e x p o s e d

I feel like I'm about to tell you a secret. Hilarious, considering there's a good chance you know me if you're reading this. But even as well as I know myself, at 38, I'm surprised at the depth of unpacking I still need to do on this subject I've been avoiding, and studying, and sometimes drowning in.

I watched a lecture about eating habits by Geneen Roth - a petite, smiling, peaceful looking woman who'd just admitted that she'd lost and gained over a 1,000 pounds over a 17-year affair with dieting - and she mentioned this caption to a New Yorker cartoon: I don't think I'm the right person to be living my life. She didn't look the way she thought she should, and she had been fundamentally convinced that her life would be better if she just looked different.

Like me. I mean, there may have been times (during her coffee-and-cigarettes diet perhaps) when she thought she would be happier if she looked a little more like me - somewhere on the far end of the skinny-scrawny-angular-emaciated-twiggy spectrum. Except that at I was convinced that I would just be happier if I could be curvy-plump-thick-fleshy-round-substantial-normal.

Normal. Like you could peg your jeans and there wouldn't be inches of loose denim leftover. Or your best friends wouldn't spend idle time in class lifting up your arm and laughing at how easily they could break it. Or maybe people would assume you had at least some athletic ability, pick you for gym teams; they probably would not assume you had an eating disorder. As an adult, you could find a suit that fit you when you landed your first serious job, and nurses wouldn't use the pediatric cuff to take your blood pressure. Because you wouldn't have been a freak.

Like me.

I've gotten savvier about how to peg those jeans, and at least when I was pregnant I finally tipped the scales over 100 pounds. But lately I've gotten real about all the calculations I've ever made - what to wear, how to move, how to hold myself - so that I can try and a p p e a r normal. Until I see myself in a picture or in the reflection of a building walking amidst a crowd, and I realize I am not fooling anyone. And I am ashamed at the level of effort I've employed in this fruitless, thankless effort to be something other than myself.


* * *


Maybe someone upstairs has heard all that whinging over the past few months, because I seem to be gaining some new perspective on all this.

For instance, our hotel room in Singapore was lined with a horizontal row of mirrors, so I saw myself naked a lot. I suppose I always see myself naked a lot, but this time I could see my whole body, not just the pieces I've grown to automatically find imperfect or needing some adjustment. And something clicked - about how destructive it is to see yourself as a collection of segments, to constantly do the the equation If my _____ was just ______-er, I'd be _______. Conversely, it's pretty powerful to perceive and understand your body as an integrated total. I saw all the imperfections I've always seen - I just realized there's nothing wrong with them.

They weren't hurting anybody, they weren't inherently bad or good - they didn't always look exactly the same, and since they probably weren't going anywhere, they might be worth


ACCEPTING.


Woo-eee, the word of the dayhourmillenium. Geneen Roth was about to commit suicide before she dropped the struggle, and realized she could keep being miserable or she could make the best of it. I can suffer or I can just accept this... We become what we resist. The more we resist our experience, we become more scared and rigid, and inflexible. And let's face it, we got sh*t to do. How much energy do we have for our lives when we spend so much time in resistance? Accepting feels like the permission we give ourselves to abandon those patterns of struggle that just don't serve us anymore, freeing us to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or to just be happy.

Or to move beyond accepting to LOVING, the next lesson I was blessed with, listening to the amazing Aimee Mullins on the Moth Radio Hour. I was driving in Kendall Square, windows down, thinking this woman SOUNDS beautiful, I couldn't wait to get home and look her up online. She is a stunningly gorgeous model-athlete-speaker-actress-double amputee who is authentically rocking the fact that she gets to wear open-toed shoes in the winter, be six inches taller and run on prosthetics modeled after a cheetah. She blew my m i n d with this notion: BECAUSE of, not IN SPITE of.

She is more beautiful BECAUSE of her 12 pairs of legs. That means I could be beautiful BECAUSE of where I am on the slender-lean-svelte-lithesome-wiry spectrum? Revolutionary. An epiphany that no one else has made more real than she did in that moment.

To boot, the September 9th New Yorker article "Man and Superman" by Malcolm Gladwell implies my body might actually even be BUILT FOR something:

Why do so many of the world's best distance runners come from Kenya and Ethiopia? The answer, Epstein explained, begins with weight. A runner needs not just to be skinny but - more specifically - to have skinny calves and ankles, because every extra pound carried on your extremities costs more than a pound carried on your torso.

Of course, I know plenty of people who run muuuch farther and faster than me, and their legs are quite muscular (and magnificent). And I know in writing all this, I run the risk of hurting people who feel being overweight is far more demonized and ostracizing than being underweight. (Check out this interesting online discussion if you're curious about that.) So I'll say as clearly as possible that I am not asking for pity, or taking sides, or claiming I have it worse than anyone. I am saying that it doesn't matter if you believe you weigh more or less than you should, if you have all your limbs or you've lost some along the way,

You are not a mistake. You are not a problem to be solved. But you won't discover this until you are willing to stop banging your head against the wall of shaming and caging and fearing yourself. -Roth, in Women, Food and God

The quality of the feelings is exactly the same. We can all relate to feeling unattractive, incapable, unacceptable - and with a little courage, a lot of support and some radical opposition to the dominant cultural messages that encourage us to buy a better self - we can all love our bodies and find them capable, acceptable, beautiful. It doesn't happen in every moment of every day - but I think every time we look at ourselves with kindness and appreciation, we cultivate the ability to see everyone else in the same way. And the secret we all get to unwrap is what we really can do once we see even our disadvantages as an advantage, those things that make us freakishly extraordinary, exceptional, a diamond.

. . . ever leaving . . .

Your first discovery when you travel is that you do not exist.

-Elizabeth Hardwick



When you return to Cambridge in early August after three weeks in Asia, you discover that


a) it is already Fall
b) there are indeed sharks around the Cape
c) everything is where you left it


For better, and worse - the tiny lavender unmatched sock that fell out of the laundry basket, the full rack of drying dishes, the bank statements you still don't know how to file, and the mental lists you made of the insurmountable tasks you identified and created a long time ago. You slip back into the rhythms effortlessly, even though your recent memory finds it strange you're no longer doing just one thing at a time: letting your 3-year old try on her nth pair of shoes in Singapore's ubiquitous malls, queuing for the metro in the angled spots designated with thick red tape -- standing on the shore of Berawa Beach with your surfboard under your right arm, or slapping mosquitoes onto the wall as you get ready for bed each night.

I forgot I missed the clarity that follows simplicity, and that leaving home means your regular entanglements are stripped away. You carry with you only what you brought and what you really need, although the two don't always line up. But your bags get smaller and your phone doesn't ring. The lessening of things.

Sadly, I was also reminded that I didn't necessarily have fewer thoughts. Thich Nhat Hanh in The Art of Power recommends just drinking your tea (not your projects, your worries, your plans). I've traveled all my life, and I've always believed that this exercise is easier when you're on the road. I think this may have been the first time I really turned over that assumption in my mind, spurred by my own evidence and experience. Can you really sit in a space that's emptier - or do you rush to fill it up? Mary Maddux of Meditation Oasis asks what's happening now? Embarrassing to admit how often I cannot answer that question, even in the face of new weather and smells and languages and routines. How often I thought of what had happened in Cambridge, or what might happen in Bali, while crossing the buzzing and ordered and well-kept roads of the Lion City.


~ ~ ~


Despite their escapist nature, two books reduced the world to pages and lines at every free moment: The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman, and The Dog Stars by Peter Heller. Both came to me by chance, both told of our barest, bravest selves in the practice of survival, both revealed some of the most honest insights about love that I've ever read.

Singapore's meatiest veins seem hidden to me; I still cannot figure out what to do with myself there, beyond the requisite kid-friendly assortment of museums and zoos and parks. So my books provided an aspect of incident and adventure I thought I wanted. The beginning of the crumbling of my walls of assumptions.
I can just kill time 'til we get to Bali, I thought... until our idyllic tropical ocean experience will be perfect and harmonious and light.

Of course the day we arrive in Bali, the ocean is roiling and messy and far over our heads. The winds from the Southeast are blowing at around 21 miles an hour, and just paddling out to the break was challenge enough. No one told me Bali brings a little of the crazy. Juxtaposed, of course, with thousands of black-blown temples and verdant rice paddies and easy smiles are floods of motorbikes on narrow roads with no sidewalks, 13-foot waves that come out of nowhere, monkeys that attack you for your flip-flops, projectile vomit and dengue fever-laden skeeters. Would our expectations have changed if someone had alerted us to those possibilities? Or would we just see what we wanted to see, an oasis nestled in the dunes of our stresses and fears and long-constructed fantasies?


~ ~ ~


There's a passage in the dystopian Dog Stars about a character's desires that predated the central apocalypse. She remembered wanting a baby so desperately, and the waiting. Living her life, but always seeing the baby at the end of the equation "it'll-be-better-when". And that really struck me. The waiting we do every day, for a less stressful moment, for an event or object or person that will make us happy - the waiting we do over many months of planning and hoping, not needing to be content or relaxed "until" we get to our elsewhere. And we get to our elsewhere, we find we have new expectations, new needs, new desires. We wait for a train that comes and goes, and even when we get on it, we barely notice we are moving.

I agree w/Ms. Hardwick: when you travel, you inevitably find out that you are nothing. All the responsibilities and labels and commitments and story lines and definitions of you are suspended in another ether. The you that is inviolate survives without the wardrobe of familiarity, which is simultaneously reassuring and terrifying. I would only add after this journey that everything is everything. There is beauty and trauma and serenity and chaos in every situation; we wait for purely fictional situations that won't challenge us to remain in this world and learn something new. If neither the past, nor the future, neither memory nor assumption is real, the only thing that remains is the moment.

Someday I will remember that we don't need to go anywhere to discover this, that the present moment is the only thing that really connects us to life. We feel ecstatic, we feel destroyed, we feel like we can't wait 'til everything changes, and everything changes. Then we return, and take a breath in, and let it all go.

axle revolutions

Does it have to be rooted in a logical explanation, or can life just suck sometimes?


I'm not even sure that's a real sentence, but I mean what I inquire. As a human and friend and mother and practitioner, I'm always very interested in the WHY, and I think there's a lot of important insight to be found while digging around that dirt. But after 37 years on this planet, I can also say with greater certainty that we can't always grasp the entire WHY, especially at the very hot, bothered, drowning moment in which we're most desperate to figure it out.


According to some expert astrological interpreters, we're in for a fair amount of liquid flailing this month: Eric Frances says that June's theme is w a t e r - the realm of emotions. The challenge is to feel more, without being overwhelmed. For people who aren't so friendly with their affections and sensitivities, it may feel like work to open up, and acknowledge that feelings not only exist, they drive everything we do, consciously or sub-. For those who are already very in touch with that notion, the overwhelm can come in the form of getting lost, confused or obsessed. It's exactly like swimming or floating or spinning and never coming up to the surface. You can lose energy, hope and - most importantly - perspective.


Perspective is the oxygen we seek. Where is my center? Where is the horizon? How do I get out of this situation that has no form or order or rhythm that I understand?


Here's the one tiny and mighty answer that I've kissed the ground to give thanks for:


pivot.


Veer, whirl, redirect, switch. You're in possession of the ball and you keep one foot on the floor, but you turn, and assess, and choose.

Any time you feel negative emotion, stop and say: Something is important here; otherwise I would not be feeling this negatie emotion. What is it that I want? And then simply turn your attention to what you do want... In the moment you turn your attention to what you want, the negative attraction will stop; and in the moment the negative attraction stops, the positive attraction will begin. And - in that moment - your feeling will change from not feeling good to feeling good. That is the Process of Pivoting. -Excerpted from the book Money and the Law of Attraction

Great advice, and a very simple mental tape to drown out the less useful ones. Although I sometimes find it hard to know what I do want 'instead', and I also struggle with seemingly conflicting Buddhist ideas about desire and non-attachment. So I also love these options that help us get off the spiral and turn things around:


-The meditation practice of Tonglen (breathing in darkness/pain, breathing out light/peace)

-Tapping/EFT (some call it psychological acupuncture)

-Acupuncture!

-Dance salsa, swing, tango, African, or play basketball, tennis, do tai chi -- anything that has a lot of turns in it


Anything that helps you actually feel a pivot or turn in your body will help you recreate the mental state and energetic sensation that you can use ANY time you get stuck. Just imagining the feeling, or visualizing yourself turning, can be enough to wake you up. And if it's not enough, find that friend or practitioner or teacher who has a entire boat full of life preservers to share with you.


The key is to come up to the surface. But also to do it with patience and kindness. Your ascent speed is slow to save you from the bends. If we're grateful for the time it takes, we take advantage of the chance to look around and learn more. And when we rise, we remember there's no further destination or distant galaxy that saves us. We revolt and come back together a million times a day. And the simple and comical grace is that we are always returning, returning, returning.

spramblope

: sprint, amble, lope,

run.

It's not a directive I've heard that much in my life - or perhaps in the regular physical contexts that tend to surround that verb.. I've hustled my little tush off in numerous misguided but earnest ways (the Hotchkiss soccer field, the news floors at NPR headquarters, strapped to my college laptop for four days straight to crash my thesis deadline) - but now when I hear that word in my head, it's synonymous with a need, a riddle, an enterprise.


(Run.)


It started after the Marathon - a detail that makes me feel at times ordinary, or susceptible, or communal.
Journalist and kindred spirit Christopher McDougall says that distance-running has increased three times in our history, and always amidst a national crisis that hits us in the boo-boo (otherwise known, in this case, as our root chakra: the energetic home of our fear, our tribal identity, our sense of safety and purpose and vitality). McDougall wrote the best seller Born to Run four years ago, but his questions are perennial: Why?
Why don't antelopes get shin splints? When did running become something that belongs to only athletes or lunatics? Why should every other mammal on the planet be able to depend on its legs except us?


I had no conscious awareness that I wanted to (re)claim this primal ability, but I did register a desire bordering on requisite that I wanted to be able to run, in the event that I had to. For ten miles, at a good clip, with my daughter strapped to my back. Away from dangerous, towards sanctuary. I wanted to be in that kind of shape, but also to experience the feeling - of nothing stopping me, of not having to ask anyone's permission, not having to strap into all my gear or drive anywhere or learn anything new.


Of course it turns out there's always something to learn (sigh). But in this case, the non-didactic progression has been incredibly satisfying:

It hurt a lot in the beginning (not with physical pain exactly, but I was just DRAGging, sans oomph, drive, qi). Even before a mile was up, I couldn't wait for it to be over, and it seemed a fairly doomed experiment. But I set my sights on a goal (another thing I discovered I am hungrily in love with about running) -- a 4 mile run with TRWB (Team Red White & Blue, a great grassroots organization that joins veterans with community members through physical and social activities).


Having goals like this is like catnip to me. I need progress. I can't believe I forgot this about myself, but I think I've spent the past three years in such amorphous atmospheres - being a mom, starting my own practice - I've been learning more about how to be patient with an organic process. With this venture, each time I went out, I could run for a few more minutes, and then I actually felt better after the run than I did before, and then I could make it without my headphones drowning out the ever-counterproductive mantra I am not a real runner. And now I can see that those were all milestones that led me to holding my own at that 4 mile run less than two weeks ago. And today I ran more than 4 miles before breakfast, at a good pace, never flagging, no pain.


: : : r u n : : :


It feels like a gift to be discovering that self-doubt doesn't automatically translate into paralysis. Which makes me think of psychologist Peter Levine's Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma. His writing and philosophies are gentle, thoughtful, and wise - and he's really woken me up to how movement is connected to trauma and its aftermath:

...In an ideal adaptive response to a life-threatening event, the nervous system searches for related significant images and possible responses at an appropriate level of activation and context. It then makes a selection and acts accordingly. It searches, selects, then acts. This threat-arousal sequence has to include an active response or it becomes frozen and doesn't complete. (p. 212)

I'd say this also goes for any stressful event we experience, regardless of scale: our bodies need to work it out. It doesn't have to be running. But it does have to be moving. Even following other animal examples, we could shake it out or stretch it out or dance it out... I think the key is to figure out where it lives in you. This can come before the movement, or as a result of it - but joining your breath with the contraction and release of your limbs and muscles and tendons and organs and flesh IS healing. It reflects the nature of who we are down to the last cell in our bodies. Every creature has a right to own that. And every human has the blessing to acknowledge it.

even war

A Samurai exhibit just opened at The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston - it's an impressive collection of weaponry and the accoutrements of war, a saturated reminder of my abiding love for the Japanese aesthetic. But this weekend, it struck me in ever more ways, as Boston came out from under its self-imposed siege, and we all figure out how to hold this enormous Pandora's box of sadness and fear, shock and anger, grief and catharsis, hatred and compassion.

From the very first suits of armor you see, made from iron, silver, copper, wood, gold, brocade, fur, bronze, brass, leather, and lacquer, you cannot help but marvel at the amount of required work, skill, attention and planning. The finest of details, the most elaborate designs - and each piece with its purpose, be it protection or pomp (or a clever combination of the two). Each suit took many hands over many months.



But it was when I arrived at these that it really struck me:




Arrowheads. Essential to Samurai warfare, and some of the most beautiful objects I've ever seen. Objects that stood a good chance of never being noticed again, by neither craftsman nor soldier. You could say the same for a suit of armor trampled by hooves, or a helmet pierced by Portugese muskets... Why go to those lengths, why construct works of such art to face imminent destruction?


I'm sure there's a scholarly answer to this, but my mundane mind first opined that people in feudal Japan had simple lives, with an abundance of time. That's not a particularly satisfying answer... I spent way too many hours in undergrad Anthro classes to ignore the deeper values that these objects portray. But as a human, a practitioner, a Gemini - the conclusion that made me feel the most despondent was this: Even war was artful.


And bloody, and cruel, both full and empty of glory, I imagine. But these pieces prove it was a thoughtful and communal effort, one that ironically required as much collaboration as resulted in annihilation. There was ritual and pageantry. A singular type of beauty that I don't pretend to understand.








And now we kill each other with BBs and nails in pressure cookers. We could spend a day or a week constructing weapons that maim hundreds of strangers. There are official wars that fail to consume us, unless we love or know someone wearing today's armor - and there are many more unofficial wars we can enact beyond the support of our communities.


I wish I had something enlightening to say about all of it - but in truth, I just feel heartbroken. The idealist in me wants all the violence to end, so that we can all be about the business of healing, and evolving. The realist in me knows humans (animals?) have never lived without violence, and by all accounts never will. The way of the Samurai was imperfect. But I do have respect for the respect it confers on that heaviest of acts, taking a life. If life is our brief pageant of opposites, ironies, truths - silver and wood and fur and leather - let it be beautiful. Artful.

And shared. And adored.

rolling stones don't gather...

There's always a lot of talk in Spring of cleansing one's liver. With good reason - the liver is a big, important organ that helps us digest food and cleanse toxins from our blood. I'd like to give a shout out to the liver's lesser-acknowledged cousin, the gallbladder. Because gallbladders need love and spring cleaning too. And here's why:

First of all, they are related. In Chinese Medicine, they share a similar wavelength of energy, commonly referred to as "Wood". Wood can be like a sprout (pushing, growing, young) or like a sapling (flexible, smooth); like a strong oak (stable, powerful, commanding) or a heavy board (obstinate, stubborn, inflexible). All of these qualities live in us, albeit in different measures at different times. But during Spring, those energies are generally stronger because they're stronger in the planet. To capitalize on that, we do detoxes and cleanses to make sure our Livers are performing at their best and getting some love and acknowledgment for it.

Meanwhile, when you check out the Gallbladder's Robin-to-Batman status, you'll often find the biomedical world has little remorse about kicking it to the curb. The Gallbladder's function is primarily to digest fat, but if your eyes have yet to glaze over, hang on for the really interesting stuff that Chinese Medicine has to offer on this organ and the "digestion" it assists.

The fluid that breaks down fat is bile. The Liver produces it, the Gallbladder stores it. (PS, if you're wondering why these organs are capitalized, it's because that's how we do it in Chinese Medicine - because the organs have important roles, and not just for the physical body.) Sufi Five-Element guru Thea Elijah describes bile in this way:

Bile is the power to overcome big obstacles by using main force to break them down. This is what bile is for. Not subtlety. You could combine it with subtlety, but nothing says you have to. Bile is the capacity for direct assault. Hammers. Using force. Demolition power. All right, here comes my best shot; I’m going to tackle this situation. There’s a lump of fat in your gut, and bile breaks it up no matter how thick and chunky it is. This kind of power is what makes bullies, and conversely what gives us the power to stand up to bullies. Bile is really great for taking on bad guys. Bile makes you feel strong, able to demolish obstacles.

Can you relate? So imagine what happens when that kind of energy can't flow, or gets stuck.

Somebody is making stupid rules, and your Kick Ass Vigilante Superhero bile self is held in, is squelched, is not coming out and saying “you can’t do that!” boom, boom, boom, like cannon fire, bringing up your full forcefulness out there...And if that energy is aroused and then held in, this leads to damp heat, a simmering “muzzled dragon” syndrome. There are a lot of people who have this; often they are constrained and unable to assert on the outside, but inside they live with a very acute awareness of just how much ass ought to be kicked. That constant awareness is arousing bile in them - and then it’s not coming out into the world where it is needed, where it could be used constructively and heroically for the betterment of all beings. It’s just held as simmering simmering simmering rage that then starts getting squirted out at inopportune moments in the gut and they end up with colitis or they end up with gallstones, held in there.

Testify. Part of Thea's genius is that she uses very strong, clear language to describe this - but if you scale it back a notch, and think about other, more subtle situations, I submit that this kind of thing happens all the time. Partially because this world has its share of trouble and there is a TON of ass that ought to be kicked. But also because anger (bitterness, frustration, resentment) is a really difficult emotion to manage well.

Paul Pitchford, author of the seminal "Healing with Whole Foods", suggests another telling source for Liver and Gallbladder disharmony:

Too many desires - whether for sex, fame, power, security, money or rich-tasting foods - can stimulate a person to eat excessively. Even in cases where not much is eaten, desire can blind proper judgment, so that inappropriate actions and diet may be chosen. (p.283)

Pitchford says symptoms that indicate Gallbladder sediment are indigestion, flatulence, periodic pain below the right front side of the rib cage, tension in the back of the shoulders near the neck, bitter taste in the mouth, and chest pain. You can ask your acupuncturist about these symptoms as well. Pitchford suggests some brilliant, natural ideas on how to treat this with food: the mild version of his Gallbladder Flush is taking two tablespoons of olive oil followed by two tablespoons of lemon juice, on an empty stomach, for five consecutive days. I've done this Flush and I like to do it first thing in the morning. Lemon juice has the added benefit of helping to adjust your pH balance at the start of your day. There's a more intense version of this that involves apples, and a gradual version of this that happens over many weeks.

If you dig these ideas, Pitchford's book is a very worthwhile investment. And if you're curious about the emotional aspects of Wood energy, scroll down to the bottom of this page and click on "Wood Pattern Trans". And if you're REALLY interested in an East-v-West comparison of the Liver, check this out.

Lastly, at the risk of outing myself, I will admit I am very intimately familiar with Wood energy - and I am always happy to listen to your personal cannon fire.

Peace,

Athena

critter comforts

It's hard for my husband and me to pick out presents for our 3-year old. She's at the crux of Princess and Dress obsession, something we never invited in but are somehow powerless to repel. Add to that our different upbringings: he got the toys he wanted, full of zeitgeist and testosterone, and Barbies, Cabbage Patch dolls and My Little Ponies were strictly forbidden in my house. So for this Valentine's Day, I got our girl something I thought might be fairly neutral, but desirable - a little Baby Pool and Sandbox to go with her Calico Critters Cozy Cottage Starter Set, a gift from her grandmother complete with a bunny family.

My daughter was still unwrapping the plastic bags that contained each tiny plastic component (sand castle, watering can, beach ball...) when she said "I think we need to get more. Can we get more for the house so the bunny is happy?" This from a child who has no knowledge that there's an entire line of Calico Critters Stuff (campers, bedrooms, Deluxe Villages, Luxury Towns...), who almost never watches TV, who is wholly unfamiliar with the concepts of keeping-up-with-the-Joneses, consumer culture and the advertsing equation (buy ____ = happier).

Well, scratch that last part, obviously we grow our consumerism from inside the womb, as expecting mothers become captive shoppers for thousands of things their child will probably never need or use. It was shocking to hear how effective the campaign for hungry hearts and minds can be. In the moment, I told my daughter that the additions we bought her were special gifts, and the bunny should be grateful for them, not think about how she needs more. But after she went to bed, I told her father I felt complicit, and I didn't think I could ever get her another addition to the Cozy Cottage.

Too bad she'll learn it all regardless. I am far from immune to the belief that I can buy my way into better-ness. I don't know what else to do except to keep asking those questions, and hope that will encourage her to ask more questions herself. These links at least make me feel supported in this task, and at most remind me we are no more the prisoner of our desires than we desire to be...

For an academic take on consumerism and child identity: http://mcs.sagepub.com/content/33/3/347.abstract
And a Buddhist perspective on being content with what is: http://tinybuddha.com/blog/7-reasons-to-be-happy-even-if-things-aren’t-perfect-now/
Taking it all a step further to minimalism: http://www.becomingminimalist.com/7-common-problems-solved-by-owning-less/
And because when I first went searching for links most of what came up was about eating, here are some reasonable, practical guidelines to feeling more satisfied on less food: http://www.dumblittleman.com/2009/10/learn-to-eat-less-and-feel-more.html