Sunday, September 25, 2011


"Death" was one of the themes explored in yoga this past week.  It's funny because this idea of letting parts of yourself die, and others grow has been recurrent for me of late.
One of the quotes shared was about the idea that hell is often described as "pure."  Intensity of feeling is so often how we end up in our most raw or pure states...pure hell is what may lead us most quickly to powerful realizations or great changes.  I wish I remembered the attribution for the person who, when asked how he dealt with feeling like he was going through hell, responded:  "I stay there for as long as I can."  So often we try to gloss over any periods of negativity or pain.  My experiences in the past year, and as I reflect over the past decades, have made it abundantly clear to me that every time I feel like I'm going through something intensely painful, there is an equally positive reaction that occurs.  Physics doesn't lie.

And along with death, I've gotten to explore the presence of a new life in my home.  We have a foster puppy whose abundance of joy, play, wonder at the world is truly invigorating.  I'd like to capture some of it.  Maybe I will.  Pure joy is definitely a nice balance.

Monday, September 12, 2011


Home has never been a specific place for me.  It has been people, dogs, views, feeling-tones, emotions...but never a place.  I'm hugely domestic.  I love being in my own space.  I love making it feel like "me."  But at the core, the only thing that makes anyplace home is the feeling I have when I'm in it.

Home has included, in no particular order:
-a mesa in New Mexico with my dog Jack.  
-an alligator pine tree.  Same scenario.
-A kitchen with bright orange appliances as snow fell and Garrison Keillor talked.
-My car when the music is just right and I have a dog in the way back.
-A yoga studio with a friend, who feels like she's been in my life for so much longer.
-A voice on the phone who knows me better than I know myself.
-A cozy living room where I can curl up on a couch and cry if I need to, laugh if I want to, and all the time know that the people around me love me no matter what.
-My grandmother's kitchen.
-Homemade peach ice cream.
-Humid summer days.
-A tent by running water.
-Muffins and smoothies and Sunday morning conversation on the reservation.
-A forest service cabin in the woods with women I love.
-A back yard where stars shine brighter than city lights.
-My house when I have nothing left on my to-do list.
-The view out my bedroom window when I wake up in the morning.

I am, thankfully, in each of these scenarios.  At least I know I'm always present when I'm home. I think I may need to listen more closely to myself.  I need to listen to the times when I don't want to go "home."  And why.  I have been so grateful this year to finally, really, feel happy to arrive many many spaces.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Nothing But a Good Ride

Lyle Lovett, my sage, reminds me that this whole gig is nothing but a good ride..."there's something 'bout a sunrise waking up sleepy eyes...something 'bout a highway telling him he can't stay..."  And I have to agree.  And I feel like there's a really amazing sunrise in front of me reminding me that, yes, indeed, this is the "big show."

And I'm working on shaking patterns that I've fallen into...a need to be forever organized and not simply saying "fuck it, let's do it."  I traded in my subaru last week (for another subaru, but, still...); I went to a wedding over the weekend and danced.  I flew back into town and went directly to yoga with a friend of mine instead of agonizing over the fact that I wasn't quite prepared for work the following day.  The most amazing part?  It all got done.  The day went beautifully.  Students learned.  I was relaxed.  Who knew?

I am still in awe of how we, as a society, and as women, still place so much emphasis on finding someone to marry, and so much emphasis on romantic love.  I have a difficult time believing that there is something missing in any of us that can be assuaged by getting married.  I am pretty sure that if there's a hole that needs filling, it will still be there, or it will get bigger if we choose to embark on a journey with someone else without acknowledging it.  I am pretty sure that the only people who can figure out what each of needs is us.  I don't think that finding a guy (no matter how fabulous he is) is going to solve much.  I keep wishing there were media messages feeding young women with the knowledge that they are the most awesome creatures ever, and that a partner is only someone who helps you be an even better you than you thought you could be--not that finding a partner is the only way to become a better you.  I've never bought the whole fairy tale, nor have I ever thought there was someone out there who could "complete me."  I am wholly aware of the fact that being in love is really really fun.  No doubt.  But to tie this to identity?  I'm hoping we can find some ways to revise this narrative.