New Year's Resolutions and ME

This year, I made an informed choice, and resolved that I would mix it up a bit and commit to my New Year's Resolution on February 1 instead of January 1.

OK, not entirely true.  Pure baloney, actually.  

The fact is I procrastinated, pushed it back as far as I could, past vacation time, well enough into January to let the demotivation of 2012 and the gluttony of the Holidays truly settle in, just enough to disgust myself back into action.

It's a shame the truth doesn't read anywhere near as interesting as my opening paragraph.  But it's time to own up; I've let things slide.  

My health, my attitude, my appearance, my interest, my motivation, my commitments.  They've all gone downhill over the last couple of years.  I've let work worries overshadow everything.  But today I've decided that all has to change.  

So here we are, January 28, and I've decided that I'm not about to let certain situations in the ME get the best of me.  I am returning to the "me" who came to the ME six and a half years ago.  The "me" who felt her day was incomplete without a daily run.  The "me" who never stepped out the door in sweats and flip flops.  The "me" who made sure that even if there was no time for full hair and make-up, lipstick would be applied first thing in the morning.  That was the "me" who worked so hard to convince everyone else that if you focus on the positive, more positive will follow.  That was the "me" who would not hesitate to eat a plateful of ribs, so long as it was accompanied by a large side of greens.  That was the "me" who looked forward to going to work every morning.  That was the "me" who really looked forward to weekends.  That was the "me" who made getting 9 hours sleep a night a priority.

So here we are, January 28, and I've decided I'm going to fully commit to "me" in the "ME".  Starting, now, starting today.  I've got a plan, and that's a good start.  I work well with schedules and plans.  That's my comfort zone.  Expecting what to expect.  My plan is to plan; my plan is to keep things simple.  Here's how I plan to commit to "me", in no order of priority:

• Get 9 hours sleep every night;
• Take a COLD shower every day;
• Always have a good book on the go;
• Focus on the positive;

• Run 5 mornings a week;
• Eat clean, and nothing after 6 p.m.;
• Keep a daily food and activity journal;
• Drink eight 8 oz glasses of water a day;
• Use my LeCreuset pots to create amazing meals at least 4 times a week;
• Focus on the positive

• Apply my lipstick carefully every morning, and make sure it remains glossy throughout the day;
• Wear killer high heels at least twice a week;
• Get my roots dyed every four weeks;
• Focus on the positive;
  

• Plan out the week's meals so I can spend less time rushing and more time enjoying my daughter;
• Let our maid help out more (I have an aversion to and guilt about doing so, even though she is constantly telling me she is bored and would like to do more ... this in itself is the subject matter of a whole post unto itself).
• Post on my blog at least once a week;
• Focus on the positive.

• Quit smoking .... !!!!!!!

I am holding myself accountable to "me", but posting this for "all" to see.  Considering my blog currently has a readership of two (my husband and me!), it's not like I'm really putting myself out there.  But should my following grow ... well, I'll just have more people to answer to, won't I!

Less of this ...

Less of these ...

More of this ...

More of these ...

Back In the ME

We landed at about 10:30 last night.  An uneventful flight, punctuated only by slight turbulence as we entered ME airspace.  But the turbulence outside the plane was much tempered by the turbulence inside our hearts.  

That jumpy, slightly nauseating feeling that snakes its way into our souls every time the freedom bird retracts its flight plan and brings us back East is a sure sign that vacation time has once again come to an end.  

Back to daily routine; school runs, office grind, brown bag lunches, early morning wake-up calls and workouts ....

But we will slide easily enough back into normal life.  We'll get up each morning, commit to living healthier, get used to watching the clock again, time our meals around after-school activities, and look forward to weekends again.  

Each time we come back, we commit to a healthier lifestyle.  We got up this morning, greeted our day with a big glass of water and some strong, black coffee.  It's a shift from Irish Coffee and Mimosa breakfasts enjoyed on vacation, but it actually felt good.  And it probably will for a while (I'd guess at least 36 hours before I start getting vacation fever again!).

When we arrived home last night , our daughter leapt joyfully into the cuddling arms of her nanny, and hugged her new kitty mercilessly before falling into a deep sleep, back in her own bed, surrounded by all her stuffed toys, her kitten rocking her dreams gently with her soft purring.  She jumped happily out of bed this morning despite only six hours sleep, and went back to school and her friends with a spring in her step and a smile on her face.  As much as she enjoyed her vacation, she was glad to be back home.  Back in the ME.  It's what she knows; they are now one and the same.

If she can do it so effortlessly, then so can we I guess.  I admit I was happy to fall into my own bed, to get up this morning and instinctively know which drawer I could find my socks and undies in, to come down to the kitchen and enjoy a cup of coffee while getting kiddo ready for school.  I got to play true soccer mom this morning, dropping her off at school, paying a few bills, then coming back home and uploading pictures and blogging with a cup of steaming coffee in my hand and a purring kitten on my lap.  

Tomorrow I go back to work, and the routine will be back on full throttle.  I've decided I'm going to dig deep down inside of me and do my darndest to emulate my daughter.  Perhaps she can be the inspiration I need to add a little spring to my step as I head off to the office.  I'm determined to have a more positive outlook.  

So here's to today, to tomorrow.  Here's to a new spring in my step.  Here's to being back home.  Here's to being back in the ME.

'Bye Bye'.  Looking back on a great vacation.

Determined to emulate that spring in her step.

So Much Bigger than Me

If there's one thing my parents taught me, it's that life is about so much more than me.  And time and time again, they've proven right.  No matter how much I focus on me, my shortcomings, my successes, my blunders, my disappointment, my misgivings, I do not get much further ahead.

It's actually in those moments when I sit back and let humanity, the world, the universe, the divine come to me that I actually start to move forward.

Yesterday, we were blessed to watch a world top amateur cross-country ski race take place right outside the flat where we're vacationing.  My soldier, my daughter and I stood out on the balcony, cheering on people that we did not know, in whom we had no vested interest.  465 racers, some old, some young, some super fit, some bordering on obese.  No matter, we cheered them all.  Goaded on by the cheering of the crowds gathered below our balcony, we hooped and hollered, clapped and cheered, egged on those racers who showed superhuman speed, and shouted out "Bravo!" to those who could barely push themselves forward at that point.  Why were we so engaged, so enthralled?  I have no mathematical or scientific explanation; all I can say is that as we watched the racers come by, one by one, we knew we were a part of something much bigger and greater than us.  We were caught up in a whirlwind of excitement for each of these individuals who had set out on a personal challenge, be it to best themselves, win the race, or simply make it to the finish line.  We were caught up in the human desire to accomplish, to succeed, to excel.  It was bigger than us, bigger than me.

A little over a month ago, I could not detach my heart from the Sandy Hook massacre that took place in the USA.  I refused to watch the news, but I'd seen enough to be traumatized.  Why?  Why was every moment of every day taken over by little souls I did not know?  I think simply because being a mom is not an individual privilege; becoming a mom grants you exclusive entry into a world of pain, worry, compassion, love, and anguish that is shared across women of all nationalities, faiths, backgrounds, cultures.  Being a mom is bigger than me.

Same goes for the hostage taking in Algeria last week.  I am one woman, married to one man working in a volatile part of the world.  But across the world, there are many wives like me, shooing away the possibility of terrorism and terror, yet knowing during every waking moment that it is a possibility.  I am just one of many such expat wives.  Being a an expat wife is not exclusive to me; it is much bigger than me.

Christmas holds an extreme wonder for me.  Wonder in the beauty of Christmas carols, wonder in the miracle of the birth of Jesus, wonder in the excitement of a child padding down the stairs on Christmas morning, anticipating a stocking full of treats and a tree surrounded by gifts.  Wonder at sharing Christmas dinner with a few less fortunate than us, which we do every year, wonder at reading "The Night Before Christmas" every night with our daughter in the 24 days leading up to the big day.  Wonder at watching "The Grinch", "Frosty the Snowman", and "Little Drummer Boy".  Wonder at popping open the Christmas Advent calendar every night to see what surprise is hidden behind that tiny little door.  Wonder at Christmas Eve mass, and the choir singing "Oh, Holy Night" two octaves higher than I ever could (but I try, much to the chagrin of my family).  Santa holds wonder for me.  Making egg rolls on Christmas Eve holds wonder for me (an old, strange, East Canadian Coast tradition passed down from my 'memere'* to me).  Why?  I can't logically explain it.  It's just so much bigger than me.

As a family, we watched the inauguration of the President of the United States three days ago.  Why?  Not because we are affiliated in any way, but because it was something great (no matter what your affiliation), it was something bigger than us, so much bigger than me.

Tonight, I stood at the foot of the Alps, watching my husband and daughter tobogganing.   As I stood there in the moonlight, eclipsed by the mountain peaks and majestic pines, I could not help but wonder at how blessed I've been to be immersed in something so much greater, so much bigger than me.  And a prayer, which started in my heart, escaped my lips "Thank you, God, for everything that is in me and around me at this very moment."  The whole moment was so much bigger than me. 

The plight of children in Palestine, in Syria,and elsewhere: bigger than me.  Victims of domestic abuse: bigger than me.  World hunger: bigger than me.  Female castration: bigger than me.  Terrorism: bigger than me.  Faith: bigger than me.  Spirituality: bigger than me.  Hope: bigger than me.  Love: bigger than me.  Bullying: bigger than me.  Tsunamis: bigger than me.  Health and fitness: bigger than me.  Addiction: bigger than me.  Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation: bigger than me.  And the list goes on and on.

So what's my point?  Not sure I ever really have one.  I think, if anything, it's obviously that there is something out there bigger than each of us individually, and if we spend just a little time focusing on and engaging in those things, we can begin to marvel at the miracle of our lives.  Nothing I ever accomplish or fail at will ever compare to world famine, to a star's  light, to the miracle of a child who believes in something unbelievable, to the rise and fall of my child's chest in sleep, to humankind's ability for compassion, to humankind's ability for cruelty.

I urge you to stop, think, look, feel.  What is out there that is bigger than you?  

Or not.  Up to you.  But believe me when I say that I have never been disappointed when I stepped out of me to look at something bigger than me.  Sometimes I've been saddened, sometimes I've been disheartened, sometimes I've been angry, sometimes I've been amazed, awed, overjoyed.  There is so much out there that is bigger than me.

* Memere is the French equivalent of grandma or nana.

Race Officials Helping One of the More Elderly Participants Get Back on His Feet (we estimate the age of participants ranged between 16 and 85).

Watching the U.S. Presidential Inauguration

Frequent Questions About the ME

There are a few questions that crop up quite frequently when I tell people I live in the ME.   Many of them I in fact asked myself before moving here.

I've included some of these below in the hopes that they may be helpful to women out there considering a move to this part of the world.  Or perhaps there are a few people out there who would just like to know.

1.  As a woman, do you have to wear an abaya (long black over-garment or cloak commonly worn in Islamic states by women and meant to preserve dignity) when in public.

 ANSWER:  No.  Qatar is quite moderate in terms of dress. I do not have to wear an abaya, nor cover my hair.  However, conservative dress is recommended, particularly in the workplace and souqs (markets) and public gathering places.  Covered shoulders, knees, loose-fitting clothing, nothing too low-cut or revealing are pretty basic guidelines. Hotel dress-codes are much more relaxed, and women commonly wear sun dresses, mini skirts, shorts and tank tops.

2.  Can you drive?

ANSWER:  Yes.  And thank goodness.  It is literally impossible to get anywhere in this country by foot or bicycle.  Taxis and private cars are available, but can end up being pricey, and the public transit system is highly inadequate for western women.  The buses are usually packed with many men, and not the most reliable.  There is no subway system.  I have yet to meet an expat wife who does not have a car at her disposal in this country.  Even though many women here are stay-at-home, they need easy access to transportation for school runs, kids' activities, grocery shopping, meeting up with friends, shopping, going to the gym, etc.  

3. Can women work outside the home?

ANSWER:  Absolutely.  Provided she has a sponsor who approves it.  Qatar operates on a sponsorship program, meaning you can be brought into the country directly by the company or individual hiring you or by a family member.  Oftentimes, women come into the country on their husband's sponsorship.  As such, their husband will have to sign a letter of no objection which allows them to enter the workforce.  In many cases, however, women can expect to sign a contract with the hiring company that will read something like this:  "contract prepared for non-company sponsored local hire female employees".  As such, the contract will probably include no or reduced housing benefits, no schooling allowance, no annual airfare to home country, and perhaps even a lesser salary than would be afforded to a male counterpart.  But there are definitely jobs to be had, and quite well-paying ones as well, provided you have the necessary qualifications and have some type of connection or "in" to at least get your cv noticed.

4.  What kind of food is available?  Can you get the same items we find in the West?

ANSWER:  If you could find it back home, chances are you will find it here.  The question is 'when'.  My hubby is a big HP sauce fan.  I will find it on grocery shelves for months on end, then suddenly I will desperately and unsuccessfully scour the city in search of a single bottle.  The dry spell may last for months.  This is common for many processed, canned, and bottled western products (granola bars, favorite cereal, sauces, etc.).  As a result, we've become notorious food hoarders.  We bought a free-standing freezer for the express purpose of storing butterball turkey, English muffins and Lender's bagels.  Oddly enough, the one thing that we couldn't get until a year ago (pork), is now in continuous supply.  However, one must go to the alcohol distribution centre to purchase it.  Which leads to the next question.

5.  Is alcohol available in the country?

ANSWER:  Yes.  But only in certain hotel bars and restaurants, and through a single alcohol distribution centre (for personal consumption) that serves the entire country.  To purchase alcohol at the distribution centre, you must first qualify for a liquor permit, which is issued by your sponsor and based on your salary.  Minimum earnings are required to qualify for the permit, and the allowable monthly purchase limit is expressed as a percentage of your income.  

6.  Do you get a chance to socialize with locals?

ANSWER:  contact with locals is largely limited to professional interaction.  While some expats do develop more close relations and stronger ties with locals, for the most part the cultures remain very distinct.  Even if you do develop a relationship, chances are you will not be invited further than one room in their house, and may never meet their spouse or other family members.  Qataris have a special room called a majlis built into the front of their home which is where men will congregate.  Men and women will not usually interact socially, particularly in more traditional households.  I work with several lovely National ladies, and I've had them in my home, but my husband had to leave the house for the afternoon.  I've also been invited to some of their homes, but likewise, I met only with the women and children of the house.  On several occasions, we have had a male National colleague of my husband's over to the house for dinner, but they did not bring their family.

There are many other questions, but I'll start with these, and leave the others for a future post.  

If anyone is reading, let me know your questions about the ME.

Me, Without ME ....

This blog is all about me, living in the ME.  But there is more to me than the place where I live.  There is more to me than the ME.  

Like most expats, I have a house, and then I have a place I call home.  Some days I think "and never the twain shall meet".   But realistically, truly, fantastically, home is where the heart is.  So no matter where I am, if I have my soldier and my miracle by my side, I am home.  

Back in Canada, we own a cottage, a summer home, an idyllic spot where I fell in love with my soldier and brought my daughter into this world.  It was never a house ... It was far too small to be considered that.  But in my heart it was my home.  Simply because it held all that was most cherished of my memories.  

It sits nested in woods, overlooking a lake.  The first week I spent there with my soldier, we watched every sunset, every sunrise.  I've sunbathed in all my glory on the dock over the lake, danced carelessly for my soldier as the moonlight wrapped itself around the forest.  I've seen the lake surrounded by fiery autumn leaves, snow-covered winter trees, spring blossoms and summer crops.  That cottage is where I typed the last word on my Master's thesis, and where, the very next morning I said "Baby, this is it, you'd better get me to the hospital,  we're gonna have a baby!"

We planted a red maple there, right by the deck, for the next baby, the one we lost.  We planted a memory there, for ...... ever.

For years, since we've come to the ME, I've called that place home.  But slowly, gradually, I've come to realize it's not.  I've realized that wherever I find myself, with the soldier and kiddo, THAT'S home.  

Both my hubby and I come with a past.  When we moved in together, we had to rid ourselves of much of the material associated with that past.  When we moved to the ME, we had to rid ourselves of most all of it.  We came here with the bare essentials, determined to make a fresh start.  And we have.   We emptied out the closets, the cupboards, we dusted everything off.  

So we find ourselves with new 'stuff', new memories, a new 'home'.

Not by choice, by chance.  We find ourselves enjoying the new artwork we've put up on the walls, the new plants we see blooming in the garden.  We find ourselves snuggling on the couch under a blanket, watching the last episode of Survivor.

We find ourselves happy to step into the haven we call home at the end of a long weekday, a long weekend.  We find ourselves inadvertently wanting to get back 'home'.

And when we make it back, when we get home, we're no longer in the ME.  We're just home.   My soldier, my miracle, and me.  Home.  In the ME.

Doesn't matter where we are, ME, no ME, it' still me,  home, in the ME or wherever ....

Any house can be a home with the right lights and the right attitude.