When it comes to sexual satisfaction, are you being honest about what you really want? 

Ask most any sex therapist what the first question is that comes out of the mouth of a new client and it is most always this- “Am I normal? Is my partner normal? Is this desire, behavior, longing….normal?” These normal questions weigh heavily on our sexuality, partly because we mistake the endless fictional depictions of sex in pornography as a true point of reference, but even more so because we often suffer with our sexual doubts and fears in isolation, even within couples. It’s a weird question to associate with our sexuality because the idea of normal, which generally refers to the average or middle of the bell curve, is antithetical to the extreme responses that passionate orgasmic sex generates.

Questioning our normalcy about what we desire or what we experience in the unique space of sexual satisfaction is less about the behaviors we engage with than it is the trouble we have reconciling our rational everyday mindset with the free-fall abandon that our sexual impulses demand if we are going to achieve the passionate release and connection they offer. The truth is, as the Kinsey study so clearly demonstrated, that there is no normal in our sexual preferences and behaviors. If the idea of normal applies anywhere, it is in the context of how we relate to ourselves as erotic sexual beings, whether we are open to exploring and understanding our desire or repressing and judging ourselves and others for their sexual impulses.

A powerful cure for moving beyond the normal issue starts by developing the curiosity and willingness to learn how to express our sexual desires out loud. It is empowering to claim our erotic self with our words.  I remember a man who shared with me despairingly that he couldn’t even say the word “masturbation” out loud to his wife. When we give up our own expression to appease anyone, not only does the relationship get frozen in the narrow window of the permissible, but we betray ourselves in a way that makes us doubt ourselves and our desire.  Not expressing creates the dynamic of continuously wondering if we are normal. It is tricky at first, emerging from our self-imposed silence.

I remember the initial awkwardness and discomfort I felt when I began to speak out loud during sex. For a very long time, I believed that my voice would somehow break a spell or interrupt some natural flow.  But in fact, as I started using words to say what I liked or wanted,  it wasn’t a distraction at all.  The more that I trusted myself  to really engage and communicate in intimate encounters, the more exciting it got.  It took a while, but this became particularly true about finding the freedom to share bits of the strange fantasy life that I had silenced for so long with my fears of being abnormal; it turned out to be rocket fuel for passionate intimacy.

If you are breaking a long term sexual silence, words might feel like too big a leap, so start small with allowing yourself  to make the sounds that are held in the erotic spaces. Moans, laughter, screams, and sighs are a hearty soundtrack that will expand the texture of lovemaking in surprising ways.  For one thing, it is through sound of any kind that we communicate our intimate intentions and experience. Even shared guttural noises diminishes our sense of isolation to our sexual selves and our partner. Getting over the inhibition of making noise and the imposed silence of our early days of making out in our parent’s den is a powerfully liberating step to get beyond the normal.

Wendy Strgar is the founder of GoodCleanLove – a website that sells organic and natural sexual intimacy products, and also a source of medical research for women and men’s sexual health. She is the author of “Love that Works: A Guide to Enduring Intimacy“.  Her blog  www.makinglovesustainable.com  was named as the best sex/relationship blog by Intent.com for 2011 and has been listed many times as one of the best 100 relationship blogs on the web.

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Couple image via Shutterstock

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ColumnSmall compromises on big decisions can add up over the course of a lifetime. The result is passion drift—and waking up one day wondering how you wound up in the weeds. How does our culture sometimes take us so far off course? And is it ever too late to get back on track?

We used to call Talking Heads “nervous music.” Part punk, part wave, part funk, there was something angular, pitched and plaintive about their songs that took you slightly off center—a place many of us, back in the proverbial day, wanted to be. Short of being a “Psycho Killer,” of course, being a bit “off” was appealing. It meant you were a safe distance from The Man.

One of the group’s most recognizable refrains comes from the half-anthem, half-cautionary tale, “Once in a Lifetime.” Its infamous earworm goes like this:

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
You may find yourself in another part of the world
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife
You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

And then…

You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house?
You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to?
You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong?
You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done? 

That last line—and the way frontman David Byrne could wrench it up from the depths of his twitchy, pitched soul—resonated deep. It was a primal scream, a warning of the horrors to come should we dare wander from our own authenticity. Nervous words. Yes. About a place where we were to take great care to never, ever go.

The Big Drift

Not too long ago, my brother and I met for coffee to talk about a commencement address he had been asked to give at his alma mater back in Boston. We like to kick around ideas when we get the time, and his charge offered us up some red meat: What do you say to your younger self?

He had chosen his topic—“following your passion”—and so we shot the shit for a while, two grownups (at 50, I have seven years on him) doing pretty well, but nevertheless thinking about what we might have done differently. To say that there was plenty in no way diminishes our current, relatively happy states of affairs. But yes, plenty.

I walked away thinking about the cultural pressures on young people that are as present today as they were when I was kid: security, money, family, prestige if you can get it. Subtle and not so subtle, the sense that we are to attain these “things” is always present, ambient, the water in which we swim. We all know the fears and the insecurities that drive such pressures. And we all know the delivery mechanisms. (Just click any “power on” button and wait for it.)

Here’s a phrase I used in our discussion that began to haunt me the second I drove away from the coffee shop: passion drift. And here’s a short definition: Unlike clear decisions that alter one’s life course (i.e., radically changing fields, partners, geographies, etc.), passion drift entails small compromises over time that offer the illusion of staying close to what delights you. It goes something like this:

Kid (cute): I want to paint pictures. I like to paint pictures!
CW (Conventional Wisdom): That’s adorable.
Kid: No, really.
CW: You’re going to need a real job, kid.
Kid: Ok, fine. How about stories? Can I write stories? You know, paint pictures that way?
CW: Depends. What kind of stories?
Kid: You know, stories. Like, make them up?
CW: You know you’re going to eventually have to buy your own shoes, right?
Kid (older now, less cute): Fine. What about writing for, um, newspapers!? Will that work?
CW: Now you’re thinking. Not something you can retire on, but it’s a start.

A start indeed. See the drift? Fine art becomes creative writing becomes journalism. Seemingly minor trajectory changes, but oh, what a slippery slope. As the challenges mount, the process continues as life—marriage, kids, the need to provide—marches on. Foreign correspondence, say, makes way for adventure travel coverage (married people have no business in harm’s way), then, maybe, to city magazines (best to stay in one place for those kids), then perhaps some agency work (got to feed ’em, too). Clients. Promotions. Leadership positions. Make a little bank. The kids grow up safely (pooh, pooh, pooh, as mom would say). “Things” are taken care of. But, hmmm. Where is that paintbrush?

Okay, so yeah, that’s my story—or part of it, at least. (All told, I’ve been blessed with a fine and adventurous life, and there are certain compromises I’m quite proud of.) But from what I see and hear, many of you have your own variations on the passion drift theme, as well. My bro does, too. What’s common, it seems, is that it’s most often about the small things. Sure, sometimes a Hail Mary comes into play, but mostly life is a war of attrition. Losing ground happens through a series of concessions, next wrong things that ultimately land you so far from your original passions that those impulses seem, at best, specks in the rearview, vague regrets that you can’t even make out from this distance. (Ok, Byrne, so you warned us.)

Get Back, Jo

Before I get too maudlin with all this, what’s a good story without a homecoming? You see, as this form of narrative happens to so many of us, the trick then is finding our way back, right? Or at least getting ourselves back into a passionate space, oriented toward something that’s not about external bullshit but more about our heart’s desire.

About turning things around, experience and simple math suggest two things: First, one has to stop what they’re doing and notice where they are. (How far into those weeds have you gone?) This is what I now refer to as a “Talking Heads moment”—an instance when one looks up and around and asks, well, what have I done? Such ahas!—or better, oh nos!—near everyone my age tells me, are not uncommon. It’s noticing and then leveraging them that’s critical. (Meditate much? Worked for me.)

And second, what takes time doing, most often takes time undoing, and the slow, methodical efficiency with which one drifts off course is an excellent model for how one might find his or her way back. For me that meant picking up that paintbrush, writing down that story, choosing this client instead of that, taking this gig for less money over that one for more. Nothing major. No burning down the house. Just beginning to do the next right thing instead of the wrong one. Bite-sized choices. Again and again.

Lack patience? I hear that. Well, as Cormac McCarthy once wrote, “between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting.” If you enter into the right terrain, it all gets pretty interesting again, and knowing this helps: Your next step will either take you closer to or farther from where you want to be.

What was nice about the conversation I had with my brother is that we’re both on the backside of life-course readjustments. We’ve had our serious crash and burns (and have been there for each other along the way), but have also had that experience of stopping—just stopping— picking up our brushes and getting back to work on what we wanted to do. Things aren’t perfect (are they ever?), but I can tell you this: I don’t recall which one of us picked up the tab at the coffee shop that day, but one of us did—and whoever it was didn’t have to sell his soul to do so.

Anyway, if you’re lucky enough to get that tap on the shoulder one day, consider this new drama. It’s short and sweet:

Conventional Wisdom: Hey kid, how ya been? Let’s talk.
Kid: Fuck you… psycho killer.

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a monthly column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott at adelson dot org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

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Images: swamibu (top) and oddsock.

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In modern society we have to balance pursuing our passion and fitting into societal norms. Is it possible to have it all?

In today’s society we’re sold two visions of what makes a “good” life:

1. Pursue your passion and live your dreams!

We’re taught that doing what we love is a noble cause and it’s something that we should strive for. Get a better life/work balance. Focus on our talents and creativity. Do good things for the world. Be happy. Live simply.

2. Buy a house, save for retirement and be successful!

Success is defined by money. Climb the corporate ladder, be someone’s boss, make money so you can buy a house and be sure to start a 401k as early as possible. Being busy is a good thing. You should be putting your educational degree to good use. Drive a big car, have a house with a hot tub. Be a lawyer, a doctor, be a hedge fund manager, but whatever you do, do something that commands respect.

But these two approaches to life are often in complete opposition to one another. We’re sold an American Dream that is literally unattainable without some sort of compromise, and we like to glaze right over that compromise. “You can do it all!” we’re told. But can we?

If we’re freelancing, in charge of our own schedule, and generally happy with our tiny artsy studio apartment or tiny house, we’re stressed because we don’t have a retirement plan, our friends and family give us the “are you going to grow up soon” look and we wonder if maybe we should have been smarter about putting our degree to good use. We feel guilty for leaving early for a long weekend. “Shouldn’t I have become a lawyer by now?” you say to yourself as others around you buy houses, have babies and nest their way into domestic bliss.

But if we’re on the professional route, we work 60 hours a week, our health falls to the back burner, we’re stressed and burnt out, and despite the number of diplomas on the wall and raises in the board room we wonder, “shouldn’t I simplify and really focus on being happy in my life?”

If you have ever doubted your path in life, you are not alone. And asking whether or not you really can have it all is a common question.

Our culture feeds us two contradicting ideals. Since we live in a world driven by consumerism, it’s no surprise that money is the definition of success, and even if all the self help books have clearly outlined the way to happiness (hint: it’s not money) it’s a nagging thought at the back of our brains that never really goes away. Why do you think people spend so much time looking at inspirational quotes on Pinterest? Here’s a reminder: an inspirational quote is only inspirational if it actually gets you to take action.

Going after happiness is about navigating these worlds, being conscious that no matter how much culture tells us to “pursue our passion” there’s always a grim reality that comes with that pursuit.

How do we create a life where we get both? We don’t. That is to say, we can have elements of both, but we must come to terms with the fact that to do so, there will be some element of compromise. We must also be hyper conscious of the societal pressures at hand. No matter how much marketing and advertising tells you that you can have it all, you can’t.

Can you have it all? No. Because no matter what we do, there will always be a compromise, but it is learning to appreciate and understand that compromise that helps us to live better. We give up one thing and get another in return. We do a cost-benefit analysis.

We can do one thing and that is to live consciously. Make decisions that make sense for us individually. Sometimes that means dropping everything and moving to Mexico to become a yoga instructor. Sometimes that means taking a 9 to 5 office job and not having the flexibility to travel when you want. It’s up to you to weigh the pros and cons of each. There is a daily reality to both worlds, difficult moments and wonderful ones. But determine what your own dream is, don’t live someone else’s.

Life is meant for living, but it’s also about finding a balance. One that you and only you alone can determine. Define your own success and happiness, whatever that is.

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Image: martinak15

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“Sara! Want new SmartCar? Txt yes or no quick!”

Such a text message from your mother might be odd in some families, but not in mine (Mom sells cars faster than bootleg Louis Vuittons and also wields a mean text thumb). I didn’t hesitate. “Yes! Pics!”

I didn’t need a test drive. I’d been tooling around in an old, albeit fun, Jeep for several years. Well, fun when I lived in Pacific Palisades, California and a big day was driving to the beach four blocks away. My first winter in San Francisco with a canvas-topped Jeep – make that my first summer in San Francisco – was an exercise in austerity. I guess I was going for that weathered ski bunny look or at least that’s what I’ll claim in my memoirs. After some nine months of driving in all manner of weather with the plastic windows rolled up a boyfriend helpfully pointed out that they come down. Aha! That’s what those big, dangling zipper pulls were for! Who knew?

Weirdly, the Tesla roadster is not yet in my budget, so I’d resigned myself to driving my Jeep until the wheels fell off and simply parking a generous mile or three away from any green event I attended when the lucky text came.

Lest you have any worries about the safety of the SmartCar, let me assure you, it’s super sturdy. I know this because my mother managed to get into a wreck before I even took possession of my new car. Wasn’t that nice of her to test it out? To be fair, the collision wasn’t her fault. The guy in the SUV was just confused. Didn’t she know the golf course was two turns back?

This being a SmartCar, they don’t really have replacement bumpers just lying around, so I had to wait nearly a month for the damaged caboose to be repaired. (Mom emerged unscathed, caboose intact.)

Accident now out of the way, I made the trek to the homestead in Washington to pick up my little bean and bring it back to the Bay. And I have to tell you, the people you meet at gas stations and rest stops sure are caring folks. I’ve never before felt the likes of such popularity or perhaps I should say, worry.

Parked flush with our publisher’s hybrid Honda

More than once: “Are you safe in that thing?”

Chewing lower lip with concern: “Is that allowed on the freeway?” (We’ll find out!)

The polite: “How much did you pay for…that?”

And the distinctly thoughtful: “What is that?”

That, I’ll have you know, buzzed down the five at 75 mph all the way home with no trouble at all save for a few belches from semi-trucks.

Now, the Smart is what I would call an “active driving experience” – think a stubborn 3 Series. If you like being the boss of your hunk of steel as opposed to rolling over pavement like a stale marshmallow you’ll enjoy the way the Smart handles. What you may or may not enjoy are the looks. And chuckles. And pointing. And being flagged down from three blocks away by really cute men. Which finger you display all depends upon your personality and relationship status.

Smarty has some surprises up its cage. I call it the “Alice in Wonderland effect”. While resembling a glorified jujubee on the outside, the thing is damn near cavernous inside. I wouldn’t say it’s palatial on a scale of the Hummer, but the interior is so roomy you soon forget you’re in half a car. Of course, if you need a reminder just look in the backseat. Kidding! There isn’t one.

The Alice effect is so pronounced you’ll want to be extra alert – I have to remind myself every time I drive that just because I can dart in and out of traffic like a Tonka Toy on Red Bull doesn’t mean I should. This is a car for defensive drivers only. That said, it’s very solid for its size at 1800 pounds, earned a 5-star safety rating, and of course it’s loaded to the crannies with airbags. In other words, this is a blowfish waiting to happen.

Other features include a non-retractable “panorama” sun roof that is virtually the entire top of the vehicle (think Jurassic Park but without the dinosaur part) and lots of clever storage spots and witty accents for design geeks to love. True, the spare tire may be ridiculous, but the engine’s in the trunk – how cool is that? You won’t have much use for such convenient placement, however, as even after two road trips the machine didn’t sip so much as a drop from its two-quart oil well. (Oh, the satisfying sentence this writer has to forgo because they couldn’t make it pint-sized. Wholeness eludes my post – and let’s be honest here, my soul – once again.)

My model, the Passion, is the less pricey version but still comes pretty well-equipped with leather, daytime running lights, AC and tiptronic shift control. And being a web marketing gal, I appreciate the cool social network, Destination Smart, that doesn’t suck a digital egg, unlike Chevy’s Voltage. (I always loved MINI cooper’s marketing but never did fork over the cash.)

For a 1.0 liter, 70 horse, 3-cylinder car, there’s a pleasing amount of get-up-and-go. It’s not my turbo Volvo T5 of yesteryear, but one could call it zippy with a straight face. The only thing that took some getting used to for this stick-shift girl was the oddball gear transitioning: it’s an automated manual transmission. After two months of ownership, though, I only really notice the shift lag when my espresso bean is puffing up to the crest of Franklin. My friend, Nancy, likes to pat Smarty’s dash and say, “Come on, you can do it!” If you want more power, you can go with the BRABUS model (BRABUS as in Mercedes, the maker of SmartCar; there’s also the starter model, Pure, as well as the new cabriolet).

Already in need of a bath…

Anyone who has had to fork over $30 for parking in San Francisco can appreciate the Smart. While I have yet to perform a perpendicular parking job, the bean has been invaluable for errands and evenings out in the city. San Francisco, by design, has an abundance of short curbs between townhouse driveways that are often empty as only motorcycles and sub-compacts have a prayer of fitting in. But these almost-spaces are perfect for Smarty!

And oh, the gas mileage. I go weeks without filling up and look back fondly on my trips to Napa and, yes, the South Bay. Thanks to a respectable sound system and supportive seats with butt warmers even jaunts to San Jose are dreamy. I do get pulled over by cops quite a bit more now (what, you don’t?), but then I also get out of the tickets so it kind of works out!

Moving along. Road trip numero uno under my belt for the grand total of $35 in gas (Smarty’s tiny tank takes premium only, baby), I thought, where to next?

Westside girl and EcoSalon writer, Kim, had her birthday at the beginning of July, so it was off to LA for me. Despite all the heels and dresses and handbags five days in Los Angeles requires, the Smart has surprisingly ample storage. So at the last minute I thought, what the hell, I’m bringing the cat. I’m sure she’ll be as thrilled as I to see the old stomping grounds, right? Besides, cats love long car rides almost as much as they like being deposited for slumber parties with dogs at your buddy’s SoCal house. It’s one, big happy family!

My cat, Roo, on the road…

Roo upon learning she’ll be staying with dogs.

There’s no rating standard for this at Consumer Reports, but I’ve never seen a cat or rather my cat behave so well on a road trip. I mean, I’m not in the cats-on-road-trips business or anything, but surely this counts in Smart’s favor. Roo, a queenly Maine Coon, curled up in her carrier the entire way sans sedative, only occasionally popping her large, fluffy head out to remind me that I was in the presence of greatness.

Unfortunately, once in LA I took a curve on Sunset a tad too sharply, causing her to tumble out – of the carrier, relax! – and having figured out that she was not actually confined to her travel case, all subsequent driving was less than festive. The psychological jig was up. Ever tried putting a cat back into anything? Pandora had it easier. Once again, kudos to the SmartCar’s handling.

Two big road trips for a mere Benjamin later, I love my Smart even more. The only problem is that now I want to drive everywhere. Meet me for mojitos at the Parker in Palm Springs? I do have a birthday coming up!

Images: Claire Gordon, Sara Ost

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