Happiness is knowing a secret

I think secrets taste like lindt chocolates. You know the kind you get a christmas with the creamy middle? Yeah, those. Most are just the milk chocolate kind. They're good, and you can probably down a couple throughout the day, but they are fleeting too, the richness only stays as long as the secret is still a secret, but somehow those never really last very long. Some of them are wonderful dark chocolate secrets that you like to savor for as long as you can, enjoying every bit of the bitter and the sweet. That kind sticks around for a while, and you really can't handle having all that many of them. Somehow, probably because the bitter is just that much stronger in the dark chocolate and that actually makes the sweet taste sweeter, you cling to them, and the flavor of it seems to last. Sometimes, they are the more unusual kind, like the peppermint or the coconut. Those always take a certain kind of person and a certain kind of day to enjoy them.


There are some secrets that you just burst to share, and there are some secrets that are healthier once they are shared. But the reality of life is that everyone has a few secrets that make them so unsure of themselves they hide them away. I don't really think we are as alone in those kinds of secrets as we think we are. In fact, I wouldn't call then secrets at all, I would simply call those "insecurities".

Because if we never share them at all, they aren't really secrets, now are they? Just like if all you ever do is stare at the chocolate or leave it sitting on your dresser, you never really get the fun of eating it and savoring it. Secrets have to be temporary things. Imagine if you got your friend the greatest birthday present, only to never have them open it. And imagine if you simply took them shopping and never got to choose something and wrap it up. Neither of them taste quite the same as selecting and wrapping a present and then anticipating the chance when they get to open it. You have to time things so that your secrets are your secrets for only as long as you can savor them and enjoy them.

Secrets to me are actually just wonderful evidence of friendship. You know how special you feel when your friend decides to trust you with a secret? And you know how great it feels to have a secret and to know just exactly the right person you are going to tell it to? Yeah, those are the kinds of secrets that taste just like chocolate. And those are the kinds of secrets that are really happy to have, because they mean that you mean something to someone, and because they means that someone means something to you.

Happiness is walking hand in hand...

This one is out of order. Sorry about that. It's not that I didn't have anything to say so much as I mixed up my days and sort of forgot about this line.

Oh HO! You are thinking... who is Nancy walking with "hand in hand"? (I should have said "with whom" but it sounded all sorts of pretentious.)

Well I hate to disappoint on the gossip front, but right now, its CS Lewis. Although since he is dead, that has the potential to be a bit of a grotesque image... So let's say its more that I am walking and his book is in my hand. Which actually proves to be grotesque on another front, because I have a hard time holding a book in my hands without reading it so I end up trying to read while I am walking causing me to run into things, people buildings, etc.

Yup, rough life.

Anyways. I love to read for a number of reasons. One is for the adventure and escape, thus the books like "Count of Monte Cristo" and "Harry Potter". Another is for humor, particularly the dry and witty kind that I wish I could just come up with so I glean one-liners from novels by Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett. The biggest reason I read though, is that I like to find people, especially published people, that agree with me. Or rather, that I agree with. And its especially fun if the person that I agree with is someone smart or respectable or both. Like CS Lewis.

So I'm reading a collection of his letters that were published together just a year or two ago. And one of the things that I came across was his discusion with a close friend on the concept of love. Which as you know if you've read for very long, I'm a little cynical about.

Hang on, we've been through this. It's not cynicism, it's simply a disbelief in the traditional concept of romanticism and a deep psychological need for control. Or something like that.

But we digress. CS Lewis, in the middle of a discussion of the various greek words for love (in the biblical context), points out that most of the cultural definition of love involves a concept of romanticism that is outside of our own agency, and that it simply doesn't make sense that we would be commanded to do something which we can not control. He concludes that real love can not be remotely the same as what we view as romanticism.

Now lest I offend you romantics out there, he also points out that real love must grow out of something, and often romanticism serves as the foundation for a relationship that eventually produces real love. So I suppose I do have some adjusting of my attitude on the whole thing. I can take correction, especially when it is well founded on philosophy and logic. And when it comes from CS Lewis.

Is this too rambly? Am I making any sense at all? Here's the sum-up. CS Lewis and I agree that love has to be a choice. We also agree that love as a lasting emotion grows out of love as a choice and an action. Its the exact same reason I want the movie "Princess Diaries 2" to end where the fiance admits he is not "in love" but declares that he will keep his commitments and follow through with the marriage and learn to love her over the years. I personally have always thought that was the absolute most "romantic" part of the whole movie. And now I see that CS Lewis would agree with me. That's very affirming. It's almost like he came along and took my hand and walked with me for a few minutes.

Happiness is two kinds of Ice Cream

I stopped eating Ice Cream back in November. It was the stats Milkshake thing combined with wintertime and a little stress and a sort of a push on the diet thing. I don't know exactly when the last Ice Cream I had was, I do know that things sort of came to a halt with that on the night I was packing to go to Thanksgiving, I thought I might like some Ice Cream, so I got it out to thaw, and then I got distracted and finished packing and went to bed. When I woke up in the morning, the Ice Cream was still sitting out and more than a little bit soupy. I threw it away and hadn't bought any to replace it....

Until New Year's eve.

That's when I suddenly remembered about ColdStone. Not that I had forgotten that ColdStone existed, just that I had forgotten about ColdStone's holiday flavor. Dark Chocolate Peppermint.

Of course, the sudden recollection of it's existence merited an immediate trip to the local shop, just to reassure myself that it was still there. And it was. And I found a coupon for those take-out quarts of ice cream.

But when I went by in the afternoon to check these things out, I got stuck in like behind some sort of relief society group who was having massive difficulties choosing their ice cream. I stood there for an appropriate amount of time before I gave an audible exasperated sigh and walked back out. (I was going to be late for work if I had to wait any longer, and only one of them had managed to order yet.)

So I went back after work. I bought Dark Chocolate Peppermint mixed with brownies and Cake Batter mixed with cookie dough. I'm enjoying a little of it now. And maybe it has everything to do with the "B" in stats that means I will never have to take it again. Or maybe it's just because I have a bit more self control and a little less need for emotional eating. And maybe it has everything to do with the fabulous flavors I chose and the rich creamy ColdStone goodness. Whatever it is, Charlie Brown was right. Happiness is two kinds of Ice Cream.

Happiness is playing the drum in your own school band

OR maybe its just getting the part you wanted in the school band. And for some of us, its just getting any part at all in the school band.

Or in the church choir.

And I know it's probably getting old, but you may have to hear about this again. Because choir school starts on Tuesday, and I have to admit to feeling a little nervous.

Nervous? Why? I mean, You are IN, aren't you?

Well, yes. But IN doesn't always mean all that it seems to mean.

I mean, I was IN the music program at BYU, and still a certain voice teacher managed to tell me that there was "No natural beauty" in my voice. Which tends to make a girl second guess herself. I was, in fact, in and out of the program several times before I actually graduated out of it.

Plus, they keep sending these letters and emails, full of instructions and warnings and such. What if I screw this up? What if I sing out of tune, forget the words, can't find the right door to walk in, or park my car in the wrong lot?

This is waaaay more complex than the school band.

I know all I really want to do is keep my head down and sing. I'm certainly not one of those people that walks into a choir and tells the director how to run things. For all of the enjoyment I get out of certain diva-ism, all I really want is to be a member of the choir. Sure, in theatre I want a challenge, but in the choir, I want to blend (a near impossibility with my voice). I've seen enough obnoxious self-appointed backseat directors to know that I will be more appreciated as the quiet girl on the back row. (I'm always on the back row, I'm too tall to be allowed anwhere else) It's just that I don't want to screw that up. The goal this time is actually just to fly under the radar, do what I'm told, be prepared, and blend.

Blend? Me? I guess we'll just have to see, now won't we...

Happiness is learning to whistle, and tying your shoe for the very first time...

My grandpa could whistle, I can't. I'm actually a little ashamed of that. Grandpa's whistle was one of those sharp and clear and LOUD whistles that got everyone's attention. My whistle is weak, particularly considering I played the flute, it should be a little more solid than it is. And I can only whistle when I'm inhaling. Don't quite know why that is. In fact, sometimes when I'm driving all alone I try to practice whistling, but whistling while exhaling only leaves me gasping for breath. I feel fairly insecure about this gap in my musical ability, but it turns out its a fairly common thing for people to not be able to whistle. I know several people who have only figured out how by using coping methods similar to my whistling by inhaling. One good friend whistles out of the side of her mouth, and another person I know just blows air through her lips and pretends like there is sound coming out. It's not that Grandpa didn't try to teach me, in fact, thanks to him I can whistle a blade of grass and even tune it to varying pitches. That is a mad skill that I think makes all the difference for my lack of independent whistling.

But while we are on the subject of learning basic skills with our own coping skills, I should mention the tying shoes thing. My dad ties his shoes different than anyone else I know. He taught me his way when I was in 1st grade, and I did that for a few years before some little girl in my fourth grade class told me I was doing it wrong. I was very concerned, perhaps that I had committed a social atrocity by tying my shoes the wrong way, and so I asked her to teach me the real way. She did, and I blissfully continued my life thinking that I finally fit in properly. Until one day I saw my dad tying his shoes the old way, the way I had learned before. I am grown up enough now to realize that it really doesn't matter how you tie your shoes, as long as they get tied, and so now every time I tie my shoes, I find myself with options. Do I tie them my dad's way, or the normal way? How lucky am I that I know both!?

So why am I still ashamed of the whistling thing? I mean, is it really necessary to whistle with the best of them? I'll be just fine without it, just like I'll be just fine without being able to only raise one eyebrow at a time (even though I still desperately want to learn that), and I'm sure I'll be fine without being able to wiggle my ears, wear nail polish, run in a straight line, or put things in alphabetical order without singing the song. And when it comes to whistling and tying your shoes, I guess its less about how you do it as it is about actually being able to. And even if you can't do some of those useless things, you probably have a few other useless tricks up your sleeve.

Happiness is telling the time?

Isn't this Linus's line? I seem to remember something about him getting a new watch in the comic strip. For some reason as a kid I remember our bookshelves holding a few volumes of Peanuts books.

But why? Linus, I suppose, felt some new sense of power over his destiny, what with the ability to tell time. Plus, the watch was a gift, and it was a gift that he somehow felt grown up enough to understand and use. Now if I had a chance to chat with Linus about the whole thing, I would tell him to get rid of that watch, that time has a nasty habit of running faster and faster and pretty soon he would be able to tell it anything at all, he would be so busy running after it, trying to catch even a little bit of it. A clock of any type, wristwatch or microwave or alarm or the one hanging on the chapel wall on Sunday afternoons, really just has a way of dictating the hours and minutes and seconds left until we run out. Like the way the clock on my computer is telling me just how much time I don't have left to do stats homework, just how much time I have wasted doing anything other than stats homework, and just how much time I really don't want to be spending on stats homework. Maybe Linus was counting down to something else. He always did have a struggle when his blanket was in the dryer. Perhaps he was counting down the time until his trusty blue friend was returned to his arms, warm and static-y. Perhaps instead of counting down to finals and papers and that big stats grade, I would find more happiness in counting down to something good. Like ice cream or springtime or January 5th. Maybe I'll count down to when I curl up with my own blankie in a warm bed. Ah yes, there it is. Happiness is tellling the time.

Happiness is pizza with sausage

Actually, I'm not really a fan of sausage. Particularly not on pizza. As a breakfast food it's a little more lovable, particularly if it happens to roll through a puddle of maple syrup, giving it that salty-sweet blend of greasy goodness... But in general, I could live without it. It's ham that I truly love, on my pizza, in my crepe, on a sandwich, and also laying in a puddle of maple syrup. Oh you dieting people, hoping to take off pounds before you start indulging in Christmas fudge or even trying to get a jump start on that ridiculous American tradition of failing at your new year's resolutions, I can hear you whining at me through my computer screen. I should quit talking about such fattening and tempting things, lest I inadvertently send you out on a rampaging search for the nearest piece of chocolate covered bacon. Well I say get over it. 2010 is a month away, I know you've already destroyed your 2009 goals, and 2010 will offer just as many months for failure. December is perfect timing really, for all of the holiday sweets and indulgences.

But of course, I say this all while reveling in dietary success. And I am going to say it loudly and proudly. Have you noticed that there is a lot of talk out there about diet failure, a cultural leaning towards negative dietary speak and a bevy of commercials aimed at capitalizing on such negativity. Think of it, when was the last time you heard a friend say "I love my diet! I get to eat such wonderful exciting things and I feel so good!"? And if you are snarky enough to tell me you've actually heard someone say that recently, then tell me this: did you honestly believe them? No, really believe them. Were you sitting at a restaurant, and a discussion came up about whether or not to split the dessert, and they declined even a bite of that chocolate molten lava cake all the while proclaiming the beauty of their diet? And I will bet you your thoughts were a blend of guilt ("I should probably....") and disbelief ("you protest, but I see you drooling and yearning for it"). Why do we do this to ourselves? Even if we do enjoy the cake, we do it in protest of all that will later land on our thighs, when in reality, its not our thighs that are complaining but the public image! All the while you are listening to friends put the same face forward, but you never really hear about or believe the success. You hear if it failed, you hear if they gave up, you hear all sorts of excuses, but you don't hear "why yes, I'd love to split the dessert with you, because I am comfortable with myself and my image and I live a pretty damn healthy lifestyle!" Why aren't we allowed to say that?

A number of people have asked me about my dietary success. They want to know just what I am doing, and they say it with a little bit of hope in their eyes. Maybe they are hoping that I found the one magic diet pill that actually works (nope) maybe they are hoping that I have landed on the perfect combination of pastries and french fries that leads to a slim figure (nada) and maybe they are hoping that I will plug some "slimfast" type program (I'm not going to waste my dollars, really). And mybe they are just hoping that I won't give an obnoxious person lecture on carrotsticks and treadmills, gym memberships and removing refined sugar from my diet. Well I promise, I won't give that lecture either. I won't spout some LA weight loss joke which will only cost $349 a month and I won't proclaim love for a personal trainer. I'm not what you would call slim either. Just slimmer and getting more so every day, slowly slowly but enough so that I feel good about the things that are happening. The reality of what I have discovered in weight loss secrets is so golden that I should truly be proclaiming it from the rooftops.

But its wintertime, my roof is slippery, and all I really have is this blog. So you, dear readers, will be the unwitting recipients of the gold mine that is Nancy Beth's diet. Are you ready?

I'm happy.

That's it. Its the key to weight loss and healthy living as I know it. It's not just a question of limiting the number of chocolate milkshakes I have in a week. It's also a question of allowing myself one when I really want one. It's not just about cutting out donuts and replacing them with carrot sticks. It's about acknowledging that I kind of like carrot sticks particularly if they are deep fried like a donut and then dipped in ranch dressing. It's not about 6 miles on the treadmill in the morning and a stroll through the neighborhood every night. It's about walking when I feel like walking and driving when I am too tired to walk anymore.

The other day I was in between classes and I suddenly wanted a donut. So I bought one. And guess what? I still fit into my jeans the next day. But also, on another recent occasion, I was eating a meal with my friends, and I thought to myself, "I don't really want to finish this" so I didn't. And on Thanksgiving, this weird and new thing happened to me. I fininshed a plate of amazing food and wandered back into the kitchen for seconds and stared at the marvelous pot still nearly full to the brim with mashed potates (mashed potatoes with crispy crispy bacon chunks and slices of leeks in them... so yummy) and I thought "meh. One serving was enough." And the morning afer thanksgiving, when I got up and found that pies were still strewn across the kitchen, I had a slice with whipped cream and a little scoop of ice cream. And I don't think that caloric intake was any more than what I would have done if I had planted myself in front of those potatoes the night before.

And this morning, for breakfast, I had a mini-Crunch bar. And a glass of milk. But yesterday I had a bowl of Chex (not the whole box... just a bowl). And I excercised this morning too. I put up a Christmas tree, wrapped it in lights, and then practiced the organ for a while. That burns waaaaay more calories than catching the morning show or loading new songs onto my ipod shuffle with the intention of running.

It's so easy, nobody would ever be able to sell it. But you heard it here from me, your friend. This holiday season, you should have that piece of fudge that you really really want. And if it is gross then you shouldn't finish it. But if it is good, maybe you should have another, because the next time the fudge is passed it might be that nasty whitish stuff with the nuts in it. And then when the holidays are over and you feel slightly bloated because it turns out that your friends are better at making fudge then you thought they would be, you should find something you love to do. Like singing or practicing a new instrument or walking in the snow or packing up Christmas decorations so that the lights won't be a tangled mess next year. And you should do those things with all your heart that make you feel happy. Because just breathing burns calories. And learning the cello will do more for your heart and head than forcing yourself to a treadmill in front of a television. And if you do feel yourself slipping into the chocolate milkshake stupor, with the cast of Glee keeping you company and an obscene number of empty gallon buckets collecting under your kitchen sink, you should do that thing that makes you happy instead. I'm not telling you to cut out Glee and milkshakes entirely, but one night a week is probably just enough time to give your walking feet or piano fingers or tennis elbows a rest before you return to actively making yourself happy. Order yourself a pizza while you are at it, it goes very well with chocolate milkshakes. And if you happen to like sausage, go ahead and double it. I guarantee you will still fit into your jeans the next day.