Awaken

I'm new to the practice of Yin Yoga.  A few weeks ago, I was running late leaving work, and I missed my usual vinyasa class, but made it to a later class that I knew nothing about.  What ended up happening was that I got exactly what I needed from it.  Slow, intentional, deep postures with a narrative to accompany them provided by one of the most thoughtful yoga instructors I've come across to date.  I have stuck with this class each week when I'm in town, and it provides a nice counter-balance to my generally yang life.

This back story is intended to situate the learning from this week.  For the record, I'm not a huge fan of acronyms, and I tend to avoid them.  However, a little word play, I'm game for.  The instructor shared an idea, from a yin yoga text by Bernie Clark, regarding intentional and open-hearted living.  That's not, I don't think, as she framed it, but it's certainly what I took away.  She went through a series of thoughts and words that corresponded with the letters in "awaken."

The first, "A"--to allow.  The first suggestion being that we allow what is to be what is, and to acknowledge the truth of it.

The second, "W"--to watch or witness.  This is the most difficult for people, I think.  I have a tendency, when in new situations, to take in so much and to need so much processing time, that people have to prompt me to speak and to say what's on my mind.  I need this time to quietly take in what's around me, because there is so much I do take in.  I felt validated that this was a recommendation.

The third, "A"--act.  To act once you've taken the time to notice and acknowledge.

"K"--Keep going.  This is a tough one, yes?  This persistence that is only possible because of our resilient natures.  I've been doing a lot of thinking about resilience of late, and, thankfully, my own has resurfaced.

"E"--Expect goodness.  I don't love the word "expect," but I do appreciate the encouragement to always cultivate an attitude of positive presupposition for the world.

And, the lifelong quest--"N"--Now.  Live now.  I saw a lovely cartoon the other day where a dog was looking over at his human companion who was struggling to meditate, and the thought bubble above the dog said, "What else is there?"  Yes.

I've been allowing and watching for the past few months as I've made a rather huge life transition, for what seems like the millionth time in a short while, and I am so happy that I have reached a point where I feel it's time to act.  And I know that my actions are not a rejection of living in the now, but an extension of all that I've noticed and allowed to be.  There are these moments when I feel so truly awake and giddy even, and these, thankfully, are the emotions that are arising after the long wait of the settling in and figuring.  I'm tweaking the dials just a bit so my full self can come full circle in this situation.  And I think these ongoing tweaks most definitely require space and time to plan, so that they aren't reactionary, but they are truly based on what we need in the long term.  Yes.  Now.  I love this idea that I've circled back to this idea of awakening.  And how appropriate it is that we do awaken, literally and figuratively, again and again.

Intentionally Upright

I have been thinking a lot lately, it seems, about what exactly keeps us upright through this life (There are a lot of people on the streets of my daily world who have laid down, and are not getting back up).  It takes a huge amount of will to remain upright, to continue forward, and to be intentional about what we let into our lives.  The secret that very few people let us in on is the fact that if your wisdom and adaptability do not keep pace with the increasingly complex challenges of living, then there is more than enough impetus, just in daily living, to lay it all down.  It's hard.

I become increasingly aware that our "problems" keep pace with our phase of life--I would kill for my own 20-something problems again.  Adventures are hard;  they seem glamorous, and maybe they are in the long run, regardless they are all there is--a series of adventures, even the most mundane, are what make up the patterns of life.  But, I'm noticing, that my energy ebbs and flows for adventure.  I feel like I capture it for a while, but then the energy is tempered by some sort of desire for stasis, for comfort, for consistency that simply isn't available.  And then there's the fact that all of life seems glamorous if we view it from a distance and in sound bites.  And then people develop the "grass is greener" syndrome when all they see are soundbites from others' lives.

What is becoming increasingly clear to me is that life is lonely; no matter what the circumstances of anyone's life, it will feel lonely at times.  Life is a series of really difficult moves. These are even more difficult when we don't have stores of energy saved up to deal with them.  I have to be very present to not lose what is truly dear in the midst of all.  I've been working through a tension of late regarding acknowledging all of the beauty, and how much I have, but also acknowledge that there is more that I want in my life.

I want to be that person who is totally serene and content in any given situation, and with any life circumstance.  Anyone who knows me well knows I have not reached this space yet.  I'm certainly more patient than I used to be, but I also acknowledge that this, in itself, is a practice.  Gratitude is a practice.  Setting intentions is a practice.  The most recurrent reminder of late for me?  There is no greener, but there is also no reason to not want "more," whatever your particular "more" is.  There is a both/ and kind of thing going on here.  I am happy in me.  I am happy on a very core level.  Does this mean that I can't mourn the fact that I won't have children of my own?  Does this mean I don't want to one day have a successful partnership with someone who actually gets me?  No.  It means that on occasion, I break down in tears when I see a pregnant woman, and sometimes I have stroller envy.  I don't want to apologize for this mourning, and I don't want to dwell on it.  These aren't things you can predict in life that will trip you up.  I moved through my twenties and most of my thirties absolutely oblivious to a biological clock.  There are some things you learn in retrospect.  And that's okay.

My biggest conundrum of late has been rectifying my belief system about what it means to be "strong" and what it means to be "happy" with what it means to be these things, but also to say, "this isn't enough" in a long-term sort of plan.  Is it okay to say that, yes, my life is quite lovely:  I have only first-world problems, and even those are pretty minimal, but to also say I want more.  "Happy" and "strong" only exist in the moment.  They can't be permanent states of being or they would cease to be real or fulfilling (maybe I should put "real" in quotes too.)  And there's more of the work.  Forward momentum while also acknowledging the good stuff:  a quandary.  Last week's yoga practice centered around the idea that we carve a path through, and that this path is our choice--it can be a rut or a groove.

Complexity in life is underscored when there are moments of absolute bliss contrasted by moments of absolute sorrow.  And what I'm realizing more and more is that these states of being are not only complementary, they are necessary.

This is one of those posts that I'm going to post even though I liked it a lot better when it was in my head, in sound bites.

From my favorite book of late, The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making:  "My dear, labyrinths ensnare and entangle; they draw one inexorably inward...All of the underworlds are labyrinths, in the end.  Perhaps all the sunlit lands too.  A labyrinth, when it is big enough, is just the world."  Read it.  The book is utterly fabulous.

Journeys with Holden

I re-read Catcher in the Rye this past week.  If you haven't read it as an adult, you might try it--it might make you crazy (Sadly (sorry J.D. Salinger), Holden reminded me of a smart Bella (from Twilight fame), and I was reminded that she, too, in her teen-angstiness was a tad crazy-making).  However, I had to sheepishly acknowledge, that even though we're not quite so dramatic about it (usually), adulthood is wrought with the same types of highs and lows and questions as adolescence.  

I've been considering the idea of the "slinky" metaphor a friend shared with me when I wrote about whether life was a straight line or a circle. She reminded me, and I definitely am awed by, how many things we cycle back through.  I started to bemoan this idea, but then it hit me that each cycle, each coil, brings with it more and more spaciousness, if we're lucky.  So maybe it's a slinky whose diameter is stretched wider and wider as it curves on?  

It took 24 chapters to get there, but, finally, I got to the moment in Catcher in the Rye where Mr. Antolini says, "Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior.  You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know.  Many many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now.  Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles.  You'll learn from them--if you want to.  Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you" (p. 189).  And you realize that Holden really will move through this...in another couple of chapters.

And maybe it's the widening of the perimeter (if we let it) that widens perspective so we can learn from others?  We will never escape our lived-experiences, no matter how often the scenery changes;  I don't want escape.  We are afforded opportunities to move differently than we have before in our environs because we carry our past with us.  I don't mind that my experiences cycle back on themselves.  I don't mind that I've (once again) given away the bulk of my belongings and am slowly replacing things I've had before.  I like the intentionality of the collection after the purge.  Just as I like the intentionality that comes with the processes behind the widening perspective.  I like the clean spaces and empty drawers, that I can choose to leave that way if I want.  And I like Salinger's metaphor of a carousel for this same process... it's just a ride...  And I love the image of Holden, as he watches his sister ride around and around on the carousel:  "I was damn near bawling, I felt so damn happy, if you want to know the truth.  I don't know why...I wish you could've been there"  (p. 213).

Infinite Possibilities

For the past couple of weeks, I've been walking by an apartment with a cardboard sign in the front window, with the words "infinite possibilities" stenciled on it in black formal script.  Today on my way home from yoga,  I finally noticed a "for rent" sign attached to the balcony to the left of it, but for these past weeks I kept thinking that someone was sending all of us a daily reminder.

I am recurrently reminded that we only see infinite possibilities in moments between flurries of motion.  I am reminded that these possibilities, in fact, only seem to exist in the spaces we open up for them.  I paused between breaths and poses today, recognizing that the volume level on the chatter in my mind has been turned up high for the past few days, and that if I didn't mute it, or at least quiet it, I would not be able to open spaces for anything, let alone possibilities.  And so I do.  I exhale, I move intentionally, and I quiet.  And I repeat the process when the chatter re-enters, as it always does.

Two children were attempting to walk a slack line in the park today as I passed by.  One child said to the young gentleman who had set it up, "Is this impossible?"  And he said, "No, it just takes practice."  And I thought, "I'm pretty sure that's true for everything that seems impossible."

Another Iteration

I created a playlist for my friends upon leaving Tucson last month entitled "Another Iteration."  There was no goodbye.  There was no belief that I was magically manifesting a new destiny or "new" me.  I believe in magic.  I don't believe in magical solutions, and I don't say goodbye to people I love.  I do acknowledge that the way we interact and the spaces we inhabit will be different, but I can't quite see things as true "beginnings" or "endings" any more. Life is a little too fluid for that.  And I'm grateful for this perspective.  And I'm grateful for the realization that many of the best moments are in the spaces in between...in between here and there and where I am and where I am going.  We're all in motion, and I am in such beautiful company.  I wrote a note to a friend a couple of weeks ago that said, "It seems that it's all simply a process of letting go."  The response I received was a simple, "yes."

This past month has been one of constant readjustment and some pretty intense moments of...not clarity (I'm acknowledging that clarity, for me, requires a little more stasis than I've had of late), but deep breaths, breakdowns and breakthroughs (I'm hard-pressed to tell the difference between these two any more), singular experiences, frivolous experiences, and laughter that comes from a deeper place than it has in a while.  Changing my geographical location will never solve anything in itself (I manage to bring myself everywhere I go), but the freshness of new surroundings?  The realization that routines are not familiar, that navigation has become problematized and complicated? For me, this leads to realizations that I don't reach in other ways. And it reminds me of the importance of letting ourselves be exactly who we are in any given moment.

Some e.e. cummings that struck me recently:
"To be nobody but
yourself
in a world which is doing its best
day and night
to make you like everybody else
means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight
and never stop fighting."

I like the idea of each of us fighting to be exactly us.  And to be willing to support one another in doing just this.  That, to me, is love.  I guess it all is.

Remembrance and Intentions

I'm afforded a week to sort and finish packing (the most fun part of the purging is done and now I'm down to minutiae and trying my damndest to make sure I don't throw some hugely important document away).  It's been a long year, but do you ever notice that despite the fact that you've been looking forward to something with great anticipation, when it arrives, it's like, "oh, shit, really?  Already?"  That's how I felt on the last day of school.  I remain so completely filled with love for the students I was lucky enough to spend time with this year...and the beautiful colleagues without whom I would most likely have lost myself in teen angst and exhaustion.  And, so, remembrance--that there is no present moment that I would wish away.  Easier said than done.  I wake each day with the intention of living in the present, pausing to notice beauty, promising myself I will choose my words carefully and move gently.  And I continue to work on being gentle with myself.  It's a constant struggle, but one that will prove to be a practice worth the effort in the long run.

I've decided that I need physical reminders to keep my intentions in the foreground:  a new tattoo is in order to help me with this effort.  I will wait till I arrive in my next destination, but I need a physical touchstone that will be with me always--  reminding me to live with love and not fear.  A tiny reminder on the pulse spot on the inside of my left wrist.

I'm enjoying these last weeks of yoga practice in studios that have become my physical reminders of living with love...with friends whose presence next to me on the mat can make my heart sing open.  I walked out of class last week and realized without a doubt, that as long as I could find respite in a yoga practice, I'd be able to find my way back home to myself and to love.  I carry it with me, but it sure gets buried sometimes without intentional actions.

I will continue to refine my intentions.  I will revise my routines to make space for them to live out loud.  And I remain steeped in gratitude for the presence of those around me who, with a simple smile, a tilt of a head, a laugh or a twinkle in their eye, can surface all that is good and true throughout.

The Answers are in the Data

I've hit a wall in the past couple of weeks.  Maybe I've hit a couple of walls.  All I know?  Is that the forward momentum that I would love to be seeing is at a stand still.  Or maybe it's simply incubating.  Who knows?  My fellow dissertation writers know this feeling.  All of us know this feeling.  You're moving moving moving forward and suddenly, seemingly without any reason at all, you fall flat.  Thankfully, I'm at least aware enough to acknowledge that this is not a permanent state.  (I hope....I believe...I trust...I try and remind myself...)

So, at this moment?  I focus on some concrete things that actually seem tangible.  I reflect on miniature butterfly hair clips as fashion statement, the taste of a mango-pineapple smoothie for breakfast, a moment of laughter coupled with an eye roll at a student's behavior.   I reviewed a couple of hours of video data this evening.  I reminded myself that my students and I have a story that people should hear and read.  I reminded myself that this work is all for a greater purpose than me.  I think.  I hope.  I believe.  I trust.  I remind myself.

I know there are answers if we look closely.  We can draw conclusions based on close observation.  And so I look.  I look around at what's true.  And the truth keeps shifting on me.  Do you have those moments when your true north feels slightly skewed?  When your belief system is shaken just slightly?  This is where I return to when I'm feeling this way:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIr4pL9P0SA
Watch it.  Really. (Buddy Wakefield's "Information Man" on You Tube)

I haven't revisited Buddy Wakefield in some time.  BUT, he helps me move forward.  He helps me recognize just how tenuous truth is, and how much reality hurts, but how beautiful it all is.

"There is a distance the size of bravery"--and at moments, I feel like I am not brave enough to cross this distance.  You know that distance...it's the distance between here and now and what you have imagined as truth and where you're headed.  It's a combination of fear and loathing, and a dream of the future.  It's as simple as a dog panting by your side and as complicated as an emotional wound you can't seem to reconcile.

"But tonight, I am going to get the answer..."

Or not.  But at least I know I'm looking for one.

The beauty is knowing there is someone out there reminding me that we all have questions.  Regardless of our pursuits--research, life, love, happiness...life is a question.  And answers are fucking elusive.

"Even at your worst, you are fucking incredible.  So return to yourself.  Even if you're already there.  'Cause no matter where you go or how hard you try or what you do, the only person you are ever gonna get to be, and I know it, thank god, is you."

Thank whoever you want.  I'm grateful for every single one of us.