CHAPTER 1

Want A ProblemWith That Problem?

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Was I overlydramatic because I was a well-loved young girl whowanted for nothing? Or, was it simply my nature? Either way,I found myself growing up to be a vibrant, confident younglady who had a knack—or perhaps you could say, a flare—forthe overdramatic. I remember being a kid and my dad tryingto explain to me that there is a difference between a "bugscream" and a "rape scream". Somehow, even as a young child,everything was worth screaming over ... and loudly.

As a young adult, I studied and was fascinated by yoga andmeditation, learning about the body's response to stress. I wastaught that if you react to a stimulus, any stimulus—yes evenstubbing your toe—with the same intensity as if your housewas on fire, your poor body does not know the difference. Thestress hormones that your body will create will be the same.Your breathing will get just as shallow; your mind will race,your heart will pound, and the anxiety will be real.

I attended a yoga class one fateful Monday evening. Theinstructor had a lovely peaceful energy about him, and he spokewith a thick South American accent. As he began to lead usthrough our practice, he kept telling us to "just breathe." Slowlythe room got hotter and hotter and I began to realize that hewas heating the room. We were mat to mat, like sardines pilednearly on top of one another, and as the heat grew and the beadsof sweat began to form on my forehead, I began to feel veryuncomfortable. Our teacher walked through the room verycalmly as we all began to huff and heave. He gently remindedus that if we kept breathing with ease, all would be well. Easyfor him to say, he wasn't trapped between sweaty bodies withhis head between his knees.

He asked us to move into a lunge position, and as I raised myarms over my head, and my legs began to shake uncontrollably.I had the sudden urge to swear at him, to curse the entire studio,and bolt. He began to speak more forcefully to us now, "Steady,steady!" He told us to ground down, and reminded us that whenthe mind told us to quit, the body would go on, but only if wefocused and breathed. I was shaking inside and out, confidentthat my legs would give out at any moment, and my boneswould simply break. It was official: I was dying.

Finally, after several minutes of pain and torture, we camedown from the pose and the entire room sighed loudly, as ifcollectively telling him that he was being an asshole. Calmly, hetold us to step into a forward fold, completely unaffected by ourhatred towards him. The next thing I know, as I held oppositeelbows and let my torso hang over my legs, he approached me.I hoped he would walk right on by, but, of course, he stoppedat my mat and placed a hand tenderly on my low back. With awarm smile on his face, he softly told me to breath, and thenproceeded to press down hard, rooting me into place, whileurging my head forward until it was between my shins. Thelevel of panic I felt was epic. I was anxious and terrified. I wascertain that my spine was about to shatter and the backs of myknees were going to snap. I began to cry. I didn't care who heardme—this man was about to murder me! To my tears and sobs,he answered serenely, "Yes, that's right."

Wondering who this sociopath was and how he got a jobhere, was the only distraction from my agony. Then suddenlyfrom deep within my body, there came a beautiful release, asoftening. Suddenly, my body flopped with ease over my legsand beyond. Some tightness I had been carrying for years, orperhaps my whole life, just let go. The tears flowed now, notfrom pain, but from freedom. All the drama released, leavingbehind only the real, vulnerable, quiet me.

Once I released the stress, the drama miraculously ceased tohave power. I began to understand that in these moments, when Iwas facing one stress, many other sources of stress in my life andbody, come out of hiding. So, a situation that got under my skindays ago, which I brushed off, now suddenly bothers me again,only now with more ferocity and intensity. On that particularday, in that particular yoga pose, I was suddenly mad at theworld, my body, every job I didn't get, and every unhealed pain.

So why do we do this? Why do we spiral down the rabbit holeso dramatically when one thing goes wrong? Why do we createproblems on top of our problems? Why do we cause ourselvesmore pain and suffering? Why do we get so upset at ourselvesfor having problems in the first place, feeding ourselves withguilt and shame?

I think it is because we don't feel heard. We all want to beheard; we all want to be special. Just like a child who screamsand cries for attention, any attention will do, even if it's negative.We want to be able to say to the world, "Look at me, poor me!Look how hard it is for me!" We just want to be heard. Whenthat teacher placed his hand on my back and forced me to lookat myself, and really listen I heard my own pain, and then itstopped crying so loudly.

What I learned is that I cannot control who stops to listen, or ifI am heard or seen or touched or loved by anyone ... anyone but me.I can listen. I can hear. Instead of being angry with myself for whatinjustices have happened or how I have handled a situation, I caninjustices have happened or how I have handled a situation, I canstop and give myself love instead of judgment. I can be the friend Iwant most. I can soften and say, "Yeah, that is tough. You're gonnabe okay. I love you for trying. You're doing good, kid."

Problems, change, chaos, and movement are all a part oflife. We can't evolve without them; what we can do is see themfor what they really are—nothing more, nothing less. My fatherused to always tell me that some days are "test days." Our scoreon the test is irrelevant. Our showing up with a willingness tolearn is the difference. And, what's more, perhaps our "test"days are actually "opportunity" days. On the other side of pain,is freedom, should we be brave enough to seek it.

The moral of the story:Just breathe.

CHAPTER 2

Frenemies

I have always had the good fortune of having amazingfriends. In my good times, and in the bad, there have alwaysbeen beautiful, supportive people in my life to give me the hardtruth, or a shoulder to cry on. From my lifelong girlfriends,Dacia, Ally, Martine, and Janelle, who I've spent many longnights on the dance floor with, to my talented and charismaticfriend, Rebecca, who is like a sister to me and a constant rockof support, to my beautiful friend Sandy, who is always willingto forgive and forget. However, I have also encountered my fairshare of foes.

Years ago I adopted a very powerful way of dealing withtoxic people, who were trying to enter my life. I would simplynot make space for them. All my focus was directed towardsfilling my life, my days, my experiences with only the thingsand people that I deemed worthy or appropriate, until theresimply wasn't any room left for anything else. I became a masterat cutting and running, especially when I saw the telltale signsof the unfavorable. Despite it all, there has been one adversarywho has, somehow, slipped through the cracks again and again.They have not only survived, but have thrived.

This "Frenemy" has lasted longer and more intensely thanany other relationship in my life. Given that I am usually soefficient with eliminating these relationships, I am baffled thatI have allowed this relationship to exist, and flourish, and takeup so much of my time and energy. Time and time again, thisfriend rears her ugly head, or rather roars in my ugly head. Thisfriend, this antagonist, is not an external, tangible person. Itcomes from me. It is my thoughts.

I can't speak for anyone else, but my mind races. I have somany thoughts. My mind is a factory, churning out experienceafter experience, countless ideas, and judgements, and ultimately,utter chaos. This well-oiled machine has been going so hard andso strong for so long, I've simply adapted, and, somehow, overthe years, accepted this mayhem as normal.

I have often caught myself, over the last few years, asking, "Ifthis Frenemy (in the form of my thoughts) was actually a friendsitting on the couch beside me, saying the same things, wouldI permit that friendship to continue?" Would I allow anyone inmy life to freely express the horrible, depraved, vicious thingsthat I say to myself? Absolutely not!

One of my favorite times of the day is early morning. Ilike bird hours; I rise early with the sun. I love to sit and write,cruise people on Facebook, light a candle, read, meditate, andjust spend some lovely time alone before starting the day. Theonly disturbance to this peaceful awakening (besides the factthat I live in Manhattan, and this city really never sleeps) is myconstant stream of thoughts: "I'm hungry ... no you're not, youjust need to drink more water ... you should really floss moreoften ... I wonder what I'm going to eat for lunch today ... I'mhungry ... did I remember to charge my phone ... stop thinkingabout food, you ate badly yesterday you have to make up for ittoday ... I look like hell ... it's because I ate chocolate ... why did Ido that ... I'm so mad ... I'm hungry ... today is going to be a longday ... just relax, would you ... is it snowing? God I'm hungry ...who was the actor who played Matlock?"

And, then, I was struck with an amazing realization: If I wassitting on a quiet sunny morning in my apartment, candle lit,coffee in hand, wrapped in a warm blanket, and another humanbeing in the world was sitting along side of me saying these thingsto me, in a constant stream of over-involvement, it would not takeme long to throw them out of my apartment—or even out thewindow, and certainly out of my life. So, why is it okay for me todo to myself what is not okay for anyone else to do?

Perhaps it is self preservation. If I have already told myselfthat I am fat, untalented, and worthless, then when someoneelse says it to me, I'm ready for it. I'm not so sensitive to it. Thisis a massive lie. I am no more prepared for hurt or pain becauseI have already experienced it. Just because I have broken my legonce before, doesn't mean it hurts any less to break it a secondtime! In fact, because the bone has already been broken, it isweaker, and more susceptible to re-breaking. Why put myselfthrough that unnecessarily? And why prepare for a painfulblow that may never arrive?

One of my favorite authors, Marianne Williamson, writesthat we always prepare for the potential disaster, and forget thatthe potential miracle is just as likely to occur. We are givingpower to an unfavorable outcome instead of to the magic thatcould manifest; we are preparing to fail rather then holdinghopes and dreams of success; we are preparing for disasterrather then expecting and celebrating the triumphs, no matterhow small. In an attempt to protect ourselves from being hurtor disappointed, we hinder ourselves from actually achievingour ultimate goal. My dad always said, "Don't limp because youmight break your leg."

So, is this just a habit we need to break? Is it that we are justused to living in this safe and small way? Do we even realize wedo it and to the extent that we do it? I gave myself the homeworkof writing down every time I had a negative thought aboutmyself for one week. In three hours, I had filled a page. Thiswas, obviously, a problem. But, what was the solution?

The answer: To notice. When that Frenemy in my mind isputting me down or denying me the respect and love I wouldexpect—demand, even—from any other friend, I just notice.And, what I learned is that Awareness is enough. Once I amfully aware of it, all of it, all the time, non-stop, I begin to seehow ridiculous it is. I even begin to laugh at myself, amazed atwhat a bitch I can be when I put my mind to it. And, when Ibegin to dislike it, become annoyed by it, and start seeing it forthe lie it is, that's when change happens. When my Frenemystops having power ... she just stops.

The moral of the story:To have a friend, be a friend.

CHAPTER 3

Separation Anxiety

I've always been great at multi-tasking. With theexception of patting my head while rubbing my belly, I caneasily and successfully tackle numerous undertakings at once.I take pride in my ability to send an email, listen to music andtake a bath, all while brewing tea and singing at the top of mylungs. We live in such a busy, hectic, and fast-moving society. Ialways thought that juggling multiple projects was an importantsurvival skill. And, I learned it well. I grew to realize that in mydedication to cultivating these storm-chasing-multi-tasking-extraordinaireskills, I had drastically lessened my ability toexperience the calm between the storms.

It had become an issue of quantity vs. quality. I had learnedhow to simultaneously watch and understand many channelson the Universal television, but each channel was only getting apart of me—a part of my attention, a part of my interest, a partof my awareness. I was taking in a lot of information, but thequality of my experience was limited to the amount of energyI put in. In my attempt to make the most out of every wakingmoment, I have robbed each moment of my full attention andof myself.

What I have learned from this is to be present. Technically, Ilearned it 30 years ago, since babies exemplify this state of purebliss in the moment; yet somehow, through the years, the stress,the excitement, the changing and the shifting, I forgot how tojust be. I had forgotten the immense feeling of fulfillment thatexists in the pause—that long, deep breath between finishingone thing and embarking on the next.

There is such importance in immersing yourself fully ina task, and seeing it through to completion, before beginninganother. I don't know how many times I have caught myselfin the middle of a great experience, already thinking aboutthe next one: on the first day of vacation, contemplating thenext day, or in the middle of a delicious cup of morning coffee,wondering what I'll have for lunch. I have spent so much of mylife running ahead of myself, wondering about the future. Indoing so, I've missed out on my present, on the right now. Thepresent is fleeting, and soon to be the past, and once passed, itwill never to be experienced again. Yet, if I can learn to give myentire attention, energy, and love to every project, person andexperience that I encounter, then I am the one who truly reapsthe benefits.

By simply being present—by pausing, by completing onemoment fully before moving into the next—I can actuallystretch time and create more space in my life for whatever Ichoose. The quality of my thoughts, words, actions and deedsbecome something I can be proud of. If I really embrace mymorning coffee ritual, I may be able to enjoy it more completely,appreciating its rich, complex flavors to the extent that I may befully sated and not need a second cup. I can genuinely connectwith people, so that they never have to question how I feel aboutthem. I can really live my life with no regrets.

However, as I frantically string moments together, rushingthrough life, I have realized that some patterns that do not serveme are also being strung along the way. I think these habitsbegin to form, for many of us, when we are very young. One ofmy first memories is receiving Smarties (a delectable Canadiancandy) from my mom for going to the potty. I learned quicklythat if I behaved, I would be rewarded with chocolate. To thisday, I still link a job well done with treating myself to sweets.It's seemingly hardwired into my brain and after every greataudition the intense craving emerges. In this particular case,I have not harmed myself (though perhaps my waistline) bylinking one with the other, but I feel as an adult, I found moredetrimental ways to do this very thing.

In 2007, my Grammy passed away. She was an extraordinaryforce in a world of quiet, well-behaved women. She was a pistol.One of the things I loved most about my Grammy was that Inever had to wonder how she felt about anything. Whetherit was politically correct, proper or even occasionally a littleinappropriate, she said it as she saw it. When I packed my bagsand moved from my little community of Keswick Ridge tothe big shiny city of Toronto, my Gram was less than pleased.I was a small town girl with a big dream; I was going to be agreat actress. Nothing made my Gram sadder than the dayI broke up with my perfect boyfriend (who would become avery successful and decorated school teacher) to marry anotherstruggling actor and move to the far away, gun-laden, danger-riddencity of Toronto.

I will never forget the day that Gram phoned my Dad, fullof worry and genuine concern. She had been watching the newsthat morning and heard a story that set her into a panic. Shewas watching that several girls, "who do the same thing Nataliedoes", were getting the, "HID ... and spreading it around to eachother!" It took my father a few moments to realize that she wastalking about the recent news broadcast about the porn starsin Toronto who were contracting and spreading HIV to oneanother. Dad, of course, couldn't help himself and said, "Nelda,that isn't what Natalie does ... she's an actress!" To which Gramreplied, "Marc! Get your head out of the sand! She isn't goingto tell you!"