Going Macro: Month 2. Traveling back to balance

Everybody knows you shouldn't make a major life decision when you're depressed, hungover or mad at your husband.

Same with Going Macro. You can't essentially turn your life upside down while doing something else major at the same time -- like staying in five different hotels in eight different Southern cities while visiting relatives and friends, some of whom you haven't seen in 40 years, some of whom have a history of holding you personally responsible for family dysfunctions dating back to 1972.

My counselor tried to tell me: Being on the road while eating macro, especially while trying to get used to macro, is downright antithetical to the philosophy. Macro means harmony, balance, miso and stainless steel cookware within reach. Macro means having access to a variety of beans, grains and vegetables in your own kitchen, not burgers and fries on the turnpike.  Macro means chewing your food 100 times in your back yard while birds trill around your calm self.

Where I usually eat my macro meals

Clearly, I knew this might  be hard to pull off while we were traveling 800 miles to a family reunion in the South where the operatives are barbecue, potato salad, sweet tea and cousin Gary.

But this trip, which has been in the works for about 10 years, just happened to butt up against my decision to go macro on May 22.

And, well, being the can-do person that I am, I thought I could do it.

I tried really hard. I packed up all the right stuff -- miso, unpasteurized sauerkraut, umeboshi plums, brown rice vinegar, several different kinds of seaweed.  I made up a couple of Pyrex containers of brown rice, beans and veggies and put them on ice in a cooler.

And for the first five days, I did really well. I ate what I had on hand, as my superbly helpful family never once complained about having to replenish the ice in the cooler we dragged from hotel to hotel. I cooked up oats at my goddaughter's house in Columbia. I made halibut, brown rice, miso soup and sautéed collards at our rented condo on the beach. I found macro restaurants and cafes in Asheville, where I got dishes to go.

Tempeh salad from the Laughing Seed in Asheville, N.C.

The Green Sage Cafe in Asheville has brown rice, miso
and steamed kale to go

But right around Myrtle Beach, right about the time I saw a sign for "Boiled peanuts," this is where macro turned micro. It didn't take long before I was eating store-bought hummus straight out of the plastic, BPA-leaching container and watermelon by the handsful. One day I ate so many sunflower seeds that I didn't have a bowel movement for three days. And I drank beer. Twice. OK, so  this may not be a teenager's idea of rebellion. I didn't consume barbecue or six margaritas with Morton's table salt. But, still, the way I was eating was not macro. And I knew it. What's more, I felt it.

Today, finally, I'm back.

With the help of a new compassionate counselor,  Francois Roland in Cleveland, I am back to eating the foods that truly feed not only my cells, tissues and blood, but my heart, soul and nature. I am back to remembering how I felt those first 17 days of Going Macro -- lighter, cleaner, more alert. I am back to believing this is the way of life and eating I've been looking for all my life.

This is what we have to do -- what we CAN do -- when we find ourselves out of balance.

Not beat ourselves up.

Just gently move ourselves back.

I am back, not just back home in Ohio, but back, with gratitude, to balance.

Lunch today: Miso soup with soybean miso paste, green onion, burdock root, rutabaga and wakame sea flakes. Grain dish with rye berries and brown rice sprinkled with fresh lemon and toasted sesame seeds and sea salt. Sauteed veggies (in a cast-iron pan brushed with olive oil) are daikon radish, famous for removing fat and mucus; dandelion greens; and green onion, sprinkled with umeboshi plum vinegar. 

Judging people on the beaches of South Carolina

I am going to eventually blog about going home to South Carolina, where my family and I valiantly marched from the mountains to the sea and where I: consumed radical vegetarian fare in Asheville with the priest who married me and my husband 25 years ago; took my kids to see the Girl Scout camp where I got homesick 45 years ago; introduced my family to relatives in Boiling Springs I haven't seen in 40 years; watched my uncle who is 85

tell a whole new crop of cousins about his grandfather who is my great grandfather and my children's great-great grandfather; surprised my old newspaper buddies from The State Newspaper in Columbia; enjoyed brunch with my soulmate, lifelong amazing first babysitter of my children, while watching her now with her own babies,

 and watched my children hold her babies,

and felt the circle of life in the estuaries along the coast.

But first I'm going to write about a ping moment I had on the beach.

This post is brought to you by me, prompted by my moment, but forced into words this morning, this first morning back in Ohio, by the writing of my friend Colleen in her hilariously brilliant and tender The Family Pants.

I, like you, Colleen, work hard at not judging people.

I had a mean-as-a-snake grandmother who was orphaned in the back hills of SC who talked about everybody like she was perfect and they were not. There was something wrong and bad about everybody she knew.

I have been determined not to be like that.

Meanwhile, there are categories of people I do not like -- namely, rednecks and very wealthy people.

So there I was in the land of the Confederacy this past week. We stayed at a high-rise in Garden City

at the edge of Myrtle Beach and if you've never stayed at Myrtle Beach or close to it, you will never know how many people there are to judge.

One morning, I forced myself out of bed go to down to the beach at 6 a.m. to take sunrise pictures with my big honking Nikon equipment. I am patient. I am kind. I am sitting in the wet sand and lying in the surf. My PJ pants are soaked. I'm shooting and adjusting settings and working the OM of the sea as I  wait for the sun.

Just as the timeless ball of life comes dripping up from the horizon, this elderly, Walmart couple walks right into my field of vision. T

The woman has her hands in her pockets casually and is trailing her toes in the water while her husband is behind her snapping pictures with a pocket camera.

You can see the woman skirting the edge of this photo below, while I try desperately to compose the sun with the sea without getting a single one of her hot pinkie toes in the frame.

I keep attempting pictures, while feeling dumbfounded that these people have waltzed into my picture on the only day I will wake for the sunrise.

I think to myself I should just go up to this intruder and ask her politely to move.

Instead, I march 50 yards to the left of her, so I can clear my path to the sun.

I am empathetic enough, even though I'm also pissed - and judging of their obvious lack of education -- not to get right in THEIR line of vision.

Meanwhile, they can't help but see me.

I shoot a few more, then turn my camera back toward them to get shots of the pier.

And then I see that they are suspended in action. They are staring at me without moving. I turn my camera back to the sun.

Next thing I know the man is standing beside me.

I have no idea how this is going to go.

But the man is smiling.

"That one of them cameras you can see right away in?" he asks.

"Well, yes," then, "Do you want to see?"

We stand there quietly for a few seconds looking together at my photos.

"My wife and I were watching you and we thought, 'Boy, she's got some kinda lens there. I bet she's getting some nice pictures. These are real nice."

I thanked him, and then, offhandedly thought to be conversational, to tell him that I had an even bigger lens in my camera bag on my shoulder, but that I was afraid I'd miss the sun if I took the  time to change lenses.

"Well, it's supposed to be a clear day tomorrow, too," the man reassured me, smiling. "You can always try again with your other lens."

What a good thought from this man I pronounced as having no educated thoughts in his head.

I saw his wife, standing off in the distance.

She waved and smiled and it occurred to me, right then and there, that some people are, yes, less school-educated than others.

Some people are filthy rich.

But everybody is part of the human condition. Everybody has a soul and a life that precedes my chance encounter with them. Everybody has thoughts and feelings, a mother and a father and a story.

I walked along the beach the rest of that morning after my encounter, looking differently at the other human souls who -- just like me, though perhaps for different reasons --  had intentionally risen before dawn.

 I took pictures of a woman collecting shells with a little girl with an orange bucket.

I took pictures of two doughnut-eating men fishing in the sea.

And then I thought, what would it be for me to not just take their pictures, but listen to their stories?

And so I went up to the shell-collecting woman. She had very few teeth in her mouth, even though she was maybe about 40.
The woman told me the little girl was 11, they were from Baltimore and this was their first trip to South Carolina.  The little girl was so excited, she roused her aunt at 5:30 to get up and get out into the day.

"We're going to make a collage," she said

I went up to the fishermen on the beach, who told me he was fishing for perch and whiting. He showed me the shrimp he uses for bait and told me the worst thing about fishing with shrimp is that it gets pulled off the hook in the surf.

I asked if he and other man were brothers.

"He's my son. Forty years old," he said.

"Wow, you don't look old enough to have a son that old," I told him.

He didn't. He was a handsome man with the prettiest blue eyes over his tank top and big belly.

He got to chatting then, asked me if I heard about the crazy guy in the car flying through the parking deck last night. I asked him if he heard about the golf cart wreck down at the state park. We told our stories and then we both said to the other "Have a nice day."

I went on up to my room after that, holding hopes that this would last,  that I would be a better person, a richer person, a more learned person for more than just those moments on the beach.

I went out to the balcony overlooking the ocean. The man was down there, looking up at me. I waved. He waved back.

Going Macro. Week 3. Day 1.

Fruit does not figure prominently in the macrobiotic diet. I can have it 2-3 times a week, though, and when I do, you'd think I was having crumpets and cream for breakfast. Every bite is a gift. These berries, in particular, were picked straight out of my garden, fresh this morning. The polenta is from Breakneck Acres Farm in Ravenna, Ohio, fresh-milled, organic, with a pinch of sea salt. The vegetables include organic, local-grown baby bok choy from Kent Natural Foods Co-op, organic daikon radish and organic turnips from Krieger's Health Food Market and brussells sprouts. Refreshing, life-giving. What a great way to start the day.

I try to consume outside in the fresh air as many meals as possible.

Going Macro.

"Macrobiotics is not just a diet," writes Loulie Gillen of Vanderbilt University, "but a holistic approach to living that takes into account all aspects of human life, including the inter-relationship between body, mind and spirit. Macrobiotics stresses the importance of a balanced diet because one's diet creates the foundation for a happy, healthy and harmonious life. Macrobiotic philosophy teaches practitioners to lead a balanced lifestyle based on the Chinese yin-yang principles. The actual macrobiotic diet closely resembles a vegan-like food pattern with virtually no animal food consumed. Practitioners also avoid "nonorganic" or "processed" foods."

---------------------------------------------
I had been seeking a better way of life my whole life. Coming from the family that I did, one with poor lifestyle habits, including eating disorders, I have for decades been on the search for the right way to live. I have studied with psychologists, theologians, vegetarians, poets and God, through writings and teachings and into the depths of my soul in my quest for harmony, balance and authenticity in living.

I first learned about a healthier way of eating when I was in my early 30s, living with a macrobiotic roommate.  Holly ate brown rice with gomasio (toasted sesame seeds and salt), a Jello-like substance called kanten, beans, sea vegetables, leafy green vegetables and beans. I'd eat along with her when we were home together. But I didn't think much about the diet, or of it. A few years later, I learned about vegetarianism from a friend, and read "Diet for a New America" about the problems with meat consumption. A few years after that, as a newspaper reporter working on the status of the American family farm, I spent some nights at a hog farm. I was horrified by the sights -- and the breakfast platter put before me the next morning, which smelled like the hog slop I'd stepped through earlier that day. Soon after that experience, I quit meat altogether. For one year, even, I was vegan.

But I was always confused. Why do we have incisors? Maybe humans are supposed to eat meat? What about dairy? Isn't dairy the best source of calcium? I was confused about the way we approach our bodies in general in this country, particularly regarding medicine. When I would go to a doctor with an ache, all I would want to know was if there was something life-threateningly wrong with me. All the doctor wanted to do was medicate me. I began to find other ways to heal myself -- hot baths for sore muscles instead of Ibupropen. Miso soup when I had a cold or a stomach ache. Dietary changes for irritable bowel syndrome. I began to rethink food, not as a fun thing to focus on all the time, but as nourishment, as the very lifeblood of our bodies and souls. My intake continued to evolve and devolve meanwhile. Although a pure vegan for a year with no processed foods, no sugar, no dairy, no meat (which bought my cholesterol down 60 points), at some point, after 15 years of vegetarianism, I became concerned I wasn't getting enough protein or calcium. Confused again, not sure what I was doing, I added salmon, tuna and the occasional chicken. I also consumed yogurt, chocolate, wine, ice cream and way too much cheese, and I chewed copious amounts of gum, sometimes sugar free, sometimes sugar -- all the while feeling concerned and absolutely confused.

When, 2.5 years ago, I was diagnosed with a blood condition, I had no choice but to step up my quest for the right way to live, and eat. At first I was more overwhelmed than ever. People told me to  take chlorophyll. Drink wheat grass juice. Eat shark cartilage. Drink raw milk. Don't drink milk at all. Go homeopathic. Eat mushrooms. I steered clear; none of these spoke to me. They seemed extreme, faddish.

I kept coming back to the idea of food as medicine. But what food? What was going to help me? What was going to bring me harmony, balance and truth? All I knew was that water figured prominently in my understanding of life, that I hated the idea of chemicals in food, and that I felt better, psychologically, when I was not weighed down by meat or cheese or the after-effects of too much wine or caffeine.

A year and a half ago, I began asking my friend, Sheila, who is a macrobiotic counselor in Kent, Ohio, about sea vegetables. Sheila suggested I contact Larch Hanson"the seaweed guy" in Maine. I emailed him. He sent me a long, impassioned email back, saying if he were me, he would, among other things, contact Warren Kramer a macrobiotic counselor in Boston. That was January 2011. I immediately emailed Warren. Yes, he said, he does consultations in different cities throughout the U.S., but nowhere near me. He told me he would do a Skype appointment with me. But I wanted to experience him in person. We tried a couple more times to hook up, once in Boston, but it didn't pan out. 

I struggled anew, and next went to a naturopath, looking for what I thought would be a nutritional approach. She instead wanted me to take supplements, and to charge me twice the online price if I bought them from her. A shrewd businesswoman hiding behind a "naturopath" sign, she told me from her snarky little office in downtown Chagrin Falls: "No wonder you have a blood condition. Look at the way you've lived." It took me weeks to get over what she said and to come back to what was emerging even stronger: Food, nutrition. Simple. Basic.


A couple of months ago, I checked on Warren's schedule again. He was going to be in Washington, D.C., where my son lives, in May. And so I did it. It took some finagling of my schedule and my son's. But I made arrangements to drive six hours to meet him. Warren was no-frills, down to basics. He spent 90 minutes listening to me, studying me and then talking to me about my specific condition, and teaching. He reminded me that we get calcium from greens. Everything has protein it. One cup of brown rice, the staple of the macro diet, has five grams of protein, a cup of Azuki beans, 20 grams. Everything he said made perfect sense. It fit for me, and that is the perhaps single-most important part of any approach to life. It has to fit.

I've been 10 days now on macro. While I already was in the habit of eating a lot of the foods on the macro diet, I have added a tremendous amount of veggies, sea vegetables, miso and brown rice to my diet: The basic macro diet is  50 percent whole grains: brown rice, wheat, barley, oats, corn, etc.;
25 percent seasonal vegetables like brocolli, cabbage, cauliflower, collards, mustard greens, onion, kale, radishes, turnip greens; 10 percent protein foods - soy products, fish, legumes, etc.; and 5 percent fruits, nuts, seeds, and drinks, Also, miso, sea vegetables and mild green teas such as bancha.

I have also cut out all meat, all dairy, all sugar, alcohol, raw oil and caffeine I do a twice-daily full body rub to stimulate the lymph and get rid of toxins. I spend lots more time outside with plants (chlorophyll and oxygen produce strong blood) and have brought more plants inside the house, as well. I walk more (the recommendation is 30 minutes per day, but not for exercise, just because our bodies want to move.) I find ways to exercise my body as part of daily living. As important as anything, I chew my food to liquified form (I try to do 50 per mouthful) and sit while I eat. This is half the philosophy: Sitting without distraction while eating. I feel this so profoundly in my soul when I practice this. I am also working on developing regular eating times, which is another important part of the philosophy. If indeed it is food that nourishes our bodies more than anything else, and if we sit still and quiet while we are doing this thing to ourselves, well, that is sacred and pure and honoring and whole. Not only that, but the very preparation of so many vegetables and fresh food every day slows me down, brings me into life with the food I put in my body.

Ten days later, I feel the best I've ever  consciously felt for any sustained period in my life. Part of it is psychological, I know. I feel I have found the answer for my life. I feel lighter, healthier and at peace with my choice.  Part of it is unmistakably physical. I've lost a couple of pounds. My skin looks clearer, my eyes brighter. An acquaintance who doesn't know I went macro came up to me after yoga class yesterday and said "I looked over at you today and I said, 'Wow, Debra-Lynn looks kick-ass.' Your skin. Your body.You look radiant."

There are some who would say this diet is no different than any other vegan way of life. No sugar, no dairy, no meat, no processed foods. Duh. That may be true, except that the macro way of life is not just about what you cut out. It is also about the riches that you add, like sea vegetables, which are full of an inordinate amount of vitamins and minerals, and miso, which is a natural probiotic that keeps the gut making good disease-fighting bacteria. It is very much about balance, balancing different kinds of cooking energies, balancing root vegetables with leafy green and round vegetables, just for starters. Just as important as the food itself, there is, too, a philosophy that makes absolute sense to me: harmony, balance, calm. I make no promises that I will completely heal myself from everything that ails now and forever. Although this could very well happen, the best that I can promise myself is a better life today.

What I ate today:

Breakfast: broccoli soup (vegetables with every meal), which is pureed, cooked broccoli, mixed with a teaspoon of miso and a lot of millet. (Grain is 50 percent of every meal.)

Lunch: Azuki beans cooked with miso and carrots. Rye berries (YUMMMM for real) cooked with a piece of kelp seaweed. Kale sautéed with a tiny bit of sesame oil and onion.

Dinner: Miso soup made with seaweed, onion, cauliflower, quinoa pasta. More rye berries. More azuki beans. Fresh green salad with a salad dressing of miso and lemon.

Here is a link to a lot of resources from my friend Sheila, who is a macro counselor.

Prayer versus meditation

Prayer and Meditation

Reprint from Daily Om

Meditation and prayer can offer us different experiences and both can be powerful tools.

Prayer and meditation are similar practices in that they both offer us a connection to the divine, but they also differ from one another in significant ways. Put simply, prayer is when we ask the universe for something, and meditation is when we listen. When we pray, we use language to express our innermost thoughts and feelings to a higher power. Sometimes, we plumb the depths within ourselves and allow whatever comes to the surface to flow out in our prayer. At other times, we pray words that were written by someone else but that express what we want to say. Prayer is reaching out to the universe with questions, pleas for help, gratitude, and praise.

Meditation, on the other hand, has a silent quality that honors the art of receptivity. When we meditate, we cease movement and allow the activity of our minds and hearts to go on without us in a sense. Eventually, we fall into a deep silence, a place that underlies all the noise and fray of daily human existence. In this place, it becomes possible for us to hear the universe as it speaks for itself, responds to our questions, or sits with us in its silent way.

Both prayer and meditation are indispensable tools for navigating our relationship with the universe and with ourselves. They are also natural complements to one another, and one makes way for the other just as the crest of a wave gives way to its hollow. If we tend to do only one or the other, prayer or meditation, we may find that we are out of balance, and we might benefit from exploring the missing form of communication. There are times when we need to reach out and express ourselves, fully exorcising our insides, and times when we are empty, ready to rest in quiet receiving. When we allow ourselves to do both, we begin to have a true conversation with the universe.