It was only a couple of years ago that beets, cooked carrots, and oatmeal were on my “Never, ever, ever eat” list. And yet in the last 24 hours, I have deliberately cooked and eaten all three of those detested foods. And enjoyed them.

I’ll leave the story of how things changed for my blog and cut straight to the point of this challenger, which is, basically, “My, how things change.” Obviously, beets, carrots, and oatmeal are still beets, carrots, and oatmeal. What has changed is me. My tastes, my perceptions, and frankly, my cooking abilities are vastly different than they were when I first developed my dislike for those foodstuffs.

So my challenge to you this week is to try one thing - and it doesn’t have to be food - that you’ve always thought you didn’t like. Try it in a different form, or with different people. Explore it with an open mind and see what’s there. Be curious about it. And who knows? Maybe you’ll discover an old enemy is a new friend.

(For more about beets, carrots, oatmeal and changing life perceptions, read my post Learning to love what I used to hate.)

I think I was born hating cooked carrots. My father tells me that the first time they tried to feed them to me as baby food I went psfffft, and the carrots landed all over him. And I don’t recall a time when I ever liked beets. My hatred of those two things, I thought, were ingrained in my very genes.

Oatmeal was a different story. When my ex and I were very, very broke students, we lived on oatmeal for at least one, and often two meals a day, for about three years. By the time we’d graduated and could afford something else for breakfast and lunch, I’d eaten enough oatmeal for a lifetime. Or so I thought.

(As an aside, Dick didn’t quite believe the three-year oatmeal ordeal until he was talking to Ken, my ex, one day, who confirmed the story.)

Fortunately over the last few years, I’ve been reintroduced to these hated foods by people who didn’t know I hated them. In England, I was served really, really good oatmeal–the kind that takes 30 minutes or more–and rediscovered my taste for it. In Vermont, at a restaurant run by the New England Culinary Institute there, a blob of orange mush appeared on my plate, and I very timidly (suspecting cooked carrots) tasted a tineful (not even a forkful). It was good! I asked my server what it was, and could not believe it when he told me “carrot puree.” Believe me, if baby food had tasted that good, I wouldn’t have spit it out on my father.

And then, just last year, I tasted beets again. Not the flabby, mushy canned things, but firm, red globes, roasted perfectly, in a cooking class I was taking. They weren’t anything at all like what I remembered, or perhaps imagined. They were delicious!

I can’t tell you exactly what made me decide to try these hated items again. Politeness, mainly, I think. But I’m so glad I did.

And these experiences with food have opened me up to other things I thought I wouldn’t like–such as pack-horses, snowshoeing, yoga, dark coral paint, and the National Western Stock Show. I’m more apt to say “yes” to a new experience now–and I have to say, my life has been much, much richer for it.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ve probably noticed that I’m not writing much about my diet. Well, that’s because not much is happening with it. I haven’t gained any weight back, which is good, but on the other hand, I haven’t lost any weight either. Which isn’t good.

There’s a reason for this: I’ve stopped avoiding snacks in the evening. Cheese (and wine) are my downfall. It reminds me of a story Tommy LaSorda once told a friend of mine. The story goes like this:

Tommy’s doctor told him he needed to quit smoking, quit drinking, and lose weight. That evening, as Tommy reached for a  cigarette, his doctor’s words came back to  him. He looked at the cigarette in his hand, and asked “OK, tobacco, who’s stronger, you or me?”

“I am,” said Tommy, and put the cigarette down, never to smoke again.

The next evening, as he poured himself a martini, he remembered he was supposed to quit drinking too. “All right,” he says to his drink, “Who’s stronger, you or me?”

“I am,” said Tommy, and poured his martini down the drain.

The next night, as he sat down to a heaping plate of linguine with red clam sauce, he thought again about his doctor’s words. He needed to lose weight–to go on a diet. He looked down on the plate of liguine and clams and asked “Who’s stronger, you or me?”

A little clam poked its head up out of the sauce and said, “I am.”

Well, the truth of the matter is, cheese is stronger than me, at least for right now. I need to get re-motivated enough to stop reaching for the cheese (and wine) after dinner.

It’s interesting. I’m very motivated in the mornings. I exercise, do yoga, walk, eat a healthy breakfast and lunch. I don’t snack during the day. But about 7:30 in the evening, well, it’s like someone just pulled the plug on my motivational tub, and it all runs out the drain.

So somehow, I just have to keep that motivation going for another couple of hours. Then I’ll be stronger than the cheese.

I recently visited my dermatologist the other day, to ask her what could be done about the sun damage and blotches and wrinkles (rapidly becoming crevices) that the Time Witch had suddenly etched upon my face. She put on her magnifying lenses, peered at my skin, and asked what I was talking about.

She couldn’t see any thing significant enough to treat.

“But-but-but” I stammered like a poorly-performing engine.  ”They’re there and there and . . .” But looking in her mirror, I couldn’t see them.

Sheila (my doc) asked. “What magnification is your mirror?”

“Eight X,” I answered. It was a new mirror, a requested Christmas gift, since aging eyes had made it challenging to put on makeup in the morning. I was tired of applying eyeliner to my lips and lipstick to my earlobes.

“Get rid of it,” she advised. “Get a two X if you need to see more clearly.”

I’ve thought about her advice this past week, and I realized it applies to so much more than my face. What it comes down to is: You can always find flaws if you look closely enough. And if you look too closely, you miss the big picture.

Take, for example, my DH. When I look at the big picture, at the last 20 years we’ve been married and the 28 years we’ve known each other, I see an amazing, considerate, responsible, loving man. When I think about what he did yesterday, I can find (if I look hard enough) evidence that he is anything but.

The truth? Well, it’s the first–the amazing, considerate, responsible, loving man that would do almost anything for me–and proves it on a regular basis. But when I have the magnification turned up too high, all I see are the flaws.

It seems to me that I need to develop a different kind of magnifying glass; one that magnifies the positive aspects rather than the negative. Wouldn’t it be nice to see the positive aspects of my skin–my, well, not that,  my, um no,  . . . Hmm. Are there any? Or have I looked through that overly powerful, negative lens so long I can’t see the positive things?

I think it’s time I changed focus.

And Shrove Tuesday, too! When I was growing up in Canada, the Tuesday preceding Ash Wednesday was called “Pancake Day.” Mom would always fix pancakes for dinner, and we’d have contests to see who could eat the most. (Dad always won.) Today, Mardi Gras celebrations are much more common (at least in the States), although Liberal, Kansas does hold an annual pancake race on Shrove Tuesday, every year.

Are you up for more history? Although the first American Mardi Gras occurred either in 1699 in Louisiana or in 1703 in Mobile, Alabama, it’s true origins go way, way back, to the Roman festival of Lupercalia, held in the middle of February. The early Christian church assimilated this pagan festival into its own calendar, creating a period of celebration that traditionally lasts from Twelfth night (January 5th/6th) until Lent.

Personally, I love the idea of Mardi Gras–maybe not six full weeks of it, but it seems to me, living in the northern hemisphere (and looking out on a cold and snow-covered yard), that we need a break in the middle of February. Or at the beginning of February, this year. (Mardi Gras, like Easter, is a “moveable feast”, tied to the lunar calendar, rather than the solar calendar. And Easter is always the first Sunday after the full moon that follows the spring equinox.) In fact, I think there should be some sort of celebration every month of the year. Something that will make us stop, and look around, and celebrate life. Something that will pull us up and out of our head-down slogging from day to day and week to week. Something that will remind us that life is to be lived to the fullest, to be enjoyed, to be, well, celebrated. Even the little stuff. Even every day.

So what are you going to celebrate today? For me, I’m going to make much the fact that the squirrels are eating from the squirrel feeder and not the bird feeder, rejoice that my lastest bad hair cut has almost grown out, and that the power is on and my house is a toasty 70 degrees.  (It’s 16 F outside.)

Of course we all set positive expectations of ourselves, but did you know we set negative ones also? Every time you say “Oh, I could never do that,” or “Above my pay grade,” or “I’m no good at . . .” you’re setting–and reinforcing–your negative image of yourself. How will you ever try something if you’ve already made up your mind that, for one reason or another, you’re going to fail at it, or not be very good at it?

Often, these stories come from our past; a chance comment we overheard, or a belief that was nurtured as a child. For example, I’ve always believed I couldn’t sing. This notion developed directly from my mother, unintentionally on her part, I’m sure. And to this day, I don’t sing. At least not where anyone might hear me. (Although I’ve been known to sing along with the radio at the top of my lungs when driving, especially on long trips.) I’ve even considered taking singing lessons, but that old tale is so deeply rooted in me that I have never followed up on it.

You wouldn’t think this not-singing would be a big deal, but it’s amazing how often it crops up. For example, I frequently beat myself up because I can’t/won’t sing. I call myself a coward for not trying. I look at people who aren’t afraid to sing out loud in public, and I’m envious. Even when I’m at a concert where everyone else is singing, I’ll mouth the words, or sing very, very softly, under my breath. I’ve skipped parties because I knew there would be karaoke and I’d be expected to take the mike. I’ve never chimed in on “Happy Birthday.” I’ve never joined any kind of singing group or choir.

Rationally, I know that it’s not that big a deal. I know there are people who are (probably) just as bad as I am who do sing out loud, in public, and no one cares. But I just can’t get past the old, old story of “I can’t sing.” And as every year goes by, and I continue to believe in this negative expectation of myself, well, it just gets deeper and deeper, and more and more ingrained.

So will I bite the bullet and sing this year? Probably not. I’ve got too many other things I’m trying to do; things that are less scary, things that are easier, and things that matter more to me. Losing those 10 - 15 pounds comes to mind, as does the continued effort to get my office back on track. Singing doesn’t even make it to the top ten of my priorities. But I have to ask myself: is that a real evaluation of its importance, or is that fear (and Gremlins) talking?

Often one of the biggest challenges we face in life is living up to our own expectations. And when we fail to live up to those expectations, we kick ourselves. A lot.

The dangerous thing about our self-expectations is that we tend to set them too high. We’d never expect a friend or family member or co-worker or person-on-the-street to live up to the standards we set for ourselves. In fact, we’d probably tell a friend who expected from him/herself what we expect from ourselves to, “Loosen up!” or, “Get real!”

So this week, pay attention to the expectations you hold for yourself. Are they reasonable or just a bit too high? And how do you treat yourself when you fail to meet them?

(For more on how we meet the negative expectations we set for ourselves, please visit my blog at theMuseblogs.)

P.S. Why not keep those resolutions this year? You can with the help of a life coach. For an absolutely free, no obligation, no sales-pitch intro session, just email me at Muse@ManageYourMuse.com.

I just spent nearly thirty minutes carefully crafting an answer to someone who had contacted my through my website. I did some research, thought long and hard about my response, and wrote it as well as I could.

I hit send, and then went on to the next e-mail in my inbox.

I heard the “ping” of new mail. It was a “Mail Delivery System: Delivery Status Notification” message, telling me that “delivery to the following recipients failed permanently.”

And I’m frustrated. Some poor person isn’t going to receive my beautiful answer to her question. She’s going to think I didn’t care enough to respond. She’s going to think I’m some unfeeling, cyber-guru who’s too busy to answer a sincere question.

And I’m not. But I can’t respond if the e-mail address isn’t right. So please, please, please, check your e-mail address when you enter it. If it’s correct, I will answer you. If it’s wrong, I will have anwered you anyway–it’s just that you won’t know.

(This is an exerpt from a response I sent to a potential client, who was confused about the mixed messages in self-help books)

There are a million books and tapes and ideas out there, and each one presents itself as being “the one true way” to happiness or success or . . . But we have to realize that there is “no one true way.”

These books and these speakers want to reach as large an audience as possible, and so they have to generalize. They have to talk about what is usually right for most people (according to how they see most people, and according to their definition of what is right), rather than what is right for one person, for you. They don’t know you. They don’t know your situation, your resources, your strengths and your weaknesses. So don’t fall into the trap of thinking that you need to fit your round self into their square hole.

Some of these self-help gurus are very wise, and have wonderful ideas and concepts. But others, well frankly, they are in it for the fame and fortune, and will adopt whatever approach is necessary to sell books and/or fill lecture halls. People want to believe that they can buy the secret of the Universe, the key to happiness, or the magical panacea for all the world’s ills, for just $19.95 at Amazon. And there are those who will try and sell it to you. Buyer, beware!

I’ve dabbled a bit in the author/speaker world, and I know how tempting it is to present myself as having all the answers. And yet, I don’t. No one does. And as uncomfortable (and unprofitable) as it is, it’s also much more honest to admit that I, too, have questions and doubts. My methods aren’t for everyone. And they shouldn’t be, either.

And that’s the power of coaching: it focuses on the individual. When I’m coaching a client, I’m not applying generalized concepts. I’m working with that one person to discover or create answers or at least approaches that will work for that person, and possibly, that one person only. We try things on. Some we keep, some we discard. Some things work, some don’t–and we keep working, together, until we discover something that does.

No self-help book can offer that.