On Unseen & Deliberate Creation, or: A Highly New Age Way to Look at Rejection
Posted: May 21, 2013 Filed under: Action, Aging, Career, change, confessions, courage, Failure, Karma, Library Love, Life lately, Motherhood, reality check, Southern Housewife, Success, The Feminine Mystique, Yoga | Tags: Adulthood, Charleston, Confession, Difficulties, Perspective, SAHM Leave a comment(I have been thinking about writing this post for quite a while.)
There are possibilities everywhere, and it is hard not to let the mind wander toward exciting uncharted territory. There are the possibilities we actively seek out, taking their shape in goals, cover letters, bruised wrists, and brazen moves out of state. Then there are the possibilities that we can only wish and pray into being. We all wished to win the lottery (it helps to buy a ticket though), we wish natural disasters don’t occur, we wish for lovely weather when our far away friends visit; and I wished that I said the right thing in the right conversation that would have landed an offer of employment.
The HR rep greeted me warmly, and reminded me to “just breathe,” which I brashly shrugged off.
I could have used another breath.
I sat down parched, then thankful to see paper cups of water in front of each place. As the deputy director was going over some initial details, I gratefully sipped my cup. It slowly dawned on me that, in fact, there was no paper cup of water for me. I had just touched my lips and tongue to the executive director’s cup. Burning with apologies, I tried to move on from my error as the interview trio politely shrugged it off. There was probably a way I could have recovered from that egregiousness, but whatever it could have been was beyond me. Those interview questions I should have practiced would have come in handy then.
I walked out of that interview more defeated than I’ve felt in a very long time. I wallowed for the evening, and the next day. I perked up here and there, convincing myself my errors really weren’t all that bad. But they were. Oh reader, they were heinous.
This was April 1. For many reasons that I hope to go into with another post, I joined an instagram yoga challenge. So when I finally got that email that said, “thanks, but no thanks,” I had something else to think about. It was a moment of unseen, though very deliberate, creation, and it has re-ignited my buried passion.
I’ve done more yoga in the last two months than I have in many years…maybe ever. It has helped me realize that job was not my dream job, it was just a job. Looking back, I see my hesitations.
Self-sabotage of the best sort.
How did that spark inside me that trained to be a yoga teacher five years ago get so obscured? It is a little strange for me to be on the cusp of the next decade of my life, and still not know precisely what my career will look like. But I’ve been opening to new possibilities that I never would have seen if I got this 9-5 job I lusted after. Teaching yoga. Getting a 2nd Masters. Going to the beach every beautiful day with my son. Volunteering with the troubled local school system. Going to France and to live in a little cottage by the sea. Meeting and celebrating my new niece this summer.
Anyways, I felt like I needed to document this episode of my life, and thank you for reading. It is reassuring to know there is no such thing as a dream job, for me, right now. That position for included zero discussion of creativity. And yoga, definitely no yoga in the job description. So I’m settling in for a summer of possibilities manifesting, and setting the stage for a happy next decade of my life.
Surely Hafiz can’t be wrong:
“This place where you are right now, God circled on a map for you.”
Practice, and all is coming
Posted: April 26, 2013 Filed under: Action, Inaction | Tags: Bhagavad Gita, meditation Leave a commentSomething I am working on: meditation.
It is hard to get up earlier than early, but on the days my mind takes control over my body, I rouse from the warm sheets and sit outside and listen for my breath, for the world to wake up. I am assuredly a happier, calmer, more pleasant person on the days I meditate. My goal is twice per day.
A couple of years ago, I went to a yoga teacher training and we were taught meditation. In fact, the yoga poses were a precursor to meditation, everything we did led up to the 30 to 60 minutes of meditation we did each session. Asanas to calm the body so it can sit still and focus on breath and the present. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done–sitting still while I wanted to lie down and go back to sleep, or look around at the French trees, or just ponder my life and my plans for travel once the training was over. Some days I was successful, most days I was not. But I was lucky to have that highly disciplined meditation training, because it enables me to fall back on those patterns today, when life is no where near as spiritual and quiet as it was then. Meditation is the ultimate example of action within inaction.
If you’re just beginning on your meditation practice, I suggest you start with five minutes. Or two, and work up to five. Set an alarm if you must. Stretch your body before sitting down, so you won’t be tempted to wiggle. Sit comfortably, but not too comfortably–sit on a pillow, or the ground (no soft chairs, lest you get too relaxed). Find a relatively quiet spot. Do not think about how much time is left in your sitting–focus on your inhalations, your exhalations. If your mind wanders, do not give up, notice, and move back to your breath. Feel the calm energy it brings to your mind and your body, even if it is only short instances of focus. The goal is to think about nothing, but this is much easier said than done.
Practice, and all is coming. After you master five minutes of meditation, move on to 10 or 15. It does wonders for my spirit and soul.
And maybe I’m biased, but I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t benefit from meditation.
The Earth & The Body
Posted: April 22, 2013 Filed under: Yoga | Tags: Travels with my yoga mat, yoga Leave a commentThis is how I aspire to practice. The earth and the body in harmony. Not following prescribed poses called out from a platform, but doing just what feels good.
Yoga outside is the ultimate experience of the poses, for me.
Watch this and I guarantee you will be inspired.
On Being in Boston
Posted: April 15, 2013 Filed under: Kindness of strangers | Tags: Boston, Moving Leave a commentLate last August, we moved away from Boston. It was a perfect city for us. But as we got older, the yearning for space and air began to outrank the desire to be close to everything new and exciting.
Still: I have never been more proud to be a former resident of the City of Boston; and, I have never been happier with our decision to move away. The Boston Marathon was always a day of celebration through the city. The day off from work and school, the welcoming of warmer weather, a day for Boston to revel in its own brand of patriotic zeal–a uniquely Massachusetts holiday. In fact, my husband and I usually did everything we could to get out of town for the few days around the marathon. We lived right in Back Bay, so surrounding streets were blocked off. But we were around for a few of the races. Walked the dog along the outskirts of the crowds, never venturing too close to the masses though, crowds are not my thing.
This is the horrific kind of side effect of city life that I dreaded. Not the traffic, the rudeness, the expensive parking, or the lack of fresh air. Yes, I was bothered by sirens and my 2 hour commutes to work, but I could flow with those annoyances. There is no meditating away a tragedy that kills an eight year old child. It is sadness that permeates my soul 1,000 miles away. But I’m no victim.
If there is one thing I remember best about Boston as a city, it is the bite. The fierceness. The resilience. The people who will sit in two hours of traffic to move one miles to attend a Celtics game. The panhandlers who will hustle you half way down a the street to glean the quarter from your pocket. The man from the nursing home behind your building who chases you down to ask not to put your trash on that side of the alley (lest the bottle pickers wake his elderly father overnight). The January runners trudging down the middle of Beacon street because a foot of snow covers the sidewalks.
Boston and its people will be ok. They’ve got a grit and a bite unlike anyone I’ve ever met. The city is on its best behavior during unifying times like this. When the Bruins won the Stanley Cup a few years ago, there was pride spilling out of every corner of the city…including myself, someone who has never watched an entire game of ice hockey. There was mass mourning for Michael Jackson, and outrageous celebration when the Red Sox won the World Series. Without a doubt, Boston will find justice for what happened today–growing stronger, and more indomitable because of events like this that mark the city with a colorfully twisted history.
Sunday Goal
Posted: April 7, 2013 Filed under: Action, Aging, Choices, confessions, family, Free Time, Inaction, reality check, Yoga | Tags: Sunday, unplugged 1 CommentSometimes I just want time to stop. Or at least slow down so I can savor the day’s moments before going on to the next one. The azaleas, camellias, spirea, Dutch iris, anemones, and redbud blooms that all peaked last week are already colorfully decorating the ground. I thought I had time to enjoy them before they gave way to their hearty green leaves.
Milestones don’t stop happening when you become an adult. There are times that we grown ups finally learn to let in understanding, forgiveness, happiness. Maybe it doesn’t happen all of the sudden (maybe it does). Lately, I think of growing up akin to the process of letting my muscles become loose enough to comfortably sit in hanumanasana. It is said that the human body is innately flexible, that under anesthesia a doctor can contort his patient into any shape; but, the conscious nervous system prevents us from touching our toes when we want to, or flopping into double pigeon before a proper warm up. Little by little as an adult, I am learning what it means to hold grudges, to allow toxic people to influence my life choices, to be genuinely happy for the (seemingly) stress free life my sister lives. As I come to these realizations, I wonder if my busyness (you know, the pull to the iPhones, the computer, the newspaper sitting unread on the kitchen table) has been interfering with my ability to grow as a human?
This is a lofty question, and I do not intend to solve it on a quiet Sunday evening. But I am making a resolve: Sundays will be the day I unplug. I’m going to leave my phone where I don’t look at it when I am unoccupied for 30 seconds. I will use my real cameras. I’m going to stop checking social media on Sundays, devote this day to my family, my self, and the calming of my mind for a week ahead.
Upward and onward, is how I try to think about life. But sometimes, you just want to stay in bed. To rewind time and relive the amazing day you had with your family. Go back to the age of 1.5 and take back all the times you refused to nap and line them all up for an epic lie in. I’m not a lazy person, but who doesn’t long to linger in savasana? With this time I dust together on Sundays, I might make a dent in the to be read pile that is higher than the nightstand, finish a pot of tea, reuse the leaves and drink a second pot. On Sundays, I will stop hurrying the dog through his morning routine, and I might finally pot all the plants that are rooting in glass jars along my windowsills. I’ll read more books to my son, keep reading aloud even when his attention fades after five minutes. On Sundays in savasana, I will let myself cross that visible barrier between consciousness and sleep. I might fold laundry too, but only if I feel like doing it mindfully. No folding laundry begrudging the amount of socks my family wears. I can resume my despair of sock matching on Monday, but Sunday should be a day of peace. A day of action within every moment of inaction.
Don’t you agree?
Chrysalis Phase in Retreat
Posted: March 29, 2013 Filed under: Action, change, courage, Friday night, gym, Inaction, Kindness of strangers, reality check | Tags: change, Imperfection, Peace, Travels with my yoga mat Leave a commentThe last few months have been tiring, notable here on my blog by the glaring lack of posts. I rarely opened my computer, but when I did and saw the wordpress icon, I looked away guiltily.
I suppose I am guilty of overextending myself sometimes, my aspirations are greater than the minutes each day has to fulfill them; eyes are bigger than my stomach. 2013 has been a mostly quiet year so far. Introspective and temperamental, but not unhappy. Reassessing and planning, as I’m wont to do every 4 months (sometimes 3) I find there is a shift. Sometimes with the seasons, sometimes with circumstances, but routines get broken up and as we’re settling into our new ones, life can feel a little rocky.
I do not have enough words to express the gratitude I have for the few constants I do have in my life: yoga, nature, the sea, my family, my friends. Today I actually practiced on my mat at home while my son played with the combination lock on my train case, and explored the rest of our usually off-limits adult rooms. Seeking strength through my core, knowing the limits of my flexibility and wanting to push past them: these are lessons from my mat that I need so badly to apply to the rest of my life. Holding my spine upright as I walk into scary meetings with new faces just might be the edge that gets me the job I am interviewing for next week.
As always, I’ve been doing my best. Many mammals hibernate in the winter, here I am stretching out of my air chrysalis phase and ready to dig my feet into the earth.
“We can stop thinking that good practice is when it’s smooth and calm, and bad practice is when it’s rough and dark. If we can hold it all in our hearts, then we can make a proper cup of tea.” –Thanks, Pema Chodron!
If I can offer one piece of advice so far for 2013: accept your state, do not judge yourself on sad or lonely days because they will end, and when they do share your happiness freely.
One more thing: This morning at the gym I was in the bathroom, washing my hands. I looked up at my face in the mirror, for half a second, and the lady washing her hands next to me turned and said “you look adorable, so cute.” She wished me a happy Easter (after asking if I celebrate) and breezed out the door. She infused me with joy. Husband had left for work very early, and my sweet son does not have much of a vocabulary yet. That kind stranger’s words gave me a kick of confidence, as I dragged my yoga mat into a deserted wall space.
Instead of kicking up to warm up my handstands against the wall like I always do, I floated on my hands in the middle of my mat for a few moments of unexpected bliss. Thank you, kind strangers everywhere!
Image: http://www.deutschefotothek.de/obj87503021.html
The Tennis Match
Posted: February 15, 2013 Filed under: Friday Fiction, writing | Tags: Friday Fiction, writing Leave a commentHis head had been aching all morning. He work up with the throb, but instead of yielding to the pain he pushed on, even swallowed two Tylenols. He didn’t believe medicine worked, but when he stopped for gas it was there on the counter while he paid for his coffee. It felt good, coolly sliding down his throat on a stream of tepid black coffee as he sat at his desk at work. Maybe I can still play well this afternoon. These types of physical ailments, head aches especially, were something his female employees complained about, or he read about in Time magazine. He maintained a strict regime of diet, exercise, sleep, sex, meditation and fresh air.
At three o’clock every Friday, he played in a tennis match. He’d met this particular opponent before, a long legged blonde who he’d seen around town before too. It was not a big town. Their match was close the previous time, but as if unwilling to lose to a girl, he prevailed and made a few questionable line calls in the final set.
He sat at his computer, looking over the day’s work while waiting for the medication to take effect. It felt good going down, but now the glare from his computer made his suffering worse, and he felt his skull shrinking. He was unable to think about anything except the pressure on his head, and then he thought again about his afternoon match. It might not be too late to postpone. The thought of the blonde’s legs cooled his ache slightly, but when he placed his fingers on his keyboard, it returned ten fold, and he doubled over. His large office contained a sofa, for what use he was unsure, but now he was aware that it would be appropriate for him to close the blinds, stretch out, and let this head ache run its course. He told his secretary to hold calls, closed the door to his office, and rested. Despite the eight ounces of coffee, he slept almost immediately. He dreamed of hospital beds and being vaccinated, the unbearable urge to watch your own blood coursing through sterile rubber tubes as your veins pump into the open space. He dreamed of a sexy nurse and a cruel doctor who wanted to sew rackets to his hands to improve his game. He woke with creases on his face, his suit wrinkled and his head ache untouched. He sat up and drank one of the bottles of water that stood on the coffee table nearby, guzzled it in a single swallow, then lay back, panting. As he calmed down, he looked through the blinds and noticed it was afternoon light. How long had he slept? He looked at his watch. It was 3 o’clock. He’d lose the match by default.
Southern Groceries, Take 2
Posted: January 31, 2013 Filed under: grocery shopping, Karma, Southern Housewife | Tags: Moving, Perspective, Vegetarianism Leave a commentAs I’ve written before, grocery shopping in South Carolina is quite different from how I used to shop in Maine and Massachusetts. It is not just the fact that it took three markets to find kimchi, and it was not hard to adjust to the lack of dedicated organic and Asian sections. The produce is generally plentiful and varied, and I know where to buy half gallons of rice milk and sprouted tofu.
However, I was completely bewildered yesterday by the interaction I had with the young man bagging my groceries. He picked up a container of tofu, and stared at it, shook it, then looked at me and asked, “what is this, some kind of soup?” Besides that one video I posted to social media earlier this week (Holocaust on a Conveyor Belt,) I generally try not to proselytize my vegetarian beliefs. So I responded, “no, it is tofu.” Realizing as soon as the words left my mouth how it probably sounded pretentious. The kid looked at me, and shook his head while he continued to bag my items. But what should I have said, “oh, that is a food made by coagulating soy juice and then pressing the resulting curds into soft white blocks.” ?????
“So you must be some kind of vegetarian or something, huh,” he continued the conversation.
“Correct. I do not eat meat,” I replied.
“Oh man, you would hate to come over to our house, we have meat everywhere!” I suddenly remembered I’m in the deep south, and that guns and hobby hunting are popular here. I’m envisioning mounted animal heads, bacon toothpaste, leather sofas. “Not even chicken?” the kid asked.
Now I was getting testy. He was not trying (I don’t think) to be rude. But I felt interrogated. Here he was, looking at an intimate portrait of my life (thank goodness I do not purchase tampons at the grocery store), and questioning my lifestyle. I wanted to reply “especially not chicken” but I just smiled, and shook my head no.
Of course I did not open up the conversation with him further by telling him about my recent conversion to veganism (still in its infancy, there are animal products in everything!) but I was so shocked that here we are in 2013, and some people in this country do not understand a vegetarian diet.
Welcome to the South!
On Creation & Old Trees
Posted: January 31, 2013 Filed under: Aging, change, writing | Tags: Balance, La Belle Dame sans Merci, writing Leave a commentCreation is a funny thing: concentration improves with age, but imagination (an essential ingredient) wanes. It is a muscle not unlike the gluteus maximus or the biceps femoris. Imagination requires a wide array of highly individualized nourishment. Some, like myself, prefer nature (trees and water, specifically). Others find their muse in bourbon, animals, museums, watercolors, rivers, and clouds. 
It is hard to say why trees inspire me the way they do: maybe their versatility, resilience, properties of regeneration, and magnificence. Every growing thing starts off as a small seed, and trees are a quintessential example of this tremendous change. I hope the arc of my life will one day show such a grand spectrum of experience.
Sometimes, I want to go back in time, revisit my languid days of idle leisure to bottle up as much sleep and boredom as I can possibly handle. Life is so full now, sleeping late and ennui are rare occurrences. So as I am approaching the youth of my middle age (it is nearly 6 months from my 30th birthday after all) it is interesting to reflect on the creations of my life so far. There are fewer moments of quiet awe when I am infused with ideas. My moments of astonishment are usually accompanied by shrieks of joy from my son’s first steps and new tastes; my days are immediate, noisy with streaks of peanut butter, wonder and tears.
I can’t go back in time, and I don’t really want to (well, maybe some Saturday mornings I’d like to sleep until 9). What I’ve lost in rest, I’ve gained in patience. I wasn’t meant to have my grand moments young. My life’s work at age 30 is vastly different from what I thought it would look like, but if I ponder it deeply, I know it is still important, and that greatness is possible whether I am changing a diaper or changing my perspective.
Green Glasses
Posted: January 25, 2013 Filed under: Friday Fiction, Friday night, writing | Tags: Friday Fiction, Wordy, writing Leave a commentAs Sarah sat waiting for the nurse to retrieve her paper cup of two generic headache pills, she rummaged around in a box of glasses next to her chair. They were all sizes and colors, and after examining a few pairs, she slipped some rectangular green frames into the backpack slung by her feet. When she tried them on in the girl’s room five minutes later, she smiled at herself broadly. Her vision was slightly altered with the green glasses. She felt more confident. Her features blurred in the corroded mirrors above the sinks as she concentrated on the details of the frames, and she tossed her hair around her shoulders to perfect the image for herself. She might even pass as pretty with these green glasses. Her pale face did not look so boring. This would be the day her life changed, though stealing glasses from the charity box was such an impetuous event, Sarah would never trace it back to that moment. Her vision would slowly adjust to the slight nearsightedness that the lenses corrected, and in the weeks to come, she would be stare absently at distant faces, not realizing she was gazing directly into their eyes.
Note: I’m inspired to write short exercises of Friday Fiction, in the spirit of this blogger.
In Progress 