2014: A Year for Romance!!

Oscar Wilde once said, “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”

My intention for you this year, is that you fall in love. Deep, full, wholehearted love--with yourself. (Don’t worry, I’m speaking to myself as well. I began my romance many moons ago, but there’s always room for more love.)

A great start for your romance would be to consider setting intentions instead of resolutions as we enter 2014. Why? Resolutions tend to contain varying value judgments around what equates to “failures” and “successes.” Intentions are flexible. They work with you. You can’t fail at intentions—but you can return to them time and time again, in a way that becomes focused and productive.

And let’s be fair. If you’re entering a lifelong romance, you’ll need to make room for some mishaps along the way. Intentions allow for that. Romance is beautiful—but may often require you to make room to work through disagreements and uncross lines of communication when things get fuzzy. And that’s OK. After all, making-up can be quite fun.

So. Here are a few ideas for intentions to consider for 2014. And if none of these speak to you—make your own, in the spirit of falling in love!

1.  Focus on bringing more good into your life instead of ridding yourself of what you find to be bad or wrong. For instance, if you’re struggling with your weight, consider setting an intention around body acceptance while also setting an intention about healthy habits. In other words—offer some love and support to this amazing temple that houses your heart, mind and spirit! Set an intention to listen to what your body needs, and start to respond. Learn how to feed yourself well. If you feel stiff, move. If you feel tired, rest. Eat full meals rich in nutrients to “cure what ails ya,” like foods good for strengthening bones, improving circulation and stimulating good mental health. Treat yourself to meals and/or exercises that contribute to well rested sleeps, good heart health and better eyesight. Offer your body support, organ by organ, limb by limb, depending on what your loving temple is craving. Over time, the less desirable stuff will begin to fall away, as you focus on what positively supports you.  You’ll worry less about “slip ups” because your focus will be on productive actions and support that stem from a place of love, health, nurturing and acceptance. So start from there—with intention—and see where it takes you. 

2.  Instead of striving to make X number of dollars this year and counting on that for happiness, set an intention to change your relationship with money.  Many of us struggle to make ends meet each month and often get caught up in what we need to be “comfortable” or “secure.” Many of us also buy, spend and shop out of boredom and habit. So take matters into your own hands. Proclaim yourself free. State out loud, “I have everything I need! I have just enough!! More than enough!!” And then take small steps. Here’s an idea: instead of stopping in for a snack or dinner, purposely drive by a place you often go for a meal, coffee or a drink, and proclaim your statement clear and loud as you pass by. See how it feels. And perhaps, state your proclamation out loud the next time you pay a bill, momentarily becoming overwhelmed with gratitude at your ability to put that bill in the mail. When you’re drawn to go out to make a purchase—for anything, big or small (this goes for online purchases as well), wait two hours and see if you still really feel as if you need it. Make a list of things you can do to fill up your time with things that don’t cost anything, and post it somewhere visible. Here are a few to get you started: practice meditation, sit outside and listen to the birds, call a friend or relative, put on your favorite music and sing/dance. Organize something. Color. Paint. Do a puzzle. Distract yourself from spending money with something completely fun and nonsensical. And at each point along the way, state that proclamation loud and proud, “I have everything I need! I have just enough! More than enough!!” Find new rewards for hard work—a cup of tea, hand massage from a partner, a night spent watching old movies you find on TV. Make a scavenger hunt list of things to “find” and check off your list as you walk or drive through your favorite neighborhood. Trade off “money-free date nights” with friends—for one date you come up with the activity, and the next date they have to make the plan. You may come to find that you don’t need X number of dollars to be comfortable and secure at all… and that you feel quite liberated from your old habits that required spending. Either way, you’ll certainly have saved some money in the process.  

3.  Make more time for stillness and/or meditation. Just sitting for 2-3 minutes each day with the intention of focusing on your breath can change a lifetime of patterns. It’s good for lowering stress, for sorting through thoughts, for increasing cardiovascular health and for learning about gratitude. Chances are is that if you sit with the intention of being quiet and focusing on your breath for just two minutes, you’ll want to be there longer. So don’t worry about setting a half-hour meditation resolution for your year. It may just come. And if it doesn't, then you've still got a few minutes everyday—or every few days—to feel really good about. 

4.  Set an intention to “unplug” more, become a better listener and spend more quality time with those you love. Let’s face it. Technology has our brains scrambling in 100 directions all the time. Email! Television! Cell phones! Text Messages! Facebook! Oh my! Our lifelong romance with ourselves is not going to be found online. But listening to others, connecting with our friends and family feeds our ability to feel loved, grateful and full of life. Those cousins you love so much? Your best friend you never talk to? Set a phone date, even if you have to schedule it weeks out. And when you finally connect—turn the computer off, walk away, and just sit. Listen. Same goes for in-person dates: sit and listen. When you’re in person, put your phone away. Concentrate. Don’t get up while they’re talking, don’t do the dishes or look towards the window to see who’s passing by. Not only is this a great way to demonstrate to others that you value them, but your connection and quality of time spent will blossom. And you’ll get a great brain work out to boot! You think I’m kidding? I’m not. It often takes some major willpower and concentration to not look in 10 directions while sitting with someone else, especially if you’re in public. It’s often difficult to not get distracted by the “ding” of your cell phone indicating a text message, dishes piling in the sink or something else you’ve just realized you have to do. But with practice, you can build your concentration and listening skills—while feeding your own heart and the hearts of others. Shared, intentional connections have been proven to save people from depression. But there’s not a lot of evidence suggesting that half-assed interactions do much at all.

5.  Consider speaking up, being silly and letting loose more often. We all have our moments where looking silly or saying something out loud may cause us to worry about what others will think. Maybe we are shy of sharing vulnerabilities or scared of being hurt. Maybe we fear that those we love won’t accept us for who we are.  Often times—these fears and concerns are of our own making. So next time you’re caught one of these places, imagine loving yourself the way you love your partner, spouse, your best friend or a child. Instead of being self-conscious, begin to see yourself as adorable. Instead of hiding, encourage yourself to be bold and shine brightly. Look at yourself with loving eyes. You deserve to speak, to dance, to shine, to let loose. Who cares if your voice cracks when you speak or if you sing out of tune? If you were in love with someone doing that, it would melt your heart. So go on. Melt your own heart. Be free and silly and unique. Speak your mind. Be you. 

This list of intentions is only the tip of the iceberg, and though my intention with this post is merely to get the ball rolling for your lifelong romance with your entire self, there are plenty of other intentions that could feed this romance as well. So do 2014 your way—fall in love with yourself in a way that works for you. But waste no time—begin your romance today! It is a beautiful thing to embrace, accept, grow, love and find inner freedom to be just as we are. So if the intentions don’t speak to you, formulate some of your own. I’d love to hear what you come up with if you’re willing to share. And that sharing can come in the form of a comment—but if you’re so inclined, I’d love to set up a phone date!

Regardless of your intention or love life, I wish you a wonderful year, full of love, gratitude and wholehearted living. I wish you laughter, beauty, and safe and peaceful place for your heart to rest. Happy New Year everyone! May 2014 be your best yet! 

The Break of Pangaea

In the last several years, I’ve undergone an involuntary transformation I believe my bones knew to be destined. Somewhere buried beneath my consciousness was an awareness of this inevitability, and luckily for me, my conscious mind is starting to catch up with the rest of me.

This inner makeover is beyond skin deep. It’s not a new diet fad or wardrobe, and is more than simply “growing up and growing wiser.” It’s that existential shift that many of us undergo in our own way at our own time. Writing about it makes me feel shy and vulnerable, but that which is important often does. In this case, discussing my evolving relationship with money is not an easy thing to do.

The journey leading me to this point has been uncomfortable at best. It’s as if I’m living the breakup of Pangaea and my world’s landscape is changing. What has often felt like destruction, loss, drifting and tragedy in years past is suddenly blooming into freedom and a manifest of possibilities nonexistent in the old world: trees born out of sand and dust, sunshine pouring through yesterday’s ashen air. Imagine being in a yoga class and after decades of practicing, you find yourself in a pose you never imagined you could hold. As you breathe and balance easily, with complete neutrality and grace, you find a new truth. In the days to come, you move easily into the pose, chuckling inside, knowing the previous days' self-imposed limitations are long gone. Today, what is and is not possible are forever changed. 

I don’t know whether its plate tectonics or an act of the Divine, but my relationship with money, what I have and what I want are changing.  For as long as I can remember, a significant portion of my brain space has been taken up pondering my “lack of” money. Whether I've been stressing incessantly over bills, struggling to save, or battling to “get ahead,” I've spent a lot of energy fretting about what I don’t have.  I've freaked out over unexpected car troubles and missed family weddings requiring plane trips or hotel stays. And as valid as much of that stress has been, I’m also learning that much of my anxiety has been self-imposed.

No, I haven’t won the lottery (far from it) or paid off my student loan debt (I wish)—but that’s been part of the lesson. Obsessing about the money I “lack” has not helped eradicate my financial woes—and as it turns out, the struggle of it all has led me to finally understand that I've usually had far more riches than I ever gave myself credit for. I'm not just talking about a list of things that I'm grateful for in spite of not having much…. I'm talking about shifting into the realization that I actually have everything I need right here, right now. My financial status is not a failure. I have not done anything wrong. I've made strong, informed choices and had hard times. But my life is full and good. I am full and good. All is well with the world.

Money doesn't dictate our worth—we dictate the worth of money. Do you believe that you need money to be “comfortable” or “secure?” If your answer is “yes,” then you are right, and you will need money for comfort and security. If your answer is “no,” then you are right, and you are free to explore other avenues for security, comfort and fulfillment. I’m choosing freedom.

But. Here’s the catch (there’s always a catch): if you want to change your relationship with money, you have to stop relying on it so much. For instance, Al and I have often struggled with how to spend our time when we can’t afford dinner or drinks out. Some of the hardest days have been the ones when we've really, really wanted to go out and had to come up with alternatives (grumbling, sitting on the couch, boredom). We've stomped our feet when we've had to stay home. The worst days are the ones when you’re really craving that perfect salad or entrée at XYZ, and don’t want to cook. You get mad and frustrated. Sometimes, you opt for a momentary dose of amnesia so that you can ignore the discomfort, and you go out anyway. We've all done it, dished out the crap about being entitled and working so hard and deserving a treat…(insert laundry list of reasons you deserve to spend the money you don’t have here). I’ll say it again. If you want to change your relationship with money, you have to stop relying on it so much. You have to do the hard work. You have to get through the feet stomping, boredom, changes in routine and saying “adios” to your beloved treats. You have to create new rewards for working hard. 

Suffice it to say that opting out of the game is as uncomfortable as—pardon my French—a mother fucker. But the struggle can also liberate you. For me, being forced to reorganize my life with less money has brought me more opportunities to live fully. Instead of spending my days wishing that money grew on trees—I’m starting to have fun learning to garden.  I've learned—or rather, am learning—to fill my time in other ways. I have new rewards to cherish. 

In addition to living more simply than the younger me idealized, I've also had to release the poverty consciousness I adopted along the way. I've made countless mountains out of (sometimes large) molehills. But. Not getting to eat out twice a week is not a travesty. Buying a small instead of large coffee isn't quite the corner-cutting we make it out to be. Being late on one or two bills does not a cardboard-box-house make. If I was truly hungry and really struggling, I wouldn't turn my nose up at those groceries in the back of my fridge and freezer that I've been known to refer to as “nothing to eat.” (Good morning, Ego, this is your wake-call.)

My relationship with money has everything to do with the stories I tell. I’m starting to tell new stories.

Like yoga, it’s only through time and practice that I’ve found my way. I’ve needed the stress and freak-out moments that led me here. I needed to unlearn cultural norms and impositions about comfort and security. I’ve had to learn to live with less to rely less. But I've been led to incredible discoveries. I do yoga, I paint, I spend time with my wife and friends. I’ve become a regular Mr. Fix It around the house and am one crafty mama with home décor. I’m far more capable and self-sufficient than ever, and need less “stuff” to keep me entertained. My imagination is growing in leaps and bounds. In addition to gardening, I’ve taken to learning about herbal and homemade healing remedies, and we now make our own delicious smelling and good-for-you cleaning concoctions. I’m in more in sync with the earth—and thus, with life and love. When money is tight, I fret less and frolic more. I don’t spend money I don’t have and justify it with bullshit about what I deserve. Because what I really deserve…

Is to be free from the stress. So I’m freeing myself. Less participation in the game is more time to set new terms on what I want my life to look like. As hard as it is to swallow, sometimes heartbreak is your greatest route to freedom and liberation.

Living here, on the “outside,” I’m assuming a new view of the world. Don’t worry—I’m not going off the grid yet. But I’m finding my way into new territory. For instance, in 2014 I am beginning a holistic midwifery training program to become a direct-entry midwife. This journey is a natural extension of my history, talents, education and passions—and like where I am today with my changing relationship to sustainability and economics—it is an indication of where I am headed from here on out. I’m writing my own script to include trust, intuition and living in harmony with the natural world. Living from the gut. Self-sufficiency. Determination. Trust of spirit. As I look towards 2014, this will be the year I start shedding old skins that no longer serve to protect me. I’m giving in to what my bones have always known to be possible.

I’m grateful to the struggles and the challenges that have led me here, and I welcome the ones ahead.  The more I release the fight, the more room I have to flow with what comes. I’m grateful to my debts, my failures, my mistakes and hardships. They’ve led me to learn and taught me of my strength. I am moving forward into the greatness of who I am, and leaving behind the fear of dreaming big. I’m dancing, stomping my feet and living large in new ways. Today, a new world has begun. 

A Grateful Yogi

This year, a number of people in my family are embracing the holiday spirit in the name of gratitude and leaving consumerism out in the cold. Our decision to not make any holiday gift purchases this year has left me with an overwhelming feeling of freedom, and I'm instead concentrating on what I've already got—which is quite a lot!! Below is a list of things I'm grateful for.... And I'd love to hear some of your gratitudes as well. It's a beautiful thing, to practice sharing and giving in the form of gratitude. Far more valuable than "stuff," if you ask me.

1.       Laughter.  Al and I—we laugh. Hard. And a lot. If you don’t have a person that makes you laugh really, really hard, go get one.  Or call your funniest friends or look up something hilarious on YouTube. Laughter is the best medicine.

2.       Heat. For several days at the start of fall (which felt more like winter), the heat at our house wasn’t working. I realize that the beginning of the cold-weather season sounds like a good idea to some, but I assure you that present day technologies (like heat) have a lot to do with your ability to enjoy twenty degree nights.

3.       Music. Of all kinds. No matter my mood, there’s a song for it. And sometimes, when I “shuffle” my Ipod, it magically knows exactly what my mood is and what I need to hear. See? Miracles do happen.

4.       Intentions. (Not goals, but intentions.) Over the summer I set a month long intention to be more creative and to trust my ability to work with my hands. And thus began a new era of my life: painting and a creative confidence I’d never quite embraced. Without attachments to results, I started creating for creation’s sake. One hippiefied car, Intro to Oil class, and newly designated home painting corner later, I’m still going. And I’m loving it.  

5.       Yoga. It puts me in my body regardless of my mood: I can feel strong, exhausted, flexible, graceful, sad, weak, unbalanced or steady. Yoga says, “hey you! Breathe!” and I often need that reminder. It’s a place to just be. My old sticky-turned-stinky mat provides me with a safe space to practice doing life—because most of the time I have to be out there living it.  

6.       Family and Time. I’m combining these gratitudes because they both contain infinite healing powers. Humans are never going to be perfect, but if we pay attention, love and time offer us lessons to heal all wounds. My family and time have taught me to love indiscriminately and unconditionally, and they have taught me to forgive.

7.       Hope. People often encourage others not to “get your hopes up,” but I disagree. Hope is worth having. And while the intention of protecting people from disappointment is a loving sentiment, a life without hope is…well…. Hopeless. What if we embraced hope more openly? What if we embraced disappointment? Maybe we could live more fully—and use our hope to propel us forward. And we’d know what to do with disappointment. Just a thought.

8.       Friends. Without them, I would be a lost pile of goo. I'd also miss out on a homemade baked bread, hot and fresh out of the oven (photo credit above goes to Wendy's bread). Mmm.

9.       Perspective. When leading students through a difficult yoga pose, I’ll often say something like, “just three more breaths, in the grand scheme of life, this isn’t very long.” My current practice has me taking this lesson to heart, and I’m constantly relearning that “right now” is not “forever.” Even on the darkest of days, I can indeed “hang in there! Keep breathing!” And I am. Instead of pushing against present challenges by struggling or fighting, I’m opting to go with the flow. This too shall pass—if I flow with it.  

10.   Idgie and Bella. Even though they often wake up me up in the middle of the night howling for kibble or needing to go outside, they have a way of making everything OK. They get stuff that humans don’t—including of course, rolling around in poo—but that’s not what I’m really getting at here. They just give love. Warm, sweet, happy love. Pure, wonderful love.

11.   Falling apart. There’s just no other way to learn how to pick yourself up.

12.   Listening. It’s an undervalued and understated—yet necessary—element of the communication process. I’m astounded by the amount of people who seem to think that physical presence is equivalent to emotional and intellectual presence during conversation. As if being in the same room means that texting, checking your tweets, or answering calls in the middle of our conversation is “listening.” (It’s not.) I offer my thanks to those who truly listen and offer their attention when others talk, and I vow to continue giving you the same respect. I also reserve this practice for me: in giving myself time to listen to me, without interruption, whether through yoga, painting, meditation or other practices, it’s my way of saying to myself, “I respect you and honor you. I am here with you. You are important.”

13.   Growing up. It doesn’t necessarily get easier, but it gets easier.

14.   Patience. I’m a little low on patience right now, which is why I’m listing it as a gratitude. Because rather than viewing my patience as lacking, I trying to be grateful for the patience I do have. This also expands my opportunity to gain more. Because surely there is more of it out there, right? Right? Yes? Anyone?

15.   Courage. For remembering I have it, even when I feel devoid. For remembering that courage is there to take the reins when I’m scared or hesitant.

16.   Our house. It’s a very, very, very fine house. (Thanks CSNY.) As a cancer crab, I’ve always longed for a shell to curl up in each day to feel safe, nurtured and held, and my home is exactly that. Under our roof—and in our yard, and on our porch swings, I have everything I need in the world. Sure the place needs some work, but it’s perfectly imperfect and adorably “us.” Like Goldilocks, everything there is “just right.” Home sweet home.

17.   Love. For living from love, for living with Spirit, for being vulnerable, and for love that is shared. For romantic, sexy, steamy love. For self-love. For love of the deceased.  For love of trees and animals and everything that ever was. Giant, huge, infinite, universal love.

18.   For you. Because you are special and important.  You are appreciated. You are cared for and loved and heard. You matter. Without you the world would not be what it is today. Thank you for being here, and for being exactly who you are. 

Three Possible Things

My dear friends, family and fellow procrastinators. This blog post is for you. 

This is the story of Three Possible Things (not to be confused with Lewis Carroll's six possible things).

You must know that these Three Possible Things were once impossible, but today is a new day. Today, I have moved beyond. I am strong, triumphant. Less than a week ago, however….

It was a chilly fall Sunday afternoon, and I’d just gotten done tidying the house. I’d already walked the dog, run an errand, and was thinking of what to do next. With several hours of free time in ahead of me, I was leaning towards painting or starting a pot of soup that Al and I could eat during the coming week.  I wasn’t yet ready to sit still, so reading, meditation or writing wasn’t on my radar.

And then, in the back of mind, I saw a flash: The List. I tried to ignore it, push it away. I tried to forget. But it was no use. The List had already been spotted.

“Which list?” you ask?

Ugh. The List. The one that haunts you, shames you and reminds you that you’re a terrible person. The list that provokes feelings of guilt and remorse. The list that drives you to procrastinate with things like organizing your home office, cleaning the bathroom or raking leaves. 

It is….

The List Of People You Need To Call.

That List.

To my friends and family: I love you.

But.

I. Cannot. Pick up. The phone.

I am sorry.

Friends, cousins, aunts, uncles and other family (*head hanging*), I adore you. You are my favorite people, my best memories, my heartiest laughs. Because of you, I am a member of a pack, I have a place of belonging. You are my support system, my everything.

And yet.

The process of procrastination for avoiding my List of People I Need to Call is pretty formulaic. Perhaps you can relate? It goes something like this:

Impossible Calls Phase 1:  It’s Monday. You commit to calling two or three people from your People You Need to Call List this week. Your commitment is solidified by carving these names in stone in your planner’s weekly to-do list and calendar. You know that if you tried to call everyone on your list, you’d fail miserably, but because you’re a realistic kick-ass person, you’ve chosen two or three people to call, which is manageable. You pat yourself on the back for this astute realization, and feel wise and insightful. You are proud of your commitment to make these calls.

Phase 2:  You review your list on Tuesday or Wednesday, and think, “Yes. I will do these things. I will call these people tonight. Or tomorrow. For sure. Definitely tomorrow.”

Phase 3:  On Thursday, as you’re looking for something else on your calendar, you see your list by accident. You try to ignore it. “No, no. Not now. I am doing very important things now and cannot look at my list. This is not a good time.” You feel a pang of shame. Since it’s late in the week and you’re tired, you promise to make your calls over the weekend when you’re feeling more upbeat and relaxed—you reason that this will be better for everyone. 

Phase 4:  On Friday, you pop a beer to celebrate the start of your weekend, and put your call list out of your mind. You’ve already said you’ll do it “over the weekend.” You meant it.

Phase 5:  You think of your list briefly Saturday morning before heading out to enjoy the day. You ignore the guilt starting to creep in and recommit to making your calls on Sunday. Sunday makes more sense anyway. It’s a good day for catching up with people.

Phase 6:  Doomsday.  You start your Sunday with the intention of finishing up everything on your to-do list before making your calls. You convince yourself that these efforts (cleaning the bathroom, organizing your home office, raking the leaves) are not acts of procrastination, but are instead tasks that will allow you to provide your undivided attention to the people you’re calling—which they deserve. You pat yourself on the back for your thoughtfulness around this. You continue to carry this denial with you into your afternoon.

Phase 7:  It’s now late Sunday afternoon and you’re getting anxious because the bathroom is clean, desk organized and leaves gone. You’ve also emptied the fridge of old leftovers, scooped the litterbox and taken the dog for walk number four. Your resistance to making your calls is growing, but you respond to this by becoming angry at the people you need to call.  “It’s not like they have called me lately!” you exclaim internally. You resent not knowing exactly how long this call could take, and you certainly don’t have all day. I mean, you have some time, but not a ton—it is Sunday after all, and you still want to leave some time in your day for Numero Uno. And don’t you deserve it?! “It is my Sunday too, ya know. I’ve been so busy all morning finishing up my to-do list and still need time for me. I shouldn’t have to feel bad about that.” Your conviction grows: “I work so hard all week, and I’ve done so much this weekend, I just want to relax. IS THAT SO WRONG?!”

Phase 8:  Feeling momentarily vindicated in your decision to not call anyone, you grab a snack and sit at your laptop to peruse Facebook, Craigslist and so-and-so’s new blog. You laugh at some really clever memes you’re certain you “get” on a far deeper level than most other people (because you’re so smart and witty), and are then moved to tears by a video of baby bunnies who were adopted by a hedgehog whose best friend is an old dog with three legs.

Phase 9: When you finally climb into bed Sunday night, you think of the people you didn’t call. You think of your friends and family, and your heart feels full. You really do love them so much. You fill with gratitude—you really should call them more, you miss them so much. You make a solid commitment to call them this week. For sure. Definitely.

Phase 10: Repeat Phases 1-9.

 

Sound familiar?

I have so many people on my People I Need to Call List, I don’t even remember who I’ve been committing (and failing) to call each week. And as humorous as this post may be, I’m mostly writing it in attempts of getting more honest with myself about how I do (or do not) opt to make things happen for myself. I’m getting real about how often I stand in my own way. And as I move forward towards some pretty major changes I’m seeking to make in life, I want to understand more clearly 1) how to make the changes happen 2) the resistance I face, and 3) how to make sure the changes ahead are sustainable and long-term. Recognizing patterns—like procrastination—that hold me back from realizing my full potential is an integral part of this process.

Procrastination undermines my ability to accomplish what I want to do, and therefore limits my sense of what is possible. In grad school, I often felt that procrastination was perfectly normal—and perhaps it was. But this isn’t school. This is life. This is it. And the bottom line is that when I follow through on things I really want—even if it takes time to get there—I am gifted with a great sense of confidence that propels me forward towards my next venture. So while picking up the phone may not seem like a big deal on the surface, as matter of personal habits, consistently avoiding calling people may have a lot to tell me about how I’m doing with meeting “commitments” I set up for myself. If following through on goals can fuel me with a sense of accomplishment and confidence, surely calling someone I love can do even more: help me to feel accomplished while reinforcing that following through can often bring about feelings of connectedness, love, support and gratitude.

How I procrastinate or get in my own way is always contextual, but big change has to start with small efforts. I’m not looking for a crash diet fix, ya know? For instance, sometimes I avoid calling people by cleaning the house. Other times, I avoid cleaning the house by doing a yoga practice, or avoid a yoga practice by making a snack. And so on and so on, all the way up to “I want to make big changes in my life, but I’m stuck, scared and I don’t know how. Forget it, I’ll just ______.” (Fill in the blank: take a walk, write, go to the gym, have a snack…).  Imagine if I just started with small changes.

And that’s what led me my newest list, my list of Three Possible Things. Each week, I will list and accomplish three possible things. This is not a to-do list. This is a WILL DO list. This is a list of possibilities.  This is a small list of small things that will help me reach my big potential.

To make my big, huge, fantastic dreams come true, I have to believe I can do it first. So I have to set up a life that exemplifies a life full of possibilities. From now on, each week I will carve, in stone, in my planner, a list of Three Possible Things to accomplish. And without excuses—though perhaps, with some overcoming of procrastination—I will experience three things I made possible. What we feed grows, and what we starve suffers. I am feeding my ability to make things happen. And if they all end up happening on Sundays, then so be it.

Whatever it is, the time is now. So try it with me. Make a list of three possible things you will do this week. You have the power to create changes in your life, and instead of getting overwhelmed by the big ones or getting caught up in your own self-imposed limitations, start small and make the impossible possible. And if you wanna chat about it…give me a call. Or who knows? Maybe I’ll be calling you sometime soon.   

Queen Call-Out

Queen Call-Out Confession #1: I love that painting is messy. Even better is cleaning up and later finding some green around my cuticle or blue spots on my thumb that never washed away. This weekend, I found a streak of black near my inner bicep, and though I’m not quite sure how it got up there, it made me smile.

I’m shy about offering these confessions as they have the potential to significantly decrease my cool factor. But. I love my paint stained hands. And the next time I see you, when you wonder whether the purple stains on my pinky were left there on purpose, I'll be honest: It's not outside the realm of possibility.

I feel like we’re not supposed to admit this kind of stuff, but why pretend otherwise? Having paint on my hands “after the fact” makes me feel.... Awesome. Happy. Cool. Are these not good things to feel? It’s like getting scraped up on your bike as a kid and showing off your justly earned Batman band-aid. Or getting to stay in your leotard and tutu after dance class during errands with mom.  These were childhood badges of honor that said to the world: I Do Dangerous and Highly Important Awesome Grown-Up Things (I Ride Bikes! I Dance!). Today, knuckle creases of green and gold demonstrate to me and the world that I too do totally awesome things: I Paint. I Am a Painter.

I entered my office at the beginning of the week with a pretty severe case of the Mondays, and started my morning begrudgingly: turning on my computer, checking email, getting coffee, yada, yada, yada. And then. I noticed a smudge of black paint around my thumbnail.  This small, unexpected token of my weekend reminded me that I am far more than a woman at a desk. I took a breath of relief. I do totally awesome things.

That little spark of gratitude started a fire, and got me to thinking about how I’ve never before wanted to admit how much I love those badge of honor dabs. Like working hard in the house or yard in my torn up work jeans and beat up boots—and then leaving them on when I go to lunch. I Do Physical Labor. Once, I changed the spark plugs in my car when it died in a flood. When my car started again, I felt as if I’d parted the Red Sea. That day, I left the grease on my hands for as long as I could get away with in hopes someone would ask what I’d been doing. When they asked, I offered my response with the ultimate in coolness: total indifference. “What’s that from? Oh, ya know, just workin’ on my car. No big deal.” (Parting the Red Sea? Whatevs.)

Why do we do this, I wonder? And why is coolness seemingly equated with not giving a shit? Because I do care. I care a lot. I care that I paint, that I can fix stuff,  that I’ve done work on my house. I’m proud that I can do these things, and they make me happy. In fact I care so much….

Drum roll please.…

Queen Call-Out Confession #2:  I’ve wanted to incorporate some abstract figures into my paintings, but I’m completely intimidated because I’ve never considered myself good at drawing. So, last night, as I was doodling in my journal, I thought, “maybe I’ll practice drawing some figures.” And then I froze. I knew better. I was not going to create anything of which I’d be proud. All that would result is a messed up journal page I’d wish I could tear out—but can’t, because there’s something important written on the back.

And then suddenly I was like, “what’s that about? Who cares? It’s my journal! Isn’t this what journals are for?!”  

So I paused for a moment and watched my thoughts to see if I could get honest about my hesitations. Here’s what I found:

The blank page represented infinite possibilities. But leaving ugly, awkward figures on my page, would demonstrate to me that I am not good at drawing. And thus, all of the world’s possibilities would subsequently come to an end. Done. Finito.  

But that was not all. I also thought, “what if draw these awful figures and someone sees it? They’ll think I’m a joke. I suck at drawing.”  

“But no one sees my journal.“

“But what if they did?”

“No one does. Only I see it.”

“But what about when I’m dead? What if someone looks in my journals when I’m dead? They’ll know I was never any good and….”

What?

Yes. This is what I, Queen Call-Out, actually thought about.

Needless to say, I went on to draw some figures. Hideous figures. Awkward, ugly, amateur figures.  Getting my brain's visions onto paper is not my strong suit. But in practicing for a half hour, I realized that practice may help me get better. Duh. There was something liberating in finally practicing something that had once filled me with self-inflicted embarrassment and shame.  

My lack of drawing ability is one of the reasons I enjoy painting. I think in abstracts. I like colors, textures, flow. Drawing—for me—is stiff, rigid. Brushes, tubes and gels are not. Instead of tending to details, I can tend to feeling. I like watching brushes make colors on canvas, and I like mixing up paints on my palette. In paints, I find a freedom and a confidence to let go.

And that’s what that little speck of black on my thumbnail did for me this past Monday: reminded me of my freedom. My ability to let go and just be. I can create and be imaginative. I can choose my circumstances and perspectives. The paint on my hands reminded me that I am capable. I Am a Creator. “I contain multitudes.” (Shout out to Walt!) I Paint. I Am a Painter.

I wonder how often we play nonchalant instead of giving ourselves the joy and credit we deserve? I wonder how often we stop ourselves from things we have potential to do and love because of self-inflicted inner embarrassments and shame?

Queen Call-Out says, “Show all your colors to the world. Go out there with free abandon and be who you are. Take chances. Hold nothing back. You are capable. Now be bold so you can go be great.” And of course, “Stay cool, girl. Stay cool.” 

Not (and) praticing

This will blow your mind.

I feel better when I do yoga, move and work out, than when I don’t. I realize that hearing this from a yogi is completely and utterly shocking.

(Sarcastic yogis have more fun.)

For the umpteenth time in my 36 years, I have again rediscovered how much better I feel when I get into my body and move. When the clock went off at 5:15am (I know, right?!), it was the first time in weeks that I didn’t roll over and say, “Not today. I need to sleep.”

The thing is…for a while, I just needed rest. I needed to not:  do, try, go, care.

I needed to:  let it go, wallow, indulge, sit, be.  So for almost two weeks I gave up regular trikonasanas and chuttarungas for wine, munchies and sleepin’ in.

Now, I don’t recommend this for everyone all the time. And it's not like I became a gluttonous hermit or something. But after thirteen years of practicing yoga, I’ve learned that I sometimes skimp on my regular physical practice. (Gasp, what?!? Yes.) I’ve also learned that I always return (Phew!). (Hint: This cycle is part of the practice).

It took many years of practice to gain the confidence I needed to let this flow happen organically. Letting go of judgments and “shoulds” has been quite a trying learning process. But I’ve come to find that though asana, meditation and yoga nidra is almost always restorative, and though “clean” eating and ginger teas are delicious, sometimes you just need beer, nachos and a rom-com (or several of each, for several days). Sometimes that's just where you are. And that’s OK.

Quick disclaimer: my perspective includes several important personal facts: 1) I’ve never struggled with alcohol or substance addictions (and trust me, by now, I would know).  2) I have a long history of disordered eating and body dysmorphia, but have been ED free for three years now. 3) I’ve practiced yoga (not just asana, but yoga) regularly for thirteen years.  4) I’m spiritually rich, emotionally sound, and wholeheartedly human. 5) I own my shit, even when it really, totally and completely sucks. 6) For me, falling apart is often necessary par for the course to get myself back together (see my last post, "A Gifted Perspective").

The last few weeks were emotionally draining. I responded by painting, drinking wine, witnessing my thoughts, meditating, laughing, sitting around a fire, practicing gentle postures and watching TV. I took walks and cried a lot. I talked to friends, recorded my dreams, skipped yoga class, ate crappy, missed the gym and drank more. I saw a movie. I pondered my life’s calling(s). I was fine with all of these things.

My practice has taught me that I still practice even when I don’t. These phases of indulgence and escape—they come—and they pass—regardless of whether we beat ourselves up or not. It’s a very human thing—as is yoga. It’s taken me far too many years to learn and accept this. During the last two weeks, I made very conscious choices about how I spent my time, even when I was on beer number four. I stayed present and honest (albeit tipsy). I just didn’t want to care. And I understand now that I deserve to not care sometimes. So I let myself have it. (It was awesome.) 

Another element to this (see disclaimer above) is that I still feel an inordinate sense of empowerment through choosing junk food over salad. Going on three years of being ED free, I'm no longer scared of a binge fest or follow-up-starvation-day after a dinner of nachos, jalapeno poppers and beer. Instead, I now enjoy it and move on. I get off on not beating myself up about food and feeling genuinely appreciative of my body's curves and softness. Odd as it may seem, an integral part of my healing has come from taking time off from the gym and eating fried foods.

Life, health and yoga do not flourish from attachments to (our own made up) absolutes. I've resigned my own absolutes around what constitutes healthy relaxation, diets and yoga practices in favor of self-reflection and self-acceptance. In short, I work to take ego out of the equation and prioritize presence. It’s not an easy practice. It takes patience, trust, trial and error, and a willingness to both fail and succeed. It's ongoing. But it helps to create a lifetime practice of being where we are. And isn't that the point? 

I spent years feeling that I couldn’t be taken seriously as a yogi without practicing asana every day. But years of trying led me to realize that I usually don’t make seven days per week—though I often make most. Even during longer stints “off,” I’ve come to know that I always come back. And that knowing allowed me to get through the last few weeks with love and kindness towards myself. Six years ago, an “off” week would have induced feelings of extreme judgment and shame. Over yoga. In what world does that make sense?

Sometimes, we need days off. Everything in moderation. During the past two weeks, I never once felt as if I’d let myself or my yoga go. I didn’t hate my body or myself. I didn’t always feel great—but I didn’t tailspin into loathing and doubt. I was tired and wanted an escape. So I rested and took one.

And as it turns out—rest led me to feeling rested (what a concept!)—and once again I’m back into my practice. On the whole, more regular physical practices make me feel better in body and spirit than days off, and I prefer this side of the coin to the other. But. I took an important reset that I also needed. As teachers, we often tell students to not force postures, and it's important to remember that "off the mat" as well. So last week, when I started feeling yucky about all those days off, I waited with open arms for that moment to arrive when my body and energy would say, “it’s time!” ... and that moment came. I listened, and shortly after got back to a stronger asana practice and hit the gym. Today it feels great. But I didn’t have to endure my own wrath to get here. It wasn't based in ego. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: negative energy cannot lead to positive change. So here I am. Positively and presently, me.

A Gifted Perspective

The last three weeks have presented a series of considerations I hadn’t planned for — some wonderful, others extremely challenging. I’ve been ebbing and flowing through intense highs and lows, and the force of the flux has been difficult to manage. My marred attitude towards my job and my desperation for change is wearing my patience thin. I’ve experienced heartfelt reunions and goodbyes with friends and family full of reminders about the limitlessness of love and gratitude present in my life. I’ve continued to settle into my new home and life here in Asheville, and have dreamt beyond imagination while working through paralyzing fears and stagnation. To what does all of this boil down? For me, it’s been a constant lesson in perspective.

Perspective. For me, the word “perspective” immediately conjures images of people giving annoying advice about “glasses half full” and “silver linings” on shit far more complex than glasses of water and shiny fabric. And though I tend to lean towards optimism as a way of life, I’m talking less here about choosing positivity over pessimism, and more about the idea that sometimes we have to accept that the good, bad and ugly are going to just coexist within us. In full fucking force.

I’m holding a lot. My head and heart are tired, and my exhaustion has manifested itself physically, so I’ve been verging on the edge of a cold for about a week. Self-doubt has managed to get caught in the same tree where my infinite possibilities are perched. And though my self-confidence has finally 180’d back to trusting my own smarts, capabilities and hella potential, my vision is muddled on how to work out the logistics to make what I want to happen, happen. I feel terribly stuck.

So I’m left with this question: can I sit with it all of this (and more) without spinning out of control and into madness?  The answer, of course, is “no.” Why “no?” Because oftentimes, in order to get through the uncomfortable, melancholic, soul wrenching crap, the only thing we can do is relinquish control. Madness is necessary par for the course.

For instance, last week, I had a “breakdown” in my driveway after a frustrating day at work. Having just come back from vacation, I went from feeling light and free to trapped and disappointed.  I felt defeated, heartbroken. How did I end up in a job that’s so un-me, doing stuff I care nothing about?! I thought I was smarter than this, better than this. What did I do? How did I find this job, this awful, easy, fine job that pays well, gives me health insurance, paid time off, a chance to have evenings and weekends totally free…?! Why can’t I see the forest for the trees?! Why does something that’s not so bad feel like the end of the world?

I had a pity party that night. Al saw me in the driveway crying, came outside, and literally picked me up out of the car. We went in and I curled up in my favorite place—her chest—and let it go. I cried and cried. Miserable, worried, disappearing.

Later that week, I said goodbye to a dear friend who is leaving Asheville for a new job up north. She’s one of the most real friends I’ve ever known, and certainly the only one of her kind I’ve found since moving here.  Within ten minutes of meeting the first time, we were family. I have a great friend. Today I miss her. I miss having someone here besides Al that knows me. That “gets it.”  

This weekend, I painted something totally unextraordinary for no particular reason. I drank too much wine and had too many beers and drowned my sorrows. I skipped yoga. I got quality time with Al. I woke up hung-over more than once, and on Saturday night had a new friend date with some people we had a perfectly fine time with. On Sunday, I visited parts of my past I'd not confronted in many years, and it brought me to my knees. I sat in the sun, cleaned the house and made soup. On Sunday night, Al and I made a fire in our perfect backyard, drank more beer and played with the dog. On Monday I went back to work, and after work that evening, I broke again.

The point for me, today, is not to make lemonade out of lemons (though I’d certainly take a margarita), it’s to figure out how to sit with it. To not fight, and to just let it all be. Yes, it's exhausting. It's doesn't feel good, and my tears are continuing to fall. But I’m laughing too. I’m still grateful for my life. I love so deeply, and I'm so deeply loved. I have a great wife, amazing friends, big aspirations and a great house in a city I love. I have money to pay my bills, and because of my job I can afford dinners out, paints and canvases, wine and other things no one needs for survival. I may not always love my work, but I’m lucky to have it. 

The only way through something is through it. Not over, not under, just through.  

I am magnificently and simply human, and I’m open to experiencing the fullness of what that means.  I deserve to be happy—and I am—but I also owe it to myself to face the darker places too. Each moment is a gift (that’s why it’s called the “present,” right?), and sometimes we receive gifts we never knew we needed. Some gifts are gratitude, some are grief. Healing comes through tending to wounds—not by ignoring their existence. So these wounds—this fullness of experience—are gifts. But if and only if I allow myself that perspective. If I take that approach, within these gifts, I'll find strength. I'll conquer the logistics. I'll find more compassion for myself and others. I'll gain wisdom.

Gifts. Sadness, madness, love and joy…I’ve got a rainbow of experience right here in my hands. An infinite amount of life in something no taller than 5'3". Miraculous isn't it?

Perspective is what you make of it. I guess I’ll always be a glass half full person. But not because of naïve optimism—because of courage and perseverance. I’m taking these gifts head on, with honesty, love and openness to what comes. I’m getting out of my own way and walking through it all with eyes wide open. And maybe, just maybe, with some lemonade (or a margarita).