Charting the course to self-love: my 90-day journey of personal transformation
In August 2013, while confiding in my life coach, I expressed my ambition to embark on a 90-day journey of self-love—a self-imposed vow to refrain from contacting an ex-partner.
The spark for this idea came from a site visit to a shelter in Providence, Rhode Island, where residents commit to a 90-day contract focused on sobriety and personal accountability. I thought, if those wrestling with addiction could demonstrate such steadfastness for 90 days, couldn’t I find the same resolve for my own well-being?
Thus, on August 4, 2013, I initiated this personal challenge, set to conclude on November 20, 2013. My life coach and I curated a playlist—a collection of songs to lift me through moments of heartache and self-doubt.
Throughout the 90 days, I committed to nurturing activities: from regular workouts, karate, delving into self-help books to massages, attending 12-step meetings, and social gatherings. A standout moment was a BBQ gathering with my sailing friends, recounting adventures from our Sicilian trip and practicing the energizing 5 Tibetan Rites on my lawn.
One of my most cherished pursuits was the renewal of my bond with the piano, under the tutelage of a gifted Bulgarian instructor. Her faith in me rekindled my passion, spurring me to consistent daily practice.
However, on day 45, I confronted a significant hurdle. While vacationing with my 10-year-old son in St. Tropez, I asked him to wait for me in the hotel lobby. With him out of the room, I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigarette—the last one from the pack. As soon as I had taken a few puffs, the room’s door opened, revealing my son, his face reflecting profound shock and dismay. This incident stirred memories of my teenage self when my cousin Daisy had discovered my secret stash and reacted with tears.
Seeing the sheer impact on my son, I made an instantaneous vow—the end of my smoking journey.
Luckily, my away-from-home setting proved conducive to quitting.
The beginning of this journey, although imperfect, was a journey of introspection, resilience, and self-love. It was more than just a commitment—it was an exploration of the potential within me. I proudly achieved my goal of not reaching out to my ex during this transformative period.
Lessons from the smoker's pit: finding belonging in unexpected places
At boarding school, the smokers' pit was my oasis. This corner, designated for students with permission to smoke, pulled me in despite my lack of official sanction. It began with a shared cigarette, marking not just the start of my nicotine journey, but also my plunge into a new community.
Nestled under the trees outside the dining hall, the pit transformed post-mealtime into a lively hub. Here, amidst wafting smoke, students from diverse backgrounds gathered, sharing stories and laughter. The pit wasn't just about smoking; it was a conduit to unexpected friendships and dialogues. It was also a place of subtle observations and, occasionally, flirtatious exchanges. Phrases like "Do you have a light?" or "Can I bum a cigarette?" often opened doors to deeper, more meaningful interactions.
Over time, cigarettes became more than a habit; they were my ticket to a social life.
Yet, 30 years later, karate, 12-step groups, and dog walking groups have replaced smoking areas, fulfilling my need for community, and belonging in healthier ways.
Looking back though, the smokers' pit was a formative chapter, teaching me about relationships and belonging. It's a reminder that while our avenues to connection may evolve, our need for it remains.
Ironically, I sometimes joke that cigarettes were healthier than social media...
Courage to explore: From Ding-Dong-Ditch to a spiritual quest
In the sheltered haven of our garden, where palms stood tall and fragrant blooms swayed, a playful mischief known as ding-dong-ditch began to sprout.
“Let’s break out of this place,” proposed Sebastian, my newfound older friend. At eight, I looked up to his towering age of eleven with awe.
Intrigued and eager, I agreed.
Together, we darted to doorways, ringing bells, and swiftly taking refuge behind walls, our muffled giggles serving as the only trace of our presence. Little did I know, this innocent game would become the catalyst for my solo expeditions through the streets of Monaco.
Months earlier, donned in a pristine white dress, I had discreetly spat out sugar-coated almonds into a napkin during my first communion in the French Catholic Church. That solemn and austere ceremony culminated in months of learning the art of prayer.
Emboldened by the escapades with Sebastian, I found myself wandering Monaco's narrow and winding streets.
It was either serendipity or curiosity that guided me to the threshold of what I’d later recognize as an Anglican Church.
Nestled in the rear pew, with shadows weaving patterns around me, I listened to the pastor speak in English, a language I didn’t quite understand.
“The peace of the Lord be always with you,” he said.
“And always with you,” answered deep voices in unison.
What followed caught me off guard. Adults began exchanging handshakes—a practice I’d never seen before in church. Suddenly, their heads turned and their eyes converged on me. Heart pounding, I felt to be a conspicuous outsider who’d trespassed sacred grounds. They approached me, their expressions radiating warmth, not judgment or reproach.
“Oh, who do we have here? Welcome little one,” a kind voice uttered.
They extended their hands, and I extended mine. The handshakes felt both firm and compassionate—a contrast to the restraint I had grown used to.
Post service, I darted into the sunlit outdoors, half-expecting their congeniality to wane and questions to arise.
Back home, my heart buoyant, I recounted my day's adventure to my mother. Sidestepping any mention of my mischief with Sebastian, I eagerly recounted the surprising warmth of the Anglican Church.
Chuckling, she remarked, “It seems my daughter's gone church shopping!”
To this day, I cherish that day's memory. It was more than just an adventure—it was a revelation. My friendship with Sebastian had helped me to break free, to seek, to explore, leading me to uncover warmth.
How an ex's critique led me to reflect on wealth, humility, and heaven
Once, an ex-boyfriend harboring a grudge against some of my friends, cited the Bible to criticize them. He quoted,: “Jesus says: ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.’”
Intrigued, I explored this verse from Matthew (19:24) further. It turns out that there’s an interpretation that diverges from the common understanding. Some suggest that the “eye of the needle” alludes to a gate in Jerusalem. To pass through this gate, a camel must kneel in gesture of humility and have all of its bags, symbolizing attachments, removed from its back.
In a twist of irony, I’m grateful to that ex-boyfriend. His critique unexpectedly guided me towards a deeper appreciation of humility and the essence of letting go.