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Relationships Aren’t Easy, But They’re Worth It

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Relationships Aren’t Easy, But They’re Worth It

I feel as though a lot of people who read my articles are under the impression that I am suggesting eventually someone is going to come into their life and every puzzle piece will simply pop into place. Doves will fly out from behind you, a chorus will follow you around on every date, you will find a bag with 10 million dollars in the street, which you will use to move to Pleasantville, USA.

Sorry, it doesn’t work that way, and I never claimed that it did.

Life is messy. Relationships are messy. I have said in past articles that Love is not all you need. You need mutual respect, compromise, sacrifice, understanding, the willingness to work at it and stand by him or her when times get rough. You need to be willing to be by their side not only during the bright days but also during the dark ones. To encourage them to become the best version of themselves, but also to love and accept them as they are today.

To be under the impression that the perfect person will come along, is to be under the impression that relationships do not take work. When, in fact, no relationship has ever worked without work itself. When I look around at my parents, grandparents, or other couples who have been together for decades — I am often surprised by how different they are from each other. None of them will tell you that they have been married for 30+ years because the pieces just fell into place. None of them will tell you that they are free from fights, disagreements, or conflicts.

None of them will tell you that they will stay together forever because, hey, it’s easy. None of them will tell you that they pledged their life to the other because being with them is sunshine and rainbows every single day.

But, that’s the thing about love. When you love someone — when you really love someone, it’s not a matter of convenience. It’s not only something you feel when times are good, it is the very foundation of staying together when times are not as good. When they are bad. When life is tough. That’s when you pull those you love closer, not push them away. It’s the cornerstone of your willingness to fix something you might feel is broken instead of just throwing it away.

You are committing to someone’s whole self. You are not just committing to them under the condition that they stay young and beautiful — because they will not. And neither will you. You are not just committing to them until someone better comes along — you are committing to the idea while neither they nor your relationship is perfect — this is the person you want to be with. You are committing to their very being. To the idea that the two of you are the consistent center and your circumstances simply orbit around you.

Want to Strengthen Your Relationship? Embrace the Little Things

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Want to Strengthen Your Relationship? Embrace the Little Things

For many, a sign of love or affection comes neatly wrapped up with a bow— and a really large price tag. It’s bouquets of flowers, shiny diamonds and fancy dinners. It’s nice and all, and probably makes your friends jealous. It makes you happy in the moment. But what about the morning after? And the day after that?

The reality is that true happiness can never be boxed and or wrapped.

Flashy gifts can’t compare to the small, personal moments you can share with someone. A relationship built upon these gestures will be successful. Trust me when I say: the small stuff really matters in a relationship.

For example, do you:

  • Make your partner a cup of tea in the morning?
  • Notice when they’ve had a hard day and then make them dinner to try to bring their stress levels down?
  • Bring them home little presents from time to time “just because”?
  • Kiss them goodnight on the forehead?

Notice my intention wasn’t to come up with 10 good ideas. Bad ideas count too! Just 10 ideas, no matter how good or bad. Every day.

Over those 30 days, my thinking evolved. I gained clarity about the project and my writing about it over time as I paid attention.

We’re all aware of the knowing/doing gap, but for me it’s not so simple. “Just do it” sounds good, but too often I just do it for a short while because I haven’t grounded the habit. I see this method as a way of laying the groundwork for the doing.

All of the important action we take begins with intention. We don’t just wake up one day and say “I’m going to start the exercise program now.” Or, if we do, the effort is likely to be short-lived.

We begin to stew about something, sometimes for years, before we actually begin. As we stew, we get clearer on what the doing will look like and what will be required. This is a way of slowly speeding up the stewing process.

A Simple Way to Address the Gap Between Attention and Intention

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A Simple Way to Address the Gap Between Attention and Intention

I know how it feels when you’re on the ropes, when life has gone sideways, and it’s hard to stay on track. Perhaps it seems there is no track. When you’re in new, ominous territory.

Meanwhile, your days are still a flurry of hither and thither. You get to the end of it, and wonder what happened. What got done? You wonder whose day it was really, and for what?

I remember being in the bunker a few years back. I had come to a place where life kept dropping bombs. I was hunkered down, dazed by the explosions. Wondering, what now? It seemed everything was in a state of going, or having gone bad.

Alone, alienated, and full of anxiety about the future, I woke up one morning and decided I needed a walk. “Probably better to do calisthenics or something more rigorous” I told myself, but for whatever reason, I shut up the “should” in me and started walking.

It was cold, I didn’t know my way around the neighborhood. I’d been living in a friends trailer, and had now graduated to another friend’s empty house that was on the market for sale. He’d offered to let me stay there until he could find a buyer.

My thoughts that morning were a mish mash that bounced from concerns about my children to the lawyers, to the funny noise my car was making, but I walked. A couple of miles later, I finished and headed for work, and another worrisome day of problems, some new, some old. I knew it would be a while before the madness would subside, but at the end of that day I could tell myself, “at least I took a walk.”

The next day I walked again.

The next week I began to jog instead of walk.

Eventually, I had a full fledged morning exercise routine that I’ve now maintained for years.

I know that sprints are all the rage these days, and they can be helpful at times, but this is a different approach. I’m not in a hurry. Consistency, not urgency, is the key. We’re all pulled in many directions every day; this is a way of pulling myself back to what matters. Over time it becomes gratifying as I begin to see I can rely on myself to do it daily. It’s a sense that I’m pecking away, methodically, at something important.

At the beginning of the month, I pick no more than 3 areas I want to give attention. Every day for 30 days, preferably mornings before “the pull begins” I take each item on the list and ask, “Did I address this yesterday? How might I address it today?”

Is Bitcoin a Ponzi Scheme?

Richard Bolton
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Is Bitcoin a Ponzi Scheme?

Most people either understand Bitcoin and have invested in it, or have no clue how it works. Bitcoin has eluded most of us as we just watch the figures rise and fall and imagine a time when we could have bought 1 whole bitcoin for a couple of GBP. How does Bitcoin actually work, and is it a Ponzi scheme?

What is Bitcoin: “Each Bitcoin is basically a computer file which is stored in a ‘digital wallet’ app on a smartphone or computer. People can send Bitcoins (or part of one) to your digital wallet, and you can send Bitcoins to other people. Every single transaction is recorded in a public list called the blockchain.”

The price of bitcoin fell by $600 in just 30 minutes to take its value below $10,000. The flash crash resulted in around $10 billion being wiped from the cryptocurrency’s overall value and has called into question recent positive price predictions as BTC USD fell from a Summer high of $14,000 to $7,750 in only 2 months.

Bitcoin collapses from 14,000 dollars to 7750 dollars in 2 months, is it a ponzi or does it have a future use case? (source: Richard Bolton, TradingView)

Bitcoin may not become a globally adopted currency for everyday transactions.

The “true” value of Bitcoin depends on its future use case. If users would, en masse, lose interest, then it could end at zero. On the other hand, in the unlikely scenario that Bitcoin takes over all worldwide payments, its value could rise beyond $1mln.

Yet as Bitcoin is failing as a payment system, and is now primarily used as an asset to hold, the only remaining justification for investing in Bitcoin is the assumption that others are willing to buy Bitcoin at higher prices in the future.

If BTC hits $15,000 by end of year, it would be rejoiced by its advocates.

$20,000 would be naysayers rethinking their belief systems as they dismissed it “the ultimate Ponzi scheme” since Charles Ponzi.

Infographic on Ponzi Schemes and the Man himself – a 1920 photo of Charles Ponzi, the eponymous originator of the scheme

By definition alone, Ponzi schemes must fulfil the following criteria:

  • Secrecy – Bitcoin is open source. Anyone can see it at any time.
  • Complex – many millions worldwide are capable engaging with cryptography behind the Blockchain that Bitcoin is built upon.
  • Unregistered Investments – In the developed countries, Bitcoin is now classed as a registered asset and gains are taxable under capital gains.
  • Low risk, high investment returns – in the short term, Bitcoin has had negative or flat growth. Over many years, it may generate returns.
  • Overly consistent returns – Bitcoin returns are only consistent over 4 year windows.
  • Unlicensed sellers – most exchanges are registered and compliant with that country’s regulations. Those exchanges that don’t have adequate security have been hacked and others have lost investor confidence. This has streamlined the number of exchanges.
  • Paperwork issues – Bitcoin code, though complex, can be monitored and reviewed by anyone, anywhere. Crypto exchanges are now micromanaged by relevant taxation departments.
Bitcoin – A New Asset Class At Risk of Manipulation – Just like any other?
  • Difficulty withdrawing or receiving payments – Bitcoin has overcome its liquidity issues and high fees. It can be converted at any time to fiat through any registered exchange worldwide. ATMs are available for withdrawal of fiat currency from Bitcoin holdings. Exchanges don’t lock in your funds until the next bull run before selling.
  • Unbacked – Bitcoin has the backing of the cryptography that requires vast computing processing power and large electricity supplies that could have otherwise been directed elsewhere. It differs from the US dollar as fiat, which is underpinned by the gross domestic product of the country, its resources, assets and taxation revenues and capabilities. Both approaches differ from physical goods such as gold or silver, commodity money.

Professional Bitcoin speculators are forecasting $15,000 – $20,000 level for the next 18 months for this new asset class.

Get Scary With This Vegan Spooky Spider Crackle Cake!

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Get Scary With This Vegan Spooky Spider Crackle Cake!

Everyone’s favorite time of year is almost here: Halloween! It’s a wonderful time to share your creative flair, dressing up and bake. Halloween parties and trick-or-treating are oodles of spooky fun, especially for families.

This recipe is from my new vegan cookbook Bake Vegan Stuff: Easy Recipes for Kids (and Adults Too!). It’s a great one to make with the kids because it’s a no-bake recipe that’s super fun and the right kind of messy.

Follow these simple steps to create your very own Spooky Spider Crackle Cake that the whole family can enjoy (or just yourself). I have included photos, so it’s clear what each step entails. Let’s get scary!

Make sure you are VERY careful as it’s going to be hot. I highly recommend wearing food-safe rubber gloves and test the temperature of the marshmallow BEFORE you pick up a large amount of it. Press the marshmallow between your hands and then pull it apart to create web strings. Wrap these strings around your cake to create a spider web. You need to do this quickly before the marshmallow sets. Repeat the process until you have covered your cake in spider webs. It may take a little practice. It’s going to be very messy (sorry, parents!). Once you’re happy with your webs, add your toy spiders.

And there you have it! A Spooky Spider Crackle Cake.

To serve, use a sharp knife cut down the centre, and the cake should crack into pieces. This cake will keep in the fridge for up to two weeks, making it an ideal recipe to prepare in advance.

I Thought My Glasses Made Me Unattractive

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I Thought My Glasses Made Me Unattractive

Itis, unfortunately, not an uncommon Hollywood trope. Pay attention, and you’ll notice it in many films and television shows.

The girl with the glasses is unattractive.

She is described as “frumpy”. She’s called every name from “geek” to “loser”, and it hardly matters whether she is book smart or not. It hardly matters if this is a modern Cinderella or any manner of other contrived boy fixes girl formula.

Glasses are either a sign that you are demonstrably more intelligent than the average village girl or you are a total charity case, worthy only of a makeover and no honest personal consideration beyond just how much prettier you would look without those frames in your face.

And from the moment I got my first pair of glasses in fifth grade, I believed it.

My eyesight is objectively terrible. I’ve gone through eight prescriptions in nearly twenty years. Some jerk tries to play keepaway with the lenses I wear now, I’m calling an Uber simply for the sake of the lives I’ll save by not chancing the road with zero depth perception.

I’d have to squint at the GPS eighteen inches from my face, let’s put it that way.

But aside from the fact that I truly do need real help for my eyes to do their job, I’m not in fifth grade anymore. If I want to resurrect the gold rimmed and purple speckled tragedies of my youth, I will. If I want a pair for day to day and a pair for nights out, I’ll get them. How ridiculous to think that I’m a loser for my medically necessary accessory? How silly to allow a few too many 90’s Rom-Com scenes to control my self perception for so long?

The girl with the glasses isn’t frumpy. She’s myopic.

(And have you seen photos of Kate Beckinsale wearing glasses? Or Rachel Weisz? Be still my beating heart…)

Yes, I’m the girl with the glasses, and I’ve (finally) grown beyond thinking that’s a bad thing.

Slice of Tokyo: How Japan Became a Pizza Hotspot

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Slice of Tokyo: How Japan Became a Pizza Hotspot

Tokyo is home to some 6,000 Italian restaurants — and a growing community of chefs crafting some of the finest pizza in the world.

Tsubasa Tamaki didn’t dream of pizza. He dreamed of architecture, of following in his mother’s footsteps and designing buildings in Okinawa, where he spent the first 18 years of his life. He dreamed of being a golf instructor, of converting his silky swing into a model for aspiring linksmen. He dreamed of being on television, like his cousin, a ventriloquist who made a name for himself across Japan making special sounds from barely moving lips.

Above all, he dreamed of being famous, a dream that carried him from the shores of the southern islands to the streets of Tokyo in search of his big break. Serving pizza — his part-time gig at a mediocre family restaurant — was only a pit stop on the road to something bigger.

Tamaki’s earliest pizza memory from his childhood comes from Shakey’s, one of the first big pizza chains to land in Japan, where 880 yen — about $8 — got you all the pizza you could eat. But he doesn’t remember much about the actual pizza. “What I remember is the balloon they’d give kids after the meal.”

And yet, here he is in front of me, a 39-year-old man who spent the better part of two decades not really caring all that much about pizza, making some of the most delicious pizzas I’ve ever eaten.

First, a pizza marinara, the original pizza, and still the measuring stick by which all serious pizzaioli should be judged. Tamaki’s marinara — the concentrated warmth of the tomatoes, the floral punch of baked oregano, the garlic sliced so thin it nearly liquefies into the pizza — could make a Neapolitan’s toes curl.

Next, a riff on a margherita, made with cherry tomatoes and smoked mozzarella, a pizza so pregnant with possibilities that its inventor blessed it with his own name: the Tamaki.

Finally, the Bismarck, a composition of shaved button mushrooms and house-made sausage crowned with an egg from a pampered hen, which bakes up in the oven like the rising sun. I tear off pieces of the leopard-spotted crust and dip it directly into the miasma of rendered sausage fat and molten yolk.

How to Find Hidden Cameras in Your Airbnb, and Anywhere Else

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How to Find Hidden Cameras in Your Airbnb, and Anywhere Else

In recent months there’s been a number of alarming reports of Airbnb hosts installing hidden cameras in their properties but not disclosing them to the guests staying there. Back in January Fast Company reported on a computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon University who discovered two hidden cameras recording him and his family in an Airbnb. And just last month The Atlantic reported on a New Zealand family who was renting an Airbnb in Ireland and found they were being live-streamed from a hidden security camera.

Unfortunately, these aren’t isolated incidents and in response to increasing reports of guests finding hidden cameras in their Airbnb rentals, Airbnb says they are cracking down on hosts who don’t disclose hidden cameras in their property listings.

Yet just because Airbnb has a policy forbidding hosts from hiding cameras in their property without informing their guests, that’s no guarantee all hosts are complying. So if you don’t like the idea that you could possibly be being spied on in the comfort of your Airbnb — or wherever else you’re staying — is there anything you can do besides taking the host at his word that there are no cameras on the property? Thankfully, yes.

Use a flashlight to check for camera lenses

Another trick to use to visually spot hidden cameras is the flashlight trick. A hidden camera necessitates that its lens is embedded in a regular object. Usually, that lens is made of glass and the object it’s hidden in is made of plastic or other non-glass materials.

Glass is generally more reflective than other materials, so the lenses of hidden cameras can be rather easy to spot if you shine a light around a room. The small camera lens should be more reflective than the surface of the surrounding object.

So it’s worth giving your Airbnb a once over with your smartphone’s flashlight. Turn out all the lights in the Airbnb and activate your flashlight. Slowly do a few sweeps of every room looking for any small, bright flashes of light relative to the surrounding area. If you spot any coming from an object, examine it more closely. You may have just found a hidden camera.

Use Wi-Fi-sniffing apps to check for smart devices

Unfortunately, the above visual checks of an Airbnb aren’t always enough to spot hidden cameras, even for the keen-eyed person. The good news is there’s an even better way to identify hidden cameras.

Virtually all modern hidden cameras, especially the types like the ones listed above, use wireless technology to connect to the router in the Airbnb so they can stream the footage over the internet where the host can view it remotely. But the very fact that these devices are covertly using a wireless signal to stream footage online makes them vulnerable to detection.

Smartphone users can use apps like Fing (available for both iOS and Android) that can display all the wireless devices connected to a Wi-Fi network. So after arriving at your Airbnb and connecting to the host’s wireless network, whip out Fing and give that network a scan. It’ll show your device and any other connected to that same network.

While Fing and similar apps can’t always identify what types of devices are connected (is it a hidden camera or just a wireless printer?) the app can display the MAC address of the connected device, which can give you a hint as to what the connected device is. Simply enter the MAC address of any identified gadget at MacVendorLookup.com to see who the manufacturer is and white type of device the MAC belongs to.

Is the Natural Hair Movement Coming to an End?

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Is the Natural Hair Movement Coming to an End?

While watching some videos on Youtube one day, something off-topic came up on my ‘Auto-Play’ pane. A video titled ‘Dear Natural Hair Police’.

Ironically, this video popped up as I was in the middle of my wash day (aka a drawn-out process in which I wash and style my hair). I didn’t want to touch my computer with my hands — soaked with hair product/oil — so I just let it play. In short, the Youtuber goes on to talk about why she decided to chemically relax her hair after several years of wearing it in its natural state. She also goes into detail about the backlash she received from other naturals (what she refers to as the “natural hair police” or “hair nazis”) regarding this decision. The first thought that came to my mind: When did it ever become this serious?

I’m going to pause to define terms for readers who may not know what’s going on here:

Natural Hair Movement: a movement which encourages Black women (and men) to embrace their natural Afro-textured hair rather than chemically straightening. this movement spiked between the years 2008–2014.

Relaxer: a chemical straightening cream that is designed to alter kinky/coiled hair texture by a process of controlled damage to the hair’s protein structure. When not handled properly and over a long period, some consequences could lead to lasting or permanent damage to the hair and scalp.

There’s no doubt that, within this sub-culture, some reform is in order. I went natural for a few simple reasons:

  1. I Hated Relaxers — my mom can vouch for this. As a kid, I was not a fan of going to get my hair done. I hated the entire process: going to the salon, wasting what felt like an entire day, having chemicals in my hair that would eventually burn, not being able to get my hair wet afterward, not being able to scratch my scalp, etc. As I got older my sister started doing them for me, which was a nuisance for both of us. I may not have made a fuss about it as a teenager but I still hated getting them.
  2. Curiosity — I had my first relaxer by the time I started kindergarten, so I had no idea what my real hair looked like. I wanted to at least try it.
  3. Expenses — I knew that when I moved to Northern VA I was going to have to either find someone to do my relaxers for me on campus or go to some salon that would charge way more than I was used to.

The keyword here is “chose”. I didn’t feel I had to appease anybody on either side, I just wanted to do something for myself. And it should be the same way for anyone else. If you’re going natural (or staying natural) because of external pressure to do so, then don’t. Not everybody wants to, some people just want to try it out, and some people just don’t like the work or maintenance. Whatever the reason, it’s no one’s business but your own what you choose to do with your hair and body. The ‘police’ of natural hair is not interested in empowerment, but in having people conform to a specific standard of beauty in order to be considered adequate. Now, where have I heard this narrative before?

Why Women Lose Interest — It’s Two Things

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Why Women Lose Interest — It’s Two Things

When I first started dating, I believed attraction was an art. A beautiful mosaic that two people painted together, each with their unique brush strokes and favorite hues. I still believe this to some degree. It’s two intricate, complex humans coming together to create something equally intricate and complex.

This view of attraction as art suited me in the early years. I was never much of a math/science person. I naturally gravitated towards the humanities and would run rapidly from anything that required small numbers in even tinier boxes (hello, excel!).

But as I started dating more and reflecting on those experiences, I came to a critical realization: there are more patterns in attraction than I originally realized. If I did certain things, the guy would disappear, guaranteed. If I did other things, the guy would chase me, hard. The inverse was also true. If a guy did certain things, I would be very interested. If he did other things, I would Check please! quicker than a Scaramucci. There’s a level of predictability to interest, which, in turn, challenged my original hypothesis. Attraction is just as much science as it is art, maybe even more so.

Men, don’t miss this. It’s less about your looks or your paycheck and more about how you make her feel. Your affection has the power to make a woman shine. Be liberal with it. She will blossom under the sun of your interest & shade of your presence. And that’s not to say women can’t bloom without a partner. That’s not it. It’s that there’s a certain type of illumination unique to a woman basking in the rays of a man’s fascination. It’s breathtaking.

And the speaker was more than just fascinated. He was fascinating. He was changing lives through his public speaking career. He was charismatic and captivating. He was living out his value system. He was community-driven and purpose-driven. He was someone she could admire and respect.

I would often look at couples who had been together for decades and were still taken with each other, and compare them to those cheerless couples that make observers want to run from commitment, and wonder how the same situation — years in a relationship — could produce totally different outcomes. I don’t wonder anymore. It’s the science of interest. Smitten couples are doing the work of fascination. That is it. They are still interested and show it, they are still interesting and live it. That’s the magic sauce.

When I see couples like that it inspires me to hold out for the real thing. And validates every past decision not to settle for something less than.

Going Bald Taught Me Not to Care About Stupid Shit

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Going Bald Taught Me Not to Care About Stupid Shit

I gazed into the mirror and applied a gray paste carefully to the top of my head with a spatula. The paste stuck to the remaining hairs, matting them together as questions of a new identity loomed on the horizon like the light of a new day.

The treatment would have been more effective if you had come two years ago, the woman with the Eastern European accent had said to me three days earlier. There is, she grimaced, not much chance now to stimulate regrowth. I nodded and thought of the months it had taken to summon the courage to get myself to that cold, dead room.

On top of feeling old, there was the creeping feeling that something in me wasn’t quite as it should be. Very sick people lose their hair, I thought. Samson’s fate had made me assign strength and virility to hair, and surely women would do the same. Every morning, the mirror spoke to me of frailty, proof that my halcyon days were fast dissolving in the rear view. Never again would I step out of the shower and rub a towel seductively through my locks. Applying moisturizer to my forehead became confusing. At which point did I stop.

I kept my hair very short so the areas where it thinned would be less obvious. But people would get curious anyway. “So are you losing it?” they’d ask. “Or do you just like having it shaved?” My reddening cheeks answered for me. Those who hadn’t seen me for a year or two would greet me with raised eyebrows.

After two years of denial and baseball caps, I dragged myself to the hair clinic. Returning home with the treatment as I described, I began to apply a gray cream to the top of my head each morning with a spatula. Is this all I am now, I would ask myself. A bald man. I had joined a club with a lifetime membership, a club in which all members share the same identity, an identity they wear without choice, not on their sleeves, but by dint of the little beam of light reflecting off the tops of their shiny heads.

As the morning broke on the third day of my new ritual and the paste I was applying began to congeal, matting my remaining hairs together in a sticky clump, I looked searingly into my soul and heard myself say…

This is fucking ridiculous.

Then and there, in front of that mirror, I gave up.

I disposed of the cream in the bin with some joy, and since that day I haven’t cared very much about my hair. It doesn’t affect me all that much anymore. That’s not to say I wouldn’t prefer to have loads—it just means I’d rather not care than waste time consumed by something I have no control over. Once I came to the realization that this was a battle I couldn’t win, it became pointless to try.

Beauty is Gene Deep but give me those little imperfections

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Beauty is Gene Deep but give me those little imperfections

Q. Why do pretty people get away with murder?

A. Preservation of the species.

Huh? How could those two ideas possibly be connected?

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That’s partially true, but the symmetrical face with a particular set of characteristics such as how wide apart the eyes are and what the distance is between facial features, is seen as universally beautiful.

As Shania said, that don’t impress me much. So you’re pretty. So what?

Might not impress you, Miss Twain, but there is a gestalt quality about beauty. The cute child will not be disciplined as harshly as an ugly one. The pretty girl will have more boyfriends. An attractive defendant in court will usually receive a lighter sentence than an ugly one — sometimes, perhaps getting away with murder.

Not fair. Yes well — life isn’t fair. Few of us are beautiful enough to merit such allowances.

But how does any of this connect to the preservation of our species?

Survival of the fittest.

What? You’re saying beauty is a survival factor? Are you nuts?

I have yet to see a healthy person who is not beautiful. Doesn’t matter what colour their hair is, their skin, their eyes — there are hundreds of kinds of beauty. What does matter is vigour, strength, vitality. Trivialities like height or size of breasts are a matter of personal choice. A healthy person isn’t overly fat, nor is he or she skinny. A healthy person has glossy hair, good teeth, clear skin, bright eyes, smells good.

But those are the very things that make each one of us unique. Freddie Mercury, bless him, saw his teeth as a problem, but actually they helped to define him. Certainly didn’t put anyone off him as a person – or as an artist. David Bowie had his teeth straightened, but he lost something of himself when he did that. Barbra Streisand’s nose, Mick Jagger’s lips, Prince Charles’ ears, Sarah Jessica Parker’s narrow face, Julia Roberts’ mouth, John Goodman’s large build — not conventionally acceptable, but those small imperfections give them their identities and draw us in more than mere surface attraction.

Little flaws are what make us attractive. Beauty on the outside does not equal beauty on the inside. Pretty people can be vain and self-centred. If you’re not a gorgeous babe or handsome hunk, you have to try harder to cultivate other qualities like kindness, creativity or the ability to make someone laugh.

Our genes may want to make merry with sturdy strands of DNA but our humanity says otherwise. And fat, thin, bald, or buck-toothed — we are much more than the sum of our parts.

The Unexpected Benefit of Writing Letters to My Kids Every Month

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The Unexpected Benefit of Writing Letters to My Kids Every Month

I started writing letters to my kids once a month when they were born.

My boys are now 16 and 14, so they have 192 and 168 letters respectively. I’m not done yet, either: I promised to continue writing to them until they turn 18.

I won’t lie and tell you I started these letters for altruistic reasons. I had selfish goals: Because I left a successful career to raise my boys full-time, I planned to provide a kick-ass chronological history of our time together so I could justify my stay-at-home-mom status.

I figured that if I documented everything I did with them and for them from birth to age 18, they would remember me as the greatest mother that ever lived in the history of the universe.

I wrote about how I pumped breast milk for a solid six months. Best mom ever! I wrote about how my son started talking in full sentences at age two because I read books and sang songs to him every night to help develop early language skills. Mother of the year!

But a devastating thing happened on the way to me documenting my star-mom status: Their dad died.

I couldn’t possibly know, when I began my letter-writing campaign, that my selfish goal would turn into a benevolent one. My monthly letters evolved into a memorial for a story we never expected to end so soon.

Now, whenever memories fade and the boys need a reminder of their father’s love and devotion, they read the letters.

It’s all right there in black and white.

You can read the moment we enter the teenage-angst phase because my letters have less of an “I’m so lucky to be your mom!” tone and more of a “please, Jesus, just help me get through the day” tone.

I didn’t sugarcoat our struggles, but I didn’t display them in their entirety either.

During one rebellious and unmanageable year of my older son’s adolescence, I wrote nothing at all. I had nothing positive to say. It was all too much to handle as a solo parent. Plus, I didn’t want my rage bleeding all over the page. It would be too easy for me to criticize my son’s abysmal choices and for him to base his worth on bad decisions made in a blip on the radar screen of his youth.

It’s also hard to write about good times when eye rolls, grunts, and general unpleasantness littered our days. But, that’s part of being a parent. So I rekindled my writing by summarizing the next year instead of documenting every cruel, harsh, and bitter disagreement. I didn’t sugarcoat our struggles, but I didn’t display them in their entirety either.

I promised my husband that I would do my best to keep his memory alive. I’m so thankful the letters serve two purposes: One is to help my sons remember their dad. The second is to remember how we made it through.

But, as I got caught up in all of my husband’s remembering, I’m not sure I conveyed how much of my heart and soul I put into these boys, too.

Moving forward after my husband’s death was no small feat. Grief is a bitch and I experienced the boys’ anger in all its manifestations. Maybe they’ll continue blaming me for maternal wrongdoings without understanding how hard it was to pick up the pieces as a young widow and only parent. Maybe they won’t. Only time will tell.

I tried my best to write about the realities of living with death and grief and sorrow. I didn’t pretend we weren’t hurting but I didn’t dwell in victimization either. I hope I’ve communicated, after heartbreak and healing, how much I love being their mom.

Whenever memories fade and the boys need a reminder of my love and devotion, they can read their letters.

It’s all right there in black and white.

What I Should Have Said to Your Weight Loss Advice

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What I Should Have Said to Your Weight Loss Advice

I had just walked in the door when you sidled up next to me.

“Can I show you something?”

You showed me your iPad, face lit up with eager excitement. You watched me closely, looking for a happy or grateful reaction — something to reinforce your discovery. Instead, you watched my face fall.

On the screen were before and after pictures from surgeon’s offices, advertisements for gastric bypass and lap band surgeries. On the left stood a woman my size, slouching and exposed, in fitted workout clothing. Next to her, that same woman, beaming and standing tall, reduced to half her previous size.

I looked at the woman my size, her stony expression betrayed by the deep disappointment behind her eyes. I looked at the shape of her body: the soft slopes of her breasts, belly, hips. Her body looked so much like mine. I am before. I am always before.

“I saw these pictures and I thought of you,” you explained. When I didn’t respond, you went on. “Think of how much healthier you would be. The partners you could date. I know you love clothes — you could wear whatever you want!” You paint my body with stencils, my life made up of negative space. You aren’t describing me — you’re describing what you’re sure I can’t have.

You paged through the pictures, eyes fixed on my face for the happiness you were sure would come. You had, after all, found a miracle cure. You must have imagined I’d be so relieved to learn that there was a way out of the body I have — all it would take was $23,000 to cut that body open, truss its organs, and leave it to wither.

But in that moment, I had already been gutted. My rib cage had been hollowed out, heart and lungs set aside, cored like an apple. Breath scraped in my throat before evaporating into the crater my ribs had become. I was awash in the desolation you imagined my life to be, and the wonderland you envisioned for thinner women.

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