* Thin – Obese * Marriage - Divorce * Space – Congestion * Busy - Bored * Health – Illness* Abundance – Poverty * Joy – Misery * Birth – Death *
Life is full of highs and lows. Life can be bright, easy, charming and effortless. Then it gets messy, sticky, ugly and heavy. We laugh and then we cry. We cry and then we laugh again. It’s all in an honest day’s work. We move swiftly or awkwardly through these moments in time and try to catch our breath; moving along dreaming, hoping, planning and organizing for that moment in life when things will finally be smooth sailing. And then the unexpected always happens. Always.
My grandpa died last week just when I was ready to get my life in order. I went into the office on Monday morning bright-eyed and optimistic about the promising opportunities that lie in the start of a fresh new week. I was prepared to create my plan for my envisioned future, organize my files and my closets, manage my social calendar and keep up with the laundry once and for all. Anyone who knows me knows that I live and die by a strict set of OCD-inspired rules that keep me on my toes and focused on the goal at hand. This is how I’ve lived my life. Even choosing a shampoo becomes a complicated task when I begin to question whether or not the shampoo and it’s maker is in line with my life’s purpose. So this whole idea of “getting my life in order” is quite the joke. Rather it’s a constant refinement of “the plan” and a contemplation of what’s next. But then my grandpa died last week and the plan changed, again.
Sitting in his home on Monday, my brother and I looked around at the remains of the things that have accumulated in his life over the years. There were the usual grandparent things: prescription bottles, packages of chocolates, reminders about doctor’s appointments and that day’s newspaper. There were pictures of all the grandchildren from years and years and years ago (like the year my brother and I had matching permed mullets…thanks, mom) and pictures from just this past summer’s baseball outing. There were doilies and needlepoint décor, knickknacks and reading glasses, china and collectables. All these things that accumulated in a lifetime now just sit there waiting to be moved, packed and donated. All this stuff in a lifetime I’m sure were part of his plan or my grandma’s plan in one way or another. These things arrived no doubt because of the people and activities in their lives that celebrated their highs and recognized the lows in their lifetime. But in the end, it’s just stuff. And the stuff will be moved along.
The crocheted placemats, the macramé plant holders, the golf clubs and tools will long be forgotten but the moments around the arrival and purpose of these things will remain. We’ll remember the times that our grandpa brought his tools over to hang a picture or make a simple repair in our homes. We’ll remember those seemingly endless holiday dinners and the placemats that held our meals. The china that kept our coffee warm and our cookies handy over our multiple discussions about the meaning of life will remain in our hearts, and the glimpses of the macramé plant holders that decorated the front porch will flash in our minds as we look back on those warm summer evenings making commentary and observations about how the world has changed over the years. In the end, it is just stuff but it’s the life we build around the stuff that makes it magical, memorable and meaningful.
My grandpa was a no-nonsense kind of guy who really despised all the stuff but he sure loved music and a respectable dance partner. He cherished a strong cup of coffee with my grandma’s cookies and blueberry crepes with lots of whipped cream before church. My grandpa taught me to appreciate a smooth scotch at a celebration and a traditional pizza pie anytime. But even more, he loved an animated discussion, a good joke and a hearty laugh. He thrived on the cultivation of personal relationships that were built around all of the things we accumulate in life over time.
So these things that we have and these plans that we make sometimes get messy. The china gets dirty. The potted plants tip over in the wind and the picture frames sometimes crack. It is in these unexpected moments that we can often expect to find the best. It is often said that funerals bring out the worst in people but I believe that they can also bring out our best. These unexpected moments cause us to stop and pay attention; to step away from the plan for the future and step into the present; to pause and remember. It is in these unexpected moments, the highs and the lows that we are reminded who we are, where we come from and how far we’ve come. Pema Chodren writes: “This very moment is the perfect teacher is really a profound instruction. Just seeing what’s going on – that’s the teaching right there. Awakeness is found in our pleasure and our pain, our confusion and our wisdom. It is available in each moment of our weird, unfathomable, ordinary lives.” These unexpected messy moments transport us away from the drama and frivolity and back to no-nonsense living.
In honor of Jack Yuhas, dance with a good partner. Have a cup of coffee, cookies and crepes with whipped cream. Sip a smooth scotch and eat a piece of pizza. And then tell a joke, have a hearty laugh and an honest heart-to-heart with someone. Anyone. And mark the highs and lows of life and all of the stuff in between.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Learning to Float
“The circle of your friends will defend the silver lining.” -John Mayer
I’ve always been a fairly strong swimmer. All of those summer days at swim team practice paid off as a kid! Every morning, I would slip on my slick red, white & blue Speedo, run out the door barefoot, hop on my banana seat bike and head up the big hill to the pool; it was a daily thrill. Our team was called the PM Pests; the practices were tough and we were tough. I loved every minute of the drills, the laps, the push-ups and sit-ups, the challenges and the camaraderie. My brother was on the team as were all of our best buds in the hood. It was the best. Simple. Uncomplicated. Rewarding.
The team was in our neighborhood and we competed against other neighborhoods in the city. Families gathered along the pool’s edge for swim meets as we swimmers huddled under beach towel tents that we constructed using wet towels and the chain-link fence that lined the pool’s perimeter. We’d giggle and laugh and lick our fingers and stick them into the various flavors of dry Jell-O mix to get our sugar buzz before our event and heat were called. The pre-race ritual was always the same: I’d stretch the rubber cap over my blonde-turned green chlorine-stained head, spit into my goggles to prevent fogging and then position those goggles strategically on my face securing their position by pressing them as hard as I could into my eye sockets. This procedure no doubt caused some early on-set wrinkles, but I was racing to win. Climbing on the diving block my legs quivered and my heart galloped, and just before the gun signaled the start of the race, I pulled that little swimsuit weggie out and settled into my very best dive stance. Screams and cheers of overbearing parents in the background would suddenly go silent as I dove into the pool, focused to win. Be strong. Swim strong. Finish strong. It’s just you and the water.
My parents always taught me to be tough, fierce enough to take care of myself and to always move forward independently and unwavering regardless of any setbacks. In most cases, this has always worked…in the water and on land. However, for the past several weeks, I have felt like I have been working really hard just to tread water or to stay grounded. Despite my typical determination and perseverance, I have been struggling just to stay afloat. I have felt weak and tired and confused in what appears to be an unfamiliar sea of rough and unpredictable waters. And lately, I’ve needed more than my own independence and vigor.
In his book, The Power of Kindness Piero Ferrucci writes: “We live in an era of individualism. The individual is celebrated in every form. To be special and creative, to offer an original contribution, to compete with others and be the best: Nowadays this is the guiding idea for many people. [However,] the sense of belonging is a basic need and at the same time the answer to a question. We ask ourselves: What am I part of? And another equally crucial question: Who am I?” Well, in my case, I didn’t even have to ask and I have gotten answers. My friends and family have stepped right in and have let me unload the struggle; letting me float. With compassion, genuine concern and unconditional love, they’ve let me waft. With sweetness, kindness and humor, they’ve held me up; letting me coast. They have let me and my heavy heart be light.
Ferrucci also writes: “…the feeling that we are part of a whole greater than ourselves, with which we are physically, mentally, and spiritually involved is a necessary factor to our well-being. Research has found that support is extraordinarily important for physical and mental health. The greater number of friends upon whom we can count, and the better the quality of these relationships, the greater is our longevity and our health.”
During my yoga practice recently, my teacher asked us to dedicate our practice to someone. This person could be someone that we love or despise, someone we admire or question, or simply someone that needs our support…whomever. She suggested that when the practice became more difficult than we thought we could bear, we visualize the face of that person. As is often the case for me, the practice was frequently challenging and in those seemingly unbearable moments I didn’t just see one face, I saw many: I saw the face of the one who invited me over to bake bread just to keep me busy. The face of the one who invited me to her sister’s “candle” party (even though I loathe those parties) in order to temporarily distract my thoughts came to mind. I saw the face of the one who has listened, and listened and listened even while I was babbling and mumbling and sobbing with snots spewing everywhere. The face of one who has called me every day came into view and also the faces of the others who have called every other day or once a week. The face of that someone who changed their plans at the last minute just to be there for me quickly arose. Then there was the face of that someone who sends me encouraging notes, daily and even sometimes twice a day! There was the gentle face of the one who reminded me that I just have to go through it…I can’t go around it. And then there was the face of that one and the other one and the other one who keeps reminding me who I am. And as I saw all those faces during my practice, the tears came softly from my eyes and I smiled with gratitude and grace.
In the past, I would have struggled through the pain, the confusion and the sadness, alone…brawny and brave. I would have navigated the shifty waters determined to get by…by myself. But through my yoga practice, I am learning the importance of the communities that we create and the value of our relationships that can bear the uncertain waters and buoy us up when we can’t. Through these sustaining relationships, I’ve learned to soften and trust, share my true fears and failures, celebrate the joys and the glory, and laugh at the often absurdity of it all. To all those faces that came to mind, thank you. I am learning to float because of you.
Practice yoga. Create Community. Float.
“The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union.”-Rabindranath Tagore
I’ve always been a fairly strong swimmer. All of those summer days at swim team practice paid off as a kid! Every morning, I would slip on my slick red, white & blue Speedo, run out the door barefoot, hop on my banana seat bike and head up the big hill to the pool; it was a daily thrill. Our team was called the PM Pests; the practices were tough and we were tough. I loved every minute of the drills, the laps, the push-ups and sit-ups, the challenges and the camaraderie. My brother was on the team as were all of our best buds in the hood. It was the best. Simple. Uncomplicated. Rewarding.
The team was in our neighborhood and we competed against other neighborhoods in the city. Families gathered along the pool’s edge for swim meets as we swimmers huddled under beach towel tents that we constructed using wet towels and the chain-link fence that lined the pool’s perimeter. We’d giggle and laugh and lick our fingers and stick them into the various flavors of dry Jell-O mix to get our sugar buzz before our event and heat were called. The pre-race ritual was always the same: I’d stretch the rubber cap over my blonde-turned green chlorine-stained head, spit into my goggles to prevent fogging and then position those goggles strategically on my face securing their position by pressing them as hard as I could into my eye sockets. This procedure no doubt caused some early on-set wrinkles, but I was racing to win. Climbing on the diving block my legs quivered and my heart galloped, and just before the gun signaled the start of the race, I pulled that little swimsuit weggie out and settled into my very best dive stance. Screams and cheers of overbearing parents in the background would suddenly go silent as I dove into the pool, focused to win. Be strong. Swim strong. Finish strong. It’s just you and the water.
My parents always taught me to be tough, fierce enough to take care of myself and to always move forward independently and unwavering regardless of any setbacks. In most cases, this has always worked…in the water and on land. However, for the past several weeks, I have felt like I have been working really hard just to tread water or to stay grounded. Despite my typical determination and perseverance, I have been struggling just to stay afloat. I have felt weak and tired and confused in what appears to be an unfamiliar sea of rough and unpredictable waters. And lately, I’ve needed more than my own independence and vigor.
In his book, The Power of Kindness Piero Ferrucci writes: “We live in an era of individualism. The individual is celebrated in every form. To be special and creative, to offer an original contribution, to compete with others and be the best: Nowadays this is the guiding idea for many people. [However,] the sense of belonging is a basic need and at the same time the answer to a question. We ask ourselves: What am I part of? And another equally crucial question: Who am I?” Well, in my case, I didn’t even have to ask and I have gotten answers. My friends and family have stepped right in and have let me unload the struggle; letting me float. With compassion, genuine concern and unconditional love, they’ve let me waft. With sweetness, kindness and humor, they’ve held me up; letting me coast. They have let me and my heavy heart be light.
Ferrucci also writes: “…the feeling that we are part of a whole greater than ourselves, with which we are physically, mentally, and spiritually involved is a necessary factor to our well-being. Research has found that support is extraordinarily important for physical and mental health. The greater number of friends upon whom we can count, and the better the quality of these relationships, the greater is our longevity and our health.”
During my yoga practice recently, my teacher asked us to dedicate our practice to someone. This person could be someone that we love or despise, someone we admire or question, or simply someone that needs our support…whomever. She suggested that when the practice became more difficult than we thought we could bear, we visualize the face of that person. As is often the case for me, the practice was frequently challenging and in those seemingly unbearable moments I didn’t just see one face, I saw many: I saw the face of the one who invited me over to bake bread just to keep me busy. The face of the one who invited me to her sister’s “candle” party (even though I loathe those parties) in order to temporarily distract my thoughts came to mind. I saw the face of the one who has listened, and listened and listened even while I was babbling and mumbling and sobbing with snots spewing everywhere. The face of one who has called me every day came into view and also the faces of the others who have called every other day or once a week. The face of that someone who changed their plans at the last minute just to be there for me quickly arose. Then there was the face of that someone who sends me encouraging notes, daily and even sometimes twice a day! There was the gentle face of the one who reminded me that I just have to go through it…I can’t go around it. And then there was the face of that one and the other one and the other one who keeps reminding me who I am. And as I saw all those faces during my practice, the tears came softly from my eyes and I smiled with gratitude and grace.
In the past, I would have struggled through the pain, the confusion and the sadness, alone…brawny and brave. I would have navigated the shifty waters determined to get by…by myself. But through my yoga practice, I am learning the importance of the communities that we create and the value of our relationships that can bear the uncertain waters and buoy us up when we can’t. Through these sustaining relationships, I’ve learned to soften and trust, share my true fears and failures, celebrate the joys and the glory, and laugh at the often absurdity of it all. To all those faces that came to mind, thank you. I am learning to float because of you.
Practice yoga. Create Community. Float.
“The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union.”-Rabindranath Tagore
Friday, July 10, 2009
This Crisis
“When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.…And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth…” -Kahil Gibran, The Prophet
Over the past several months, I have been fumbling through my second of what I am sure will be multiple life crises. I have been grappling with the same questions that many of us ponder: “What should I be doing with my life and my career? Am I making a difference? Am I moving passionately through the world? What do I have yet to accomplish? What’s not done yet?” It’s no surprise that this crisis culminated on the passing of my eleventh anniversary at the non-profit organization where I proudly work.
So I have been doing the groundwork to answer these questions. Contemplating, talking with friends and family, researching options and considering a master’s program. I even met with an academic advisor this week to discuss different programs, the time and financial commitment and the marketability of different fields. After meeting with this advisor, I walked out of her office deflated and drained. I had a physical reaction to the idea of going back into a classroom for the next two years and I adore learning! It was quite telling.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the unique opportunity to visit Lake Chautauqua and the Chautauqua Institute in western New York. While on this visit, we attended the all-denominational service in the beautiful open-air amphitheater. The service was conducted by a Christian pastor, a Presbyterian pastor and a Jewish rabbi and no, this is not the start of a joke. Each shared in the delivery of the service and the whole experience was quite moving. But what struck me most was the commentary from the Presbyterian. He was quite eloquent, extremely intelligent and his message was well-supported. Beyond all of his impressive presentation skills, there was one comment that made all the difference to me. He said: “There are those who believe and those who know.” That was it. Something was stirred inside of me and it was exactly what I needed to hear.
So, how do we know? Deepak Chopra says that “every human being has a unique talent [and] when you are expressing that one unique talent, you lose track of time. The expression of that talent takes you into timeless awareness.” And the single most important component to realizing your full potential is when you combine the ability to express your unique talent with service to humanity. This is the Law of Dharma, meaning purpose in life. And each of us is here to discover and know our own true Self.
What do you believe and what do you know? I have believed for a very long time that it is probably a smart idea for me to get my master’s degree. I have believed for a very long time that savvy business professionals change careers and companies frequently. I have also believed for a very long time that my worth would be measured by my career success. But what do I know? I know that I had a negative physical reaction to the idea of going back to school right now. I know that when I am working on behalf of the young people that our organization serves, I am fulfilled and encouraged by their pure potential. I know that when I teach or practice yoga that I lose my ego, my fears and all sense of time. These are things I know for certain. What do you know for certain? Really know without fear, uncertainty or doubt? Go with what you know. Listen to your heart and move forward in truth. It is not without effort but as Albert Einstein once said: “I want to know God’s thoughts…the rest are details.” So…do I believe that I have solved this crisis? I know I have.
“An integral being knows without going, sees without looking, and accomplishes without doing.” -Lao Tzu
Over the past several months, I have been fumbling through my second of what I am sure will be multiple life crises. I have been grappling with the same questions that many of us ponder: “What should I be doing with my life and my career? Am I making a difference? Am I moving passionately through the world? What do I have yet to accomplish? What’s not done yet?” It’s no surprise that this crisis culminated on the passing of my eleventh anniversary at the non-profit organization where I proudly work.
So I have been doing the groundwork to answer these questions. Contemplating, talking with friends and family, researching options and considering a master’s program. I even met with an academic advisor this week to discuss different programs, the time and financial commitment and the marketability of different fields. After meeting with this advisor, I walked out of her office deflated and drained. I had a physical reaction to the idea of going back into a classroom for the next two years and I adore learning! It was quite telling.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the unique opportunity to visit Lake Chautauqua and the Chautauqua Institute in western New York. While on this visit, we attended the all-denominational service in the beautiful open-air amphitheater. The service was conducted by a Christian pastor, a Presbyterian pastor and a Jewish rabbi and no, this is not the start of a joke. Each shared in the delivery of the service and the whole experience was quite moving. But what struck me most was the commentary from the Presbyterian. He was quite eloquent, extremely intelligent and his message was well-supported. Beyond all of his impressive presentation skills, there was one comment that made all the difference to me. He said: “There are those who believe and those who know.” That was it. Something was stirred inside of me and it was exactly what I needed to hear.
So, how do we know? Deepak Chopra says that “every human being has a unique talent [and] when you are expressing that one unique talent, you lose track of time. The expression of that talent takes you into timeless awareness.” And the single most important component to realizing your full potential is when you combine the ability to express your unique talent with service to humanity. This is the Law of Dharma, meaning purpose in life. And each of us is here to discover and know our own true Self.
What do you believe and what do you know? I have believed for a very long time that it is probably a smart idea for me to get my master’s degree. I have believed for a very long time that savvy business professionals change careers and companies frequently. I have also believed for a very long time that my worth would be measured by my career success. But what do I know? I know that I had a negative physical reaction to the idea of going back to school right now. I know that when I am working on behalf of the young people that our organization serves, I am fulfilled and encouraged by their pure potential. I know that when I teach or practice yoga that I lose my ego, my fears and all sense of time. These are things I know for certain. What do you know for certain? Really know without fear, uncertainty or doubt? Go with what you know. Listen to your heart and move forward in truth. It is not without effort but as Albert Einstein once said: “I want to know God’s thoughts…the rest are details.” So…do I believe that I have solved this crisis? I know I have.
“An integral being knows without going, sees without looking, and accomplishes without doing.” -Lao Tzu
Monday, April 20, 2009
Those chops.
“Nothing comes from violence, and nothing ever could.” -Sting, “Fragile”
I’m pretty confident that my mom’s pork chops that we ate as kids were just one of the Universe’s way of encouraging my decision to become a vegetarian. Those chops may have been rawhide in disguise. Who knows? But all I can remember for certain were the torturous moments of gnawing on that pork and trying to choke it down with gulps of thick, whole milk and wanting to die. My jaws ached, my mouth dried up and my anxiety grew as my brother ran out the door to play while I was left behind to “finish my meal.” Those chops. We might as well just have teethed on our shoes. To this day, I still shutter when I see pork chops and applesauce on a menu.
Don’t get me wrong, my mom cooked a lot of amazing things while we were growing up. All of our snacks were homemade: granola, baked apples, creatively flavored popcorn, cookies, pastries and hand-kneaded breads. Very little was store-prepped or processed. We rarely got to get ice cream when the Ice Cream Man rolled around in his truck playing that creepy music because our mom had made homemade orange juice popsicles in those clever little Tupperware containers (who came up with that bright idea?). I seethed with envy as my friends ran around the neighborhood with their Bomb Pops, Screwballs and Ice Cream Sandwiches. All of our cereal was some type of bran or grain or what I thought was bark. Rarely did we get to have Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops or the joy of having the roofs of our mouths torn off as we enjoyed a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. And when my mom did buy factory-made cookies, they were Pecan Sandies. What kid likes those?!? And forget about Happy Meals. There was no such meal that was happy at our house…especially on pork chop and applesauce night!
But truthfully, I am extremely grateful for the way my mom prepared our meals. As a result, I do believe that I now make choices about my food that are nurturing precisely because she took the time to make homemade meals and snacks. I now prefer earthy whole grain bread, I love vegetables and I don’t crave Lucky Charms. I do crave indulgences however, like red wine, dark chocolate and pizza but these days, I’ve learned to spoil myself more often on those luxury foods that are whole, simple and nourishing. And those that are less likely to cause harm to me and to the Earth and its inhabitants where I coexist.
It wasn’t just those chops that turned me off to meat. It was Earth Day, 1990 at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. I was a sophomore in high school and my friends and I decided to goof off and head down to the zoo to partake in the Earth Day festivities. Really, we just wanted to hang out together. I had no idea that my experience at the zoo that day would so shape my thoughts and opinions about eating meat. But that day changed everything. We wandered around the zoo checking out the animals, teasing each other and laughing our heads off. It was a great day to be a high school student. And then I stumbled across the PETA informational table and saw those horrific pictures of the factory farms, and that was enough for me. At that time in my life, I just thought it was gross. I was a sophomore and all I thought was how disgusting those slaughter houses were and that I couldn’t possibly ingest another piece of meat that came from such an ugly place. That was it. That day I stopped and I’ve never looked back.
But I have looked forward and the more I learn, the more I understand the ramifications of my choices every day. One of the yogic practices is ahimsa, meaning non-violence. We can practice ahimsa in a variety of ways: managing our road rage, refraining from using swear-words (I’m still working on that) or simply committing to compassion. Compassion in our thoughts, our words and our actions.
Wednesday, April 22nd is Earth Day. The benefits of a vegetarian diet are vast and wide and support a healthy environment. Consider the following benefits from the North American Vegetarian Society. A vegetarian diet:
-Reduces the risk of major killers such as heart disease, strokes and cancers while cutting exposure to food borne pathogens;
-Provides a viable answer to feeding the world’s hungry through more efficient use of grains and other crops;
-Saves animals from suffering in factory-farm conditions and from the pain and terror of slaughter;
-Conserves vital but limited freshwater, fertile topsoil and other precious resources;
-Preserves irreplaceable ecosystems such as rainforests and other wildlife habitats;
-Decreases greenhouse gases that are accelerating global warming;
-Mitigates the ever-expanding environmental pollution of animal agriculture.
What will you do to support our Earth and our environment this year? If a vegetarian diet is not appropriate for you at this time in your life, consider some of the following simple changes:
· Share your used magazines with a friend and then recycle;
· Quit using paper towels…it’s not as difficult as you think;
· Stop buying bottled water. A water cooler and service is inexpensive and convenient. Consider what you spend each month buying those packs of bottled water.
· If you haven’t started using all of those trendy reusable shopping bags that you bought, start today;
· Choose just one day to go completely meat-free. You’ll feel great;
· Shop the perimeter of the grocery store. Those shelves in the middle of the store are filled with processed, packaged foods. It’s better for the environment and great for your waste-line!
There are so many simple, compassionate actions that we can take to create positive change. For more ideas and information, check out www.earthday.gov.
So it wasn’t just those chops that changed my attitude about eating meat but they sure made a lasting impact. Thanks, Mom.
*Please note: Class will be cancelled this Saturday, April 25th due to the Iyengar Workshop.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Our People
“All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied. And to be a simple kind of man, someone you can love and understand.” -Lynyrd Skynyrd
Ahhhhhhhh! Do you ever experience that massive sigh of relief when you know that you will spend the day or the evening or a lunch or a dinner with your nearest and dearest? Those in your life that love you unconditionally even though they know every deep, dark and desperate part of you? Those who love you despite the fact that you are compelled to have a 10 minute conversation with the server about which bottle of wine has been opened within the past hour and that you really don’t want a glass of wine from any bottle that was opened any earlier? Those who love you even though you contemplate your entire day’s meals and how each cuisine should complement each other? Those people who love you even though you are always typically 15 – 20 minutes late even with your best effort. Those people. The ones. Your people. Those who say: “She’s a nut and she drives me insane but I love her despite it all.” I am so fortunate. I have those people. Some are family…so they are stuck with me. Others are connected because of family…so they are stuck with me, too. And those who are just the best of friends who aren’t stuck…they just stick around. I am one lucky gal!
Tonight, I expected to have dinner with my nearest and dearest, my brother and his partner whom I also consider a very good friend, Jason. The three of us haven’t had a sit-down (just the three of us) in quite some time, and I was so looking forward to a really raw, lay it out there, this is what’s goin’ on kind of dinner. I was eager to catch up. They are my people, and I was missing them a lot. So, I strolled into the restaurant (only 5 minutes late this time) and was stunned when I noticed the other woman sitting at the table with them munching on chips and salsa! The other woman is Johnny and Jason’s neighbor, Michelle. And I enjoy her. And she is fantastic. And she is a good friend to the both of them. But I was deflated when I saw her. What about our unconditional, I can be me, I can let it all hang out, I can eat my disproportionate share of bread pudding dinner? Initially, I was crushed. Ho hum. Poor me.
But then I started thinking…What if I just let myself be raw? What if I just laid it all out there? What if I ate my disproportionate share of bread pudding? What if I let my truth reveal itself? Shakti Gawain says: “We will discover the nature of our particular genius when we stop trying to conform to our own or to other people’s models, learn to be ourselves, and allow our natural channel to open.” So I decided to settle in, soften into the moment and relax into me. Ahhhhhhh! That massive sigh of relief returned and I felt okay.
I am just learning to be me. And more significantly, learning to be comfortable with me. And it is terrifying some days…and joyfully liberating on others. It wasn’t until I made a commitment to my truth and dedicated my life to a consistent yoga practice that I understood this concept of listening to my truth, trusting my truth and sharing my truth. I have always been so distracted. Busy. Trying to figure it all out and being “on” for the world around me. Erich Schiffmann says: “We have never stayed home long enough to experience the truth about ourselves.” I am so infrequently, home.
So go home once in awhile. Your people, those ones, your nearest and dearest are right there, always there and will always love you despite your tendency to overindulge on bread pudding. When we listen to our truth and we are honest with ourselves and others, everyone we encounter becomes our people.
Ahhhhhhhh! Do you ever experience that massive sigh of relief when you know that you will spend the day or the evening or a lunch or a dinner with your nearest and dearest? Those in your life that love you unconditionally even though they know every deep, dark and desperate part of you? Those who love you despite the fact that you are compelled to have a 10 minute conversation with the server about which bottle of wine has been opened within the past hour and that you really don’t want a glass of wine from any bottle that was opened any earlier? Those who love you even though you contemplate your entire day’s meals and how each cuisine should complement each other? Those people who love you even though you are always typically 15 – 20 minutes late even with your best effort. Those people. The ones. Your people. Those who say: “She’s a nut and she drives me insane but I love her despite it all.” I am so fortunate. I have those people. Some are family…so they are stuck with me. Others are connected because of family…so they are stuck with me, too. And those who are just the best of friends who aren’t stuck…they just stick around. I am one lucky gal!
Tonight, I expected to have dinner with my nearest and dearest, my brother and his partner whom I also consider a very good friend, Jason. The three of us haven’t had a sit-down (just the three of us) in quite some time, and I was so looking forward to a really raw, lay it out there, this is what’s goin’ on kind of dinner. I was eager to catch up. They are my people, and I was missing them a lot. So, I strolled into the restaurant (only 5 minutes late this time) and was stunned when I noticed the other woman sitting at the table with them munching on chips and salsa! The other woman is Johnny and Jason’s neighbor, Michelle. And I enjoy her. And she is fantastic. And she is a good friend to the both of them. But I was deflated when I saw her. What about our unconditional, I can be me, I can let it all hang out, I can eat my disproportionate share of bread pudding dinner? Initially, I was crushed. Ho hum. Poor me.
But then I started thinking…What if I just let myself be raw? What if I just laid it all out there? What if I ate my disproportionate share of bread pudding? What if I let my truth reveal itself? Shakti Gawain says: “We will discover the nature of our particular genius when we stop trying to conform to our own or to other people’s models, learn to be ourselves, and allow our natural channel to open.” So I decided to settle in, soften into the moment and relax into me. Ahhhhhhh! That massive sigh of relief returned and I felt okay.
I am just learning to be me. And more significantly, learning to be comfortable with me. And it is terrifying some days…and joyfully liberating on others. It wasn’t until I made a commitment to my truth and dedicated my life to a consistent yoga practice that I understood this concept of listening to my truth, trusting my truth and sharing my truth. I have always been so distracted. Busy. Trying to figure it all out and being “on” for the world around me. Erich Schiffmann says: “We have never stayed home long enough to experience the truth about ourselves.” I am so infrequently, home.
So go home once in awhile. Your people, those ones, your nearest and dearest are right there, always there and will always love you despite your tendency to overindulge on bread pudding. When we listen to our truth and we are honest with ourselves and others, everyone we encounter becomes our people.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Really sick people.
“If you want to progress on a spiritual path, you must challenge your actions – as to whether or not they are authentic expressions of the love and spirit within you. You must ask whether what you are doing bespeaks compassion or indifference to the suffering of others.” -John Robbins
For nearly two weeks now, I have been battling a wretched cold, laryngitis, other unmentionable offspring and finally, the flu. This is the first time I’ve ever experienced the flu. The first time I’ve ever taken more than two consecutive unplanned days off of work and the first time I’ve done virtually nothing in all of my life. This has been as emotionally challenging as it has been physically challenging. You see…I don’t get sick. I don’t catch the common cold. Nope. Not me. Until now.
Every night, I load up my vaporizer, lather on the Vicks and lay in bed praying that I will get a few hours of uninterrupted, productive and healing sleep despite my plugged up nose, dry coughs and achy muscles. Morning dawns and still I lay there, but in the daylight I contemplate my day: Which jammies will I wear today? Which type of tea will I brew first? Should I juice or drink my Vitamin C elixir? It’s deflating, boring and exhausting all at the same time. There are only so many magazines you can flip through, books to read and films to divert your attention. And don’t even get me started on daytime television…now I know why stay-at-home parents are just a bit cookey!
So all of this time on my hands without the energy or enthusiasm to even organize my files, clean out a drawer or dig into the pile of books I want to read got me thinking about people who are sick. Really sick people: People who are battling cancer or struggle daily with lupus; sick people recovering from yet another surgery or those who sit and wait for dialysis; pregnant ladies confined to bed-rest or elderly attached to a breathing machine, tank and hoses, cords and straps; sick people who spend days in treatment centers for alcoholism, anorexia or anxiety; and those who are terminal…just waiting, wondering and wishing.
Sitting on my couch, I felt lonely. I wanted people to visit. I longed for the laughter between good friends, family to call and check-in, and colleagues who needed my input. And I got all of those things; friends, family and co-workers called day and night. People asked if I needed them to stop at the grocery store, my brother brought me movies and magazines, a colleague asked if I wanted her to bring home my homework, and Howard brought me homemade vegetable soup. And this is just the flu. And this is just two weeks of my life. And I am reminded that I am so blessed with rich, genuine and meaningful relationships. But what about the sick people? The really sick people who don’t have a Howard, a Johnny, a Maria, a Wendy, a Laura, a Michelle, a mom or a dad? What about those who sit in Hospice and wait, wonder and wish?
At the beginning of the month, my friend Amy mailed me an article about a yoga teacher who teaches yoga to young Afghan orphans. The story is powerful, moving, light and lovely. But what moved me more was the note that Amy attached to the article. Her note read: “Hey doll! Where will you spread your love for yoga in 2009?” I’ve been carrying this note around with me for the past month trying to answer the question. Now, I have an answer.
Yoga is not just down dog, Sirsasana or Warriors I, II and III. Yoga is about creating union through compassion and action; taking action to live more truthfully and selflessly in order to make the burdens of life lighter and the darkest moments a bit brighter. It’s not that difficult or grandiose but it does take action. Ingrid Newkirk says: “In order to be kind, one must do. There is no point in thinking good thoughts and not acting on them. There is no currency in wishing things were better but not rolling up one’s sleeves and helping to change them.” So do something. Share your love. Even the most beautiful asana practice can’t enlighten unless you take that beauty off your mat, out of the studio and into the living, breathing world around you. Just like Amy asked me, I ask you: “Where will you spread your love for yoga in 2009?”
“If you seek enlightenment, or even if you seek happiness, go to the cause. Nothing exists without a cause. The root cause of happiness in compassion.” -the Dalai Lama
For nearly two weeks now, I have been battling a wretched cold, laryngitis, other unmentionable offspring and finally, the flu. This is the first time I’ve ever experienced the flu. The first time I’ve ever taken more than two consecutive unplanned days off of work and the first time I’ve done virtually nothing in all of my life. This has been as emotionally challenging as it has been physically challenging. You see…I don’t get sick. I don’t catch the common cold. Nope. Not me. Until now.
Every night, I load up my vaporizer, lather on the Vicks and lay in bed praying that I will get a few hours of uninterrupted, productive and healing sleep despite my plugged up nose, dry coughs and achy muscles. Morning dawns and still I lay there, but in the daylight I contemplate my day: Which jammies will I wear today? Which type of tea will I brew first? Should I juice or drink my Vitamin C elixir? It’s deflating, boring and exhausting all at the same time. There are only so many magazines you can flip through, books to read and films to divert your attention. And don’t even get me started on daytime television…now I know why stay-at-home parents are just a bit cookey!
So all of this time on my hands without the energy or enthusiasm to even organize my files, clean out a drawer or dig into the pile of books I want to read got me thinking about people who are sick. Really sick people: People who are battling cancer or struggle daily with lupus; sick people recovering from yet another surgery or those who sit and wait for dialysis; pregnant ladies confined to bed-rest or elderly attached to a breathing machine, tank and hoses, cords and straps; sick people who spend days in treatment centers for alcoholism, anorexia or anxiety; and those who are terminal…just waiting, wondering and wishing.
Sitting on my couch, I felt lonely. I wanted people to visit. I longed for the laughter between good friends, family to call and check-in, and colleagues who needed my input. And I got all of those things; friends, family and co-workers called day and night. People asked if I needed them to stop at the grocery store, my brother brought me movies and magazines, a colleague asked if I wanted her to bring home my homework, and Howard brought me homemade vegetable soup. And this is just the flu. And this is just two weeks of my life. And I am reminded that I am so blessed with rich, genuine and meaningful relationships. But what about the sick people? The really sick people who don’t have a Howard, a Johnny, a Maria, a Wendy, a Laura, a Michelle, a mom or a dad? What about those who sit in Hospice and wait, wonder and wish?
At the beginning of the month, my friend Amy mailed me an article about a yoga teacher who teaches yoga to young Afghan orphans. The story is powerful, moving, light and lovely. But what moved me more was the note that Amy attached to the article. Her note read: “Hey doll! Where will you spread your love for yoga in 2009?” I’ve been carrying this note around with me for the past month trying to answer the question. Now, I have an answer.
Yoga is not just down dog, Sirsasana or Warriors I, II and III. Yoga is about creating union through compassion and action; taking action to live more truthfully and selflessly in order to make the burdens of life lighter and the darkest moments a bit brighter. It’s not that difficult or grandiose but it does take action. Ingrid Newkirk says: “In order to be kind, one must do. There is no point in thinking good thoughts and not acting on them. There is no currency in wishing things were better but not rolling up one’s sleeves and helping to change them.” So do something. Share your love. Even the most beautiful asana practice can’t enlighten unless you take that beauty off your mat, out of the studio and into the living, breathing world around you. Just like Amy asked me, I ask you: “Where will you spread your love for yoga in 2009?”
“If you seek enlightenment, or even if you seek happiness, go to the cause. Nothing exists without a cause. The root cause of happiness in compassion.” -the Dalai Lama
Friday, January 16, 2009
I've been waiting for you...
“Through the benefits that arise from practicing yoga, and not just from reading or hearing about it, we may discover that cultivating kindness improves our sense of well-being, our peace of mind, and our physical health.” -Sharon Gannon from Yoga and Vegetarianism
How are those New Year’s resolutions coming along? Compassionate thoughts? Compassionate motives? Compassionate actions? When we come from a place of pure compassion, the challenges of resolutions melt away…even on a crisp chilly day like today and every choice becomes a thoughtful, compassionate action. Sharon Gannon says: “Banish the word struggle from your attitude and vocabulary. All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we have been waiting for!”
I’ll be waiting for you on Saturday morning for a warm, cozy and energizing asana practice.
How are those New Year’s resolutions coming along? Compassionate thoughts? Compassionate motives? Compassionate actions? When we come from a place of pure compassion, the challenges of resolutions melt away…even on a crisp chilly day like today and every choice becomes a thoughtful, compassionate action. Sharon Gannon says: “Banish the word struggle from your attitude and vocabulary. All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we have been waiting for!”
I’ll be waiting for you on Saturday morning for a warm, cozy and energizing asana practice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
