health – Page 3 – Brooke Lyn Landon

Bad and Boujee

Urban dictionary defines boujee as.”High class, flossin’, ballin’, One who posesses swag. Always on fashion trends. Elite, rich.” Right now, I’m getting a $4 pedicure in Hanoi, Vietnam, and am bra-less, in a shirt I bought in Thailand for $5. I’m also rocking $12 sweat pants I got in Japan because I didn’t want to do the walk of shame in my booty shorts from the night before. Yet, I’m still feeling Bad and Boujee.

Whatever you’re feeling has very little to do with what’s happening outside of yourself. Certainly, getting a pedicure while sipping tea is a big contributing factor to me feeling badass and boujee af, but it ultimately it is how you interpret life internally that sets the tone for the way you feel. If a lad roasts me for my ballsy outfit, I have a few options. One option is to be a little bitch and change clothes. Or, I can think he’s just not as innovative, creative, confident, or badass as I am, and continue my bad and boujee feels.

Outside influences can so easily deter us from feeling our best. We’re accustomed to comparing ourselves to the limiting constructs that our society has inflicted on us. It’s all make believe, and we’ve done it to ourselves. As in, we believe something so much that it makes the reality we perceive. hence the word make believe. We make it believable.

I’ve been feeling somewhat insecure at times. I’m constantly surrounded by beautiful people that are nearly a decade younger than I am. I’ve compared myself to other girls and felt like if I searched “past their prime” into google images, my picture would be there. But I’m fucking fire. Inside and out I am perfectly imperfect and I love it. I’m beautiful. You’re beautiful. Beauty comes in every form, and it’s what we make ourselves believe that will determine if we feel bad and boujee or just strait up bad.

I’m not here preaching like I’m peachy all of the time and life always feels good. I get sad. Things irritate me. Earlier, I felt like rolling my eyes the moment anyone tried to talk to me because I was peopled out, and didn’t want to deal with humans. However, the opportunity for change always exists. I don’t know about you, but I’m choosing to consciously make my life a fairy tale, and it’s titled Bad and Boujee. Who’s with me?

Getting Roasted on the Daily

I’m thoroughly enjoying my time living in Vietnam. I love what I’m doing, the freedom I have, and the community around me. Still, I’m getting roasted on the daily.

You come across a countless array of personalities and characteristics while living in a hostel. I meet some people who’s words are as smooth as gravel. A few times, I would rather have eaten gravel than endure the pain of listening to them try to entertain an obviously unamused audience. Most of the time however, I’m meeting people that I enjoy getting to know, and am fascinated by their ways of life and stories. Not only is everyone uniquely different, but every culture and country from around the world has different forms of bonding, humor, insults, cursing, and so on. Often times, the joke someone said about you that you want to vent in your journal about later, is actually a sign of friendship, or a form of endearment.

A few people roast me harder than the abs of Cristiano Renaldo. Sometimes I live for it, and sometimes I live for the moment they stop talking. It doesn’t help that I’m rooming with a guy as ruthless as Loki, the trickster God. Though if you ask me, he’s more like a devil. (I’m mildly joking, Brady)

What I have found interesting is my responses. With some people, I fire back words faster than a pro frat boy shotgunning a beer. I’m witty, funny, and always ready to come back with more. With others, it’s as though my ability to form any structured sentence vanishes into an abyss. Maybe my responses from person to person varies because every relationship or group has a different dynamic. Or, perhaps it’s my level of comfortability, although I wouldn’t say I’ve ever been uncomfortable per se.

Regardless, it’s all fucking hilarious. If you can’t laugh at yourself, how the hell you gunna laugh about something else? That last sentence was suppose to be an imitation of Rupauls “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gunna love somebody else.” but if you didn’t know that, my reference may have gotten lost in translation.

Anyways, it’s all in good fun. I think it’s important to toughen up your skin while lifting up your spirit. That’s regardless of whether I’m able to come back with a vengeance, or stand there like the criminals in Scooby Doo once they’ve been caught. It could look like they’re out to get me, or I could see they’re taking a piss and it’s funny af. I choose the latter, and will continue to thoroughly enjoy my time in Vietnam.

Relapsing

Traveling the world the past 6 months has been the ultimate mode of healing in terms of transcending old beliefs, and addictive disorderly thinking and behaviors. I have never been less concerned about what I did, ate, or how I was perceived. However, it’s common to get to a point where we think we’ve done all the work we need in a certain area of our lives, only to discover there’s more we need to climb before we reach the mountains peak. That’s what happened to me this past weekend when I went to Ha Long Bay, Vietnam.

It’s everyone’s dream to get paid to party on a private island with guests for several nights. I knew my liver wouldn’t be thrilled, but I was. Then, things took a turn for the worse.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how I went from Lindsey Lohan pre Parent Trap, to her post Mean Girls. I’m kidding to a certain extent. I didn’t go crazy and go to jail, or whatever that chick did during her scandals. What I did was go back to my old ways of thinking and behaving.

I began to feel insecure, binge, and feel tremendous guilt for everything I ate or drank. I know I still have some reflecting and contemplating to do in order to trace back and acknowledge how this all manifested. There are however a few triggers that seem more obvious.

My co tour guide, Lu, is a sweet young girl from Germany. She’s also hot af. Standing next to her was the equivalent of super model Heidi Klum next to Snookie from her Jersey Shore days. All the guys drooled over her like they were on the Survivor reality Tv show, and they were about to eat their first meal since going off the island they had been stranded on for months. I felt utterly invisible, and undesirable. The large buffet style meals they served were something that took me ages to face again after rehab because that was my eating disorders happy place. As you can imagine, when that’s in front of me while I’m feeling like an ugly old fart, it’s a recipe for disaster. Also, the extensive drinking and empty calories certainly weren’t positively contributing to my body or mind. My self control and self esteem fell harder than a fat kid on a seesaw.

I’m looking at that temporary digression from a new and higher perspective. It’s an opportunity for growth, transcendence, forgiveness, and self love. In the past when I’ve relapsed I beat myself up. This time I’m more forgiving, accepting, and loving towards myself. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as bad, nor did I go as far as I did in the past when I went back to some of my old ways, but regardless, I digressed. Now though, I’m perceiving it more as a success because of how I’m handling it. I’m not saying having done that was a good thing. I am saying shit happens, and how you handle it can change your future. At the end of the day, I’m living my best life in Vietnam, but sometimes you have to go through ebbs in life so you can flow more smoothly after.

What it was like to be in a Bathhouse in a Foreign Country

Originally I had little interest in going to an onsen when I was in Japan. I can’t imagine many people blaming me for not wanting to get butt ass naked, and bathe with strangers, after having spent the last several months shoveling food in my face like a squirrel getting ready for hibernation. Still, I put my big girl panties on… or should I say took off, and headed to the bathhouse.

A Sesame Street game might seem irrelevant to my experience at a bathhouse in Japan, but it gives a great visual representation of my life at that time. In this game, they place several items down. One of which is clearly out of place. For example, an apple, an orange, and a squirrel. Then, they begin to sing “One of these things don’t belong with the other.” and the child has to guess which it is. You see where I’m going with this? When I was in the onsen in Japan, I was the squirrel.

It’s safe to say I’m not your typical petite Asian chick. Yeah, I’m 5 foot nothing, but that doesn’t mean my love handles and thic thighs instantly vanish like my self esteem did in middle school. Granted, I have no problem with the way my legs are, minus chafing on a hot summer day, but again, I was the squirrel.

At first my mind raced faster than my heart after I think someone might have accidentally seen a risqué photo in my camera roll. My thoughts consisted of… They’ll all stare. There is no way they’ll miss my cellulite and that upper back roll that I see slightly beginning to appear. Will they think I’m a greedy fat ass who has no self control?

Then, I entered the locker room. Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceilings. The relaxing spa music and cleanliness instantly gave me a sense of tranquility. All fear vanished and I was filled with curiosity and joy. Whether I felt that way simply because of the ambiance, or more so because I was on a high from feeling bougie af, is still yet to be determined.

I certainly compared the women’s naked bodies around me and saw the many differences. Obviously not in like a creepy sexual way. I felt more and more at ease as I saw the beauty in all of our differences and especially when I noticed people were not staring at me like I was the squirrel.

The baths themselves were so relaxing and beyond what I had imagined. From hot baths and cold baths, to lying down baths and silk baths, I tried them all with peace and fulfillment. It was hands down one of the highlights of my trip.

That’s not to say insecurities didn’t arise. I’m sure there was a moment I wish I hadn’t had that Pad Thái binging spree in Thailand. At the end of the day, that’s insignificant compared to the happiness, acceptance, and triumph I felt when it was all said and done.

To think I almost let that experience slip away makes me more determined to go beyond my fears and insecurities in the future. If there is one take away from this that trumps the rest, it’s don’t let the fact you feel like a squirrel stop you from an experience you’ll grow from. Also, if your ever near a bathhouse, just get your ass naked and have fun with it.

Does Size Matter?

Initially reading the title of this post, I’m certain a lot of curiosity arose. I’m sure at least a few people considered searching through their emojis to find the eggplant to accompany the comment with their thoughts on the matter. Sure, I could be referring to a dick, a pant size, or an eggplant, but that’s not all.

Well, does size matter? My answer is yes and no. For everything in existence, there is someone on this planet who will think it matters, and others who will not. Something matters to everyone, but it only matters how it matters to you and what you do about it.

Anyone else’s assumptions on what matters could change. When you embrace your size or opinion, and the beauty you have to offer, you have the power to shift the perspectives of others. Also, your mood can drastically change from Squidward to SpongeBob based off of what you realize truly matters to you.

Some days I feel so bloated I imagine others perceive me as that chick Violet from Willy Wonka when she chews the gum, and blows up like a gigantic blueberry. I feel like any moment I’ll have Oompa Loompa‘s rushing towards me to roll me away. I can’t imagine on those days people are actually looking at me like I’m a sumo wrestler, but my energy certainly isn’t offering a milkshake that’ll bring all the boys to my yard.

Other days, I wake up having the confidence of Beyoncé and give less fucks than Kanye West. I could look the same as I did the day I felt like Violet, but my mindset shifted my reality. If I’m beaming, walking like a hot piece of ass, people will be drawn to that energy in a positive way. What matters is how you feel and how you present yourself to the world.

When I asked if size mattered I said yes and no, but I’ve actually change my mind. It absofuckinglutely does not matter. Size doesn’t matter. Feelings matter. Focus on lifting your spirits. Then, wether it’s the size of your pants, bra, dick, or eggplant, it will be something to appreciate.

I Am Not On My A Game But Here I Am

Usually, I have a few ideas of what I could write about that would excite me and give value to my readers. Right now is not usually. Right now, I’m jet lagged. Right now I’m tired, hungry, and against my fathers wise words, I still haven’t taken a nap. Yet, I refuse to believe that just because I’m not feeling like the offspring of Robin Williams and Elizabeth Gilbert, I can’t produce something worth putting out into the world.

I was so close to not even trying to write because I’m not on my A Game. I don’t even feel I have any game right now. If the hottest dude in the world came up to me and asked me out, I would have the response of the dude from “The 40 Year Old Virgin” meets Sleepy, Snow White’s dwarf.

I still have fear that this won’t resonate with everyone even though I know damn well I can’t please them all. There is still worry that this post will seem too short. I don’t like admitting that I’m not in the creative flow.

However, here I am, proving to myself that those thoughts in my head telling me I couldn’t do something now worth sharing is only true if I give it power. Here I am still tired as fuck but feeling like a bad ass boss babe for acknowledging my limiting thoughts and pushing through. Here I am, hoping that next time you try to brush something off that you deep down know is best for you to do, you remember this, and you choose not to give your limiting thoughts power.

It’s times like these that you enhance your ability to push through more easily in the future. Of course you won’t try to power through every time you feel like a zombie from The Walking Dead, and that’s fine. As long as you’re not jeopardizing your well being, and aware enough of those limiting thoughts to take action, that you’ll get that much closer to being on your A Game.

How I Feel About My Body Image Since Traveling

C380A78D-9673-4DA8-9012-F97FFA8C5D20 A big part of traveling the world is experiencing the culture, and that includes the food. What happens when you consume an absurd amount of pad thai and befriend a bunch of bros who eat about six meals a day? You guessed it. Thighs that are thicker than the minds of those who don’t believe in global warming.

Before traveling the world, I was a fitness instructor, I worked out seven days a week, and was vegan. Not the vegan that still eats vegan ice cream and french fries. The kind of vegan that looks at the package at a grocery store for 10 minutes to make sure they know all of the ingredients. So, as you can imagine, a lot changes both physically and mentally when your daily health and fitness routine goes from Kayla the fitness guru, to Honey Boo-Boo.

Having struggled with a sever eating disorder for years, it’s not hard to guess my initial reaction to my reflection as my body changed was not a positive one.

“It looks like I have a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego.” Was the kind of internal dialogue I would have when I had to get dressed in the morning.

Somehow, someway, things started to shift. I couldn’t even tell you why or how. I started to live more freely. I began to look at my curves as sexy. I was beyond grateful that I allowed myself to eat what I wanted, and experience the culture, without the excessive guilt or counting calories endless times a day like I used to.

Between the liberation of eating what I want without internally freaking out, and having people like me for me, it’s easy to see I used to give a fuck about all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons. I realize that if I was the twig I had wished I was, I’d want to look more like me now. You want what you can’t have. Even though society says one type of beauty trumps the rest, I beg to differ. Plenty of people prefer having something to hold on to, in which case, I have no shortage here.

My mother tells me “There’s a cover for every pot.” That I believe to be true. For every body type, there are plenty of others who’d admire the beauty of it. However, the most important thing to be able to do is cover your own pot. You can always trade lids when another comes along, but you don’t want to be left feeling cold because of the way you feel about who you are or how you look. I’m hoping that metaphor comes across as good as it did in my head.

Did I grieve today when I couldn’t fit into the pants I tried on in a store in Japan? Yes, but mainly because they were sexy af and I would have worn them so much. Gosh, I’m getting so salty just thinking about it. Let’s be real though, I do not have the physique of a typical Japanese woman, and that I’m okay with. Do I wish my body was different? Also yes. Though I appreciate what I have and how I am, I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all my extra fluff. Some is great, but I’d love to distribute the rest to my ass if I’m being honest.

If I was huffing and puffing like a chain smoker with asthma after walking down the block, that’s one thing. However, that’s not the case. Im living my best life, doing just fine. In fact, more than fine. Beautiful curves and all.

What Will I Do Once My Dream is Over

I have plenty of dreams, and one that I’ve had for the longest time is about to come true. In a few days I’ll be in Japan. If I got tattoos of things I’ve been obsessed with at some point in my life, I’d probably have a Hello Kitty tramp stamp, manga sleeve, all that Morning Glory store crap on my calves, a miso soup face tattoo, and throw in a couple geishas and Harajuku girls while I’m at it.

When I think about going to Japan now, I get so excited, but I also instantly picture that money emoji with wings flying away. I will try to make that forever tomorrow’s problem. What I am unnecessarily making today’s problem is finding out what to do once my dream is over.

Like I said, I have plenty of dreams, but when this one is over, I don’t have a plan of what step to take next. Im going back to a country where I have no home, or idea what will happen. The world is my oyster, and though that is a dream to many including myself, it’s an overwhelming amount of responsibility and choices. I trust that it will all unfold as it should, or as my friend’s tattoo says “It’ll probably be fine.” That said, it made me think about what more I can do to help me through the phase when a dream is over.

I’ve come to realize, the easiest way to move through this, is to get excited about the next phase, step, or event of my life. It could be acknowledging the tremendous growth this next chapter will bring, my next trip, or that dream that I get the feels just thinking about. As long as it’s not triggering in some way, focusing on another dream, event, or positive thought, will have me smiling because it happened rather than crying because it’s over.

However, focusing on a dream is not to say forget about where you are. This is not a day dream to take you to Neverland. If you feel like shit, acknowledge and process your feelings. Know that your mind is afraid but your heart knows what to do and will guide you if you let it. Then remember more is on its way.

This may be the end of one dream, but there are plenty more dreams to be fulfilled and that will come true. All that exists is the present and I know that sounds cliche as fuck but it’s the truth and you know it. In times like these, it’s when I need to focus and consciously do what I can to move forward with a positive mindset. I’d be lying if I said it would be a walk in the park, but I’ll be walking on sunshine if I make the effort.

I’m not saying this because I think I know it all or feel like you don’t know wtf you’re doing. I’m saying this because it helps be process my feelings and walk on sunshine. I also do this in the hopes you’ll be able to join me on my walk in the sun too.

The Time I Almost Died in Vietnam

Everything was going so smoothly my first several months traveling. Almost too smooth. Then, it all started with a bang, and by bang I mean me swinging the bathroom stall door against the wall while leaving a trail of vomit behind me.

Several hours later, I’m in the hospital in a developing country. One would think that would be the cause of my near death experience abroad. That however, along with loosing my debit card and breaking my phone within the same week, should have been taken as a warning sign for what was to come.

I had no card, no phone, and very few endorphins left in my brain. My friend James, who I met because I was forced to ask people to lend me money, offered to give me a ride on a motorbike to get my phone fixed. We borrowed our hostels motorbike, and headed towards what should have been a 17 minute journey to the phone repair shop.

The wind in my hair, and optimism in my mind, came to a halt as we approached a more than mildly terrifying intersection. Not because the roads looked like a challenge even for the Fast and Furious crew, but because we ran out of gas. We got off the road as quickly as we could. James guided the bike towards a little rundown convenient store on the corner as I walked by his side. At that point, I found the situation pretty comical, and would be lying if I said his frustration didn’t make it funnier.

We started trying to communicate with a local there which turned into a game of charades.

“I don’t know what the fuck this guy is trying to say.” James said in aggravation.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I think he wants me to get on the back of his bike, and for you to get on ours. I don’t know. Let’s just do it.” I said as I hopped onto the back of a strangers motorbike.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I watched the man stick his leg out like he was Jackie Chan about to kick down the bike James sat on. Instead, he hooked his foot onto our bike and put his keys in the ignition.

Next thing you know, I’m flying down a four-way highway during rush hour as James is being pushed along by this mans foot. Cars and bikes were swerving around us and beeping like it was their day job. We arrived at an intersection with so many cars and bikes, you could barely see the pavement.

I closed my eyes tightly and figured at least if I died, I went out with a bang traveling the world. I heard James repeatedly say “Oh my God.” as we made our way through. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I could conquer the world even though I really didn’t do shit. James stared back at me as if to say “Is this real life?” And we both began to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

To say getting sick, loosing my card, and breaking my phone put a damper on things would have been an understatement. It was the kind of damp that reeked of mildew as it tried to dry in a plastic bag.

Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic because there was so much good that came from all of those situations. It’s easy to be so caught up in the moment, that we don’t see the beauty in it. Sometimes the events in life that make us want to hit our heads against the wall, or nearly kill us, end up being the memories we wouldn’t trade for the world.

I’m About to Have a Midlife Crisis

I guess one could say I’m on the verge of having a bit of a midlife crisis. Not the crisis where I’m on my hands and knees begging for mercy. It’s more like the kind where I’m really hoping for some dude to come out of the sky and be like “Do this. It’s gunna be great. You’re awesome. Here’s some bomb, vegan, calorie free ice cream.” Like, is that too much to ask?

If someone were to ask me what I’m doing with my life, I’d probably have some basic white bitch answer like “Living my best life! #blessed” or some shit. That wouldn’t be lying. I’ve been traveling the world for months having the time of my life. That said, I can’t help but dwell on what’s around the corner when I return to the US.

Currently, I’m home free. I like to say that instead of homeless because it sounds cuter. I have no plans on how I’ll make money, where I’ll live, and most other things that are comforting to know. I’m a cross between an infant that doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of someone’s hands playing peekaboo, and a college dropout who doesn’t want to deal with all the BS. Great combo when 30 is creeping up and you see your friends with their 9-5 jobs, moving in with their significant others. If a guy can hold my interest for more than a month, I feel like I deserve a metal and one of those pageant sashes that says “Yass Queen! Keep those fingers crossed!”

So, how does one prepare for the inevitable depression that follows after the trip of a lifetime, or when you don’t know what the fuck is next? Or better yet, both at once.

My first instinct is to say the preparation involves a big trip to the grocery store, target, and some online retail therapy. However, I think the preparation is less about doing and more feeling.

Here’s how I feel. Everything to date has always and I mean ALWAYS worked out. Times like these are the pinnacle of ones own growth when looking back. The more of these challenges we face, the stronger and more prepared we are for the future. It’s a hustle, hurdle, and an advantage. Does it feel mildly terrifying and really icky? Yes. Will it be worth it in the end? Also yes. So, there you have it folks. That’s what you’ve got to tell yourself on the verge of a midlife crisis. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep me sane.