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.”