Sunday, July 26, 2015

Rough Road Ahead

I stumbled upon this sign on my run the other morning, and I started thinking about how nice it would be if life came with warning signs. "Warning: Bitter Divorce Ahead," "Death of Beloved Pet Soon," "Job Loss Around Corner." Would I live my life any differently if I knew when the rough patches were coming? In 2008 when I quit my job to go back to school and work toward my Bachelor's degree, I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I could never have foreseen the years of looking for a job after college, or the second degree I needed to obtain to be gainfully employed in my chosen field. The journey was harder than I thought: four years of financial hardship and juggling school, commuting and raising my son, followed by four years of looking for a full-time permanent position in my chosen field. Maybe if I knew just how difficult before embarking, I would have never taken the leap into the unknown. That leap positively changed my life, however. I now have a career, a brand new job working with supportive people and two degrees. My college experience provided me with a challenge that my intellect craved, introduced me to areas of study I would have never known existed, and forced me to grow up. The job search forced me to completely turn  my life over to God, and the results were beyond my wildest dreams. I went from cleaning up after people and animals to teaching The Canterbury Tales. Would I have braved the rough roads if I knew that they weren't merely bumpy, but filled with tire-bursting craters? Probably not, fear of the unknown, and the comfort of the status quo would have kept me in place.  When do I let go of my brilliant plans and allow life to be a surprise? 

I passed the sign, continued down the road; the road that was freshly paved. It was not, like the sign had warned, rough. The mist lifted as I rounded the bend, revealing freshly baled hale and red-winged blackbirds. The scent of pine, grass and summer wildflowers hung in the air. And I was running. And it was good.

Monday, June 1, 2015

Bucket Lists for Dabblers

Bucket List: A list of things to do before you "kick the bucket."

I was surprised (not sure why) to find a website where people keep track of their bucket lists, and find ideas and like-minded people: . I don't know why I have been thinking about bucket lists so much lately, possibly because I turned 42 today, and somehow feel as if I am not exactly where I am supposed to be. Intellectually I know that my Higher Power plops me right where I need to be, but I somehow feel as if I missed a turn someplace, and kept walking straight when I should have veered off the path. I have been so intent on procuring the degree and the license and the job, and listening to the voices, the voices of friends and family, of our culture, of the "right" way to do things, that I believe I have forgotten to listen to myself. Where do I want to go? What do I need to be doing in order to end up there, and is it really about the destination anyhow?

Brandon Stanton, the creator of Humans of New York, gave the commencement address at my son's college graduation a few weeks ago. He urged the graduates to follow their passions, to work every day at something they are passionate about, and the rest will follow. If one is a photographer, take pictures, don't wait to be asked to photograph the Andes for National Geographic. Or to steal a phrase from Nike, Just Do It. I could never pinpoint just one passion however, could never say with certainty growing up that I wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, or a candlestick maker. My parachute wasn't green or violet or even chartreuse. I am a dabbler, I am passionate about so many things: yoga, writing, teaching, meditation, spirituality, animals, and the list will grow. How can I, as a dabbler, settle down into a career, stumble upon my purpose? Keep in mind, I turned 42 at 8;15 this morning. I want to work toward my degree in Medieval Literature, teach college courses, teach high school, and yoga, I want to teach creative writing, and write another novel, I want to compose music and lead meditation circles, I want to be a priest, a life coach, a mentor, a public speaker. I want to lead vinyasa yoga and teach children how to write poetry. How, just how do all of those various interests and skills and passions come together to create something unique and beautiful? Right now I am left with threads of many different colors, tangled on the floor.

So I return to the breath. What is happening in this very moment? I am writing a blog post, I am enjoying the sounds of the keys clicking, the songbirds playing and an occasional passing car. I am gazing at the beautiful painting my amazing partner gave me for my birthday, I am getting ready to head out for a yoga class, my belly filled with yummy vegan chocolate cake and chai. The rain has ceased for the moment and what is left is green and lush. I don't have to make any decisions today, I have a job for another few weeks, I have possibilities for the summer, all is just as it should be. I just need to slow down and listen, instead of trying to untangle the mess of multicolored yarn, I need to ask for guidance and listen, to use my intuition to begin to untangle the mess on the floor. Can I just slow down and listen? Good question.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

On Loss and Living

Elisabeth Kubler - Ross, in her 1969 book On Death and Dying, identified five universal stages of the grieving process: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. To experience and then move through grief, not all stages need to be experienced, nor in a particular order.  We all experience life in our own unique ways.

I have experienced all of these stages when dealing with death, the initial shock, the why not someone else, the tears, and finally the gentle letting go. I remember being shocked at how angry I became after a dear friend committed suicide and the subsequent guilt for that same anger. How dare he do this to his family and friends? How dare I feel that way? Why didn't I notice he was in pain? These extreme tragedies take a toll on the body, emotionally and physically. It is understandable to go through extreme emotion when death occurs. It is the smaller losses that I have a harder time navigating and do not always allow myself the time and space to grieve and mend.

Let me take one small step back. I have been looking for full time, meaningful work for the past four years. Within that span of years, I have pieced together small jobs, usually just enough money to eek through, pay some bills and keep myself stuffed with tofu and kale. On a few occasions, I have actually obtained longer stints of temporary work, work that entailed months of steady work and income. It has been the loss of those longer stints, one just recently, that have proven intensely painful.

Now I am not comparing the loss of a loved one to the loss of a job, there is no comparison, however I am exploring whether the stages of grief can explain the complicated, convoluted feelings that I experience after my employment losses. First the denial and isolation, the initial, "I am so ok," accompanied by a huge smile and race to a far off location to cry by myself. Second, the "fuck you and your mother and all of her distant relatives." Third, the dreaded if onlies..."If only these people were different, or I was a transvestite from Jupiter..." Fourth, the utter ridiculous sadness, that realization that the health insurance is gone, I will have no money to eat and I will be living in a cardboard box (albeit a recycled one) for the rest of my life. Finally the acceptance, the knowledge that God does for me what I cannot do for myself. I cannot leave a place. I cannot even call in sick. I will stay in a situation until the bitter end, the marriage until all cards have been played (and it was a double deck) and only leave when I am broken. I believe that the Universe has my number. I need to be booted. And I need to find that ray of elusive hope fluttering in the breeze. In order to find that hope however, I have to stay with the feelings, to be here, in the present moment, in the uncomfortable, messiness of it all. Throughout the whole process though, I need to ignore the voice of the "You Suck Monster" and listen to the voice of the Divine, that voice that has always guided me, that has always gently kept me from situations that do not serve my Higher Purpose. I need to trust in the process, that gentle unfolding of life.

It is a beautiful day, and as I gaze out the windows I know that I still have a few more months of a paycheck, that maybe I will take that Yoga Teacher Training course this summer, or maybe something else. Fifteen years ago, I would never have thought I would be right where I am today. Fifteen years ago I was struggling to raise my son, battling with addiction and stuck in an unhealthy marriage. The Universe took care of me then, and it will surely take care of me now. I just have to open my hands, ask for help, and be ready to receive the answer.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Beginner Mind

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write; my fingers miss the rhythm of the tapping on the keyboard and my mind misses the meditative state that writing induces. It is a blustery Saturday in the Berkshires; the snow is still piled up in the backyard, but Spring birds have started their morning symphony. All is well.

I have not taken the time to write, I have not given myself the space to prattle off a poem, or even just a few lines, lines that someday will transform into a story, a post, or even just a note to myself. I have been too "busy," rushing about my day, working and commuting while squeezing in runs and yoga and shopping and bill paying and time with my partner. Too often, what is really important, what really brings me joy, those activities are stuffed into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If I were to go back, to read my previous blog posts, I would undoubtedly find a post similar to this one, following months of silence. What is really important to me today? Do I make the space in my day to nurture those things? Probably not.

It is National Poetry Month. Yes, it is already April 4, but I remember last year on April 1 I made the vow to create one poem per day. I upheld that vow and was left with 30 poems, some corny, some nonsensical and a few that made me smile. The act oif creating as a daily practice is intensely powerful. It is within the act of caring for my self and my soul, that I find God. It is within the intersection of self-care, silence, and creativity, that my Higher Power exists.

So right now I gaze at the sun-streaked sky, the balsam pines swaying in the wind, the snow disappearing, and oak leaves floating across bare ground. It is in this moment that I am grateful, for the desire to put my fingers to the keyboard and the space and time to do so. 

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Balancing Act

It has been a very busy few months. I started a new job with a long commute and began teaching a course on the Divine Comedy for adult learners while attempting to maintain my fitness routines, a relationship and juggling doctor's appointments and shoveling the two feet of snow we have at the moment. That was definitely a run on sentence. I feel like a run on sentence. Balancing career, motherhood, and self-care has always been a challenge for women. And I usually can do it, keep numerous balls up in the air while drinking coffee and "relaxing" in yoga. I have managed to fit in my daily run by waking up at 3:45 so that I had enough time for my hour and half commute to work. I have managed to race home, let the dogs out and eat a quick dinner of fruit on the way to a yoga class. I have managed to spend my weekends at my second job prepping for my classes. And I have managed to spend time with my boyfriend and sleep at least six hours a night. I had balanced my carefully constructed life. I was holding the pose, my standing leg was shaking, but I tucked my tail bone and reached my arms into the sky. And then it snowed. And snowed again. And I struggled to pull on snow boots and ski pants and shovel. And shovel, and push my way through the backyard with the dogs, and take off the boots and the pants and and and...I toppled to the floor. Winter happened in New England, it always does, once per year, but I forget how long it takes to yank up the boots, to pull on the gloves each time one has to exit the house. Those moments add up, as quickly as the snow piles up, and then drifts onto the newly shoveled path. I need to learn to laugh when I tumble out of balancing poses, to have a rest and maybe just stay down for a few moments to recover. I can always pull myself back up, but allowing myself to be a few minutes late here and there, to buy pre-cooked food instead of fumbling with the tofu, to decrease (gasp) my mileage, just until the sun warms up the earth, and I can trounce out of the house in a pair of flipflops. Can I do it? Can I slow down just a tiny bit?

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Resolve This

Resolution - a resolve, a decision or determination. The act of resolving or determining upon an action, method, procedure etc ( It is New Year's Eve, and you know what that means. Millions of people will resolve to get fit, quit smoking, publish a world class novel, find the meaning of life, and discover the secret to happiness, all within the next 365 days. By February 1, however, these resolutions are all forgotten, the pounds are still gently swaying on our hips, we haven't written more than 15 words of that novel, and we really have no clue how to find happiness. If I do something differently, if I change, if I add, if I quit, then all will be right with the world and myself. The very word "resolution" conjures up an image of forcing, it is a determination, a decision to do something. Then it is our job to follow through. There is so much pressure to begin these resolutions on the first of the year, with a clean, fresh slate to work with. Why do most of us falter and begin skipping our daily trip to the gym on January 8, or buy that pack of cigarettes?

I have been successful in carrying out New Year's resolutions. Last year I resolved to sparkle every day, and yes, every day I brushed on glitter, I did not miss a single day. I am not saying that resolutions are fruitless. I will say however that we need to change our resolutions, or outer changes, to intentions, or inner changes.

Intention - a purpose or goal, aim ( An intention comes from deep inside, we have purpose, a goal to meet. This year I intend to be kinder to myself. I will pay attention to the negative voice inside my head. This intentions does not involve lifting more weights or completing a triathlon, but as a result of being nicer to myself I might make healthier choices. When I set an intention, if I fall off the horse, I can grab the stirrup and heave myself up again. After all, it is an inside job, no messy gym memberships or costly hypnosis involved. And the intention can change as I change. Yes it is all semantics, but there is enough pressure at this time of year to "fix" ourselves. What if we aren't broken? What if we are perfect the way we are at this moment in time? Grab that moment and go within. How can you be kinder, gentler, more loving today? Make that an intention, and have a brilliant New Year.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Compassion Is For Sissies

I made it through Thanksgiving, and as a long time vegetarian recently turned vegan, it has become increasingly harder with each passing year. I cannot stand to see the freezer filled with Butterballs. But I shied away from writing about the mass of feelings surrounding the deaths of millions of birds and the resulting pictures that filled my Facebook newsfeed. Why? Because sometimes I feel as if compassion is mocked in our society. Men are called sissies for crying, women hysterical. We don't let our sensitivity show lest we are called weak. I do not see mobs of people sobbing in front of the lobster tank at Price Chopper. We kill. We kill people, we kill animals, we value killing. People cheered when Osama Bin Laden was killed. Many of us support the death penalty. And most of us eat dead cows, pigs, chickens and turkeys. Vegetarian Times Magazine released a study in 2008 that stated: "...3.2 percent of U.S. adults, or 7.3 million people, follow a vegetarian-based diet. Approximately 0.5 percent, or 1 million, of those are vegans, who consume no animal products at all. In addition, 10 percent of U.S., adults, or 22.8 million people, say they largely follow a vegetarian-inclined diet" (Vegetarian Times). Not a large percentage of the population. It is 2014 and if that study were repeated it might show an increase of vegetarians out there, but it is still just a drop in the bucket. I admit, I am a sensitive person, and sensitivity seems to be undervalued in our culture. If I were to say that every time I saw meat in a supermarket I felt upset, or that when I thought of baby cows taken away from their mothers to make dairy products, I teared up, you might call me insane. Who cries over milk, spilled or in a glass tumbler? Is there such a thing as too sensitive? I hope not. Dr. Nalini Chilkov explored the process of creating a compassionate society in her article on the Huffington Post. Although the article is based on the practice of Buddhism, she wrote: "The path to a compassionate society arises from the intentions and actions of individuals within that society. One small act of kindness and generosity ... one act of tenderness ... one act of selflessness ... each of these moments makes a difference. No act is too small." Maybe what is important for me today is to value my own compassion, and my own sensitivity. It is a big part of who I am. The trick is to suspend judgement of others, because that is not compassion at all. I choose to eat plants rather than animals. Maybe you are a carnivore. I value compassion today, but that doesn't mean that you do not, although in my mind I am screaming at you. And if you see someone crying in the meat department, please don't judge.