The World's Friends by Caroline Altom

Do you ever feel like the whole world is just… waiting for you? Like it’s whispering (or in my case YELLING), “Hey, you! You wanna hang out sometime?” And then after you hang out a few times, some feelings develop, maybe your hang-outs turn into dates, and then before you know it, the world is ready to introduce you to its friends. “Hey, I was thinking. I want to introduce you to my friends. They’re pretty cool. At first they might be a little intimidating. Because, well, they might be a little different than you. But I promise, if you give them a chance, you’ll love them.” And little did you know, the world was saying the same thing about you to all his friends.

Let me tell you—I got to meet some of the world’s friends, and I LOVE THEM.

When it came time for college graduation, like most (all) college grads, I had a lot to figure out. For sure a “trip around the world” was at the top of my list, like many other grads who want to travel, take risks, and put off responsibility as long as possible. AS WE SHOULD. Sorry Mom. Luckily for me, the day I walked into my “Senior Research” class, it absolutely did not feel right. Which then meant I had two weeks to figure out an internship for after graduation. Best thing that ever happened. Oh and did I mention that for about a year leading up to graduation, the universe, or the Big Guy Upstairs, was sending me messages that I needed to go to Ireland?

So, why not? Why not at least try for it? I had to do, otherwise that would be some major self-betrayal. And I knew I had nothing to lose by going for it. I either stayed and did an internship in the states, or I got to go to freaking Ireland. I saw no negative consequences there, only opportunity. And next thing I knew, I was packing my bags to move to Ireland and work at The Shelbourne Hotel. Can we say “meant to be?” I hate imagining if I hadn’t tried, because cheese alert, this experience changed my life.

As I sit here trying to write about what it was like moving there, I wish there was a way to transfer the warmth in my heart and smile on my face into words on this page. I felt so alive the minute I stepped onto those streets of Dublin. And it was all so exciting. Apartment! International roommates! Immigration office! Social security card! Irish phone and bank account! Different languages all around me! Using Euros! Hopping on the train, not having any idea where I was going! Getting rained on TONS! But most importantly, I met so many new and different and beautiful people, who taught me so much and brightened my soul forever. I’ll have more to say on them, hang tight.

Working was quite the experience as well. I quickly learned that “half-two” really meant 2:30, and that when people say “You’re very welcome,” it’s not in response to someone giving thanks, but it really is a welcome, you know? I’m sorry, but I had the best position at the entire hotel. Don’t get me wrong, there were loads of absolutely exhausting and strenuous days/nights; that’s the service industry. But I had so many opportunities to chat with hundreds of guests and hear their life stories. Like Jerry, the Architect from New York, who had MS and while he sat in the green lobby chairs cheerfully waiting for his wife to return from her adventures, told me of his experiences building the finance building in NYC. Or Michael, the man who had been in Dublin in the 1970’s and while he was shopping, came out to Grafton Street and found the IRA ready to blow up the building across the street. The stories are endless, and I plan on sharing them one day. Oh I was just constantly elated. I believe humans are happiest when they’re learning, which leads to progression, and man, I was in a constant state of learning for the eight months I lived on that breathtaking Emerald Isle. It’s even greener and more beautiful than you imagine it, by the way.

I think it’s clear I could go on about my day-to-day in Ireland. But a large part of my overall experience was when, after saving the tiny amount of money I worked my butt off for, I visited England, Austria, the Czech Republic, and later quit my job early (whoops) to go travel the rest of Europe for a month. This is when I got to meet more of the world’s friends, and wow they really are great. Hungary, Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Italy. Incredible places, really. Stunning, unique, tasty, aesthetically pleasing, and each offer something completely awe-inspiring.

But when I look back on that trip, and my whole experience in Ireland, I don’t first think of the things I saw. Not to ever discount the beauty of those places. But those places will always be... places. Dare I say, they’re “re-place-able?” Not in a sense that one is better than the other, or one is forgettable, etc. I’m simply implying that you can leave one place and go to another, always. And majority of the time it will be overly exciting to visit each new place. But for me, it’s the people that make the experience. The people and their cultures are irreplaceable. I will never, ever, forget dancing at a birthday party in the family garage with Shandor, the 70-something year old Hungarian that spoke no English (or I spoke no Hungarian, really). But you don’t need to speak the same language to swing dance do you? Nor will I forget the delicate, pretty old lady who I talked with the whole train ride into Switzerland, who I swear was the most “colorblind,” open minded, loving person I’ve ever met. And of course my Oma for the week in Holland, who is Dutch but lived and married in Israel, and experienced and saw so much in her lifetime, she would do the world so much good by making an “inspirational quote of the day” book.

And what would I have done in Ireland, without my people there? Who welcomed and embraced me with their complete love, and taught me so much about their own culture, their own beliefs, families, political views, goals, dreams, and who are all so different from me and from one another, but who very clearly love sharing our humanity.

There’s no doubt about it, meeting some of the world’s friends was intimidating. And they are different than me in a lot of ways. But hey, since when was “difference” a bad thing? I thought different was just…different? I believe the intimidation comes from the unknown. We often fear what we don’t know or understand. But as you give those unknowns a chance, they become more known, more understood, more loved.

In the end, we are different. But mostly in the superficial fluff that doesn’t matter as much. You see, they’re just trying to figure out how to live their life, the same way I’m trying to figure out how to live mine.

This woman is just as driven, dazzling and energetic as she sounds and we can't get enough of her wild spirit. Follow her on Instagram at @gingerattack.

Bath Power

I never would have anticipated writing a post about baths on Love Force, but I do anticipate writing a lot of posts about self-care, a category which I think baths absolutely fall under. Because when the going gets tough, I get into the tub.

As I mentioned on our Instagram, it feels like it's been a challenging few weeks. Some personal heartaches have hit our family, but it seems like worldwide, we've got some serious sorrow on our hands. Our thoughts and prayers go out to those that are struggling, suffering and wondering when it's going to get better. You are not alone.

In the words of our motto, Love Force is about truth, about being alive, and about what those two things mean for us (both individually and collectively) when they're intertwined together. A truth about being alive: sometimes life feels insurmountable. Another truth: self care (intentional actions you take to care for your physical, mental and emotional health) is a very real thing, and is vital to moving through and healing from pain. Self care can take all sorts of forms—anything from meditation to hugging your dog to doing a puzzle to going for a walk to having a good laugh or a good cry. Taking care of ourselves and others is a key component in contributing to a more peaceful world (and no, it's not selfish).

Which leads me to bath time.

The other night I got home from work, not having slept much the night before, and went straight to the bathtub. My husband walked in to a dark and quiet apartment and must have seen candlelight flickering off of our bathroom walls through the door crack as he slowly pushed it open. I had propped my iPad up on the counter and was watching David Attenborough's Life series (available on le Netflíx) because nature shows are one of my go-to 'happy places'.

"You doing okay?" he asked. I shifted my eyes up at him. "It's a bathtub cinema kind of night," I replied, my chin not leaving its Jabba the Hutt position on my chest. Bathtub cinema. He gets it.

Turns out hydrotherapy (ultimately using water to promote health and well-being in a myriad of forms) has been around for centuries, and with good reason. Records of its use have been found in Egyptian, Persian, Greek, Chinese and Japanese civilizations, for all sorts of medicinal uses ranging from detoxification to improving circulation.

I swear by baths, and was totally tickled to see that the Scientific American covered a study done by researchers at Yale called The Substitutability of Physical and Social Warmth in Daily Life, which can be translated to mean: "Hot Baths May Cure Loneliness". From the study:

More recently, Williams and Bargh (2008) showed that incidental warmth experiences (such as when holding a cup of hot coffee or taking a warm bath) produce “warm” psychological experiences of trust and behavioral effects on generosity, without the person’s awareness.

To add on to feelings of trust and generosity, baths are credited with improving focus and meditation, boosting brain power, soothing muscles (menstrual cramps included), relieving stress, aiding sleep, healing skin conditions like eczema, reducing infection, alleviating colds and headaches and improving circulation, to name a few. And if those things can help us to be our best, healthiest selves, we're in.

If you're in need of inspiration, do yourself a favor and watch this beautiful National Geographic video of Japanese macaques (or snow monkeys) meditating in hot springs. What I would give to just slip right in with them.

Images via Marta Gil, Taylor Radelia and Salva López.

A Letter to Myself by Jordan Rippy

Dear younger Jordan,

You're shy and quiet. You worry too much about what other people think. As you grow up, you'll still worry, but it won't affect you as much. 

Work on yourself. Become who you've always wanted to be. Don't let the hesitations in your mind stop you. If anything interests you, try it. Take the trips, flirt with the boy, and live by the "Why not?" mentality because truly—what is the worst that could happen? 

You'll turn 25 and your close friend will write a simple statement on your card saying, "Happy Birthday to a friend who is so full of life and love." And that sticks with you because that is who you want to be; that is is how you want to be remembered.

So be confident. Be open and don't second-guess yourself. And always keep in mind what your favorite character Winnie the Pooh says: "You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." 

xoxo,

Jordan

Follow Jordan (who happens to be my incredible sister) on Instagram at @jodorippy for some of the best quotes, travel logs and San Diego sunset picture you've ever seen.

Life in Death by Regina Moomjean

In short, my Grandfather was my last living Grandparent. Ironically, though he was in my life the longest, it seems he took the longest for me to get to know. His wife of over 50 years, my Gram, was one of the closest and most influential people in my life. We lost her when I was only 13 years old and I am finding that one of the reasons the present loss of my Grandfather has been so layered and complex is because I am going through the emotion of losing her all again, it seems. The warmest and kindest of people, my grandfather was an amazing man. It wasn't that he didn't have time for us, or he was mean or anything awful like that. He was WONDERFUL. Always! But as a child, he was a man of few words. He was often in his back office, spending countless hours working on genealogy, one of his life's true passions. He would always come out to say hello, play for a little while, and then retire back to his room or the den for the rest of the my visit or sleepover with Gram. I didn't think anything of it.

And I would't think anything of it, until I lost her. Her passing was such a difficult time for me for an array of reasons. But most crucially, it was my first real experience with death. Even most of my friends hadn't lost grandparents yet. We were all very lucky. While death was something that I always knew of; I hadn't interacted with it personally, until her untimely death. I remember as a 13 year old being so frightened and genuinely heartbroken at the excruciating loss. I couldn't comprehend that at 13, every single memory I had of her would be the same that I'd have for the rest of my life. I wouldn't gain any new ones. I wouldn't have more. It would be just that. Just what we'd shared in those short 13 years.

Once she was gone, everything seemed to change. Visits to Grandad's felt hollow for me, and more than that, slightly uncomfortable. We would all sit in the front room of his beautiful home in Mission Hills, he'd sit rock in his rocking chair and we'd discuss things we'd been doing. The newest play I was in, my sister's soccer games, mom and work. It was all lovely, but it felt so strange. I would always long to go upstairs, being a person who is so in tune with spaces, and visuals and everything tangible that life has to offer. For me, it felt like Gram was still there if I could just go upstairs and spend time in the places that we would share our time. But I never did, because it would be strange for me to walk upstairs while everyone was sitting together in the front room. And as an early teenager, I didn't feel comfortable enough to explain that desire. More so, I was confused in my own head.

Years went on and we all became so much closer with my incredible Grandfather. My cousin, in particular, lived with him for a few years and truly pioneered a deeper relationship and I think, paved the way for many of us. It was a beautiful thing that she did.

Flashing forward, I am so blessed and thankful for the way everything played out. I would give anything to see my Gram again, and to have had her for so many more of those formative years in my life. But looking back now, I feel there is surely a reason things went the way they did. 

What I've learned in this chapter of my life, losing this person who was such an onion to me; is that my life is at a crossroads. I am finding that the peace and comfort that I am feeling is coming from those stories of the past. And I am so thankful to him for documenting them for us. I've found that I DID get to make new memories with Gram. I am still making memories with both of them. Whether it's the millions of photos they took traveling the world that I've asked to keep. Whether it's the couch I also asked to keep, that was one of my Grandparents first purchases as adults. These are pieces of them that I can cherish and help ease the pain of letting go. They allow me to feel like I don't have to let go. I can have coffee with Grandad on his couch. I can paint with Gram, using her old tablets and brushes.

I asked my mom if we could go to my Grandfather's house the weekend after his passing. It felt strange, being there. Now not only was the void of Gram ever present, but now there was a whole 'nother missing figure. An empty house that once was the scene of every holiday celebration. A place I can truly say I grew and learned about myself. I just wanted to go and be there. In silence. I wasn't even sad. It was more that I was finally saying, it's okay to do all those things you wanted to here. Go explore. Walk around. Take photos. Take hold of the memories and let them be alive and part of you, and not something you feel you have to keep only in your memory. Make them tangible.

For me, it was so cathartic. 

In addition, and I could go on forever…but I won't. I am someone who has always struggled with dealing with loss and sadness in general. I won't even watch 75% of movies, because I can't handle anything sad. I can't watch others suffer, and I can't process sadness. I am an eternal optimist, and what's more, is I am an eternal lover of the light. And so, in all things, my new great loss included; I've chosen to search for all the good that is still left. I've chosen to see myself as part of a long lineage of amazing people, who were artists and dreamers and travelers. I think that they are never truly gone because part of them really is in me. And if I let myself open up enough, they are there all the more.

I was always so scared of letting go. I still have fears, as anyone does, of losing those that I love as life goes on. But I am learning that the best way to deal is the share their stories. Make them still known to the people around you. They don't have to only live in the past. And if my Grandfather instilled anything, SURELY it's that I should always remember my past. It always helps to know where you came from. It gives you strong roots.

I will continue getting to know them better, as I think new thoughts and look at photos of them often.  I will see photos on the day of their wedding; traveling through Europe, spending time at their cabin in Big Bear, and I'll think… "I was there, too." "I wonder what they were thinking?" Unanswered questions can be hard to deal with, but I don't view them as a bad thing. Maybe over time, answers reveal themselves. I think they do. If you let them, and if you truly want to know.

For now, that's all. It's the realization that life is a journey, for all of us. Always. We all take turns going through the hard times, and we'll all take turns being strong for those we love when they have their turn. But I know the answer isn't shutting the hurt out. I know the answer isn't weeping and pain. I think the answer is to be ever searching and establishing all that you are feeling throughout the entire process. Sharing it, giving it a voice. Acting on what your heart is telling you to do. 

There's freedom in that. And for me, in this process, that's been the ticket.

I think I've read this at least fifteen times; is it not the loveliest? Do yourself a favor and follow this eternal lover of the light on Instagram at @ginamoom—your days will be that much brighter.

#MyFavoriteSelf

Do you have a favorite self?

Think of a time or two that was captured on camera when you felt really strong, or really weak, or really sexy, or really badass, or really natural, or really healthy, or really real. Really alive. This week, Love Force is challenging readers to post a favorite picture of themselves—we want to see you as your truest, freest self, most favorite self, whatever that looks like to you.

Post the picture on Instagram with the hashtag #myfavoriteself and tag @loveforceblog. Tell us why that's a favorite "you" and throughout the week, Love Force will be featuring your posts on our Instagram feed, with a winner announced Friday, May 1st. (Winner gets a copy of Amy Poehler's book Yes Please!)

And we want you to spread the word! Our hope is that taking a minute to think about your favorite self will inspire others to do the same. And the world could use a lot more favorite selves. Best of luck!

(Images from Tomboy Style, The Sartorialist, and ShootingFilm.net)

Painting Ourselves Red by Paul Clonts

High expectations of attractiveness for women and men has troubled me for years. Living with the reality of these standards affects my self-esteem, body image and confidence and has hindered several aspects of my life. And I know I'm not alone in feeling these effects. There are countless times I have heard friends saying, “If I lost fifteen pounds I’d probably have a boyfriend” or “I wish my skin didn’t look this way, (so-and-so) has perfect skin.”

In my perfect world, everyone would be admired and respected for their natural bodies and physical appearance, without modification or cover-up. I personally know many individuals who obsess over having the ideal bronzed skin, flawless make-up, and a perfect body. I know a woman who has overcome skin cancer developed at a tanning salon. I lament her situation; both the reasoning behind her tanning as well as the devastating effects from synthetic UV rays on her health. 

I believe in being physically active in order to have a healthy body, but the amount of money and time spent on a picturesque body is money and time wasted. It saddens me that these expectations and unnecessary pressures stem from fashion, design, and entertainment industries that seem to control the masses’ self-image. I also mourn that generally, we have subscribed to these benchmarks of attractiveness. 

One day I watching the movie Alice in Wonderland, specifically the scene when the Queen’s servants are out painting the roses red, and I saw a fitting metaphor for this concept. The Queen only sees the color red as attractive and beautiful, while the natural color of the roses is white. I had an image in my mind of millions of people painting their faces the way "the Queen" (fashion, design, and entertainment industries) would want. I began writing a satirical song to express my thoughts.

So you want to know true beauty? 

You want to make this garden home?

Come with me 

I'll show you all you must do, 

And who you’ve got to be, 

You're ashamed of your petals of white, 

They're your curse from God, 

It's hard accepting yourself, 

When pale is wrong and red is right 

Chorus: 

She don't care who you are, 

You don't look the way you should, 

She has come to paint you red, 

She's painting all the roses red. 

There is something you should know, 

She will cover all your faults, 

So wear the mask of beauty, 

Let her paint cover your troubled soul. 

She'll paint you red when your confidence is fading in the wind, 

Paint you red when loneliness becomes your only loyal friend, 

If you think you're pretty, she'll still paint you red, she'll paint you red.

 A huge thank you to Paul for sharing his music with Love Force. If you want more of that husky, honeyed voice, you can find Paul's band South Paw here and here.

Passion, Purpose and the Pursuit of Personhood by Jamie Frost

I have always loved to sing. As a child my imaginative play always involved singing in one way or another. Whether I was a pirate/singer, princess/singer, or even a mechanic/singer, the singer part was non-negotiable. In fact, my mother signed me up for figure skating lessons after I was mesmerized at Michelle Kwan’s performance in the 1998 Olympics, but even then I insisted that my figure skating hopes would only be complete if I could skate to songs I myself had recorded. I wrote my first song in the 3rd grade (in which basically I just named any major monument I could think of around a chorus of “around the wooooooorld”); and in the 5th grade my book report on The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler was a seven minute musical review. It never crossed my mind that I would end up doing anything but singing.

Until two years ago.

For me, singing was my freedom, it made me feel strong. It made me feel powerful. It was the source of my self-confidence and the manifestation of my best self. Knowing that I could take any piece of music and sing it, high notes, low notes, whatever, was the ultimate freeing thought. With jazz music, even just listening to certain riffs could make me feel like I was being wrapped in silky sheets of sunlight, and conquering a tough phrase filled me with a giddiness akin to a 6-year-old on Christmas morning. At age 23 I was in the midst of training with one of the top vocal coaches in the country when I met my now-husband.

Let me guess what you may be thinking, that this is a story about how I gave up on my dreams to get married and put myself on the backburner for my husband’s goals. I have to admit I also had that fear sweep across my mind once or twice, but each time, I realized the same thing I am about to explain to you: passions are not always meant to be permanent.

It is possible that their function, instead of being the end-all be-all of our lives, is to teach, to uplift, to inspire, and to guide. When they have taught us all they can, we move on.

As my relationship with my husband progressed, the excitement I had about singing gradually faded. It was no longer appealing to me to be gone on tour for three months at a time, nor was it appealing to have to spend my evenings at gigs or rehearsals. (Notice here that my vernacular changed from the once hopeful “get” to do these things to “have” to do these things.) My husband, a mental performance coach, went to great lengths to make sure what I was feeling wasn’t just burnout, or a case of temporary insanity. I really just didn’t love it anymore. While I still enjoy listening to soulful blues and jazz music, it doesn’t fill me with the same power and groove that it used to. And that’s okay with me.

At first this was very scary. Who was I if not a singer? Could my instincts about myself really have been so wrong as to make me think I was passionate about something I wasn’t? Had I wasted all of that time and effort on something that would never come to fruition?

I decided, however, that fear and stubbornness were not good enough driving factors to continue with something I no longer loved. Letting go of the identity of singer that I had tied myself to freed me up to explore other aspects of who I am. I discovered a love for cooking Italian food, history, languages, and yoga; I am starting a jiu jitsu class within the month, and I discovered I make a pretty decent wife, which is something I never imagined would be the case. I feel that I am closer to the version of myself I am ultimately meant to be than I was two years ago, in large part because I had the courage to abandon what I had relied on for self-validation and allowed myself to just be Jamie; not Jamie the aspiring singer, just Jamie. I was lucky enough to have a support system - my husband - to encourage and console me along my journey of self-acceptance as a person without the need of any other identifiers.

When I think about singing now, I am grateful, but not in the least bit regretful. I learned a lot about hard work and focused practice. I learned a lot about goals, dreams, and passions that I use to empathize and encourage those who are currently pursuing those things. Ultimately, however, the greatest gift that singing gave me was the lesson that I am enough without it. I am enough just being me.