Category: On Wellbeing

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Why I Bother to Drive

Monday mornings in west London are bustling with road users, lorries dropping off loads, blocking the roads, motorists, cyclists and heavy sidewalks of pedestrians, the odd one or two spilling onto the streets, all amid road works. Great, pretty much the only day I take the car out on cue. Sometimes I wonder why I bother.

In short, it is the most convenient way for me to get to my weekly hair appointment. And the truth be known, it gives me an opportunity to do some character analysis and character building.

Behind a steering wheel, I continue to learn a lot about myself, some of it is admirable and some, well that is the part I need to keep working on. That is where the character building comes in.

But first the admirable part. I feel incredibly independent when I am driving, but not at the expense of others, more on that later. The point is this sense of independence is indelibly linked to my self-esteem. I hate hailing taxis, and I am not so mad on the London Underground either. And with a broken toe, my ability to walk long distances has been put on ice but that is another blog.

No wonder I didn’t hesitate to get my UK license when I moved country’s nearly 30 years ago. Already driving for nearly 20 years, I thought my transition would go without a hitch. It did not. One failed practical test after a major fault, cutting someone off at a roundabout, and a few fender benders later, I felt traumatised but if I was going to hang on to a shred of my independence, after all I had left life as I knew it behind in the US, I needed to keep driving. So, I did.

Alongside maintaining my sense of independence, driving had already taught me some of life’s most important lessons, including how to manage a crisis, (okay, I worked in crisis management for years in New York but driving came first). Anyhow, possibly the first accident that I had as a driver involved skidding and hydroplaning. The lesson: do not panic. Control what you can and let go of the rest. Fair enough, my father, the chief defensive driving instructor for the Marines stationed in Albany, Ga, at one of the country’s largest logistic/supply bases, might have helped with the lesson but either way it came through driving. 

In addition, driving continues to help me understand the importance of interdependence. Sure, independence is great, but we cannot live in this world alone. Furthermore, driving keeps me reaching for that illusive concept of patience, no wonder I keep driving. But before you judge let me be clear, I do not do road rage, though I am provoked regularly, speed demons tailgating in a 20-mph zone, laying on their horn and all the rest. And cyclists, need I say more. Whatever happened to obeying the traffic laws and riding in the lanes that were built especially for you. Never mind, pedestrians wandering in the road aimlessly and sauntering across a motorists’ green light.

Thankfully, I am a seasoned, quite skilled driver who handles it with tact, most of the time. Here is the thing, we need each other to use the road, safely, right? So why not yield to the lessons that life is throwing at us?

Recently, after an onslaught of hazards that came to a screeching halt in backed up traffic, I let out a sigh and mumbled that I was tired and would no longer moan or be goaded into aggression. Suddenly, my car went into action, announcing loudly the energising programme that I did not even know we had. No kidding, my seat went into a lively, sports massage with blue lights flashing all around. It was terrifying. Thankfully, it responded as swiftly to my command to stop as it did the inadvertent one to start.

Honestly, this was a test of patience–AI spying on me. Trust me, I have come a long way in this area, though I still have a long way to go. I am a work in progress but if I keep driving, I have a feeling I will get there. That is why I bother.

 

 

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Know Your Big Red Buttons

I have always known that effective communication is important—it’s one of the hallmarks of a healthy relationship, of course. No matter who the relationship is with—spouse, partner, friend, child, parent, boss, hairdresser and so on.

But it is only recently that I realised that good communications, when it goes awry, bad communications that is, is one of my Big Red Buttons. Apparently, we all have them, the things that get the nerves in a tailspin. You know what I mean. And once that button is pushed, a sort of neurosis likely follows.

For example, a strew of ignored messages and emails, unanswered calls and pretence that it is normal behaviour puts me into an unhealthy space. Metaphorically, my head begins to let out steam like Fred Flintstone in the Flintstone’s cartoon when he was angry. And the mind gets unbelievably imaginative.

The said person is branded rude, inconsiderate, selfish or even flighty at one end of the pendulum, and at the other end, it is about me. What have I said or done to deserve this disrespect? When that train of thought loses steam, I begin to worry about the person. Do they have problems more alarming than my Big Red Button.  Sure, they do, otherwise they would not be behaving so badly, right. That is when pity sets in.

But it’s all speculation. The facts are the facts. They did not write, call or communicate, full stop. Is their behaviour reasonable, is it right? Of course not. In a morally conscious culture, all these things are counterculture.  But to hit people over the head with information they already know, while allowing it to consume your mind, is tiring and quite frankly, a nuisance to you and only you. I should know.

At its extreme, obsessive behaviour can cause real neurosis or at the very least, disrupt the flow of peace within, making it hard to enjoy life and deal with the challenges that really matter, like good behaviour and effective communication.

So, what do you do?  First, know your Big Red Buttons and watch them closely. Next, call out the behaviour but that does not mean leaving curt messages or telling the person off. And you don’t go awol either. Trust me I have thought about all the above.

One mind expert tells me, give them a chance to escape. As mentioned, they too know it’s wrong. For this to work, however, you must have a strong foundation where there are spoken or unspoken moral codes. Otherwise, you get rubbish responses such as that is your truth, not mine. If that is the case, run. You won’t be able to control your button.

But if the relationship is a keeper, show you are concerned and try asking questions like: Are you okay? Is all well with you?  Why didn’t I hear back from you? That is not naming and shaming bad behaviour, it is putting it in the room, making it tangible while leaving the judgments out the room.

Solved, right. Wrong! Finally, if it continues to happen, my expert reminds that taking a firm approach in a calm state of mind, (not when the Big Red Button is still flashing) is preferable to a heated row or bottling it in and at some point, exploding or imploding. You might even be able to make light of it to find perspective.

The key is you want to keep the relationship healthy and if you get that point across, your Big Button Red Button is unlikely to ignite, nor will theirs. In the meantime, remember, we all have Big Red Buttons, and life pushes them from time to time but when they are alarming all the time—it is time to get to know them, monitor them closely and finally exercise some control over them.

Suddenly, life will feel a lot healthier. Count on it!

 

 

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Physical Purging Clears the Conscience

I don’t think I am a pack rat, right. But from a closer look at my office, I just might be.  On the surface, it is amazingly neat with lots of personality. From a swanky light on the wall, a globe that turns by sunlight or any kind of light, a gorgeous chair and desk, and a plethora of books relatively neatly packed in a custom-made bookcase, it is all here.

So, what is the problem? Books galore and notebooks and all the rest, so much stuff that I had a pile of books on the floor near my bedside table, and a few others scattered about the house here and there.  When Paul suggested that I give some of them to charity to avoid putting them back on our clean carpet, I went into a melt down and exclaimed quite loudly that he was out of order. Really, was a pile of books bothering him that much?

He looked at me rather quizzically and backed off.  I had won so I thought until about thirty minutes later when my conscience taunted me.

Fine I thought, I will find a small bookcase, a job that proved to be impossible. Though our bedroom is quite big, our house, a modern London townhouse, has minimal wall space and storage space for that matter.

Still, I persevered hoping to find a suitable piece of furniture to stick in the one empty corner of our bedroom. Delighted, Paul happily measured the space and reviewed all my selections. Alas, nothing worked.  Too tall, too dark, too handsome. You get the picture.

Back to the drawing board I went but this time to my office and sat in the middle of the floor, looking for space and then it dawned on me that I had a cabinet full of used notebooks, 23 to be exact, most of them Moleskin, and all sorts of old devices–an iPhone 5, two Blackberry’s, a Nokia phone, an iPad, a Kindle.  I could go on, but I won’t.

Furthermore, I noticed the open shelf beside the cabinet, crammed with all the UIO podcast scripts and mounds of papers from my parents’ estate (if you will), not to mention the rammed packed cupboard on the other side of the room, a part of the bookcase.  In there, I found two old manuscripts, and God knows what else.

Facing unrest from my subconscious, I was relieved when my rational mind reminded me what was at stake. Not only were most of the books good reads and some were my own and the works of friends and other cherished authors, but also the papers and notebooks were packed with memories, and the manuscripts were valuable, too, if only to me.

It prodded me to come up with a plan that would save the books, the memories and manuscripts and find a final resting place, if you will, for the items I needed to let go.

First, I gathered the notebooks and saw that more than half of them could be discarded, and the rest, still had a few empty pages to be filled. So back in the cupboard they went.

With the discards, I learned that Moleskin covers are not recyclable and all anyone on the internet could think to do was remove the paper and recycle it, which is the last thing I was prepared to do, after reading pages of personal dreams, actual nightmares, arguments and discussions which took place over the years. I laughed, even cried and thanked God I had not put some of those words out into the world.

Without hesitation, I got shredding what I could not recycle and began the search for a new home for the Moleskin covers. So far, I have failed at the latter, so they are likely on their way to the tip. Don’t judge!

In the meantime, the other precious items such as my parent’s papers and my manuscripts have found a new home in a box underneath one of our storage beds, with the rest of the manuscripts, while the old devices have made their way back to their originators or a suitable recycling outlet.

As for the books, I kept them all, every one of them but they are in their own happy spaces now on shelves in my office.  The day will come when I must let some of them go but for now, I have had plenty of purging, letting go of the old and embracing the new.  I like the space! My conscience does too.

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Stand for Something in 2025 

Ever heard of Blue Monday? I hadn’t either until a few years ago when a curate from our church used it in his sermon.  Apparently, it has been an annual event in the UK since 2005, normally the third Monday in January billed as the most depressing day of the year owing to the aftermath of the festive season. Its founders pitched it as a marketing ploy to get people to travel to sunnier skies to overcome their woes.

I wish I could say that jetting off to a sunnier place cures the January blues. I can’t! I have tried it. Make no mistake about it, it is a great temporary solution, depending on where you go but getting out of a lull after the high of the holidays takes more than another holiday.

Also, it takes more than resolutions and the willpower to stick to them. It must be said, however, that while January brings the automatic blues, as well as untimely ones such as loss and tragedy like any other month, it brings happy days for many—births, weddings and wedding anniversary celebrations and so on. We married in January and never miss a beat celebrating.

Still, few are exempt from the greyness of it all. It is contagious.

So, what do you do? Back in 2016 when my mother was at the end of her life in January, I remember coming across a powerful quote that is as appropriate this January as it was then.

“Stand for something or you will fall for anything. Today’s mighty oak is yesterday’s nut that held its ground.” Rosa Parks

Though I have read this quote and others like it many times, it always gets me thinking and reflecting on what it means to stand for something.

First, standing for something doesn’t mean you have to be an activist, a lobbyist, if that is not your thing. It was not Rosa Park’s thing. It is not mine either, but it does mean that you can find a space even in a world that you don’t understand where you can hold your values.

Next, recognise that standing for something doesn’t mean avoiding what is getting you down.  A good friend, who is an executive coach, recently published a fantastic piece about the dangers of avoidance.

She is right. Avoidance has no place in standing for what you believe in. Let’s be clear, I am not telling you to wallow in social media, get puffed up and pick a fight with everyone who has fallen from a cliff and bumped their heads in your opinion, but it does mean staying on high grounds. Don’t engage with nonsense; remember you are an influencer by default. Say what you do and do what you say which leads to the final point.

Do something! We’ve heard that phrase somewhere before and it works a jewel for standing for something. Do what is within your gift to do.  Take mentoring, for example, you don’t have to join an organisation to do this, though there are some great ones out there. Mentor the young women and young men in your life, help them to stand up for what they believe in, help them to shape a better world for everyone, in a constructive way, so they avoid falling for anything.

You don’t need a world stage to do this. You just need your values and a metaphorical place to stand in, holding them proudly and securely. Just stand for something!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Beware of Worry

I am worried.  No surprise there, right!  In the past, I have been a worrier about little and big things and thankfully most of them didn’t come to pass.

As someone who has had health anxiety, I have laid awake at night endlessly worrying about the next big health problem. Some of the worries have landed me in ER while others have culminated in a long tormented sleepless night.

Once before appearing on a major talk show in London, I pulled an all nighter worrying about performance, so when daylight arrived, I dragged myself out of bed to meet my fate. At the studio, all went well—nothing ill-fated about it. I functioned like I had slept and looked that way, too. I can only think of one other time when I pulled this off, but that is another story.

This time let’s say I had an angel holding me up because after the show, I literally just made it into my front door before my body quit. I had to go to bed. I cannot recommend worrying.

It is debilitating, to say the least, and worse yet does not change a thing. So why do we still worry? During the Covid pandemic, one therapist explained that my worry stemmed from the sudden loss of control of life as I knew it. My belief that I was in control was a fallacy anyhow, she insisted. Never mind!

Before Covid what I had worried about rarely came to pass and suddenly, everything spun out of control. Only at that point in life did I come to terms with the statement—the only thing that is certain is change itself.

Furthermore, she explained that I had created this thinking pattern of anticipating a negative outcome, the worst-case scenario and Covid had delivered fast and furiously.  

Four years on and I still worry about many things—health, doom and gloom for girls and women the world over, war, global warming, this new world that normalises gaslighting and worships immorality and so on. Another blog, right.

But wait a minute, I am no longer a hostage to worry. Admittedly, I don’t engage much in the news anymore, except the odd story that flashes across my phone or social media or a special event. Whatever it is, however, when it starts to coax me out of my safe place and fling me into a dangerous one, I put it into perspective.

And you know what, my new Oura ring says I am getting good sleep. Sure, I have learned that worry doesn’t solve problems but, on some level, I must have always known that.

But what I hadn’t known was how to cultivate an awareness about worry that kicks in as natural as my next breath. And in this awareness, my mind assesses what is within my control and what is not. 

Take health, for example, I can’t always say what is around the corner, no one can but what I can control with diet and exercise, I am all in. Just ask anyone who knows me.

Look I don’t want to oversimplify the matter; it is complicated but all I am saying is that trying to stop worrying is counterproductive. What is productive is to beware of worry, recognise it for what is—the mind’s attempt to control and resolve the problem, even if it is global.

Do what you can and accept that the rest is out of your control.  Worrying, yes, it is, but it might be the best way forward for your health’s sake.

 

 

 

 

 

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Stuff Happens: How to Handle It

We had a curious incident with a dog recently, that left us sort of light-hearted and with a profound understanding that stuff happens, often and fast, and most times completely out of your control, save an adjustment or two here and there.

For example, had we not left the driver’s door of our relatively new car opened while sitting on the bumper to change out of our muddy hiking boots, Lucy, the dog, would not have jumped into the seat muddy paws and all.  But we did and so it happened.

Suddenly, there was an outburst of shouting coming from the car next to ours. I ran to close the door, thinking the drama was about not being able to get into their vehicle.  But before I could apologise and close the door, I met a distressed man who explained that Lucy had enjoyed the brief pleasure of romping in our car.

Oh, I said, fumbling for words to only find apologetic ones for creating the opportunity in the first place. I closed the door and shot off to fish out the one microfibre cloth we had for emergencies. Meanwhile, the gentleman produced a wad of wet wipes which were very helpful, and Lucy looked on with doleful eyes as if to apologise for the commotion.

At that point, I was laughing in my heart, so outwardly confessed that it was kind of funny. Lucy’s owner disagreed. He was mortified but surely quite relieved that Paul and I were more relaxed than he had anticipated.

There, we had a story to tell and had no idea what lesson we had learned, other than to keep the doors of our car always closed, particularly after a muddy walk in the Lake District.

But there was more to come, which leads me back to my first point. Stuff happens that is often well beyond your control which likely pushes your melt down buttons. Feeling the heat, we have a choice to escalate the matter or shrink it so to speak. Depending on our reaction, we maintain calm or cause further calamity.

So, what happened?  We had a flat tire on a relatively narrow country road and had to pull the car over to the side but not off road, as the road was not big enough for that. Meanwhile, we stood on the boggy, leafy verge for three hours. Cars whizzed by. Most of them approached at a dangerous driving distance with the speed of a demon and others sceptically looking on as if we were simply out of our minds for breaking down in such an inopportune place.

However, two or three slowed and offered help, which we respectfully declined, awaiting pick up from our vehicle’s rescue team, which arrived three hours later.

So, what does Lucy have to do with this? First, the experience with her reminded us that incidents and accidents happen. The question is what perspective do you take—one that starts from a place of calm or one of upset? Thankfully we chose calm. Instead of blaming one another or someone else, we encouraged and helped each other to stay safe and well.

When we had the flat tyre Paul could have reminded me that it was all my fault that we were out in the first place. He wanted to stay at our lovely spa suite kitted out with an outdoor hot tub and indoor sauna, steam room, massage chair and infrared light. This was our penultimate day on holiday and the only good weather day we had experienced. Never mind!

Next, our priorities were in order as we quickly recognised that the situation could have been far worse. So, the road was country and narrow, but it was not a dirt track where only one car can pass safely at a time. And most importantly, no harm was done to us or the car.

Finally, we focused on gratitude. Sure, it was unthinkable that the wait was three hours, and we had to rely heavily on our crisis management skills to get rescued and wait at the dealer for a rental car for a further two hours, all the while the day was fading. But we were grateful that we had a solution in sight.

Sure, there were many moments when the melt down buttons blinked glowing amber, but we overcame before they burned red. Well, I probably over heated once and was quickly reminded that melting down stalls action.

That is not to say that passivity is the key in times such as these. It is not! But there is a space somewhere in between that hinges on perspective, priorities and gratitude.  Remember, stuff happens!

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I Take My Coffee Black

I love coffee, its alluring aroma, its gown-up taste, the buzz it offers, the latter so much so that my grandmother used to ward us off it, contending that coffee would make you ‘omnish,’ her vernacular for womanish.

Her warning has stayed with me for years, wondering what in the world she meant. If a sip of it was going to turn me into my graceful mother and her lovely sister sipping coffee in the early mornings over a past due catch up, after my aunt had made the gruelling 14 hour drive from Ohio, then I would happily suffer the fate of becoming ‘omnish’.

In hindsight, I think Mama, my gran, must have been protecting us from the drink’s bold taste, which can be too big for a child, and its addictive nature owing to caffeine and other perceived health hazards.

From being called the ‘new cocaine’ recently by a chatty London taxi driver, who notices coffee shop queues spilling onto the streets regularly, to being blamed for a many sleepless nights, anxiety and all the rest, coffee gets a bad rap.

And quite frankly some folks just don’t like it, my taxi driver being one of them. “I don’t see what people see in it. Can’t stand it.” He twisted his face much like a child who has tasted tar.

Though I have no basis to make the comparison to cocaine, I do know it can be addictive, but so can love if it becomes unhealthy. Okay, so an unfair comparison but you get my point.

All I am trying to say is that coffee does have a good side. No wonder its popularity on the high street and in hotels everywhere has surpassed other drinks of its kind.

For a small price to pay (relatively speaking) in a big-ticket world, people can indulge in an invigorating drink that gives them pleasure, if only for a little while, and something about it is binding to relationships.

We meet friends for coffee, make business deals over coffee, settle arguments over coffee and some find love over the hot stuff. We even catch up with relatives over it.

Remember my mom and her sister. Tid, our affectionate name for my mom, would add a dash of evaporated milk to hers and likely some sugar, but Auntie would take hers black, which is apparently the ticket to getting many of the benefits. Here, here to that. I take my coffee black.

According to recent research by Zoe Science and Nutrition, coffee has many benefits. Let’s be clear, drank in excess and at the wrong time, it can surely become a problem for some.

But if drank in the right dosage and at the correct time, (not before bed), it offers rewards such as improving microbiome diversity, cognitive function and healing damaged cells.

Go figure the beans have polyphenols, which are a type of antioxidant that has anti-inflammatory properties. According to the National Institutes of Health (NIH), all plants have polyphenols on some level and science is rapidly uncovering their benefits to human health.

I must say this is good news for me and coffee lovers everywhere. Still, it is best not to overdose. Experts say caffeine has an average half-life of about six hours. In short, that means if you have it three hours before you sleep, you might be in for an awakening that night.

For some time, I have come to love coffee in the early mornings or rely on decaffeinated coffee, particularly in the evening on the occasion that I grab a coffee after dinner.

Apparently, caffeine does provide some of the benefits to coffee that decaf lacks, but all is not lost, not even in taste. There are some good decafs out there. I should know. After all, I take my coffee black.

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Knowing When to Quit

That’s it I have decided to quit sports.

Shocking for those who know me because I am not an athlete, not the least bit athletic, withstanding training twice per week with my PT and going to the gym for a run on the treadmill. And I am at best a fair-weather sports fan. I can only hang in there when the going is good but when it gets tough, I run for the hills.

So, what is this throwing in the towel all about. It’s about suffering, deeply felt emotions that keep me awake at night and turn me inside out. Let me tell you, this season, if you will, has been one for tossing and turning. I have certainly experienced the thrill of winning and the agony of defeat with people I don’t even know and never will.

Fair enough, when I know the person – it is much worse. During my niece Jana’s sophomore year at university as a leading softball player, known for hitting and pitching, I revved up so much energy and emotions that I would wake up in the middle of the night checking my phone for a word from abroad, anything. And if Jana had a bad game, I had several sleepless nights. Just ask my therapist or even my husband for that matter. It was costly. 

As a result, last year, her junior year, I dialled down my participation several notches. I happily found out after the game was over, sometimes the next day.

So proud of myself, I thought I was strong enough to enjoy a few sports this summer–a live tennis match here and there, a live basketball game, an English football game via osmosis and then the Olympics, a peak here and there—I jumped in this summer, I think feet first.

And all I can say is you would have thought that Taylor Townsend was my long-lost daughter as I watched her play doubles at Wimbledon. Though Taylor and doubles partner, Katerina Siniakova, prevailed and went on to win the final the next day, I was emotionally spent by the time it was all over, and well beyond. Honestly!

I repeated a similar experience with the USA Women’s Basketball Team in a pre-Olympics showcase. They were nowhere near losing when I decided to exit, owing to a palpitating heart. They gave a stellar performance, but Germany had a couple of NBA players who were stellar, too.

Exhausting and the Olympics were yet to come, but before we go there, let’s finish Wimbledon—the Men’s Final.

I outright refused to watch, quite worried that my favourite Carlos Alcaraz, who I sort of latched onto last year in the absence of Rafael Nadal, would not prevail. When it was clear that Carlos was the victor and that the match was about to end, Paul called me in to watch. I showed up and fled quickly after he missed two or three match points. But I did come back to see him recover and wrap it up.

On that same day, England’s Football team lost to Spain in the Euro 2024 final. And here is the thing, I don’t even like football, but like the rest of the folks in the country I had high hopes for the young lads and when they experienced the agony of defeat, so did I, for days.

Now on to the Olympics. What a roller coaster ride for Nadal, albeit it a short one. He exited in the second singles round, falling to Novak Djokovic and in the quarterfinal rounds of the Doubles when he and Alcaraz fell to Austin Krajicek and Rajeev Ram from the USA, my country. Still, I was gutted.

Never mind, I stayed with Alcaraz until the very end, well sort of.  Again, I refused to watch and good thing, I did not. In his rematch with Novak Djokovic, whom he played at Wimbledon, the latter was the victor this time.

Although the win was well deserved, it underscores why I have had to quit sports. Being involved causes too much emotional unrest when the win is not with my person. Never mind that these athletes are strangers.

Admittedly, I have not watched any full sporting event during the Olympics, not even gymnastics, to avoid the racing emotions which leave me exhausted. Sadly, I do repeatedly check the medals tally, mostly at night when I should be lulling off to sleep.

No wonder I’ve quit. I know, I know. Quitting has been given a bad name and likely well deserved when you give up on something that matters, but when it is taking an emotional toll on you and threatening physical health too, kick the habit.

Knowing when to say when can be a restorative thing. I am much calmer now, particularly that the Olympics are nearly over.

 

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Food: It’s Personal

No matter how you look at it, food is personal.  What we like is personal, not to mention what we don’t like. Can’t tell you how many times I have been questioned about my love for spinach. What can I say? There is no accounting for taste.

On the flipside, however, I have been criticized a few times for my dislike of beetroot. Don’t want it anywhere near my plate, except for the one-time Gordon Ramsey dished up some that didn’t taste at all like beetroot.

But here is the thing, superfood or not, food is personal, and it is not just about our likes and dislikes, it also about what our body likes and dislikes.

Not always the same thing, right.  Ever wondered why your friend can munch away at a food that you love, and you cannot. I love apples, for example, but a lovely sweet one leaves my stomach in knots. Never mind!

And remember that anti-acid commercial: I like hot dogs, but they don’t like me, etc…? You get the picture but let me be clear, food doesn’t have to be considered junk food or ultra-processed to upset the gut.  It can be super-duper, like an apple. 

Since last September, I have come to understand that my body has a real problem with digesting certain sugars and what it considers to be too much fibre.  Though I had not understood this scientifically until I started working with a wonderful consultant dietician, I had tried every all the rage diet, most loaded with superfoods, to fix the bloating and all the rest.

But once my dietician got me eliminating some of the culprits and eating less of others, life began to change. The key, however, as I have told many friends and family who see a great change in me, is to get a proper diagnosis and work with a professional. No elimination diet is safe without an expert on board.

Also key, is the personal nature of the matter.  What works for one person doesn’t always work for another. There is no one size fits all approach to nutrition.

The personal approach is refreshing. Though I have always been interested in putting the right foods together for loved ones with special diets, such as for my dad when he dealt with kidney problems, I am on a personal journey nowadays, having worked out that personalised nutrition is not just for people with allergies, intolerances, or other health issues. It is for anyone who wants to get the best out of their body and wants to see it work at optimal level. And that happens when the body gets the right balance of nutrients, particularly carbohydrates, fats and proteins consistently.

Since I have been engaged with personalised nutrition, I have learned that some foods spike my blood sugar, though I do not have diabetes and am not pre-diabetic.  But there is good news, I can eat some of my beloved treats when combining with the right balance of foods and avoid a blood sugar spike.

At the risk of getting too medical, I will leave the science at that, but I do want to say that some experts and non-experts think that if we focus too much on personalised nutrition it might lead to unhealthy relationships with food.

Proponents of personalised nutrition say it is early days yet, however, there is no evidence to support the concerns about unhealthy relations with food. On the flip side, however, there is plenty of evidence to show how personal food is to each one of us.

No wonder eating largely what nurtures me has been a game changer. Make no mistake about it, I still like my cinnamon rolls and croissants. And in a personalised nutrition approach, there is a place for them.  That’s because personalised nutrition is not a diet, rather a lifestyle change.

Not only do I have a healthier gut but lots of other wonderful fringe benefits, too. I am sleeping better. And about that spinach! My gut considers it a booster. And it is very happy to do without beetroot for the sake of my blood sugar.  What can I say. It’s personal.

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Perspective Explored and Revealed

Thank you so much for weighing in on my perspective blog which truly underscores how easy and common it is to see something in a photo, a situation, in life in a totally different way to someone else.

It all comes down to our personal filters. Having said that, however, not sure what filters I was wearing when I sauntered between the two tectonic plates in Iceland a few weeks ago and something caught my eye.

It was magical and intriguing to see it so clearly – a rather large puppy resting on its paws. 

I had to capture it.  Believe it or not, the puppy was the first thing I saw in the scene and the only thing until many of you chimed in with your sightings. Of course, I understand that it is literally rocks and snow, but my figurative imagination was switched on, as was many of yours when you weighed in. Again, thank you for offering so many different perspectives, though I am still searching for the shape of an antique chair, for example.

See below some of the scenes and sights spotted:

  • Snow on a grave marker
  • Snowy outdoor scene over trees and rocks
  • Snow bunny in a hat (a few versions of a bunny rabbit, including an Easter bunny)
  • Two faces
  • Animal like a lion reclining
  • Forest wooded area
  • Antique chair covered with snow
  • Furniture in a room
  • A lady laying down in the snow
  • Baby Yoda
  • People bowing down
  • Uncared for gravestone
  • Two small puppies or maybe just one small puppy

I worked out later that the small puppy or puppies can be seen in my big puppy’s paw. As one participant said, there is a lot to this photo. It is all what the mind spots. Still, often after someone has spelled it out to me, I find myself saying, ah ha, I can see what you mean.  A close acquaintance of mine said just that when I put before her my tracing of the puppy.

How refreshing to have my perspective seen and heard. It doesn’t always mean agreement but at least it opens the door to new experiences and perspectives.

Truly, I have enjoyed experiencing newness in this one exercise. Hope you have, too. Let’s keep it going, trying to see another’s perspective, particularly for the sake of creating a healthy legacy for living together more harmoniously.

Watch this space for more legacy talk.