Toxic Productivity: You Don't Have to Over and Outdo Yourself In this Pandemic

I want to talk about something I’m calling toxic productivity. You may have heard of toxic masculinity, and toxic positivity. These ideas are so engrained in us that we forget that blindly adhering to them can actually harm us and negate the very experiences that signify them. Ok, that sounds too academic.

Let’s just say toxic positivity does absolutely no favors to one’s emotional health. Imagine you share with a friend your struggles, and you’re met with such dismissive, invalidating gems as, “Cheer up.” Or, “It’s not that bad,” or “Don’t worry about it,” or, my very most favorite example of toxic positivity: “Relax.” (I bet someone has done studies to show that when you tell someone to relax, most people’s bodies automatically do the opposite!)

Toxic masculinity is a whole other kettle of fish, but loosely speaking, it reinforces and in some ways celebrates and prioritizes those stereotypical, culturally acceptable “masculine” behaviors—telling our sons to buck up, chin up, don’t cry, and so forth. These attitudes don’t help anyone. Just because you have a penis doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings, don’t cry, or are incapable of expressing compassion or sensitivity. Ultimately, these examples are about negating our experiences, denying them, trying to transform them to unconsciously appease other people and maybe make ourselves feel better or fit in. But they mostly perpetuate negative behavior, the kind of behavior that builds up walls even further and can further push others away. Toxic positivity and masculinity are conversation enders; they’re definitely not bids for engagement.

Now what’s that got to do with productivity? Well, here’s the thing. I saw something recently, I don’t even remember where, but it was some meme online whose basic gist was If you’re not being productive or learning something or changing something in yourself or your house or your life during this period of extreme isolation—if you are basically not making good use of your time—you’re doing the pandemic All Wrong. I then saw someone really beautifully respond to it in a very grounded, compassionate spiritual way and it prompted me to first and foremost jump off social media for a little while. And then this was all tumbling around in my head, and I felt compelled to write this post.

It’s no accident I saw this meme on social media, because like oxygen, Toxic Productivity needs the external validation of social media in order to feed itself. And that’s partly what makes it so toxic—it masquerades as a bid for engagement but more often than not, it’s ego-driven behavior.

(I also resisted the ironic urge to post this link on social media—I am not perfect or immune to any of this either. Don’t get me wrong—this is, to some extent, my struggle, too. And don’t get me wrong—This isn’t a simple screed against social media. It has the power to do an incredible amount of good, and I really do enjoy using it most of the time. It has brought me closer to many people and permitted me to know others in far flung places. But it seems to do hold this power indiscriminately; and therefore, we need to be mindful of it. But I digress . . .!)

Think about the bigger picture with me for a minute. Americans more often than not prize productivity. Efficiencies. They save time, money, effort, etc. I get it. It’s something we do well and capitalism favors it.. (Thinking about the automobile right now, for example.) Sometimes it’s really gratifying—I’m all about kitchen efficiency, for example. But when you add in the very heavy dash of excessive sharing that’s happening because people need an outlet and the walls are closing in, it's like a Productivity Self-Improvement Parade. You’d think the whole world was putting on an addition to their home, starting a new business, learning a foreign language, reading the entire works of Shakespeare, learning how to make paella, doing 10,000 burpees everyday. And then immediately, automatically sharing it, in such a showy way, as if to say, ”Look at me. Look at what I am doing. I am being a useful citizen.”

The mere act of posting what you’re doing, in the context of the stay-at-home pandemic, is not necessarily a bid for engagement. It’s an unconscious bid for validation, and that, on the surface, is not necessarily a negative thing. However, more often than not, I’d argue the mere presence of a showy share on social media, right now, can easily generate much worse than the usual psychological side effects of jealousy, inadequacy, feeling “not enough.” Heck, it’s not even about FOMO (fear of missing out).—cause come on, we’re ALL missing out on stuff right now but technically there’s nothing to miss out on. Unless it’s fear of missing out on someone’s free Zoom call to tell you how to do XYZ. Or someone else’s Facebook live. Or something that someone else is doing that’s not what you’re doing and is therefore more interesting. Or so our brains have us think!

No, I’d argue that what we’re looking at here is FEAR OF DOING NOTHING. Most people do NOT want to sit still for more than 10-15 minutes. There’s nothing interesting about it. There’s nothing productive or to literally show for spending your day relaxing, reading a book, listening to music, napping, cooking a lazy dinner, or what have you. Nobody cares if you do nothing. There’s nothing to “share” about doing “nothing.” If a tree falls in Brooklyn…. you know how the saying goes. But I care, because I want you to do a whole lot of what seems like “nothing.” We have permission to slow down right now. I get it. It’s not easy. But in doing “nothing” you are actually permitting a whole lot more to happen on an internal level that will shift you more than you can possibly or immediately realize. Layers, people. They’re always there, waiting to be peeled back.

There’s nothing wrong with taking care of your property, learning a new skill, or what have you. But what’s the impetus? Do we feel like we SHOULD fix our house because we have time? Do we feel like we HAVE TO keep working out because we will feel terrible or gain weight? Why do we need to be so damned competitive with ourselves? Why do we need to tell everybody every little thing we are doing, all the time, as a culture? This is really peculiar, if you stop and think about it.

Did you let that sink in for a moment?

Ok. Let’s go on…..

The pandemic has taken the best and worst of social media and exploded these tendencies, times infinity. And that’s partly what makes it so unbearable and frustrating. You do feel sometimes like you miss out on something important because it is the nation’s water cooler. I’ve been using it for job leads—but less so, since the pandemic. How do you get to the good stuff? There’s no filter at the table. In between every bragging, obnoxious family member who’s glomming onto the virtual conversation and spoiling it with their annoying political memes or latest Snopes disproven forward about Irene Ken who knows how to treat coronavirus because she’s a nurse, there’s the favorite aunt who has something to say that will simply make you feel better. The problem? No one can see or hear her because she’s not, algorhythmically speaking, able to get a word in edgewise. She gets drowned out by the barrage of unpredictable statements, forwards, declaration of facts, figures and the latest celebrity to have Covid-19. This Wild West, this insanity, prompted my sister to wisely describe social media as “a dumpster fire” right now. Do you want to watch it? Do you want to stoke it? We can’t possibly douse it at this point, but we can voluntarily step back and contribute less oxygen to it.

If and when you take a step back, think about this for just a second. This idea that you should be DOING SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE during a pandemic other than taking good care of yourself, your family, and doing work if you are blessed (mixed blessing maybe for some) to have it, should be more than enough. This shit is exhausting. We are going through a collective, global trauma. I’m not going to gloss over that or advocate living in a bubble, with our hands over our ears (not completely, at least).

But let’s think about this. How do we cope? Maybe with lots of oversharing, but does that really make us feel better, or does it gloss over the inchoate sadness and emotional paralysis that can set in? Does it reinforce our separateness because people are sniping and arguing about who is and isn’t doing proper social distancing? Do we really need to voluntarily flagellate ourselves with the barrage of negativity in our feeds, and then automatically disappear into over-activity to escape and maybe cope? Do we need to become numb in order to cope? I have definitely gone into shut down just to get through the day sometimes, but I’d rather go into shutdown and then feel things the next day then go on autopilot and crash, super hard at the point of no return, when the black box navigation gets totally lost. These pauses let us stay on course.

What if we sat with all these difficult emotions and just let ourselves feel them? And then pass through us, without judgment? Yeah, here’s the yoga brain talking. Could we sit then learn how to really sit with each other, virtually or literally? Would we know how to engage with each other in meaningful ways?

What would that look like, if we dropped the outwardly focused social exchanges and went within, for even just a day? If we gave ourselves permission to read, journal, make art, reflect, create something beautiful just because, do a puzzle, or just take a nap in the afternoon if you are so blessed to be able to do so. In other words, we did “nothing,” which is really something that just felt good to us to do it. And we didn’t share it with other people. How would the experience change? How would we change? What if we actually talked to a friend because we felt moved to, because we’re walking and think of them and call them instead of texting? Or just randomly FaceTime a loved one because you can’t see them in person? These are life-altering times and these moments that we can seize, if we can see them, take them and share them, are little gifts. No one has to know. The satisfaction is solitary, or maybe it’s shared among a select few who experience it.

How we respond matters, both as individuals and as a collective. Are we learning new ways to take care of ourselves, and our loved ones and communities? How are we irrevocably changing our future by the way we are engaging with the present? What will life look like after this? What will our communities look like? How will we approach social media after this? Will its importance shift once we are able to see each other in person?

I, for one, would like to even more mindfully create meaning and authenticity in the connections with the people I love. And this introvert is thinking about throwing a big party and everyone gets at least one hug. “You get a hug!” You get a hug!” (say it like Oprah…) But seriously. Take a social media break for a couple days (or more) and see what kind of space opens up in your mind, body, and spirit. All those platforms will still be there when you return, if you return. I for one hope to return with a renewed sense of engagement, once I’ve taken the time to really meaningfully engage with myself and my family and friends in other more immediate, less passive ways. (And when the showiness dies down!) Social media does hold the potential to do such tremendous good. But in the meantime, if you do take a break, you’re likely to encounter a whole lot of silence, a whole lot of thinking and maybe a whole lot of feeling. And that’s ok. This will pass, and your thoughts and feelings are not in charge.

And then go call someone you love. They’re happy to hear from you, always.

The Sneaky Thief That is Grief

It hit me yesterday.

I was talking to my friend Ken, because why text if you can actually call someone on the phone these days and hear a voice as opposed to intuit a tone through written words. (Yes, you could always pick up the phone but some people are phone phobic, phone averse, or just not into it. But most people are very responsive to a phone call right now.) He said he had a tough day the day before, and I said, it is a roller coaster. He said, “it comes in waves, doesn’t it?”

Something about that phrase—it comes in waves—made me think immediately of grief. Immediately. The way it gobsmacks you in the middle of the most mundane activities, such as washing dishes or driving your car or shopping for groceries. Although these days, there is nothing unannounced about being sad while grocery shopping, it’s become a highly regulated, fraught activity marked by loss, too—loss of inventory. Crying in the grocery store is definitely permissible, and you’ll find that people are generally receptive to such outbursts more than usual because everything is thisclose to the surface for most of us. (I know, because I am a champion public crier. I know it probably freaks other people out, but sometimes it happens and I have no shame when it comes to emotions. Generally.) Not because we’re legitimately out of food in this country, but because of hoarding. That’s another story and yet another level of grief. It is a failure of leadership that has brought us to this place. And that, too, is another story, but I’m not here to get overly political.

But no, we are grieving something else. A bigger loss. A loss of personal freedoms, yes. A loss of predictable routine, yanked from our lives seemingly overnight, because we really weren’t prepared for this. A loss of the innocent act of walking out the door, talking to a friend or neighbor in close proximity. Going out to dinner. Getting in your workout at the gym. Going to work. Yes, that’s a loss, too. Or in my case, my regular connection with humanity ever since I’ve been unemployed—the yoga studio. Having your work search stopped dead in its tracks as you are close to getting a new job. Having your friends in food, beverage, and hospitality suddenly, deftly, scrambling toward whatever scraps of sustainability they can muster, while they can. It’s the loss of stopping in on my friend who owns one of my favorite shops downtown, or grabbing some scones, produce or flowers at the Easton Public Market. It’s all of that, and every inchoate thing you cannot articulate, because if you’re doing your diligence, you’re home and only going out to the grocery store right now, or work if need be.

Beyond our own little microcosms, we’re grieving the loss of an innocent spring. We’re grieving the absence of security and knowledge—we don’t know really how to combat this virus because it’s so new. So we stay home. We are dealing with anxiety, and that in itself is a form of grief. It’s a sadness, a perceived loss about how the future will go, what we won’t have. We are grieving the real loss of humans who are falling to this virus. We are grieving what hasn’t been and what may not be, and we are grieving the canceled, the delayed, the postponed. We’re grieving the overworked hospital employees, the first responders of all types. We’re grieving for the workers at supermarkets and all other essential employees. We’re grieving for those who get sick and can’t afford to take time off or get checked out or those, worse yet, who fall ill and don’t have a home. If you are a feeling, breathing, living sentient being with any shred of compassion, you’re feeling this.

If going through the reiki attunement process—and practicing yoga for many years before and during that—has taught me anything, it’s the nuanced way you experience the world if you’re empathic. You are sensitive; you can take on other people’s feelings. This is ultimately a gift, because it allows you to intuit a situation, a person, or an outcome. Unwittingly. Reiki has helped me filter the empath switch, but it allows me just enough access to empathize, without it derailing me. When it comes in doses. When the input can be modulated somehow.

But now is not one of those times. Because, my dears, this is why we are so overwhelmed when we are on social media. Instead of just that one random story about the shelter animal who needs a home, or the neighbor who lost everything in a fire, or someone losing a loved one, it’s every.single.item in your news feed. Social media tends to magnify experiences—it is both a positive and negative aspect—and the algorithms give you more of the same of whatever you read. If you want to talk to someone, you can definitely connect in social media and it absolutely does play a role in recovery and community building. (Not necessarily in that order.) You want to be informed, sure. But at what cost? Just because the Internet exists, doesn’t mean you have to let it steamroller over you with all its information. (We used to always say something similar to my mother: just because the phone is ringing in the middle of dinner, doesn’t mean you’re obligated to answer it. It’s an intrusion that you allow or block. Or delay responding to: That’s why there are answering machines, Mom!)

I urge you, though, to take it a step further. Get off social media and be intentional about who you talk to. Choose people with the right vibrations. Pick up your phone. Text a long lost friend. Do a group video. Set up a Hangout or Zoom meeting with your friends, with everyone in pajamas or whatever is going on in their little quarantined corner of the world. Find free stuff online—it’s everywhere, and I won’t pretend to know all the things.

This is a process of rebooting. It’s a reset. The fact that it’s happening for us in North America in spring is no accident. The planet is purging what it doesn’t need. It’s waking us up. We have so much to learn, but so little hubris as a human race to actually listen to it. I’m no better than anyone else, don’t mistake this. But I see what feels like the outlines of a bigger picture, and as my friend Paul said the other day, and I paraphrase, we will not be the same after this. (It’s transformative like 9-11 in that way, but worse because of the both immeasurable and measurable global scale.)

In some ways, this is really good. In other ways, in the ways that shake up stability and regularity and things like income and paychecks and homes, it’s more harrowing. However, I’ve been living in a prolonged state of unrest since the middle of 2017. I was just about to see the light at the end of the tunnel: new job, new place to live, etc. I’ve already been walking every day for I don’t know how long. I’ve got the good mindful habits of a divorced introvert: introspection, enjoying solitary time, yoga, reading, movies, meditation, cooking. I’ve been living my own little personal social distancing for a while, but I’ve been able to mindfully do so, with choice and intent. I pop out and become social when I want to and need to. This situation we find ourselves in is altogether different. It’s a forced isolation and many find it incredibly difficult for so many understandable reasons.

So here I am, on the precipice of that change when a temporary delay becomes put into effect. I know I am not alone this time, which is both better—the solution has to be bigger than just one person or a segment of the population, so I’m not going to drown alone nor will any of us drown, really. And it’s also, paradoxically, worse. And it’s the latter, because the feelings that come with the latter are heavy, dark, and too easy to succumb to.

However.

It’s time to go within. There is a peace that comes with knowing you are not alone. That you can take some steps to prevent illness—stay home if you can, wash your hands a lot, wash your clothes, get some fresh air as much as possible within reason, and without bumping into other humans. That you have to just at some point utterly surrender all of this to a higher power (or powers) of some sort, because you can’t control it. It’s alarming, disarming, all those sorts of pejorative words that strip us of our personal power and choice. But in that surrender, there is a flow, a grace, and some peace, if you can find it. I admit, it’s often a glimmer, and it often escapes before I can settle into it, but I’m working very hard to stay in that light.

Paradoxically, just as it’s time to go within, it’s also time to look outside ourselves. Strong communities already know how much we need each other. But it’s not too late to build it. We all need each other in various ways. Let’s not turn a blind eye to that fact. We are being broken down in order to be rebuilt, as individuals and as a society. What works. What doesn’t. What are the practices that enable that process? What are the ones that are less than salubrious? How might we learn from this? What are our defenses? What are useful ones? Which ones keep us from connecting and from real transformative change? Which ones can be easily overcome? Which ones, not so much? Which ones aren’t worth examining? So many questions unanswered, and that, too, is the beauty of the process. They won’t all need answers.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s a whole lot of crying going on. In the past few days, I’ve randomly burst into tears more times than I can count, and then they quickly subside. I’ve had conversations with the boys about this, when it happens. They get it, somehow. However, they’re with their dad for the past day or so, and even though I’ve kept it mostly together for our collective sake, I kind of unraveled in the past 24 hours. (I know I will have a crying hangover tomorrow; I have a migraine hangover today). I cleared myself, centered myself, pulled some cards, and one of them said “Write.” I went to make lunch, and in the middle of making lunch, I replayed my conversation with Ken and the line about coming in waves and what I said about grief. And I just came upstairs, got back on my bed with my laptop, and this just happened.

When we are met with challenges, a crisis, or trauma, we often resort to our factory-setting habits as it pertains to how we cope. I’ll leave it to you to determine what your default coping mechanisms are. Some are more helpful than others; some divide us, some cause strife, some harm us, some are emotionally damaging. As I just ran this idea by a friend, for a gut check, she unwittingly provided me with the last line of this blog post—Now is the time to release those habits if they are not for our highest good.

Stability Soup, or Sweet Potato Swiss Chard Soup

Recently, in yoga class, we did some seriously destabilizing things in our flow. Chair pose on the balls of the feet—ok, done that before. But have you ever done down dog with your feet on a blanket and then push back to plank using your feet on the blanket to slide yourself up and out? Did you ever place a blanket on the four corners of your mat, and then put your right foot and right hand on blankets while your left foot and left hand are on the mat, while in plank? How about a Warrior 2 with the back foot on, you guessed it, a blanket?

The point of all this was to get us to really think about the ways in which we are—and are not—engaging in the poses. And the ways in which we are perhaps going through the motions with poses that are very familiar to most of us. In what ways are we going through the motions in life? In what ways are we actually really engaging and feeling all the feels? How do we respond to difficulty? These are some of the questions.

The biggest question, though, is what happens when stability is threatened. When the usual way of grounding oneself in a pose is thrown off kilter? The parameters are blurry, the rules of engagement have changed and they will change yet again.

You can see how this is a metaphor for life.

My adrenals are not cooperating lately, and I’m getting tired more quickly. As a result, my practice is very much in flux. Some days I can handle a flow like this like a champ, and other days my body feels like it weighs a ton and is like a recalcitrant child. I’ve been at this long enough that. I know to take child’s pose, and I don’t have an ego about it. It’s all good. Paying attention to the body is half the battle with yoga. This practice was the sort of all-engrossing type, where you have to be completely present with your body in order to stay aligned and stay safe. Which we did. There is no time or space for the mind to wander. And there were 22 of us in that room, so we were all feeling it together, and falling out of poses and laughing, and expressing our default behavior when things get tough. I found myself adapting to standing in warrior 2 on my towel instead of my blanket, which just kept slipping regardless of anything I did to engage my feet or adductors or outer hips. The towel gave me a little more traction, but not enough to completely do the work for me the way the foot, in direct contact with the earth, would.

I had a rather visceral reaction to this practice, as did many. I was frustrated. I was tired. I adapted. I modified, but I stayed with it. I laughed. I slid like I was on ice. I laughed some more. I had a fleeting moment of tears welling up. In short, I was all over the map. Later on, I realized that the practice was so incredibly challenging because my life has been destabilized for the past two and a half years or so, almost three. The mat practice has been my solace, as it is for many who practice.

What’s all this anatomical nitty gritty got to do with soup, you may be asking.

I decided to make some soup and share it with a friend who was doing me a yogic favor this weekend. I just bought some sweet potatoes at the farmers’ market, and some beautiful swiss chard from a hydroponic grower that’s new to the Easton Farmers’ Market this year.

Potatoes have so many benefits, but mostly, right now, they are a grounding food. We are in winter, contrary to what the thermometer says and the increasingly longer hours of sunlight are telling us. The foods that keep us tethered to winter are root veggies. They grow underground and send their signals out to gather nutrients and strength in order to grow. Winter roots us in similar ways, but we are definitely in a moment of impending emergence and change.

In the meantime, preamble aside, this soup tastes great. Puree or serve it as is—I happen to like the interaction of the flavors when it’s pureed. Something happens with the earthy bitterness of the Swiss chard when it’s pureed with white beans and sweet potatoes. It becomes transformed and less of itself and more of the whole. I know what you are thinking: it looks like baby food.

For this soup, I used purple sweet potatoes and straight up sweets, but you can use what you have on hand. This would be good with Yukon golds, too, but just not as sweet. Sage is the most prominent herb here, which given the yogic element of this soup, seems to make a lot of sense.

I call this Stability Soup, because it is full of grounding foods, because soup is a grounding practice that keeps you both engaged and watchfully detached (chopping and boiling, simmering and waiting, keeping an eye on things from a distance, but trusting it will do its thing while you do something else. And that’s where the magic happens. That’s where you’re on the mat.)

Ingredients

• 1 cup chopped onions

• 2 tablespoons olive oil or butter

• 4 cups chicken or vegetable stock, or water

• 2 cups chopped sweet potatoes, purple or otherwise

• 1 teaspoon dried sage (I used Dalmatian rubbed sage, which is fluffier) or 1 Tablespoon fresh

• 2 cups Swiss Chard, roughly chopped

• Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Over medium heat in a Dutch oven or other large stockpot, melt the butter. When the butter has melted, add the onions and saute for 4-5 minutes until translucent. Add salt and pepper and stir.

Add in the stock, sweet potatoes and sage, and turn the heat up to medium-high. Cover, and bring to a boil. Once the soup boils, pop the lid so it’s slightly askew, turn the heat down to low, and let it simmer for 15 minutes. Check the potatoes—sweet potatoes cook more quickly than yellow or white potatoes.

Once the potatoes have become tender (they may pierce with a fork), add the Swiss chard and stir gently until it wilts. Season with salt and pepper, to taste, again.

Puree in batches in a high-speed blender, or serve as is.

Serves: 6-8 depending on bowl size and appetite!

Hello, Friends

It has been a while since I have posted regularly, but that needs to—and will—change.

So much has happened of late. It sounds like a cliche, but it’s truth.

I’m looking for a full-time job. This in and of itself is a full-time job. It has been testing my patience, trust, and all those thing that trying times do to you. They try you. They are TRYING to get you to surrender. I think that’s what that is.

Here’s how I have been thinking about it. I was telling a friend over the weekend I am trying to bring to my situation what we call in yoga a balance of effort and ease. I need to put some degree of consistent effort into the process, but I also have to balance it with ease and some surrender. That I’ve done my part. I did the application, the cover letter, the resume, the references, the interview, or whatever it is. And then I have to just let it go. That is the toughest part, because that is when the brain wants to kick in and sabotage all that hard soul-level work by remembering all the things you forgot to say or do or “should” have done.

Earlier last week, my brain was really running roughshod over my feelings, trying to convince me of all sorts of things. The brain can be such a bully, and it thinks it’s in charge. It really WANTS to be in charge. But there are other forces and elements at work, always, and the brain doesn’t like to lose control. Because if it can problem solve its way out of a paper bag, it will. But dang it, that’s not always a helpful approach. This is something I have learned. I do much better in life when I TRUST the process and don’t overthink it. I just go with it, I listen to my intuition and do what I feel is right. I usually then am rewarded in some regard, but rewarded sounds like an ego-driven word. Like I’m getting a cookie for doing the right thing. (I’d take a cookie, thanks.) What I mean to say is that I receive some element of validation that I’m on the right track.

What if it’s just a matter of trusting that the situation is going to be handled and taken care of, that the Universe, God, spirit, etc., will not let you down, and then letting it go? What if it’s just as easy—and difficult—as all that? We struggle with this, of course, at times, and that is part of the process. Trials clear us out for what is next for our growth and for what we are best aligned with.

As my sister told me, every time she got laid off (it’s been a few), she’s landed somewhere that puts a better, more fine point on what she feels she wants to do with her life. We are often thrust into change, but trusting that the changes are for the best isn’t always easy when you’re living on a strict budget of unemployment and doling out savings like it’s gold and you have to move in a few months and you’re cooking the most remedial, basic dinners because they are cheap. What I really want? Land the perfect job in perfect timing (IE RIGHT NOW), live somewhere for more than a year, and go to the grocery store and just buy things for recipes I’ve never tried. If you’re me, that is your idea of splurging. (Or going somewhere on a trip. Even a short one. I won’t even utter the word vacation; it’s been several years since that happened.)

We are accustomed to life being full of drama and ups and downs, and yes, sometimes it is. But think of this. How much of this drama do we create and then perpetuate ourselves through worry, stress, anxiety, and self-doubt? Sometimes these things serve us a bit—I don’t mean to denigrate negative emotions and just spout toxic positivity here (You’ll never get a “suck it up, buttercup” from me). Instead, it goes back to that old adage my dad taught me when I was a kid, that many of you probably know, too: It’s not what happens in life, it’s how you respond to it that makes a difference. Most of the time, we’re conditioned to sort of hit the panic button. It takes active practice to reel yourself in. I’d say I’m successful 60 to 80 percent of the time. But it’s by no means permanent. This is total flux, people. We can curtail the drama we create with our responses, sometimes more easily than others. And sometimes there are cosmic forces that are propelling you to feel all those feels.

But let’s get back to this faith situation. And it’s not a blind faith in something, necessarily. You’ve done the work to get where you are. How often do we just intuitively know the unvarnished truth at the heart of a situation, but it’s hard to trust it will show itself in a way that we recognize? OFTEN.

I find myself actively arresting a thought that will derail me from this path of believing it will all work out. It’s like the equivalent of putting your hands on your ears and going “I CAN’T HEAR YOU! NO NO NO NO NO!”

A little comic relief, yes.

Right now, I’m waving the white flag in surrender, universe. Bring it all on. All the good things, please and thank you, and I’ll get to work making a difference.

What color is the flag of victory, though? I haven’t found it yet, but I’ll know it when I see it—and feel it.

About the Dharma Kitchen and Carrie Havranek

I'm a writer and editor, cookbook author, culinary instructor, baker. I’m also a Reiki master, intuitive, yoga devotee and nature lover—that’s how OM meets YUM at the Dharma Kitchen. I believe the earth has the power to heal through its foods, trees, and medicinal herbs, flowers, and plants, but we need to heal it, too.

I have 20 years of experience as a writer and editor, much of it with food and travel. I can translate chef speak and food terms and develop recipes that work for the average home cook—or whomever needs it! I also have a keen eye for editing, and my experience ranges from editing academic manuscripts and web content and newsletters and articles and more. I can tackle your SEO problems, your newsletter needs, social media challenges, and pitch in for some marketing crisis communications, too, if need be—I can hit the ground running. I'm fast, efficient, thorough, good-natured, and responsible. I work with brands to promote their businesses and goals in the food space, too. I’m up for a project if it’s a good fit.

If I'm not at home in the kitchen, I’m at the farmers’ market, doing yoga, or walking, walking, walking outside. Some of my other favorite places include Maine, the Pacific Northwest, the middle of the woods, water, and farms.

Some recent works:

Long-Form Reported Journalism:

• Cracking the Code: A Guide to Buying Eggs Edible Philly, Spring 2017

• In the Lehigh Valley, Your Cheesesteak Comes with Red Sauce Serious Eats, October 2014

• Picking the Perfect Peach, Edible Philly, Summer 2015

Recipes:

How to Make Pad Thai, Simply Recipes, March 29, 2019

 Air Fryer Mozzarella Sticks, August 16, 2019

Essay
Why We Abandoned the Kids’ Table at Thanksgiving 

The Kitchn, November 2015

https://www.thekitchn.com/kids-are-people-too-invite-them-to-the-thanksgiving-table-225783

Books

My first cookbook has been published! In August 2019, Farcountry Press published Tasting Pennsylvania.

I also co-authored Frommer's Guide to Philadelphia and the Amish Country (Wiley/Frommer’s, 2011).

In 2008,  Greenwood published my book Women Icons of Popular Music: The Rebels, Rockers, and Renegades.

Education

My alma maters include Douglass College at Rutgers University (B.A. Journalism; B.A. American Studies and New York University (M.A., Journalism).