You Say You Want A Resolution? Breathe, Walk, Listen!

3. Breathe

During a Skype chat with my brother the other day, he asked me if I’d made any New Year’s resolutions. When I told him the five simple words I hope to use as my guiding goals for this year, he said, “I suppose with resolutions like that, you don’t really have to worry about failing.” I mean, breathing as a goal? Really? It’s so simple and obvious and, well, unavoidable. The thing is, though, that sometimes the best solutions to our problems are the most simple and obvious. If I think about the recurring struggles in my life, the obstacles that daily block my path, cause me frustration, tighten that knot in the belly, it is often connected to one thing: anxiety. Worrying, vibrating at an unsustainable mental frequency, rushing- these are all behaviours rooted in anxiety. I know that I can’t think my way through that to overcome it. I have tried, and it just doesn’t work. It doesn’t help to tell myself to stop worrying or to slow down. It doesn’t even help to tell myself that whatever is making me worried or making me feel like I need to rush, I can handle it. The only thing I have found that helps is to focus on the one thing I can truly regulate: my breathing. It starts and ends with the physical- a physical response to a physical sensation. I think I need to rush because I feel the physical sensation of rushing in my body. I think I need to worry because my body tells me that I am worried. So, if I can get out of my head and into my body and just breathe, everything else will eventually sort itself out. The things that are stressing me do not evaporate, but my belief in my ability to deal with those stressors improves. I become calmer, more confident, and eventually more effective.

4. Walk

Nietzsche said, “All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.” Dude knew what he was talking about! There is something incredibly restful and inspiring about walking with no particular destination in mind, with no time constraints. I haven’t done that in a while. I’d like to do more of that this year- walking and talking with a friend, walking and talking with myself, walking and watching, enjoying, noticing, resting in the rhythmic certainty of just putting one foot in front of the other. It’s good for the soul, good for the body, good for the mind.

5. Listen

I already very much like to listen- to music, to the stories of others, to the birds outside my window in the morning, to the conversations of the kids I teach who don’t know that I can hear them. Often, much of what I hear brings me joy. All these sounds make me feel connected, and remind me that I belong to something bigger than just me. Sounds are what I often miss most about the places I used to call home: the sounds of busses and garbage trucks and dinging bicycle bells, the sounds of rustling palm trees and tropical birds, the sounds of barking dogs and skipping ropes hitting the pavement. Music and memory also remain forever linked. I love how hearing a song can transport me back to another time and place where I can feel him or her beside me once again. Finally, listening to the stories and insights of others heavily shapes my understanding of my world, as it is usually through dialogue with dear friends that unformed yet weighty feelings and thoughts start to gain shape and articulation.

This year, I want to become a better listener. I often hear everything, which is sometimes a bit of a problem, because hearing everything makes it difficult to focus on something. I am perpetually distracted by sound. I am completely useless at my job if I am in one of our shared workrooms without my headphones plugged in.  I rely on music to tune out, to focus, and then later to relax and to stay asleep. I want to learn how to become a better, more refined, and selective listener. I want to learn how to listen more carefully and intentionally. I want to hear past simply the words spoken. I want to be able to focus on particular elements of a song or conversation. I want to learn how to pay closer attention, how to separate the truth from all that distracting noise. And I want to continue improving in my listening to myself, to my gut, to learn how to better differentiate between the skeptical uneasiness brought on by wisdom and the discomfort spurred by a habit of fear. I suppose that this year I want to develop wiser ears- open to all, yet more aware of what truly is worth listening to. 

You Say You Want A Resolution? Write!

So, this year's plan for maintaining sanity, challenging the mind, and nurturing the soul involves the remembering of these five instructions: dance, write, breathe, walk, listen. More about the second....

2. Write

Julia Cameron, the author of The Artist’s Way encourages her readers to commit to writing “Morning Pages.” If you haven’t heard about this before, the idea essentially is that when you wake up in the morning, before you eat, speak, shower, before you start anything, you first write. This writing isn’t for the purpose of capturing artistic genius. Its purpose is to make space. In fact, when a notebook of Morning Pages is full, I chuck it. I don’t even flip through it. It is waste. If we want to get really crass about it, we could compare it to a good morning poop- it’s all about moving the garbage along, emptying it out to make room for the new and the good. Cameron talks about creativity as being more of a receptive process than a productive process. If you want to be creatively “productive,” she argues, you actually have to first make space in your head and your heart so you can receive new sensations, integrate new inspiration, and make sense of what already is. None of that goodness can root itself if your mind is cluttered. And this space-making activity is not only for artists or even just for those who consider themselves to be of the creative persuasion, but for any person whose daily activities require them to think, process, problem-solve, plan- so pretty much anyone really.

The wonderful side effect of these Morning Pages is that if there are things weighing on your mind and filling up your head space and using up your time and energy with their distracting omnipresence, through the process of writing about it, many of these issues sort themselves out, or at least reveal themselves in such a way that you can identify them and articulate them, in order that you are better able to actually address them. The act of writing for the sake of writing also validates the importance of process over product, something I have long struggled with. By simply giving myself permission to write crap, rather than to write something good or meaningful or useful, ideas are stirred up and moved along. This writing practice unsticks thought patterns, both building momentum and bringing a kind of peace. It is motivational and meditative, grounding and revelatory. And, of course, it invites me to start my day with intention, to begin with slowness rather than immediately jumping into the hustle and bustle.

Now, I- surprise, surprise- am not very good at going about this Morning Pages business on a consistent daily basis. Like most things in my life, I have these spurts of discipline and commitment, and then I get tired or overwhelmed and feel like I simply don’t have time to waste on some sillynilly, non-productive, unnecessary writing. This practice gets lost when I start choosing the urgent over the important. I anticipate that this will likely happen again and again and again, or that I will choose the kind of writing I am doing here and now (though I often quickly forget the value of this as well) over the writing of Morning Pages, focusing on potential product, or at least something closer to a legitimate “product,” and forgetting the connection between the two. Ideally, I’d like to make room in my life for both, but for now, I’ll just say, without rules or restrictions, that this year I would just like to write more, whatever kind of writing that may be.

Writing is good for me. I like what happens when I think through my pen. I like the feeling of moving things out of my head and onto the page, how the permanence on the paper brings a lightness to my bustling mind and antsy spirit. I like seeing how ideas shift and grow and move around, how thoughts that were jumbled and shapeless in my head suddenly become more solid and clear when written out. I like treating words like ingredients in a recipe, and noticing how playing with language helps me get to know words in the same way that I know the spices in my kitchen cupboard- continual practice teaches me which words can go together and flavour thoughts in new but effective ways. I love the sensation of witnessing a beautiful sentence show up on the page in front of me, like it kind of just chose to be there. I like that writing moves me away from denial and pretense towards a greater level of truth and authenticity. I like the empathic connection invited by the act of storytelling, whether that story is told through a letter, a blog post like this, a facebook status update, or a poem or short story. I’d like to believe that somehow my willingness to try and be as honest as I know how to be, even if not always as articulately or wisely as I’d like, might hopefully give others permission to try the same. Writing facilitates the building of community, the connecting of like minds, the understanding and appreciation of difference. And if, in the end, all this writing ends up being just for me, then that also is totally okay, because writing and posting all this makes me feel just a little bit braver. It requires me to open myself up to the opinions of others, to risk criticism, and, most importantly, to get over myself. There’s always this little voice telling me that bothering with this writing in a public forum where others can actually see makes me a bit of a narcissistic, self-indulgent try-hard, because it assumes that others actually have an interest in hearing what I have to say, but then I tell that little voice to shut up and I do it anyhow, and that is a soul-growing act in and of itself.

I want to write more snail mail too- postcards and tiny notes that tell the people I love that I am thinking of them. Too often, I intend to send my love through the post but then put it off because I want the words to be perfect and I want to take the time to tell them everything, and since there is never enough time to tell them everything, I often end up sending nothing. This year, I want to remember that writing something, anything, is always better than writing nothing. I want my writing to become both thoughtful and automatic, where I can grow in this craft in such a way that I finally learn that not all important messages need to be told with many words. I want to learn how to feel less tired by the daunting task of making sense of big ideas, that it’s okay to sometimes leave things unfinished and imperfect, to put pen to page without a clear vision of what the ending might be. I want to learn how to react quickly enough to capture the flashes of beauty and brilliance that sometimes appear in my head when I am biking to work or half-asleep. I want to learn how to create a moment of stillness long enough to hear what’s hidden behind all the blaring noise.

The key now is to remember this, because every time I forget, it takes a while to get comfortable again with sitting still, with reaching in and pulling out, with opening up and waiting for the words to spill and flow. Like exercise and eating right and praying and all those other things that are good for me, the starting up again is always a little uncomfortable.

Let’s hope I don’t soon forget. 

You Say You Want A Resolution? Dance!

I don’t know about you, but I generally find the act of making New Year’s resolutions an invitation for frustration and disappointment as, usually, maybe two or three weeks in, I realize that I have- sigh- failed once again. I mean, who needs that kind of pressure?! I am hoping that this year, after living thirty-something years on this planet, I finally have a better sense of what is reasonable and realistic to ask of myself.  So this year I am trying something new. This year, I want to keep things nice and simple, and am opting for itsy bitsy one-word reminders of the doable daily acts that I absolutely 100% know nurture my soul and help me stay happy and healthy. I am going to write them down on a scrap of paper, decorate it with polka dots and happy faces, and post it up on the inside of my front door so everyday as I rush off to work, I will see them and say, “Oh yeah. Good idea!”

So this is them- my five super simple words to remember:

Dance

Write

Breathe

Walk

Listen

Um, yeah, maybe let me explain….

1. Dance.

When I say “dance,” I don’t mean clubbing it up, grinding, twerking, all sexy-like, into the wee hours of the morning. I mean jump up and down, spin, stomp, and sweat. We’re talking my “King Louie,” as it has been dubbed by a dear friend- arms and legs flailing and swaying like the Jungle Book’s king of the apes. Dancing- like, really really dancing, not for the purpose of trying to seduce or impress or show off or blend in, but dancing like you are in your own personal disco with nobody watching- is the gateway to freedom. I’m telling you. It is restorative. It brings release. It gets the heart pumping. It puts a smile on your face. I mean, are you having a hard time getting the day going? Dance. Have you had a long day and your nerves are frazzled with pent-up frustration? Dance. Are you sad? Dance. Are you mad? Dance. Do you have something to celebrate? Dance.

A few years ago, I attended this yoga retreat that was all about overcoming fear, and at one point, they put blindfolds on all of us and turned up the music and told us to dance. It was freaking weird, man. It’s interesting how, even with a blindfold on, with nobody paying any attention to me at all, I still felt so embarrassed and reluctant to let loose. It took me a surprisingly long time to get out of my head and overcome my inhibitions, the bizarre concern about looking like an idiot or, God forbid, not doing the intended exercise “right”. At first, I could only sway and bop a little, and then, once I got out of my head and into my body, my bones and muscles loosened up. It was awesome.

Then this past summer, when I was in Costa Rica deep in the jungle, I met this wonderful woman full of life and wisdom and boldness, and we went to the beach one day and she danced- full on, full body, full force dance. There were people around and she just did not give a shit. She put her ipod on and wandered off to her own personal dance party. Bikini-clad, she stomped around in the sand and scooped up the air and swayed in the sun and used all that space. It was such a beautiful thing to see. So, while I was there in Costa Rica, I followed her lead and danced everyday. I woke up each morning, jumped out of bed, put on my headphones, and danced like a lunatic around the room. And on brave mornings, especially when it was raining that warm, strong tropical rain, I stepped outside and danced in the rain. Cliché? Maybe, but oh what a rush!

Now, I don’t know if you have seen this video: http://youtu.be/HSy7h3TPB-M. I do not yet have the guts to do this for real, but in mind, I am already dancewalking all the time. : )

So, my plan this year is to take any opportunity I get to tap my toes and shake my hips. Whether I am toweling myself off after a shower, whisking up some pancake batter, blowdrying my hair, or paying bills, I am going to dance dance dance.

More later. 

This Much I Know Is True: The Final Instalment

7. You shouldn’t have to convince people that you are worth spending time with.

I have a long and persistent habit of collecting complicated people in my life. I seem to be attracted to the challenge of befriending the crotchety and the difficult, I get great satisfaction out of trying to crack the code of mixed messages sent by distant, enigmatic, wounded souls, and my ego gets off on making it into the inner circle of those who generally don’t let people in. The problem with complicated people, however, is that they sometimes make me feel like I have to work really really hard to maintain my status as posse member, and that admittedly kinda sucks. Though sometimes exhilarating and often interesting, it’s also exhausting to constantly wonder if I am still witty enough, intriguing enough, attentive enough to keep my spot in the coveted inner sanctum of their social sphere.

(I should probably clarify that by "complicated", I don't really mean complex, multi-layered, or even possessing the baggage that comes with  a difficult past. I'm more talking about those who create a lot of rules and regulations for the people in their lives, those who are incredibly quick to pass judgment. I will admit, as well, that sometimes, not giving up on someone, and continuing to patiently wait until they've softened and are ready to let me in, can result in a rewarding friendship. The "work", then, is often only initially. In these cases, often once you're in, you're in for good. Still, I wonder if, in spite of some of these relationships being rewarding, they're actually ever fair or equal. Maybe that doesn't really even matter. I suppose, it's more the tendencies towards continual judgment and evaluation of others, and the constant act of letting in but then pulling back that I am talking about, then, in terms of what qualifies someone as "complicated".)

Anyways...

I also have a long-standing habit of turning to Jane Austen in my times of need and desperation. If I am having a day when I feel uninspired, when my faith in the possibility of true love is hanging by a thin little thread, I know I can count on Ms. Austen to make things right. As this is quite a regular practice, I am always on the look-out for new interpretations of her beloved stories. (My favourite Austen interpretation, just in case you were wondering, is the 2009 BBC version of Emma. It is simply fantastic.) Well, a few months back, while searching Youtube for some new Austen goodness, I stumbled upon this fairly recently released British series about a modern girl in London who finds herself transported back to the setting of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and becomes all twisted up with the characters and the plot. It was truly horrible and I couldn’t finish it. Not only was the premise ridiculous (the bathroom of the protagonist’s tiny Hammersmith apartment served as the portal to the Bennett’s home), but the acting was just plain bad, and the girl’s obsession with the classically complicated Mr. Darcy irritated me. It was beyond pathetic.

And then, I found myself all of a sudden struck by an odd but surprisingly important realization. I knew that given my attraction to complicated people, if- by some crazy twist of fact and fiction and a glitch in the time-space continuum- I actually had the opportunity to pursue one of Austen’s men, rather than choose the good and kind Edmund Bertram, or the honorable Colonel Brandon, or even the good-natured Mr. Bingley, I would quite likely, almost predictably, go after the aloof and antisocial Mr. Darcy. I would want to figure him out, get in there and understand why he felt he couldn’t trust people, why he was so reluctant to let loose and join in a little lighthearted community ball banter. I would probably do some good research and ask around to get his full backstory. I’d find out what he was interested in and try then to achieve that elusive balance between intriguing him with my surprising knowledge of duck hunting and art collecting, attracting him with my unique combination of feisty independence and tender heart, and finally encouraging him to untuck his shirt a little and shimmy it up on the dance floor. Seriously? Pathetic.

And then me and the Darcy on the screen had ourselves a little moment. My eyes got big and I screamed at the stupid movie I insisted on watching. “Darcy,” I shouted, “you obnoxious, arrogant asshole! You and your ‘opinion once lost’ can go f*ck yourself.” And then I turned to Elizabeth Bennett and I told her, “Lizzie, you deserve better. You should not have to work this hard and wait this long for him to realize you are the gem of Hertfordshire. You deserve better.”

And that settled that. I had this monumental epiphany that I shouldn’t have to convince somebody that I am worth hanging out with. I shouldn’t have to prove to someone that I am good enough for them to make room for me in their lives, and I shouldn’t ever have to feel like I am continually being evaluated and critiqued to determine if I am deserving of my friend/lover/girlfriend status. There are enough people in my life who think I am awesome, even in those moments when I am all gnarly and tired and cranky and indecisive, and if I already have such wonderful people in my life who love me “as is,” no matter what, then why on earth would I bother with the ones who need convincing? Seriously!

8. If you’re surrounded by awesome people, you are quite likely pretty awesome yourself.

What’s that saying about being able to judge a man’s character by the company he keeps? Like attracts like. Look around you, at your dearest, truest friends. Are they good people who you admire and respect? They’re friends with you for a reason, you know. If you think they’re fantastic, they probably think you’re fantastic too. And sometimes, that’s kind of cool to remember. (insert smiley face here)

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I could go on and on and on some more about the lessons learned from 2013, or at least conform to the customary top ten list format- stopping at #8, after all, feels a bit unfinished- but it’s January 2^nd over here and time to move on to contemplating all the exciting possibility of the year ahead. I am looking forward to the lessons I will certainly learn from the challenges, relationships, adventures and opportunities of this next spin around the sun.

This Much I Know is True: Part IV

Lesson # 6: Let people live in your heart.

I have long been fascinated by the relationship between love and fear. Love drives fear away. It makes us feel safe and brave enough to take risks. Fear, however, so often keeps us from letting people in and opening ourselves up to love. Somehow, the stinging memories of betrayal, rejection, and heartache blaze on in our psyche longer than the remembered delight of feeling free to be yourself, the butterflies of anticipation, the comfort of closeness; and those stinging memories so often elicit the fear that keeps love away.

There’s this beautiful documentary I watched this past year called Children Full of Life: http://youtu.be/1tLB1lU-H0M. If you haven’t watched it yet, I encourage you to check it out. It tells the story of Mr. Kanamori, an older Japanese teacher who mentors a group of 4^th graders to become empathetic, honest, happy children. At one point in the movie, when Mr. Kanamori is explaining the value of these “notebook letters” he asks his students to write everyday, he says something so wise and wonderful. He says, “Let people live in your heart. There is no limit on numbers.” I feel like this truth is something many of us need to hear- repeatedly. I know that I certainly need to be regularly reminded.

It’s funny how quickly we move into the mode of self-protection when our heart has been bruised and battered by misuse or neglect or disappointment. We create these long lists of rules for letting people in and even longer lists of reasons to keep people out, and if we do finally oh so tentatively grant entrance, we often offer only a halfway pass. And we do this not only with lovers and potential partners, but also sometimes with our friends and family. The vulnerability required by the act of letting someone into your heart is so effing scary, but I learned this year- and now believe it fully, from the very core of my being to the tips of my fingers and toes- that it is so worth it. Pretty much always. And I write it here so I won’t soon forget.

At the beginning part of this past year, there was a period where I spent quite a bit of time with someone, and it was good- easy, uncomplicated, good. But eventually it ended, as these things so often do. The interesting thing about this particular situation, though, is that while I was initially overwhelmed by the exhausting weight of disappointment, rejection, projected loneliness, and that feeling of loss that were all pressing down on my heart (and my ego), I very soon realized that it was totally worth it. His companionship, however short-lived, was worth it. The lessons I’d learned, the fun I’d had, the peace I’d gained, the confidence I’d grown, the steps I’d taken in trusting, letting go, letting in- all of it outweighed the heartache. I knew too that there would likely be many more moments of sadness to come. I knew that later I would probably look back and miss him and get this horrible sinking feeling of loneliness and longing deep down in my gut. I knew that probably sooner rather than later he would be enjoying the company of someone else and I would very likely feel the acute sting of jealousy and rejection. But even knowing all that was to come, I could still say with great conviction that it was okay. I was willing to sit through whatever sad spells might come my way because it was worth it.

Let me tell you what I know. I know that few things last forever. I know that 98% or 76% or 53% or some other significant percentage of relationships, whatever kind they may be, will end. I know that you will get hurt. That is an undeniable truth. You will possibly be betrayed or rejected or abandoned or replaced. You will probably at some point be misunderstood or criticized or get your feelings hurt. But I also know that from each person you let live in your heart- even if they are not your forever person or a long-term partner, even if they turn out in the end to be a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard- you will gain memories that weave new colours and plot twists into the story of you. You will learn important life lessons about yourself and the world around you, about communication, boundaries and intimacy (even if the lesson is simply how to more quickly spot a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard). You will try new food and listen to new music and make new friends and head out on exciting new adventures you’d otherwise never get to experience. And you will grow. You will grow in wisdom and empathy and confidence and in your capacity to love. You will become a better you. As far as I can tell, all that heartache, rejection, jealousy, and loneliness that we’re so afraid of are just collateral damage, temporary yet inevitable side-effects of the beautiful and important act of becoming vulnerable, letting someone in and opening yourself up to the exciting possibility of love.