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Body and Soul Cleansing: A Total Detox From Negativity

Spring has long been associated with renewal and rejuvenation, so it’s no wonder cleanses and body detoxification programs are popular this time of year. For some people, an expanded waistline is an unfortunate reminder they may have overindulged on food and drink during the winter and holiday months; for others, sluggishness and a general sense of feeling “icky” may be all the motivation they need to hit the detox juice. Whatever the reason, dietary cleanses can be a worthwhile way to recalibrate ourselves. A good detox purges the body of gunk, leaving it squeaky-clean and primed for healthy dietary habits. And with summer’s shorter hemlines and longer days fast approaching, what better time than spring to get back to looking and feeling our best?

I’ve been detoxing twice a year for a couple of years now, but it wasn’t until I was about to do my annual spring cleanse recently that I realized I needed to detox more than just my body...

Click here to continue reading this essay in the May 2017 issue of Soulivity.

7-Elevenses: My Week of Breaking Like a Brit

It’s no secret amongst the people who really know me that I’m a bit of an Anglophile. I don't know why or how my Anglophilia developed, but I’ve been drawn to English culture for as long as I can remember. Oliver! was my favorite film when I was a kid, Haley Mills my favorite actress. And when I was in 5^th grade, my friends once made fun of me for listing Duran Duran before New Edition on my list of favorite bands. I’m sorry, but Ralph Tresvant didn’t have anything on Simon Le Bon. No competition. None.

One Happy Birthday in Aruba

Eagle Beach. No filter.

One Happy Island. It's the official slogan of Aruba, a small Dutch constituent in the southern Caribbean. With the word happy in the motto, celebrating my birthday there last week seemed ideal. The low airfare, as well as the promise of abundant sun, turquoise water, and immaculate white sand beaches were enticing. So was the travel time. The non-stop flight from Houston is only about four hours long, which meant I’d commence my week-long vacation without jetlag. Happy birthday to me!

Aruba is densely populated — about 102,500 inhabitants in a land area of 69.1 square miles — and according to the cheery fellow who drove my husband, Matt and me from the airport to our hotel, most Arubans work in the tourism industry.

Opening Doors in San Miguel de Allende

Buenos días from picturesque San Miguel de Allende in Guanajuato, Mexico, where my husband, Matt, and I are vacationing for a week. About a month ago, we found ourselves antsy and stressed, the consequence of having gone six months without a vacation. Pair our wanderlust with the miserable weather Houston has been experiencing lately and we had every reason to take a jaunt.

We wanted to go somewhere we’d never been, and following the advice of friends who vacation here frequently, we were intrigued by the notion of a vacation in Mexico that didn't include beach resorts and obnoxious tourists. This colonial-era city, located in Central Mexico, has turned out to be exactly what we wanted. With a population of around 140,000, San Miguel has a quaint, quiet appeal, just perfect for someone who enjoys the slow life as much as I do.

Ah…the scenery. Bountiful bougainvillea and pretty buildings in pastel and primary shades abound. But I’ve been most enchanted by the Baroque architecture, especially the stunning, hand-carved doors of buildings both commercial and residential. Seriously—I could walk around all day looking at the doors and nothing else. All these doors have me thinking about the “doors” in my life. It’s been a year since I launched my website and started blogging, and even though it took me quite a few months to get my “blog legs,” I’m pleased with where I am now. For years, blogging was a door I was afraid to open for fear of judgment and rejection. But once I opened that door and crossed the threshold, it was easy to leave the fear on the other side. And to close the door against it!

Doors are portals, representing transitions and new beginnings. But they also represent endings. Over the past few years, I’ve found myself closing doors to negativity, to people and behaviors that are no longer welcome on my journey. Yet, I am also opening doors to new, positive experiences and relationships.

There are still many unopened doors ahead of me, but I don’t see them as permanent barriers. I’ve been submitting my fiction to publications recently, and while the rejections I’ve received represent closed doors, at least I’m knocking. Someone will open eventually. I’m sure of it.

Back to San Miguel de Allende, this charming, hospitable city, with its doors standing wide open to visitors. It’s no wonder the foreign population here—primarily U.S. and Canadian citizens—numbers almost 8,000. Everyone on the street says hello—and genuinely, too, with a smile, as though you are already acquainted and they are happy to see you again. As I type this, I’m sitting in the verdant garden of our casita. A rooster I’ve dubbed Cogburn is sounding his alarm, while other birds croon merrily in the trees. The sun is shining and the temperature is a sunny 70 degrees. This vacation is nothing short of sublime. San Miguel is a door I am glad I opened.

Ode to Joy

I used to hate my name. Teachers struggled with it at the beginning of every school year. J-O-I. The wrinkled brows. The frowns. I’d imagine their inner monologue: What’s this ‘I’ doing here? Hmm, how do I say this? Joey? No. Jo? Yes, definitely Jo. I guess nobody told them Hooked on Phonics works for teachers, too.

The other thing I hated about my name (in addition to being serenaded with “Joy to the World” on a regular) was that it put me firmly in the exclusive club of kids who could never find their name on souvenir merchandise. Amy, Tony, Tiffany, Amanda, Joey, Natalie, Alex — they got keychains, refrigerator magnets, cups, pencils...all the personalized memorabilia! But Joi? Empty-handed every time.

Despite still being traumatized by a childhood bereft of personalized crap, I have grown to love my name. It’s special, just like the woman who gave it to me.

My grandmother was born Margaret, but changed her name to Joy when she became an adult. She liked Joy so much that, when my parents gave her the honor of naming me, she chose it again. Incidentally, Maria comes from Marie, my maternal great-grandmother’s name.

My family calls me Joy, Jr., and I suppose in many ways I am. I grew up wanting to emulate my grandmother. Confidence, humor, compassion, integrity. If I possess these qualities — and on a good day, I think I do — I got them from her. She has always been like a mother to me, and without her guidance, support, and encouragement, I’m not sure where I would be today. I’m not even sure who I would be. My grandmother still tells me she can’t wait to see my book in the “bookshop window,” never mind that I have yet to complete anything close to worthy of appearing in a bookshop window (or a bookshop bargain bin). And she’s been saying this since I was ten, a testament to how much she believes in me.

This Mother’s Day weekend, I’m reflecting on how lucky I am to still have my grandmother in my life. But with each passing year, I’m reminded our time together is not infinite. She has been hospitalized more times in recent years than I can count. Her memory isn’t what it used to be — during our phone calls, I find myself repeating things I’ve told her before, and often more than once. When we hang up, I am left with a bittersweet pang. It is good to hear her voice. I wish she didn’t sound so old.

My name. It is the greatest gift my grandmother has ever given me and it will be her legacy. I wish I’d always been so grateful.

Saturday Short: The Joi of Being Friendly

Running is more than cardio for me. It's also my time to meditate, brainstorm writing projects, or plan — whether it’s the day ahead, my next vacation, or my grocery list. When I’m running, I tend to focus only on the thoughts in my head. I hardly ever notice the other runners, walkers, or cyclists. That all changed the other day when a woman said “hello” to me, and it wasn’t until we’d already passed each other that I realized she’d even spoken. By the time I said “hello” back, she was too far past me to hear it. Was I really so distracted I couldn’t hear a friendly greeting or offer one of my own? I felt terrible. So much so, that I set off on my next run determined to greet each person with a smile and say, “Good morning.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d ever spoken to someone on the trail, but it was the first time I’d ever spoken to everyone on the trail. Most people responded in kind, and seemed pleased, if not delighted, to be acknowledged. Some people smiled and said “hi” to me first, once we’d made eye contact. If waves and hellos were currency, it would have been one profitable morning for me.

Of the few people who didn’t return my greeting, most appeared to be in their own world (I guess I’m not the only one who does this), while one man clearly saw me but ignored me anyway. Who knows? Maybe he was just having a bad day. I didn’t let any of this bother me. I realized it wasn’t about whether people reacted to me; it was about whether they reacted after me. I’d felt guilty when the woman said “hello” to me and I didn’t respond, but it had also felt good knowing she’d spoken to me in the first place. It had made me want to pay it forward. Perhaps some of these people would do the same.

I always finish my runs hopped up on endorphins, but this time there was something else: good vibes. I promised myself that from now on, I would always acknowledge the people sharing the trail with me. It’s a valuable lesson for life in general, really. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our heads we don't notice the people around us. Going through our days this way, it’s easy to forget we’re not alone. While some people may be strangers to us, we don’t have to treat each other as such. The ability to exchange a kind word or gesture with another person is what makes us human. And perhaps best of all, friendliness is free to give and receive.

An Exchange Between Brothers

by Matthew Probus

 

My brother Mike was born with one kidney. And it wasn't a very good one at that. To make matters worse, it was "positioned wrong," which prevented it from "draining" (or something like that). Anyway, it finally wore out. Just over a week ago, with his kidney function between 7-9%, he had transplant surgery. Right on time, I'd say. Certainly from Mike's perspective.

One more thing—I was Mike's living kidney donor. 

2015: The Cliff's Notes (Or Something Like That)

 

 

A gift from the hotel where I spent Christmas. How did they know?

I had every intention of penning one last 2015 post before the ball dropped, but a year-end cold took up all the room in my head. Let’s just say all the gunk in there impeded the creative juices. No coherent thoughts whatsoever. A thrice-daily cocktail of Whatever Cold Remedy You Can Get Your Hands On will do that to you. I barely even remember the week of Christmas and have only a scant recollection of the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. For that, I blame Whatever Cold Remedy You Can Get Your Hands On and champagne. Lots and lots of champagne.

So here I am feeling 100% again and the first full week of the New Year is almost over. With a clear head, I’m finally able to imagine the possibilities in store for 2016. But first, a reflection on my year past:

The Joi of the Slow Life

Istanbulites have it. Parisians have it. So do Florentines and Cariocas. I've also seen it along the dusty streets of Cairo and in London's East End lanes. It is a phenomenon I find most often when I'm on vacation in a foreign city, but it also occurs in cities domestic. I call it the slow life. And I'm trying to perfect it.