-funny. So how should I feel about this show?

I’m not sure yet whether the show is glorifying such disorders, or is intending to send a message of some kind. Is it good that there’s a show that brings attention to the diseases, or is it destructiuve to present them as being somehow humorous? Is it good that the show profiles a large number of males with eating disorders, and dispels the myth that women are the only sufferers? Or does it make it cool? Isn’t it size-ism to tell fat jokes (even if the joke tellers are pathetically disordered in their thinking?) Am I making a big deal out of nothing? Taking it too seriously? Feeling guilty for being captivated by the whole thing? Maybe. But maybe not.

All I know is that there is an epidemic in this country of aesthetic perfectionism. We are a country with citizens – most of whom are young females – who are dying from it. Body dysmorphic disorders, self-absorption, bulimia, anorexia, cosmetic surgery addiction, laxative abuse, and overeating. And then there’s the seemingly acceptable form of ‘ism that we’ve adopted: size-ism; weight-discrimination. Young girls commit suicide because they don’t feel pretty. They starve until they can see their rib cages. They punish themselves with food, and teach each other how to stick their fingers down their throats. They even have weight-loss contests, for heaven’s sake, with the winner being the one who loses the most weight without losing their hair! And they’re going on diets as young as nine years old. And where do they learn that it’s okay? So exactly how should I feel about this show?

I still don’t know. I don’t know how I should feel about the show. And I don’t know how I actually feel. And that might just be exactly the reaction the producers are hoping for. In fact, I’d bet on it. I mean – look how it’s consumed my time? My resources? Invaded my thoughts? Gotten me talking? Raised my emotions and made me examine my own personal values? I mean – geez – I just promoted their blasted television show on my blog!

So please. Don’t watch. Just don’t watch. Because if you do, and if you feel any kind of compassion or empathy for people in this world who are suffering – and even dying - from these kinds of illness, then you, too, may have to ask yourself: Is this show irreverent and totally socially irresponsible, or is it really – like they want us to believe - just a little harmless entertainment?

Monsoon Madness

It's been raining in Arizona. This may not seem blog-worthy to you, but in Tucson, Arizona when it rains, and when big, heavy clouds roll in from the South, the mood of the whole city changes.

The skies get dark, and the Catalina Mountains to the North of the city get bathed in hues of purple and pink. Sometimes a low rumble, like the sound of an approaching train, warns of the turbulence to come, and other times, without any warning at all, the skies will just open up, catching innocent pedestrians, bicyclists, and joggers by surprise in a downpour of huge un-dodgeable drops, as if the Storm God is playing a joke. People comically run for cover, desperately trying the avoid the inevitable to-the-bone soaking that a good monsoon can deliver. Then, just as suddenly, usually about the time they find shelter, the clouds move on, and the sun comes out. Monsoons do have a sense of humor! It’s a virtual guarantee that if you sense the ominous presence of an incoming monsoon, and have an errand to do, you will be the victim of its laughter. It will not rain until you get out of the car, and it will stop by the time you’ve run across the parking lot to the WalMart entrance, and are completely soaked, head to toe. With your hair dripping and plastered wet to your head, and your clothing clinging to the parts of your body you wish they wouldn’t, you’ll get the inevitable question by gawkers, “Oh, is it raining?” Of course, by the time you leave the store it’s sunny outside, the torrential rain has completely evaporated, and you have to endure the drive home with your legs sticking to the seat, and the humidity that your wet clothes are creating as they mix with the desert heat.

I love the monsoons!

When it rains in Tucson, it’s not like a rain in any other place I’ve ever been. It doesn’t drizzle. It’s not a slow, gentle shower that you might see in the Northwest, where it will stay dark and rainy all day. Oh, no. When it rains in Tucson, it is a violent, beautiful thing. A monsoon storm approaches suddenly, and leaves just as quickly. Unlike some storms that will move in and swathe an entire city, a monsoon is selective and unpatterned. It may drop an inch of rain in a mad and awesome downpour in one place, and leave the desert completely dry and without any indication of its presence less than a mile away.

Tucson, which has virtually no drainage, depends on the natural desert washes to collect the rain from the mountains. Unfortunately, when it rains in Tucson, it often does so with such enthusiasm that all the water simply can’t make it to a wash, and will create its own – usually right across the road of the route you use to get home. Flash floods are common here, and all too often, drivers on the road seem to think that they can challenge Mother Nature, and end up being washed away in the strong and dangerous currents from the rushing water.

In places where cloudy days are more the norm than not, then a sunny day might make you want to ditch work, play hooky, and enjoy being outside, with full appreciation for those warm rays. In Tucson, however, where it’s sunny 360 days a year, (are we spoiled or what?) it’s the rain that gets people out. Gets people talking. Makes people want to stop what they’re doing, play hooky, and enjoy it. As I said, the mood of the whole city changes, and people relax. They laugh more, they seem to be friendlier, and everyone suddenly has something in common: we live in this beautiful desert country where storms can actually bring us together.

Parking lots fills with rushing water, it gets very, very dark, and occupants of office buildings emerge from shelter to watch the phenomena. Shoppers quit shopping and go outside. Awnings over strip malls cover crowds of people who have stopped what they were doing to watch the water. Anywhere you go, you can see the familiar sight of Tucsonans standing around, marveling at the sight of rain, and wondering if there will be water in the Canada del Oro or Rillito washes. The monsoon rains get people talking to each other. It creates alliances, and gives people a reason to stop and pay attention to the desert. A monsoon demands attention. And Tucsonans gleefully oblige.

And the sound. Oh, the sound of the rain. I have an office in a big warehouse-type building where I like to work when it rains. When those huge, unforgiving rains hit the metal roof, the sound can be deliciously deafening. The now familiar “tink tink tink” is soothing, and makes me want to sit in the dark with a cup of iced coffee, fire up the ‘puter and write.

I’m going to miss the monsoons.

Life Swapping

The title of this blog should really be "Wife Swapping," but it's probably not what you're thinking.

There's an ABC Television series, entering its 5th season this year, in which an under-appreciated (and often over-worked) mom switches lives with another equally as under-appreciated mom. It's called "Wife Swap" and, hopefully, at the end of the show, the moms return home, tearfully welcomed by a considerably more humble, more grateful, and more appreciative (read: traumatized) family.

It's really kind of a "feel-good" kind of show. By the end, everyone realizes how grateful they are to live where they live, live HOW they live, and have the families they have. And hopefully, everyone has learned a little in the process - about themselves, about how and where they could do better, and about things they will most certainly work to avoid.

This week I was contacted by a casting agent with ABC, looking for Boot Camp Fitness Instructors (who happen to be moms) who run their lives and their families with structure, self-discipline, rigidity, expectation and principle to be on their show.

Wouldn't you know it? I had the perfect person in mind. No - it's not me. lol. Strong (but kind), determined (yet flexible), self-disciplined (yet tolerant), structured (yet spontaneous) and strict (yet loving). She's a formerly overweight self-trained marathon runner, certified personal trainer, nutritionist, devoted student (working full time plus going to school), mother of three very well behaved children, and wife of a former Marine turned police officer. How's that for structured, disciplined, and responsible?

Anyway - within 2 hours, they were on the phone with her. Within 4 hours they had interviewed her, her husband, and both the kids still living at home. Within 6 hours they had booked flights for their New York Production Crew to fly to Tucson to pay them a home visit and within 24 hours, she was sitting in her living room, talking to a television producer about the intricacies, quirks, and secrets of daily life in her home, (oh, yeah - and they brought cameras, of course,) and thinking about what kind of wife (or mom) she'd be to someone else's family.
We don't know if she'll get picked, but it's pretty big news around here. And it's gotten me thinking, "Would I do it?"

The monetary compensation isn't huge, but it's enough to make you stop and think. Knowing that the place they would send you would be the most miserable, intolerable, and frustrating place they can think of for you, and that you would be subjecting your family to what might possibly be a week and a half of pure, unadulterated Satan's Haven, could you do it? Would you do it?

So Tucson may have a celebrity on its hands. And my friend might have a nightmare on hers. Then again, maybe it will be an opportunity to grow, learn, gain some insight, and take a paid vacation. But I don't know..........

Could you do it?

Here's to "Old" Friends

As I mentioned before, I recently returned from a Class Reunion in Pocatello, Idaho. Now I wasn't even going to go, at first. In fact, I was a holdout until practically the last minute. I had been having some weird, inexplicable anxiety about it for weeks. There was no rational reason for feeling insecure, nervous, or anxious about it - I just did, and was having difficulty figuring out where it was coming from.

I had a great time in high school. I had some great friends, I wasn't the subject of any scandal that I can remember, and I don't have any old boyfriends that would be painful to see or anything. I just felt kinda weird about it. In fact, I even had a dream about it - I don't remember if it was a good dream or a bad dream, but the idea that I was dreaming about the reunion at all kind of concerned me.

I asked myself if it was that I had any regrets about my teen years. Of course, the answer was both yes and no - not too many perfectly righteous teenagers out there - and I wasn't one of them, but there was nothing I was really ashamed or embarrassed about. I did the normal talking-about-people and spreading-gossip stuff that teenage girls do. But nothing major that would warrant any of my classmates visiting me in slumber.

Was it that I wished I'd accomplished more? Traveled more? Studied more? Gotten a couple more degrees? Written a book? Maybe. Looking back, realizing that - well - a large number of years has passed, you suddenly start getting accountable for how you've spent them. But that wasn't really it. After all - I didn't care who was doing what, or who was considered the "most successful" or any of that crap (pardon my language but it IS crap!) that people care about at a 10-year reunion. I doubted whether anyone would care what I was doing, or how successsful I was, or anything like that. And I didn't feel the need or desire to talk about or justify the last 20 years of my life to anyone, so that wasn't the source.

Was it the way I looked? After all, as much as I try to avoid it, I AM getting older. And things don't look the same as they did when I was 17 years old any more. I sat with that one for a long time, before I realized that, to some degree, that was it. After a long, hard sit down with my ego, I realized that I was concerned that I wouldn't be cute! Am I a vain, self-absorbed FREAK or what? Was I ever even cute at all? Who knows? And if I ever was - where had it gone?

A week before the reunion, instead of thinking about how great it was going to be to reunite with my old buddies and girlfriends, I was thinking, "Dangit! Is it too late to lose 5 pounds? I probably can't get ripped arms in 5 days, can I? I should have been squeezing in an extra workout here and there. Am I wrinkly? EEK! I'm wrinkly! Why did I ever sit out in the sun? Are my teeth sparkly and white? I wonder if I should get a haircut? Do I look as old as other people my age look? Maybe I should visit my dermatologist for an emergency-treatment of some kind? Plastic surgery is out of the question - but maybe I can camouflage my flaws with makeup?"

It was endless - the mental energy I was spending on useless thoughts like that was embarrassingly consuming. I'm embarrassed even thinking about it now. I'm no SuperModel - why do I care so much? Well - it was too late to lose 5 lbs. Especially since that was about the same time I started stress eating. And I AM a little wrinkly. And my teeth aren't movie-star white. And I don't get carded any more. So I must look my age. And dermatology is expensive.

Although all those kinds of insecurities have occasionally raised their ugly heads as I've gotten older, I tend to just find those kinds of thoughts to be annoying and unproductive. I can usually brush them off and ignore them, and be happy that I'm able to do what I can to take care of myself. But it wasn't happening this time. I was on a mission. Mission: Imperfectus. Mission: Self Destructus. Mission: Reunionitis. Why couldn't I let it go?

After I had decided and made the commitment to go, I became consumed with STUPID obsessions about what I would wear to what event; would I wear my hair down, or pulled back? Contacts or glasses? Sandals or pointy-toes shoes? (Sandals won, by the way - I had treated myself to a pedicure). Which color looked better on me - blue or pink? Capri pants or a skirt? What if the weather makes my hair flat? What if the humidity makes me break out? Were my clothes out of fashion? Exactly how much bigger IS my butt? I could go on and on, and I DON"T KNOW WHY. It's embarrassing - but it was so bad, I packed 12 outfits for 2 days. Took 7 pairs of shoes. Even bought some new underclothes. What was the deal?

So I did some work. I made a list of all those irrational, unhealthy and negative thoughts, and came up with a reasonable response to each one. I even kept it on a notecard and studied it. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to overcome all the negative little gremlins that talk in our heads and keep us frustrated, stuck, and paralyzed. I won't go into all the details about what my new, more logical perspectives and responses were, but I will tell you this. I realized that I haven't seen most of these people in nearly 20 years. That alone tells me that what they think of me hasn't mattered too much in all that time - and certainly shouldn't matter now. I also realized that even though I have come to terms with the fact that I'm not 18 any more - neither are any of them! Every last one of them is 20 years older, too! And I'll bet you anything that many of them are struggling with the same mental garbage about their looks, how they've spent their time, what kind of person they've become, and on and on. I wonder how many people deliberately didn't go to the reunion because of it? I honestly hope not too many. Because as it turned out, it wasn't about that at all.

The reunion was wonderful. Seeing my old friends was - GREAT! (A really cheesy word for a really incredible experience for me.) All my fears and worries vanished immediately the moment I saw so many people that had been such an important part of my life years ago. And it was like barely a year had passed. We were all so different, and yet so much the same!

It wasn't at all about who was doing what. It wasn't about who had gone to what college, or who had the coolest job, or who had the most kids. It wasn't about who looked the best, or who looked the worst, and certainly not about what we were wearing. In fact, I don't remember a single memorable outfit in the crowd - which means all my worries about my own outfit were just plain silly and immature.

So what was it about?

It was about friendship. Appreciating each other. Getting to know each other as we are NOW instead of trying to recapture what we WERE back then. It was about enjoying each others' company, telling funny stories, and indulging in some happy memories. It was about reconnecting. Letting all the insecurities go, and just enjoying the experience. It was about visiting and appreciating snippets of past experiences, people, and places, and being grateful for how far we've come. It was about finding commonalities - even after that many years - and appreciating family and friends. It was about - well, it was about companionship; not about competition. Allowing people to change, and appreciating them for it.

And for me? For me, it was most about having an opportunity to really look inside and figure out how to overcome a pattern of thought that was threatening to really rock my self-confidence, and put me on a path of self-pity. You know, I've been at this for a long time. I use coaching, motivation, and therapeutic tools every day to help my clients overcome negative self-talk, and use them in my own personal life as well and yet I am STILL amazed at how much I have yet to learn, and am grateful for opportunities to do so.

Thank you, Highland Classmates, for what was truly a highlight of this decade. Personally, I don't think I can have too many friends, and it's certainly easier to maintain the ones you've got than to make new ones. I look forward to having you all in my mental database of people who have been important in my life, and people with whom I hope to always be friends. See you at the 30th - wrinkles and all!

God Bless Pocatello!

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Took 2 Short vacations to see family, attended a Class Reunion, ran a Kids' Summer Camp, and still managed to get through all (or most) of my emails, trainings, appointments, and other "real" obligations. I should be exhausted! Ironically, I'm not. I'm a little jazzed. I'm looking forward to the winter. I feel like I'm headed for a really good Fall. (As in the season, lol.)

You will all be glad to know that all is well in Pocatello, Idaho - and that Pocatello is virtually iron-clad safe from terrorism.

Let me explain....

The Pocatello Airport People have their act together! First of all, when I called the 'rents to tell them what time to pick me up, I told them the airline and flight number, which they immediately disregarded and forgot, saying that the airline I was flying on was the only one that flew to Pocatello, and there were only 3 flights a day anyway, so it wouldn't be hard to find me.

The plane itself which flew me from Salt Lake to Poky had about 10 seats on it, and offered barely enough storage space for a small purse. The engine was loud; it was turbulent and scary, and - let's just say it was not the most relaxing flight I've ever been on. But it was better than when I flew into Idaho Falls a couple of years ago, where the seats on the puddle-jumper plane I was on had wooden fold-out seats. Like those in a sports arena but not anywhere near as comfortable.

The Pocatello Airport runway is short, and our little plane pulled up so close to the "airport" I could practically tell you what magazines were on the coffee table in the waiting area. The airport itself looked to me more like a double-wide trailer than a mecca of air travel. The plane was small enough to park right at the door. It was as if we were just casually pulling a car into a driveway. When we landed and the engines turned off, I could still hear the purring of an engine. I looked out the window of the plane, and found the source fo the noise: an older guy not 50 yards away was just casually mowing the grass, completely oblivious to the existence of our monstrous (lol) mode of transit from which we had narrowly escaped death (okay - perhaps that's a little exaggerated...)

The airport personnel was friendly, and plentiful. Uniforms everywhere. Watching. Supervising. Keeping the Peace. As well they should! They practically carry your luggage to your car for you (not that you have far to walk; the parking lot is smaller than that at my local Walgreens.) And all parking - even in the long term parking lot - is completely free. I didn't know that was possible!

Anyway - I found out just how iron-clad the security is when I returned to the 'port for my flight home. My flight left at 12, so we determined I needed to be at the airport by 11:45. I got there early - 20 minutes before the flight. I checked in at the check-in desk, where they asked for my I.D., twice, checked my bag for a proper identification tag, and then promptly instructed me to take my bag to The Security Clearance Desk, which is, quite literally, a metal desk, less than 10 feet from the check-in counter. Keep in mind that there is no other potential passenger in sight. I was pretty much alone in the airport. Just me, my bag, the ticket agent, and The Security Clearance Desk lady. I'm not sure - but it may have even been the same person who checked me in that searched my bag after I lugged it to The Security Clearance Desk.

I must have looked threatening because they felt the need to open my bag, and rummage through it. Imagine my horror when I realized my delicates were right there on top for the world to see, had anyone else in the world been there just then. They searched the bag, swabbed it extensively - exterior and interior, up and down, over and across (used like 6 little doily-things) looking for evidence of some kind, I guess, and asked me if I was transporting any weapons or drugs. Does Prozac count? (Just kidding.) They didn't seem to appreciate kidding. They were VERY, VERY SERIOUS.

I still had a few minutes before they boarded the plane, so I found a chair. When they called Boarding minutes later, they checked my I.D. and boarding pass before they let me proceed to the security gate, which is really just a very narrow hallway, like that that exists in a double-wide trailer - uh, manufactured home. Sorry. That was no big deal - it happens pretty much everywhere - but a lot of times I'm fairly certain that the gate agents are only pretending to verify a match of the I.D. to the boarding pass. In Pocatello, they don't pretend.

The gate agent looked at me, and then the I.D.; then at me; then at my I.D. He asked suspiciously, "Ms. Beutler?" (My maiden name.) "Yes?" My voice cracked. I couldn't help it - I started to get nervous. I knew, rationally, that I had no reason to be. I'm a law abiding citizen. I am who I say I am - but I started to sweat and act nervous, which made me even more nervous, since I knew that they were studying me for suspicious behavior. And the more nervous I got, the more suspicious I acted - I'm sure of it! Then the irrational thoughts started. What was wrong? Why were they talking to me? Maybe they don't think I'm me. I got my I.D. nearly 10 years ago, and the picture shows it. What if I look different and they think I'm using a fake? I should have gotten an updated one! Where's my passport? What if they ask me for my passport? My Drivers License as an I.D. doesn't expire until 2027. Dang! Why didn't I get a newer photo taken? Would they believe that I was who I said I was? What if I accidentally forgot that my I.D. says my maiden name on it, and if they asked me, I gave them my married name? Would that be suspicious? What if they tested me and asked me my driver's license number? Would I know it? Would that be suspicious? A million fears delved new synapses into my brain. Quit acting suspicious! I told myself. I couldn't help it. I was a wreck.

I walked down the narrow hallway to the Security Checkpoint trying not to pee my pants. Awaiting my arrival at the metal detector were three guards - more of those than passengers, it seemed to me. One was the "Put all your stuff in these tubs" guy. Tubby. He asked to see my I.D. and boarding pass. He looked a couple of times, but when I reached out to take it back, he didn't budge. I let him keep it. They had plenty of tubs, and he made sure I made use of them. Shoes alone in one. Purse in one. Camera in one. Laptop in one. Empty laptop bag in one. Belt and loose change in one. I watched my stuff disappear behind the black curtain of x-ray security, and I innocently, but foolishly, made the mistake of stepping through the metal detector to collect it on the other side. Bad idea! Tubby grabbed my arm, and barked, "STOP! Wait behind the line!" Huh? What line? Crap! Where's the line??

It scared the living heck out of me!

By this time, all my tubs of stuff were starting to back-log on the other side of the X-Ray machine. (I know it's not really an x-ray. Don't e-mail me about it.) They were piling up. The conveyor had completely stopped, trying to accommodate all my tubs on the exit ramp, but they wouldn't all fit. I felt strangely naked. The separation from my purse was paralyzing. I could see all my stuff - those precious, precious (not really) belongings, and yet it felt as if I might never see them again. I desperately wanted to be reunited with my stuff. Then I felt weird for having such a strong reaction - separation anxiety? From being 5 feet away from my purse? Maybe I'm crazy! Maybe I look crazy. Maybe that's why they're suspicious of me!

Tubby handed my I.D. and my boarding pass to the female Security Agent who was manning the PMD post, (Pre-Metal-Detector.) She was sitting on a stool in front of the thick white line, might have even been masking tape. She was about 8 1/2 months pregnant, and wouldn't have been able to chase a bad guy, even if there had been one. She did the whole I.D. - me - I.D. - me - I.D. thing, and again instructed me to wait behind the white (masking tape??) line in front of the metal detector to await further instructions. "Tucson?" she asked. Was she testing me? "Yes." I got nervous. My boarding pass said Salt Lake City. I tried to overcorrect. "But Salt Lake first." I was babbling, and I couldn't stop. "I mean, I go to Salt Lake, and change planes, and then I go to Tucson. So Tucson... uh, yes. Final Destination is Tucson. That's where I live." Geez - I'm an idiot.

She then passed my I.D. and boarding pass to the post-metal-detector post, who also did the ID-me-ID-me-ID check, who then puffed out his chest, stood directly in front of me, on the other side of the metal detector, and inhaled deeply before calling my full name- much too loudly for the small space. It felt like I was standing at the pearly gates, and St. Peter had just called my name, summoning me into heaven - to FREEDOM. Except that the PMDD (Post-Metal-Detector-Dude) had grossly mispronounced my name. St. Peter wouldn't have done that.

Panic set in. Is this a test? Did he mispronounce it on purpose? Do I correct him? Do I let it go? If I do let it go, is that suspicious? And when he called my name, was that permission to go through the metal detector, or was he just saying my name? If I tried to go through the metal detector I was sure I'd get in trouble. If I didn't, and just kept standing there like an idiot, it might make me look suspicious. Crap! Do I go through? Should I ask permission? I took a step. Nothing. PMDD just looked at me. I took another step. Still nothing. I watched him carefully for a reaction. One more step and I was nearly in the middle of the big metal detector thing that I was sure was also programmed to be a lie detector. Geesh. What if it went off? Was everything out of my pockets? I didn't have any pockets. What about my barrette? Would that set the thing off? I prayed that there were no metal grommets on my day's apparrel. My phone! Where was my phone? Oh - it had gone through in a tub - in its own tub, of course. Thank heavens. "Proceed slowly, Miss Beutler" I was told. I did, accutely aware that at any moment I could be thrown in jail for not following directions. The metal detector was silent. But on the other side, he wanded me anyway - just in case.

I made it! He gave me back my I.D. and boarding pass, and it took what felt like an hour to collect my things. But I didn't care. I was happy to see my stuff. There were dozens of tubs of stuff. All mine. My hands were shaking, and all three of the Super-Scary Security Force were staring at me. I could feel their suspicious little eyes waiting for me to make one false move. I walked out the glass doors to the fresh Pocatello air, trying not to drop anything. I didn't. I climbed the rickety five stairs (which felt like a gangplank) into the plane and sunk into a tiny little seat, happy to be there. I couldn't wait to get home.

Now don't get me wrong. I love Pocatello, and I'm glad that they have the funds and personnel to enforce all the security measures that they do. But the ordeal left me feeling a little violated, to be honest. No one had asked to pat me down or anything, but it still felt a little - well, a little wierd and over the top for a community like Pocatello (population: 50,000.)

Later, in talking to my sister, I learned that money for Homeland Security is distributed to states for their airports NOT by population of the state, or size of an airport or community like you might expect - but by how many miles of Interstate exist in the State. Therefore, despite Pocatello being a town of 50,000, it happens to exist in a state with TWO major highways, meaning that they have lots of money to spend on Airport Security - even though it means that there are often many more security personnel present than airline passengers. Whose idea was THAT, I ask??

So Pocatello-ans, sleep well. You can rest assured that Pocatello is safe from sneaky, weapons-smuggling no-good suspicious airline passengers with bad intentions. Although you might want to consider locking your doors from now on. After all - it won't take long for bad guys to figure out that with 2 major Interstate Highways and Airport Security like Fort Knox , the best route to Poky if you're a bad guy is by car - not by plane.

New Shoes

Shoes are great, because they look the same on fat days and skinny days. They can dress up an ordinary outfit, or completely destroy a lovely one. (Think guys' deck shoes with socks.) I love shoes. Not that you'd know it - I tend to wear the same ones day after day after day, but I have a closet full of some beauties that I'm just waiting for the right opportunity to wear. Sometimes I think I just like the process of looking, trying them on, buying them, and then knowing that I own them. And that I might wear them someday. And even that I might not - and that's okay, because both the shoes and I will know that I could if I ever wanted. I get as much happiness from knowing they're in my closet as when they're actually on my feet. There's a tremendous sense of pleasure that comes with owning a few fabulously indulgent things - even if you never show them off.

Last week my hairdresser (male) said that he had just spent $200 on a pair of designer jeans. He was wearing them, and they didn't look any different really than an old pair of Gaps to me. But he was glowing. He said they FELT completely different. That HE felt completely different in them. He said that there's something that happens inside when you know that you're wearing a pair of $200 jeans. I totally get it. He's right.

So back to the shoes. I like to buy pretty shoes - but I like to wear the comfy ones. So today.... well, today was a big day for me (I say with reverence.) I found some pretty shoes that have thus far passed the comfy test. Can you believe it? And with a good mani and pedi - I'll be unstoppable.

Treat yourself (or someone you care about) to a nice pair of shoes today. Nuthin' says love like a good pair of sandals. For you, friend.

Is anything really random?

I saw an e-harmony commercial today where two people are talking about how great it is that they found each other, and then the guy drops down and proposes to his gal - right in the middle of the commercial. I think it's wonderful. Technology has totally changed the way we date, make friends, and even fall in love. But what would these two people have done 15 years ago, before e-harmonizers were even thinking about harmonizing? We'll call it "pre-harmony." lol. Just cracked myself up.

If it's fate, then we believe they would have met anyway, right? Walked past each other in an airport? Sat next to each other in a movie? Bumped into each other in a crowded restaurant? How would they have known? And how can you ever be sure you're in the right place at the right time?

What I've been wondering about lately is this: Are there really any accidents? Is something serendipitous really just coincidental? Is anything really random, or could there really a purpose for everything that happens to us? Any and everyone we meet? Is there a reason that you meet certain people, re-acquaint with old friends, and have the opportunity to connect with others who could change your life - every day and in the strangest of ways?

And then I think: How many wonderful opportunities pass us by every single day because we're not tuned in? This world is just FULL of people who could change your life for the better. But we get busy. We get in a hurry. We get caught up in our own stuff and forget that others share this existence, too. Or we just don't care. The most interesting people around are the ones who are the easiest to ignore. Or the ones we hurry past.

Mark, my Thirstbuster Guy at the local Circle K is one of my favorite people around. But every day as I fill up my T-buster (the 64-ouncer, of course. I'm no sissy!) I hear people bark orders at him, talk on their cell phones as he rings them up, and ignore his pleas to "Have a great day!" He must get tired of saying that to people who are determined to have a crappy day, and dismiss him. But he still says it - to every customer - every day. Danielle, my local Walgreens manager, is hilarious as all get-out. And she plays concert piano. And just got engaged. Who wouldn't find that fascinating? Pancho, the owner of my favorite sushi restaurant, knows me (and most of his regulars) by name, and has a special birthday ceremony for people celebrating their happy occasion in his place. All the lights go down, a disco ball lights up, and as the staff gathers around the giggling recipient, Pancho throws poppers full of confetti at them, all while singing a horrid Japanese rendition of Happy happy birthday, happy happy day day! I just love Pancho. He is actually Korean, and speaks 4 languages. His Spanish is better than his English. I feel sorry for people who don't know how cool he really is, and think he's just a guy who makes sushi.

I know the most fabulous people. I really do. The people I know are the most interesting, dynamic, weird and quirky folks in the world. They make my life fun. And just when I think I couldn't possibly meet anyone else as interesting, I meet Danielle, or Mark, or Pancho, or the insurance guy next door, or my Citicorps guy from Virginia.

I find people's stories fascinating. Think about it. Every single person you see today has a whole story. A challenge. A problem or two. A strange talent (mine is writing backwards). A story of heartbreak. A funniest moment. And some way to touch and change your life. Even in the smallest of ways.

Gonna go now. There are all sorts of cool people out there for me to meet. Maybe you're one of them?

For those of you with big "BUTs"

If you watch Saturday Night Live, you know about "Debbie the Downer." She's the Queen of ego deflation, dream crushing, and all aroud "Down-ness." You may have a friend like that - never seems to let anyone around them be happy, or dream big. Heck - you may even BE a friend like that.

Of course, I'd like to say that I'm never like that - that I always see the positive, and that I never let the "yeah, BUT" get me down. But I can't. I do fall victim to my big "BUT" occasionally, and usually with very dissatisfying and negative-spiraling results.

Two months ago, if you had talked to me about the Laws of Attraction, I might have nodded, and thought, "uh-huh. Right..."

These days, my perspective has changed. For the better.

I guess it's a principle that has been evidenced my whole life. Common tenets: The more you do, the more there is to do; the more you learn, the more you realize how little you know; the more ideas you have, the more creativity leads you to have bigger, greater, and more creative ideas! The more energy you expend (especially with exercise), the more energy you have. And on and on. So good or bad, the law of attraction states that what you put forth to the world will come back at you in a big way - like a boomerang with a GPS device attached.

I'm a believer.

I absolutely love thinking big, dreaming about possibilities, and seeing potential greatness in the smallest things. And I'd love to say that I'm a big picture kind of girl - eye on the prize, and all that.... But, all too often, I get caught up in the "yeah, buts...." I admit it. I'm working on it. I get it.

I'll have a great idea, and thoroughly enjoy exploring it, researching it, and dreaming about it becoming reality. When I'm on that "edge of possibility" and thinking of all the great things that something could lead to, all is well with the world. And then my big "BUT" gets in the way, and deflates my dream, and jerks me right back to reality.

My favorite (formerly used) self-defeating big 'ole BUTS:

• If it's such a great idea, why hasn't anyone else done it already?
• If it has been done before, then someone else is already doing it better, faster, and more economically.
• You better go study some more, 'ya big fraud.
• It's too complicated, and it's not your area of expertise.
• A billion people are in the process of doing the exact same thing right now, so by the time you've spent all your time and energy on it, someone else will have capitalized on your idea. And all that waste of time!
• What if it sucks?
• If it doesn't suck, you won't be able to handle all the success.
• You have a billion (yes, I tend to overexaggerate) other half-baked, half-finished projects. You have no business starting anything else.
• Your house is a mess. You should do some chores before you do the fun stuff.

What would it be like to live a life of possibility, opportunity, spontaneity, and potential? It would be awesome! There would be no "oh, woe is me" or "Now why'd 'ya go and do that?"

I want that life! I would love to live in a state of optimism, productivity, and ideas. To surround myself with people like me who are driven, motivated, and full of ideas and things they want to learn! To think, to explore, to research, and then to make things happen! To get back all that energy, positivism, and happiness! To feel successful at every single thing I tried! My heart is racing just thinking about it!

So as of right now I resolve to stop myself from letting my BIG 'OLE BUT get in the way, and will try desperately to let ideas and opportunities play themselves out before I let my BUT intervene and muck it up. I will keep my mouth shut when someone shares a great idea that I don't think can work. I will allow others around me to enjoy whatever stage of their project they are in, without offering "realistic and logical" suggestions - no matter how helpful they might be. I will stop trying to think about all the things that could go wrong, and just think about all the things that could go right.

And I could start right now. But I might not be able to.

I know, I know.

Do you ever feel like that's all you say to people? Especially when you've got a long list of self-imposed to-do's, and the people around you, who really are just trying to be helpful, like to remind you of all the things you've committed to doing?

I hate the words "need to" and "should." They ruin momentum and drain energy. Is it just me? Or do others dislike being told what to do, too? I hate the "shoulds." Someone I know calls them "musterbations." Someone else asked me why I constantly "should" on myself. :) I don't know why, but I should stop it.

Well, I should go. I need to do some stuff.

What are you "chicken" about?

I've recently been given a task. One that scares me:

To define a vision for my coaching practice, and to then devise a plan to make it into the vision I have....

It's a daunting task, but not unlike those that I ask of my coaching clients nearly every day.

The vision, of course, is the easy part. Seeing what you want - having a successful business; gaining respect of co-workers; having satisfaction in one's job; having an energetic, strong and fit physical body - all of those things are great to envision. Those are things we want. Those are things we deserve! And, often, those are things we will have to work hard to get. And are often things that scare us to death.

And that's when the work begins.

All too often the things we want most desperately (or at least say that we do) are the things that intimidate us, and often result in our freezing in fear, giving up, or postponing action until it's so uncomfortable NOT to change that we're nearly forced into it. What a shame. Kinda takes all the pleasure out of the process, doesn't it?

So my new affirmation is to do (and force myself to do, if I must) the things that scare me most: writing, taking risks, talking to new clients, and trying new things that I know are good for me. That will mean doing a few things I don't want to do - or things that scare me - because I want the end result. And it's worth it. I know that some things will be uncomfortable, perhaps unpleasant, and even painful, but that I can't claim the prize without running the race.

I'm learning that the fear that holds us back can in some ways actually be a good thing - it can protect us from getting hurt; it can warn us of danger; it can keep us "safe." But it can also be the force that holds us still, keeps us stuck, and leads to complacency and ultimately boredom with our lives.

I don't know about you - but I don't want to ever be bored with my life. I don't want to be in my 70s and wish I had done this, or tried that.

So I encourage you to think: What are the things, at the end of my life, that I will be glad I at least tried? In my last days, what are the things I will regret not having done, because I was a chicken?

THOSE are the things that should be first on our list of things to do tomorrow, and if possible to complete in the next 12 months. Because I hate to tell you, but there aren't that many more "12 months" in any of our lives, and all we have is now.

So what have you done today to step out of your comfort zone, challenge yourself, and improve your life, your body, your career, or your relationships? Why wait until the end of your days? Heck - what have you done TODAY to improve the quality of your life?

Like it or not - you're always moving, and if you're not moving forward, you're actually moving backward. In life, there is no standing still. You're either going with it, or it's passing you by and you're missing today's opportunities.

So get off the computer right now and go do SOMETHING that you've wanted to do, something you've needed to do but haven't made time yet, or something that at the end of the day you will be proud of yourself for. I'm going to go do the same.

Life Coaching Training School

I just returned from what was an awesome week, both professionally and personally. I attended a Coach Training course in Phoenix, and spent an incredible 5 days getting to know a dynamic, diverse group of coaches (or those considering becoming coaches) who have left me really feeling inspired, encouraged, and ready for action!

Part of our coach training includes having the opportunity to be coached by our peers on various issues. (Yes, we all have "issues"!) How lucky I was to be part of this particular group!

After a week with my group of new friends, I have committed to action toward some of my own personal and professional goals, and I can hardly wait until tomorrow to begin acting on my "action plan" that my coach(es) helped me develop. WOW! The power of coaching - once again affirmed.

Special thanks and recognition to my fellow coaches and coach-ees:

Jill, a like mind in many ways, whom I know I will remain friends with for a long, long time - I love how you hear what isn't even said; Christy with the sweet voice and spirit to match; Roberto, the thinker, who got me thinking, too; Darlene, our mentor and facilitator, who truly models all that a great coach is and can be; Connie, the international speaker with a truly global presence (even when she's just right there in the room with you) whose direct and "let's get to it" approach was exactly what I needed (am really looking forward to working with you!); C.J.,my fellow Tucsonan and future lunch-date friend. Thanks for letting me see the excitement and enthusiasm of a GREAT coach-in-the-making explore this incredible profession; Debi, who says just the right thing at the right moment (still thinking about the wind-up toy analogy); Sandra, whose generosity and thoughtfulness makes me want to do something nice for someone else (It's good to be good!); MJ, MerJo, MoJo, whose laugh is totally contagious, and who makes me realize the importance of not taking oneself too seriously; Susie, who has powerful words of wisdom that the world could benefit from hearing (I know I certainly can - you "caught me" mid-excuse and turned me around before I even knew what happened; Linda, whose presence in the world of coaching makes me so proud to be a part of it - not only are you a good coach for your clients, but you are good for the profession!

Thank you, Friends!

Life is a Metaphor

Over the past several weeks, I have had the opportunity to work with some personal training clients who live on the opposite side of town than I do. In making that long drive three times a week, I have a lot of time to contemplate. (This can be both good and bad.)

Last Monday morning, after instructing my 6:30 am Boot Camp Fitness Class, I was leaving East Tucson and heading back to "my side" of town. It was 7:30 am and traffic was extremely heavy. People (including me) were in a terrible rush to get to wherever they were headed. Some were talking on their phones, others were cutting in and out of traffic, still others were running lights or tailgating, and all of them completely oblivious to the needs of anyone else outside the comfort of their own vehicles.

As I approached a particularly busy intersection, traffic was beginning to back up. There appeared to be construction going on. There were cones set up in the road, indicating that anyone in the right lane (that would be mine, of course,) would have to merge into the left lane.

Like everyone else, my first thought was, "Why do they have to do this now?" But here I was, stuck in the "wrong" lane, like it or not, so I took a deep breath and tried to contain my aggravation. I inched forward, little by little, turned on my blinker indicating that I wanted to merge with the left-lane drivers, and after several failed attempts at subtlety, even tried a little honk with the horn.

I tried to be patient. I tried to be kind. No use. The cars in the left lane zoomed by me, one by one, ignoring my blinker, ignoring my open window and pleading gestures, and completely ignoring the fact that I, too, had someplace important to be. I had just had the bad luck of being in the wrong lane at the wrong time. The drivers looked through me completely, as if I were invisible, or even worse - looked at me with pity, but they didn't budge. They didn't slow down. They didn't let me in. They squeezed together tightly, so I couldn't creep in with the corner of my little car. And they left me there through 3 green lights and red lights, until finally, a kind soul slowed down just enough to let my front bumper into the line.

Of course, by that time, the light had turned red for a fourth time, so I sat in the middle of both lanes, half-merged into thru traffic, and felt defeated, waiting for the light to turn. But I was awfully grateful to that soul that had let me in and made the universal "thanks for letting me in" wave that we all know so well.

It occurred to me that day that the experience was a metaphor of life. That morning I was unlucky, like many of us, to have been caught unexpectedly in the wrong lane at the wrong time. How often do we wait in the "traffic" and chaos of our day, waiting to merge into a lane that wants nothing to do with us - wants nothing to do with our problems? Lessons in life can be big or small. That day it was small, but it got me thinking. There are metaphors in all things, including the lesson I learned that day. Forgive me if this one seems hokey, corny, or just plain stupid to you. For me, it was an epiphany.

Often, as we go down the path of our lives, the traffic is flowing smoothly, things are going well, people are doing what they're supposed to be doing, and things are going our way. Then there is suddenly an obstacle in our road. We get detoured. Something or someone gets in our path, requiring us to change direction, change plan, and find an alternate route that will still get us to our desired destination. We may get sick, have a death or illness in the family, get in an argument with someone we love, or struggle with any other number of life issues.

We might blame others. We might ask "How could this happen?" or "Why did this happen to me?" We can no longer just move along as we were, without a care in the world. We have to abandon our route and find another.

When we are forced to interrupt our course, however, it often requires others to make sacrifices (or at least accommodations) for us. We may need to ask for help; we may need others to move aside or let us in. We may have to abandon selfish pride and throw up our hands and plead "Let me in!"

And sometimes they won't.

Unfortunately, there is no universal "fairness" law that governs that we will all have equal time as both mergers and mergees in life. At times, we will have the unlucky burden of being in the detoured lane in the middle of rush hour. At those times, we are mergers. Reliant on the kindness and understanding of others, all we can do is hope that a mergee sees our situation and for some reason lets us through.

At other times, (although most of the time we are unaware of it) we are mergees. People around us are being detoured, and are in need of help to continue down their road. We may think, "Thank goodness WE aren't in that lane." We may arrogantly scoff, "We're in the right lane, and those darn mergees will just have to wait their turn." We may ignore them, look past them, be completely oblivious to them, or worst yet - simply refuse to budge.

I've been a mergee. I've thought those things. I've been annoyed by people trying to inch their way into my lane. I've refused to let them in. I've stubbornly pulled right up onto the bumper of the person in front of me, just to teach that sneaky darn merger a lesson. "He won't get one over on me," I've thought. "Ask someone else, Buddy. Better you than me," I've thought. But it's not something I'm proud of.

Shameful, isn't it?

So I've been thinking: What kind of a merger or mergee am I? Am I a merger who is demanding and rude, cutting others off and getting angry when they don't allow me in their lane exactly how and when I want? Or am I patient and kind, understanding that others are in their own little world and see me as a nuisance trying to intrude upon their time and resources? When my path is disrupted, do I force myself on others, insisting that they go out of their way to accommodate me? Or can I learn to wait my turn, even when it's inconvenient?

Even more importantly, what kind of mergee am I? When I am in the fast lane, and someone else needs to merge, do I ignore them? Do I stubbornly refuse to let them in, even if it won't disrupt my traffic in any way? Am I one who will let people in, or am I arrogant in my "luck" to have chosen the right lane? Can I learn to let others in?

Today, as you drive through your day, pay attention to the mergers and mergees, (both those in traffic, and those in life in general,) and ask yourself if at the end of the day you are the kind of driver you can be proud of.

About Life in Motion

Life in Motion Coaching is owned by Jana Beutler Holland, a life coach, therapist, and personal fitness trainer in Tucson, Arizona. Jana and her husband own SWAT Personal Training, a personal fitness training company specializing in one on one personal training, small group fitness training, marathon training, boot camp fitness programs, weight loss and nutrition coaching and counseling, and Fitness for Kids.

Jana works specifically with clients from all over the world who are seeking to improve their lives, their attitudes, and their lifestyle behaviors. She works via phone or internet to work with clients on weight loss, goal-setting, identifying obstacles, overcoming negative self-talk, and figthing self-sabotage.

Jana's website is www.lifeinmotioncoaches.com

The SWAT Personal Training website is www.swatfitness.com