Even more 'Jo' to my world....

I was late, but gratefully P offered to park the car so that I could run up to our room and quickly change before rushing over to the fitness center for an afternoon Pilates class. Even though it was ready 4:05, when I got there I could see through the plate glass windows that they hadn't even started. I could also see that there were only three older women in there so I paused, but the oldest one spotted me. With her vanilla-colored hair, handsome wrinkles, and bright pastel-blue eyeshadow, she opened the door and said with a genuine New York accent, "Honey, you want to take a Pilates class?" Like, what am I supposed to say? I quickly closed my mouth and put a smile on and said, "Sure!" She answered, "OK, go in the locker room and get a big towel; these mats are so dirty." I did as I was told.

After that, it only took seconds for me to be completely sold by my 74-year-old Pilates teacher, Jo. She was one of the best instructors I had ever come across, the kind of instructor I aspire to become. We were 4 ladies total with me being the youngest by at least 15-20 years. Still everyone was at a different training level, yet Jo had all of us under her radar. Her instructions were clear, and I love how she incorporated a "breathe in through the nose, and out through the mouth" in between each exercise. She got up and offered feedback and encouragement to each participant and was quick to note that doing the corkscrew move was a good preparation to opening a bottle of wine that evening. For the next hour I had a silly smile on my lips the entire time. When was the last time you had a silly smile on your lips throughout an entire workout?

At the end of class, she pointed out her girlfriend who was wearing a pair of telltale white, sight-impaired glasses as she started up the treadmill. "That's my girlfriend, Edna," she said, "Yeah, she's here every day. She's 87." Then she proceeded to finish our class by reading an inspirational quote since we were now done "training our core, and it was time to train the core of our mind."

Respect.

Joy to MY world...

At the risk of seeming egotistical...I am so in seventh heaven in that chilled out, hazy-eyed, shoulders-finally-closer-to-hips-than-ears sort of way. Just to prove how laidback we are at the moment, today was marked by my husband's and my ability to for once just be spontaneous as we let the day unfold without following any sort of schedule. We never just let the day unfold. Usually P and I will sit and plan out the following day down to the hour before going to bed the night before.

Today we all woke up at 5:30 A.M. (thank you, jetlag). By 9 A.M. P had already been to the gym, and we were out the door headed towards the beach. The temperature in the Atlantic is the warmest I've ever felt. After swimming for a couple of hours, we headed in search of lunch and bought Chinese food at the first place we could find. Then we just continued on down A1A towards Ft. Lauderdale. Suddenly we turned right to get a closer look at some of the enormous yachts when it dawned on me that we could take a water taxi to do some sightseeing. Very unlike me - first, me do something on a whim?! That costs money without creating a budget?!!! Not possible.

But that's exactly what we did - for the following two hours we basked in the sun's warm rays, the soft ocean breeze, as we gazed open-mouthed at the breathtaking tokens of insane affluence that line the serpentine river all the way to Ft. Lauderdale's downtown. What struck me as funny was some of the names on these boats (ships?) that dwarfed our own home back in Ljungbyholm, things like: Tranquility and My Bliss... Even though we're supposed to be able to create everlasting joy within ourselves, apparently I'm not the only one who finds it easier to be harmonious when one is fortunate enought to be able to treat oneself to some relaxing in the sun.

Now if you don't mind, there's a quiet balcony in the dark just waiting for me so that I can listen to the symphony of crickets and bristling palm leaves.

Been where? Done what?

My day of reckoning has soon passed, in 15 minutes to be exact (in my time zone, that is). Perhaps I have not agonized about turning 40, but I can admit that the thought hasn't exactly offered much in the form of comfort. Up until now, I've never minded growing older; I've even enjoyed the feeling of becoming more mature and gaining more stature for each passing year. That's all changed now.

Change is however inevitable, the yogis teach, and nothing in this life is permanent - NOTHING. So it's up to me to deal with it since hiding under the covers (my first reflex) won't do anything to stop the hands of time. Questions arise that I have yet to answer, if I ever figure out how to answer them at all: Where have I been? What have I accomplished? Where am I now? Is this where I should be? Where am I headed? Is this the right direction?

Last night, I woke up at 2 A.M., and realized that my thirties were now over - no turning back. I tossed and turned and gave up long before my alarm clock rang. I wasn't upset or depressed; I was mainly uncertain (and still am) as to what I was (am) feeling about this latest milestone. On the other hand, some things I do know for sure: nothing beats having your family celebrate you on your big day. My breakfast never tasted better, and seeing the excitement in my kids' eyes as I opened their presents was about as good as presents can get!

What shocked me, though, was opening my present from P. It must be love when someone knows you better than you know yourself. He has unbeknownst to me signed me up for a week long painting/meditation course by the sea on Öland this coming summer. I would never have dared to do that myself - as much as I would love to learn how to paint, I would be too afraid to try something this cool mainly because I fear doing anything I suck at. I was speechless; then my throat got knotted as tears filled my eyes.

It was the best present imaginable. I am so freaking lucky. I may not be sure of where I've been of what I've done, but at least I know that in July of 2010, I will be sitting by the sea doing something I've only dreamed of so far. Me like.

Pictures from Google

The laugh factor

After a crappy day (which I knew was going to be crappy) I came home, stressed like a maniac, and was pretty much a walking tropical storm until the kids got to bed. My mood was so tangible that even my husband backed down when I more or less dared him to provoke me...that's saying a lot. OK, OK, I am being pretty melodramatic here, but this week has been more than a handful. I am trying to cram three weeks of work into one before going on vacation next week.

What I didn't realize was just how stressed out and strained I was until I saw a cheezy tv commercial for a supermarket chain guest starring Jamie Oliver. Suddenly I was laughing out loud. I couldn't believe how good it felt.


Note to self: must laugh more often.

Here's the commercial:

Prescription for stress relief...

...even if it's only a temporary escape.

Do yoga using a flow you're well familiar with so you don't have to think too much.

Put on some Asian spa background music - the cheesier, the better.

Dim the lights and light a few candles.

Face something that will make drishti effortless. For me it was the yin-yang window.

For each move take an extra breath while moving as slowly as possible.

Concentrate on the complete stillness that naturally arises in the pause between inhalation and exhalation.

DO NOT attempt strengthening challenges or demanding backbends; focus rather on the releasing effects of forward folds and twists.

Use as many props as you like.

Think as little as possible.

Afterwards, lie yourself down alone in the sauna with water and clementines.

Pictures from Google

Sorry...

I know I shouldn't be apologizing, so let me start by saying, "Sorry." It's not like I feel as though I've necessarily done anything wrong; I just feel that I'm sorry:

- sorry for being so rusty when I taught Body Balance tonight.
- sorry for not being able to perform at my regular level since being put out of commission 3½ weeks ago.
- sorry for coming home too late to read comic books to my son.
- sorry that my son feels crushed that he'll be missing a b-day party since that's our travel date.
- sorry for not blogging, e-mailing, fb-ing or doing anything else of a social nature as of late.
- sorry for not getting any laundry done this week.
- sorry for not having hung up the Xmas lights outside.
- sorry for not being Maria Von Trapp in the morning when I have to be on the road by 6:30 A.M.
- sorry for only managing two out of three:
* Bring home the bacon (it's already in the fridge)
* Fry it up in pan (no problem)
* Never let you forget you're a man (how about some coffee with that bacon instead...?)

What's the point?

Occasionally, and I mean OCCASIONALLY as in once-in-a-great-while-but-absolutely-not-too-often, I appreciate my husband kicking me in the butt so that I don't destroy my Saturday by procrastinating. The reason I procrastinate is that I am so worried that I'll make the wrong decision as to what I should be doing with my day off that I never get around to deciding anything, and before I know it - day's over!

Today was no different. P had spent the morning with his horse while the kids and I took our sweet time before I got down to the regular weekend-pickup-laundry-beds-lunch chores. After eating lunch and delivering our daughter to a friend (where I gratefully made sure I was offered some coffee), I tried to decide if I should go to the sauna? Or should I just jump on the crosstrainer? Or should I go for a walk along the sound? Or should I just hang out with my husband? Or should I check out the new fitness center that's opening this winter? Or can I do a combination of said activities? Which ones? In what order? Or do I just screw it all?

This is the way I am, and luckily my P knows it all too well. So he does what needs to be done; he tells me, loud and clear, "Go now!" So I did.

I drove to the sound and decided to go for a walk along the water before going to the sauna. My immediate thought when I climbed out of the car and saw the white caps was, "What's the point of me living this close to the water if I don't take the time to come here?" What's the point of having eyes if I don't take the opportunity to enjoy the beauty around me? What's the point of having ears if I don't allow myself the pleasure of listening to the waves as they hit against the rocks?

I got to the sauna as dusk was falling. The southeastern wind had changed the water that usually caresses the shore softly to more powerful waves that rhytmically rubbed against the rocks as though the wind were giving the shore a deep tissue massage. The moon shone on the water, and evening sky's dark canvas was lit in the distance by flickering Christmas lights and stars alike.

What's the point of feeling anything if I can't let the invigorating sensation of ice-cold water encase me only to be followed by feeling a sea breeze's drying touch to naked skin, soon to warmed by the welcoming heat of a wood-furnace?

What's the point of having a family if I don't make it 100% clear to them what they mean to me? Now it's time to join my son who is dying to get our Christmas decorations up. Just seeing his eager expression is enough to make me smile.

Pictures from Google

Giving thanks

Today is Thanksgiving, and I'm not even sad to be sitting alone in the company apartment with a laptop and FB to keep me company. On the contrary, I feel pretty good. Just reading all the FB comments with everyone wishing everyone else a Happy Thanksgiving is enough to get me into some serious holiday spirit.

What I'm most thankful for on this particular day is the phone call I received from my friend B, the one who is being treated for liver cancer. I had spoken to him on Monday, the day before he was going to go for yet another chemo-session, something he's been doing for the past 2½ years. However, since the worst of his tumors had shown some signs of change his doctor planned on adjusting his treatment to something more aggressive. And aggressive is exactly what they got. B told me that if he hadn't been at the hospital, then I wouldn't have been talking to him today. He was literally poisoned and this close (minimal space between thumb and forefinger) to dying.

But he didn't. And today, two days after the whole ordeal, we could talk, and even cynically, morbidly joke about it. Because that's what we do. We laugh together. Afterwards, when we had hung up, that's when I felt shaken. Once again I realized the mistake I'd made of taking life for granted.

The present

This morning I went to class; it was the first time I tried to do yoga since injuring my knee two weeks ago. It was also the first time I would be attending one of Oscar's classes. Oscar started doing yoga för me about 1½ years ago and before I knew it, he had decided to become a Virya yoga instructor as well.

And that's exactly what he did and succeeded with flying colors. I got chills just listening to him as he explained what we would be focusing on for class. His theme for today was inspired by a quote from my kids' favorite movie (this week): Kung Fu Panda. In it the old, wise Master Oogway teaches, "Yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That's why we call it 'the present'."

For me, who had once again found myself starting over, I couldn't have been offered a greater gift. Rather than complain about my limitations and allow frustration to fog my mission, I repeated to myself with each move and each breath, "This is a present." And the words rang true to me, even though I had to adapt my positions to the easier modifications; even though I wouldn't have been able to flow through either level 2 or 3; even though I could only yoga for 1 hour. So when I was done, I was filled with joy and gratitude for that which I had been able to accomplish, for that which this wise yoga instructor had given me in form of encouragement and support.

Oscar was my hero for today. I will never grasp how this 18-year-old (yes, Oscar is young enough to be my son...) can do what he does, and do it so well, but I am so grateful I was able to take part in his magic.

POP QUIZ!

Once again, I firmly believe that Life will keep dealing out the lessons I need to learn until I have learned them...

...and even if I'm making progress, all of the sudden - POP QUIZ!

The progress I have made has had much to do with making a conscious decision to being present for my family, soulfully as well as physically. So for us I am so grateful that we decided to invest about $100 a month for a cleaning service so that P and I neither need to feel constantly drained from housekeeping (from when we actually do get down to business) nor do we need feel frustatingly anxious (from when we know we should, but we just don't have the energy to clean).

Even my involuntary sabbatical from physical yoga has provided me with more time and less stress, so this weekend my kids and I could enjoy being creative together at a Parent-Child Fantasy Painting Workshop. Talk about being able to spend some focused time with your kids! And I can only admit that even though I've always dreamed of being able to paint, I've been afraid to try since I don't know where to start and I have a habit of avoiding any activities I suck at. After 1½ hours, I didn't want to leave. I felt so incredibly free.

My "Control My Fuse Campaign" continues to move forward as well...well, at least where the kids are concerned. I still have to work on disarming the explosive buttons my husband has an uncanny ability of activating when my threshold is at its lowest. And other things: for example the cleaning service hadn't cleaned our house today since I had forgotten to leave a key, which of course is my bad. On the other hand, after apologizing emphatically for my mistake, it dawned on me: Why hadn't they called me on my cell? I was in town and could have driven back to the house. Irritation warning...disappointment growing....thoughts fixating....

A-ha! POP QUIZ!! How much time and energy do I plan on wasting while I obsess on about a stupid key and a missed cleaning day? On a scale of 1-10, are we even on the scale? How much is this irritation costing me emotionally; what other things have to step back so that I can fuel the flames as I vent internally? Oh, it's tough to break bad habits!

Then again, Life offers me hints, helps me along, you know, with the not-so-subtle sledgehammer method: Today I met with a colleague, a woman I've become well aquainted with over the past 7 years. She's in her early fifties, yet she looks ten years younger. She's slender, has great hair, and always looks gorgeous. I asked how things were, and she answered, "Not so good." And she then told me that in a few weeks she will be having a masectomy since finding a lump that turned out to be a malignant tumor.

So what exactly was it I had to bitch about? Instead, it's time for me to go sit with my kids who are presently laughing together as they watch Kung Fu Panda.

What? Already?

The stitches are out, and the pain only makes itself known occasionally. We decided (that is my husband and I) that all four of us (meaning we would be dragging the kids along) needed some fresh air, and together we took a long "Bingo" walk around the village. My knee was not a problem at all.

I still have trouble bending it, though. It hurts to apply pressure by kneeling, and I can't squat. Still, I could have probably done some hip openers or pilates tonight, if I had put my mind to it. Instead I treated myself (together with my husband) to a clandestine binge with a pint of Ben & Jerry's Half-baked ice cream.

I swear I'll set my alarm early and start my morning with a trial run on my crosstrainer... My goal is to be able to teach my last yoga class of 2009 on Sunday.

Can you believe that this year is drawing towards an end? That in less than three weeks I'm going to be 40?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall....

I try to pretend that it's no big deal. I read the "right" books and magazines in an attempt to transcend my egoic tendencies. I find it easy to accept my students no matter what abilities they have. But then there's the other side to my personality...

I make no secret of admitting that what got me to start doing yoga from the very beginning was my desire to have a nice body. If I could achieve that while sitting on the couch eating Ben & Jerry's then this blog would be named "Ice-cream-mamma indulges...again!" And I realize that the same is true for a lot of people, even those who take up yoga. In that sense vanity is a great motivator. And I think a healthy dose is good for our marriage in the sense that I WANT to look good for my husband; I want him to think I look good; and I definitely enjoy looking at him when he's looking good... That's when I feel like I'm 22 again and seeing him for the first time.

But then there's the downside, my dark side of the moon. The anxiety brought about by my imagined detoriation of muscle tone and flexibility. The sense that a week of not exercising is immediately resulting in my jeans fitting too snugly around my hips, waist, and butt. My nervous restlessness awakening my taboo sweet tooth, coaxing me, promising me comfort.

Not at all yogic, I know. I've thought a lot about this during this week in convalescence. I've challenged myself with questions like, "Could you go a year without buying new clothes?" "If you switched jobs and took a huge pay cut, could you still be happy not being able to consume as much as you do today?" I hate to admit it, but I'm not there yet. And it's getting apparent that I better start learning. It's not like the wrinkles on my forehead or the hairs on my chin are going to be any fewer. I know this in my head, but...

Maybe this is what karma is trying to teach me this time? Maybe the shift in why I work out should be in an effort to keep my body healthy. Because what I learned last week was that while everything looked okay on the outside, my knee is degenerating. And if that weren't enough, the message of my folly really hit home when I read my favorite blog, Börja Om, this evening. In it the author writes about her child, a 6-year-old boy whose father died this past March, as he explains for his teacher that he didn't feel like adding his father to the family portrait he had drawn. He said he didn't need to, since he carries his father "here" (points to his heart).

Need I say more about what really matters? Get with the picture, Judie, and screw whatever the mirror says...

The obituary

At the risk of seeming insensitive I have to say that I've read the coolest obituary I've ever seen in today's newspaper. Can you believe it made me smile? The first thing that caught my eye was the image of a pair of lips, like when you blot your lipstick, in red. The same red color was used for the deceased's name (what a horrible term -strike that!), I mean for what obviously must have been a really lively lady with a lot of "pizazz". As I continued reading I realized that this woman had prior to her death chosen to write her own death announcement:

A kiss for you all from

XXXXX

And especially to:

XXXXX (family members)

XXXX

XXX, etc

Now I've gone and will not be returning

and it will only be worse, my dears, if you cry

Nothing can change the destinies we are given

so I ask that you remember me as I was

As you stand here now, perhaps missing me

I want for you, my dears, to awaken and embrace your lives

and live your remaining days to the fullest

Welcome to my final party!

Information about the funeral

For some reason our consumption-ridden culture teaches us to fear death. I am no different. Those who have succeeded in taking the lessons of yogic philosophy to heart do not fear death and claim to have thereby unlocked the secret to a life in bliss. My own shortcomings won't even allow me to grasp the idea of being able to think about death without discomfort.

But wouldn't it be great to have enough grace, integrity, and acceptance to leave such a heartfelt message to your loved ones before making the final passage, just as this fantastic woman did? To compose an obituary that made people smile?

Picture from Google

Late bloomer

In certain areas I am, always have been, and probably always will be a late bloomer... Even biologically I was the last girl to develop physically, hell, both of my little sisters beat me in that race!

As far as the rest goes:

I didn't buy a cassette Walkman until CD's were everywhere.

Even though I liked sports, I didn't start working out until I was twenty. The first time I tried jogging I couldn't even run a ½-mile.

I just bought my first, private cell phone less than a year ago.

By the time I discovered Facebook (thanks to a friend!), everyone and their brother had already joined (except my husband who refuses!).

It took me three years to even check out a blog, much less start one myself.

And what got me started on this theme...

Being at home I had the opportunity to discover "Project Runway" which has been on TV for, what, 5 years?!

But it rocks!

Report card

My nephew just got his report card and with a B+ average made his mommy proud (Go, Spencer!). It makes me wonder what my report card in the school of life would look like this semester?

Last week I promised myself that I would make a conscious effort to curb my temper and raise my threshold for irritation. For that I give myself an A. I have had an incredibly harmonious week with my kids; it's been fanstastic. My 6-year-old Alex has been spoiling me by giving me spur of the moment massages since my leg hurts, and he feels sorry for me.

As far as accepting my circumstances, yeah I'm worth an A there as well! At another point in my life I might have found myself crying in selfpity over my loss of control. Studying yoga has really helped me to understand that we will never be able to be in control of everything that happens to us. If anything I am thankful for having found out that I have osteoarthritis since that gives me the opportunity to do something about it. I can't cure it, but with the right kind of exercise I can hopefully keep myself together for years to come.

Stress managment? A. I think I'm too tired to freak out about having to juggle my work schedule. When has my work schedule ever not needed juggling? Try never. When will my work schedule ever be normal? See previous answer. When work no longer works for me (and my family) then it will be time to find a new job. Period.

Phys Ed (sv=idrott)? C What can I say? Doc said I had no restrictions, after all, "You're a P.T.; you know what to do..." And I just wanted to say, "Yeah, and you're an orthopedic surgeon, but I don't see you treating cardiac patients or delivering babies!" I guess the knee is OK, but it's pretty stiff and sore, and I caught a monster of a cold at the hospital.

I realize that selfpraise, especially in a public forum, is a huge breach of womanly conduct. But this isn't about seeking approval from others. Ever since I turned 30 and had one of the worst periods of my life I have been searching for ways to live life to the fullest. I have wanted to change my faults. And like any report card, my grades only reflect my status as of this moment. It's a lot easier to fare well when you're not in the middle of a major crisis. And for that I am most humbly thankful.

Things to work on - start by getting off of my butt (I'm not that handicapped) and get some work done. Although I have to admit that it is nice to just zone out while looking at the sun shine on the apple tree outside of my window.

Good news. Bad news.

The good news: The operation went well. I managed even to "surprise" the surgeon who was convinced that I had torn my meniscus. But as soon as I was under (the anethesia) they were able to reposition my knee which meant that it had simply been locked - REALLY locked. They went in and could conclude that my meniscus was fine and in tact. That means that I don't need any rehabilitation, sick leave, or restrictions other than to wait for the incisions to heal.

The bad news: While examining my knee the surgeon discovered that my cartilage is damaged which is a sign of osteoarthritis. While I don't need to do anything about it now, I will probably be needing to have a knee replacement done some time down the road. Now it was my turn to be surprised. I have NEVER had any problems with my knee! I've never been on crutches! And I can't even begin to spell the term "double-jointed". But there it was, my verdict, exactly one month before my 40th birthday.

So for all of you who don't have enough time to exercise (myself included), rethink your priorities (myself included). It could very well be that hour you give yourself 2-3 times a week which is holding your body's glue together, whether you know it or not.

Now it's time to increase my glucosamine supplements as well...

Beware of what you wish for...

That girl standing on the corner could be me right now. Dark hair, pony tail, standing still while the whirlwind traffic flies by. Funny, too, because that's also the only way I can stand right now - supporting my weight with my left leg while my right leg is bent.

It's not like I want to sound like a martyr since everyone I know is busy, busy, busy. But this fall has been for me much busier than usual. Still, I got a break when I caught a stomach bug a few weeks ago, which, honestly, came at a perfect time. Now that I was done with my travels outside of Sweden I was ready to really focus on getting my life's puzzle back together. And knowing that we would be going on vacation in December, well, I couldn't say that I was feeling particularly sorry for myself.

So this "break" from work, housework, working out, etc. wasn't anything I felt a real need for at this point in time. And usually I am more than happy to find some hidden meaning in unexpected setbacks. Not wanting to seem as though I'm delusional, still life is a lot easier to handle if you open yourself to inspiration even in the most unlikely of situations. But I guess sometimes sh** just happens. And with a laptop, newspaper, cell phone, coffee mug, and remote control within arm's reach...and with my family out doing their thing for the moment, well, it's not like I'm exactly suffering. The peace at home right now reminds me of the quiet you experience when you're outside during an evening snowfall, dampening all noise and bustle while blanketing you with solitude.

I'm expecting it to be a lot worse tomorrow with my bandaged, newly operated knee. Sometimes things have to get a little bit worse before they can turn around for the better.

Pictures from Google

The Verdict

7:45 A.M. Telephone lines at the medical center are scheduled to open.
7:55 A.M. Someone who works at the center decides that maybe it's about time someone opens the phone lines.
8:10 A.M. Nurse calls and offers appointment at 1 P.M. Since I know I'm going to end up being sent to see an orthopedic surgeon I ask if there's possibly an earlier opening? OK, hesitantly I am offered an 11 A.M. appointment with Dr. "Kenneth" (his real name).
10:50 A.M. I get to see Dr. "Kenneth" who doesn't make eye contact, who sprints down the corridor with me haggling after, who knows as much about knee injuries as my cat, who says he'll notify the hospital that I'm coming while walking out of the room without so much as offering to pick up my crutches that have fallen on the floor.
12:00 P.M. My neighbor/heroine of the day serves me lunch, coffee, and then drives me to the E.R.
14:00 X-rays - I try to use all that I've learned from years of watching Top Model about taking direction, using lighting, and finding angles.
15:00 I'm given a piece of paper and sent off to the orthopedic clinic. There I'm found guilty of 2nd degree assault and battery to my knee and ordered to return to the court, I mean clinic, the day after tomorrow to hear my sentence. The sentence will depend on what they find upon opening my knee surgically.

The irony is that all I ever do when I teach yoga is demand that my students follow all the biomechanic guidelines I can give them, to treat their joints with respect, and remember the vital importance of proper alignment. In life, work, and play, I constantly find myself for various reasons almost always on the floor. I am constantly going from sitting on the floor to getting up to sitting on the floor to getting up and so on and so on.

Hey, Karma! I don't turn 40 for another month! How about a break?! No, wait, don't take that literally!!

Who's to know where the wind will take you?

Today's theme - kite flying. Physically: using uddiana bandha (your core muscles) along with mula bandha (your pelvic muscles) to anchor yourself in order to let your chest and heart open and fly (get it? like a kite!). And as far as the mind goes: like the song says, "Who's to know where the wind will take you?". I reminded my students to remember that when you fly a kite, sometimes you catch the wind and soar, and other times you're bound to have trouble getting off of the ground. It's all part of the package.

So I'm thinking to myself that I believe in this metaphor and thinking that naturally I accept that our journeys seldom move forward in a straight line without any obstacles. Then suddenly, right as I was about to stand up from the floor to dim the lights before the final relaxation, I accidentally twist my knee... It didn't really hurt, but all of the sudden I couldn't straighten my leg, and I couldn't apply any pressure on it.

Fast forward...yoga student drives me home...I take a shower (thank God we have a shower stool)...and now I'm in bed with a body pillow supporting the leg that I still can't straighten. I'm all for karma teaching the lessons that we need to learn, but damn(!), I thought I already got this one. And me who had finally just started getting my exercise regime back on a regular schedule and was really feeling motivated to getting into better shape!

Tomorrow morning I'll call the doctor. I'm guessing that I've injured my medial meniscus meaning I will probably need to have an arthroscopy done. I've been in bed for 1½ hours, and already I'm bored and my butt is killing me. Give me grace to deal with this!

Picture from Google

Early New Year's Resolution

Like many others, I try to be personal without being private in my blog. Tonight, however, I have chosen to write an entry that reveals some unflattering chinks in my armour...

This past Thursday I was passing through Vienna Internat'l Airport towards my transfer flight to Copenhagen. I had forgotten that I had been there a few years earlier until my eyes met something that caused me to remember.

Psychics claim that certain places inhabit energy from memories of actions which have occurred in the past. So when I saw a row of seats across from the Swatch boutique, I stopped dead in my tracks. The last time I had been there I witnessed an overstressed and probably sleep deprived mother who saw no other way to quiet her hysterical 3-year-old son other than to start dealing out slaps across his face. All this while his older sister, who was maybe five, looked on in silence. I approached her and picked up her son and told her that she needed to calm down; that her type of behavior is illegal and could get her arrested. Flustered, she explained that she needed to get her son to calm down. I told her that I could help her; I asked her where she was heading and that I could help follow her and her children to whatever gate they needed to go to.

She wouldn't accept my offer, and since she had snapped out of her anger, I gave her her son back. As she walked off holding his hand; I said a silent prayer that that kind of behavior wasn't an ongoing thing. Because that's what I always fear when I hear children crying: that their parents are going to lose it and take their frustration out on them.

So there I was, at the exact same place again years later, and still my stomach had turned to ice. Earlier that week I had spent a lot more time than usual by myself in my hotel room. Not really feeling like flipping through what I'm sure must have been a potpourri of fantastic Cypriotic TV-channels, I used the silence to reflect upon how my heart could bleed for all the world's children, yet at the same time I all too often expect too much from my own two babies. Not that I would ever lay a hand on them (which is strictly illegal in Sweden, and wouldn't it be nice if the U.S.A. at some point could pass a similar law?!), but I snap at them too often, too easily. Usually because they don't realize how much energy and skill it requires to keep all our damned hamster wheels in motion.

And now it's becoming more and more evident to me: So what if the hamster wheel slows down? or even stops? Is it worth getting irritated with them just because we might be five minutes late? Is it unnatural that they try to get by doing the bare minimum just because they don't share my standards as far as housekeeping goes?

Already on my flight to Vienna I vowed that it was time for me to improve my behavior starting immediately. I would stop choosing irritation as a FIRST reaction to whatever my children would do. Then seeing those seats in the terminal only reinforced that decision. And as though Karma was really trying to drive the point home, as I climbed on my elliptical crosstrainer this morning, I tuned into Dr. Phil, and of course the subject was "Angry Moms".

Just so no one gets the wrong idea, I utterly adore my children, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job raising them together with my husband. I can happily say that we are a happy and extremely fortunate family. But still, there's always room for development and this is one thorn I want to try to remove for good. And what better way to do that than to go public and expose my shortcomings?

The past two days have gone really, really well I might add!

Defying gravity

I envy my 6-year-old son. As I sit, actually more like half-lying-down-in-an-amoebic-sort-of-way, I sense that the pull of gravity is at least ten times greater than normal. "Normal" for me being a pull of gravity roughly 5-6 times greater than Earth's normal pull. Seem familiar? When the muscles in your body feel as though they consisted of lead? And you futilely try to recall the last time your eyes could open fully without strain?

Compare that to my son. My sweet, adorable shrimp with his toothpick legs and visible rack of ribs. He doesn't walk; he runs. Yet when he runs, his stride is as silent as a gazelle's. When he throws himself up onto his hands, it seems effortless. The best thing we ever bought was a trampoline (complete with safety net, mind you). There he can spend hours devising his own stunts, each one more daredevil than the last.

He's utterly fearless and exudes 110% confidence.

Cut - back to me: sitting, sorry half-lying, stuck like a tetraplegic amoeba. Happy to be breathing (that's always something!). Wondering if I'll ever be as awake and/or as alert as I once was? When my reflexes were sharp as a knife, and my thoughts were crystal clear.

A time when I, too, honestly believed I could do anything?

Mirror lake

In Sweden "All Saints' Day" falls on this Saturday and is celebrated much in the sense that Catholics celebrate "All Souls' Day". It is a time for rememberance.

For tomorrow's yoga class, I was hoping to come up with a theme that would be suitable for this poignant holiday. I wish there were some way that I could incoporate the subject of death in a yoga class, but I know that there are people who have experienced terrible tragedies, and out of respect for them I don't want to belittle the gravity of what they've been through. Still Death is the only "guarantee" we have in life. Without Death, there can't be Life. Just as there cannot be Happiness without Pain, at least at some point. You cannot Succeed if you've never Failed. You can't experience Love if you've never been Hurt.

So even if I wish it was socially acceptable to talk openly about death, and even though I have lost people that I have cared for deeply, I have neither lost a child nor a partner. It's easy to be rational when there is some distance. I doubt I could be as rational about Death's inevitability and our inability to control our fates should anything happen to anyone in my immediately family.

Still trying to figure out what to base tomorrow's theme on, I came up with something while I was in the locker room after today's Body Balance class. Remembering those who have touched our lives requires quieting our minds. Creating stillness is sometimes a bigger challenge than pushing ourselves to the brink. If we want to see our reflection in the water we can't be making waves.

Making the waves subside may take some effort, but when we manage to find that peaceful room then maybe the reflection of whatever we need to see in ourselves will finally get the chance to show itself on its own.

Picture from Google

Crappy day

Which is better?

Admitting to oneself that one is, in fact, having a crappy day and thereby allowing oneself to wallow moderately in self-pity? Even to the point of indulging in comfort foods in the form of a Snickers bar? Writing it down for all to see while simultaneously wrapping one's cold fingers around one's wrist to soothe the burning sensation from splattered grease while making dinner? Furrowing one's forehead until the wrinkles become so deep that you wonder if your face might actually freeze that way? And wondering if the headache that accompanied the wrinkles will also become permanent?

Is it OK to despise the fact that one has to go out into the dark, cold evening in order to unpack one's car, re-pack one's car, so that one can leave for tomorrow's appointments at 5:30 A.M.?

All this, even though I know how much I should instead be feeling grateful for?

Or should I just hold my breath and wait for it to pass? And hope my mental lungs will hold out?

pictures from Google

Saunas & icebergs

Lots of thoughts today. Easy to make a short story looooooong.

Around 4 P.M. today I was really getting cranky. I needed to get out but couldn't decide what to do. Got in the car as it started to rain. As I got closer to town I decided to drive to the community sauna that was open for ladies until 5 P.M. I hadn't been there for years. In my absentmindedness I made two wrong turns, and honestly, 45 minutes isn't really much time to spend at the sauna. Screw it, I thought, I'm going anyway. I had to.

Parked the car and got out. The wind had picked up, and the choppy water was hitting the rocks as the rain peltered me with its small, cold drops. Something about being that close to nature's elements does something to me. Just as lowering myself, naked, into the 43 degree (F) water has a profound effect on how I feel about myself in relation to my enviroment. The contrast of heat from the wood burning furnance to the numbing effect of the water, me being stripped of not only my clothes but my ego as well, well, that might make you think I become extremely selfconscious and nervous.

But the truth is that quite the opposite occurs; I sense an overwhelming feeling of oneness with my surroundings. I'm still reading my Happy Yoga and have reached the part that discusses the need to rid ourselves of our identities and the duality that follows in order to realize that we and everything around us is God. Pretty deep stuff and not that easy to grasp much less realize. But when I go the sauna, that is exactly how I feel.

After the sauna I went to practice some yoga. Spent some time in child's pose as I didn't know where to begin or what I should focus on. With the lights dimmed, I surrended my mind as well. I chose to mix it all up and just accept each moment for what it was. I used an iceberg as a symbol. I pictured the enormous mass below the surface that melts into the earth. I imagined the atmosphere surrounding the peak above the surface, representing lightness and breath. I enjoyed each element the moment I was there and let go of it just as quickly when I got to the next. I executed my forward folds almost effortlessly, which is not something I am used to.

When I was on my way home, I contemplated my need to consider my husband as being part of my oneness; then maybe I wouldn't be so quick to judge him. As I walked towards the front door, I noticed in the darkness that once again he hadn't thought to turn on the outdoors light for me. That's OK, I thought, I'll just try to ask him as nicely as possible to do that some other time.

When I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by a table set with my dinner and (can you believe it?) candlelight.

Wishing you the best...

...and hoping you know how I feel.

Phone calls

Today I will be doing the same thing I do every October 21st; I will call my baby sister Marianne and wish her a Happy Birthday, just as I did on October 21st, 1996.

We grew up in a rural part of a small town in a small state on a small street where most of the families had small children in pretty much the same age group. So it wasn't unusual that my friends had siblings who were friends with my siblings. Such was the case with the Celli family, where John was my best friend and Lynette was (and still is) Marianne's.

What I'll never forget about calling Marianne this day 13 years ago was that she happened to mention that Lynette had told her that John would shortly be leaving for Saudi Arabia. For years John and I had kept in touch by exchanging letters, and with his birthday being on October 23rd, there was a birthday card on its way to him from me.

But he was leaving for the Middle East, and the card I had sent wouldn't make it to him in time. So for some reason I decided to call his mom to get his phone number (this was when it was unbelievably expensive to make overseas phone calls), and for the first time in years I phoned him so that I could wish him a Happy Birthday before he embarked on his trip.

His fiancé, whom I had read about in John's letters but never met, answered. I told her who was calling, and her response still resounds in my head as clear as a bell, "Judie-judie?!" Excited she gave the phone to John, and I remember how happy I was to talk to him, and how happy he sounded talking to me. It was just a number of hours before he would be leaving for the airport.

Three weeks later, my best friend was killed in a car accident. A few days after his death, I received one last post card from him in the mail.

On Friday he would have turned 40. I think often about this chain of events and what a coincidence it was that I had called him and got to talk to him that one last time. It comforts me immensely, in the same way I felt comforted while standing by his grave the day after his funeral, and I literally felt his invisible embrace while the tears poured down my cheeks.

"I still miss him insanely," I think with fresh tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget him and what he means to me. I love you, John.

The picture I have kindly been allowed to publish was taken by Jeanette Lebedies-Nord

Flu gratitude

Last night I turned the lights off at about 10:45 P.M. A little after 1 A.M. I'm dreaming about the wheelchairs I have to try out in the morning and am telling myself that I have to keep sleeping seeing as how I'll be driving for seven hours as well. Suddenly I start to wake up, and it dawns om me that there's a reason for me not being able to sleep soundly. The bulge in my stomach and bad taste in my mouth told me that getting sick would be inevitable.

The rest of the night was your basic stomach flu nightmare. By dawn and after my fourth Immodium I was down for the count, but at least the worst was over. All that was left was to cancel my appointments, today and tomorrow (After all, who wants to meet someone with a stomach bug?), and situate myself in my bed, too tired to do anything.

What could I possibly be grateful for? A few small, but incredibly important things.

We live in a small village in Sweden. Small enough that my 10-year-old daughter can walk her 6-year-old little brother home after school. As I saw them approaching through the window on this gorgeous, sunny fall day, I was on the phone with a neighbor who wanted to know if she could do anything to help? Not having to be out on the road tomorrow means I will even have time to finish my presentation, that's way behind schedule, without having to stay up halfway through the night.

Does fate really work in this mysterious a way? I think so.

Picture depicts Nurse Meow, on one of his longer breaks...

Wooded sanctuary

My journey into the world of meditation is just as gradual and winding as my journey into yoga. When I lack the discipline to pure self-practice I seek out opportunities to either go to class or create a situation that "forces" me to follow through with a practice session.

Life is still moving at 300 mph (down from 500 a week or so ago). The difference this week is that the fall foliage is peaking here, and foliage waits for no one, not even stressed out women doing their best to keep their heads above water. So if I am to enjoy the beauty of fall (I happen to love this time of year), then I have to get myself out of the house; I have to get outdoors.

Enough said, this morning I took my second walk of the week. Huge gusts of wind greeted me as I wandered towards my wooded path by the stream. What I love about walking meditations is that I can't give up in the middle of a session. If I walk to my special tree, then I have to walk back now, don't I? And once I crawl into the shelter of the towering trees, it's like I've entered my own sensual sanctuary. The blustery wind can be heard in the swaying treetops, but like a huge comforter the trees offer shelter from the cold. The lazy stream stretches itself from around the bend. And then I reach "my" tree, the tallest one in the woods. So tall that it leans slightly forward, sort of as a giant would in order to greet someone much shorter than himself.

I stop in front of the gnarly trunk and place my hands on the rough, uneven bark. I move my feet back and bend at my hips until my trunk is parallel with the ground. After aligning my thighs, pelvis, abdomen, trunk, and head, I stand here in a modified downward dog as I lose myself in a wonderful sense of presence.

It only lasts for seconds, but when it's done, I am a new person.

J + P

An irresistible urge to go through a dusty box filled with old photos this afternoon led me to a card I apparently had given to my husband on our wedding day, October 11th, 1997.

Here's what was written in the card that I don't remember ever having bought, much less where I could have found it to begin with:

My husband, You are my forever love

Your friendship and love, and all of the wonderful things that they bring to my life, are like nothing else I've ever known.

My heart is complete with the love we share, and our love grows more beautiful each day...

As long as I have you, my husband, I have everything I need. Moments of success may come and go, and material things bring us momentary joy. But you are with me always...in a smile, a touch, a memory, a feeling, or a moment we share.

Friends enter our lives, sometimes only for a short time, but the friendship we share is deep and secure. Even if everyone else suddenly left me, I know I'd still have you as my best friend.

We pass through different phases of life with all their changes and challenges, and one day turns into another. But through it all, our love is constant.

You lend me strength when I need it most, and give me a precious gift each day by loving me just the way I am.

I don't know how you do it, but in your own special way you fill my life and heart with a wondrous joy that will always be present. You make my life complete, and I love you. - Linda Sackett-Morrison

To this day, I stand by every syllable.

Stupid pride & small blessings

Pride isn't always stupid. It's a great quality I wish more than anything to instill in my kids (along with compassion, empathy, and self-worth/love). Owning a sense of self-confidence is crucial if you want to get anywhere in this world, be it within one's work, lovelife, or journey towards self-discovery.

But I've noticed that lately my pride is limiting me. Since my pride whispers to my ego that I can do it all, I've been trying to live up to that myth, leading a S&M lifestyle (with more M than S), and now I can admit that the harder I try the worse things are getting. My priorities have been kids and work. I think I've managed those pretty OK under the circumstances. I haven't been as good at taking care of my self (deliberate splitting of word myself), house- and gardenwork, or my husband. There's simply no time nor energy left for that.

For years I scoffed at the idea of hiring a cleaning lady (or why not man in worn Levi's, barebreasted - no, wait, that's the poolboy fantasy - sorry...). Now, it's a no brainer. Just like paying for a babysitter tonight so that P and I can go out for dinner.

But those were easy choices to make since I a) had no other solution, and b) nobody has to know about them but myself (although I guess I screwed up keeping my inept weakness a secret now, huh?). It's hard sometimes to be honest, and writing this little blog forces me to scrutinize myself, both the good and the bad. I try my best to be honest (although it's not 100% possible to write all thoughts down for public cyberviewing) and include the good with the bad.

What's interesting is that when I reach out and humbly admit to my shortcomings, the responses I receive are always surprisingly positive. So by reaching out I gain strength, and sometimes it comes from the most unexpected sources. Instead of feeling weak and stupid, I end up feeling humble, warm, and like I matter. If I hadn't reached out, then no one would have had any way of knowing what was up with me, and I would never have gotten any reaction.

What greater gift is there than knowing that others care about little, old me?

Clarification

If there's one thing I have little patience for, it's modern day martyrs! I am not a victim. I have made conscious choices that have fortunately enough taken my life in a direction towards my dreams. Jobwise, this past half year has been utterly amazing.

But I guess even amazing comes at a price, which is why I am tired. And since I don't want to keep staying tired, I write down my thoughts in order to try to come up with some sort of plan, as well as trying to see what it all means.

Please excuse if anything I've written can unintentionally be seen as a self-indulgent pity party. That's just so not who I want to be...

Way out?

It's time to break the pattern. Like the radio ad says,"The wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead." If the hamster is my brain, then perhaps I'm not clinically dead, but I could use some serious life support at the moment.

Or maybe I'm the little duckling from my entry a week or so ago... But even though I got through the storms of September, I wasn't ready for the rapids in October. So while I don't have any huge projects pending for another few weeks, playing "catchup" while simultaneously holding down the fort is just not working out. I am fogetting things. Mind you, that isn't at all unusual for me, but usually I eventually remember the important things, even if it's often at the very last minute. Now it's like my short term memory has been deleted, erased, wiped clean.

I have a Yoga Journal magazine at home that's been been waiting to be opened for more than two weeks. I'm waiting for the perfect opportunity when all is calm, and I'm coherent enough to lose myself in it. But I'm not there yet.

Escape plans: 1. Call cleaning lady - DONE - she's coming to give us an estimate next week. At this point I'm like, "TAKE MY MONEY - just please help me out here!" 2. Don't forget the fabulous friends you have - DONE - had a wonderful evening with a girl who besides offering food, drink, and wonderful conversation, alway gives me an intellectual and creative vitamin injection as well (Tack, Jeanette!). 3. Consider backing off with teaching at the gym...this is a tough one, since teaching forces me to stick to some sort of exercise routine. However, this is where I've unintentionally been screwing things up since I haven't been able to be there on a regular basis anyhow - WILL DISCUSS 4. I have last month's issue of YJ in my suitcase - try reading it for 5 minutes before passing out on pillow - WILL DO!

After all, there's gotta be an emergency stop button somewhere on this damn hamster wheel, right?

Eight entries

How's your Cyprus presentation going? The TV's not working; can you look at it? Can you read to me? What's for dinner? Can you go to A's school for his appointment with the nurse? What's the square root of 81? What year did the battle at Gettysburg take place? What's the chemical symbol for potassium?

Eight entries. That's all I managed to write during all of September. I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life's high-paced tempo lately. Trying to figure out if something can be crossed off the list. It's probably not healthy to push myself like this. Eight entries. That's a sign that I've already sacrificed much of the free time that I usually use for doing NOTHING, seeing as how that's when I get a chance to reflect.

What's the payoff of having too much to do? The most obvious reward is that we make more money this way; and I'm really looking forward to our Florida vacation in December. On a more subtle note; since I have managed to keep my head above water and every project I've participated in thus far has been successful, well that means that despite my exhaustion I reap the rewards of satisfaction which makes my efforts seem worthwhile. I end up enjoying myself, as long as everything works out.

But eight entries. It's not only my blog, mind you; it's also a sign that literally, I'm not present. If I don't have enough time for myself, then I don't have enough time to just be there for my kids. Like this morning, for the first time in what seems like ages, I was greeted by my son who came into my bedroom (as I was writing this) to say good morning and crawl under the covers. With Mr. Meow on his tummy we chatted about the Tom & Jerry comic book we read last night. Soon he was off to play Playstation when my daughter stepped in and crawled under the covers for the same good morning procedure. Now she's watching cartoons.

Seeing as how no matter how much I plead, a day will for all of eternity only consist of 24 hours, I have to figure out how to make things work. And somewhere in the midst of it all I would like to eventually figure who I am so that I might finally gain some insight into how I should prioritize.

But for the moment, the plan is to enjoy long, leisurely paced French toast breakfast with my two angels.

The kid's a genius

I try so hard to not fall into the cliché of saying that I don't have the time to (choose one of the following): work out, blog, meditate, go for a walk, bake, clean, act like a sex kitten, etc, etc.

I think about a little thing I read in the newspaper years and years ago. A five-year-old was asked to explain what "time" was. He answered, "Time is time. Kids have more time than grownups."

Did I hear someone mention a Nobel prize?

Being found

Before the start of my class yesterday, one of my students wondered when I started doing yoga. My answer to that is somewhat vague, since it's been a journey without a definite starting point.

I usually admit that I more than a decade ago had gotten a yoga mat along with a VHS-tape as a present from my sister, which I was really happy to receive, but it took me two years to even open them. And when I finally chose to do that, it was because I had no choice; I was pregnant with my daughter and constantly sicker than a dog. I was, however, a workout freak at that time (thank God that's in the past ;-) ) so I felt that I had to do SOMETHING, ANYTHING! So I rolled out my mat and plugged in Sarah Connor's "Joy of Yoga". This was 1998.

I dabbled; then in 2000 we moved to Malmö, and I discovered Body Balance. Some people knock on Body Balance since it's done to music (really great music if you ask me) and is more a kind of Mc Yoga (thanks, Carina, for that expression). For me, however, it was a great side path that eventually led me to the path of yoga.

Side path or not, Body Balance was definitely a paved path to travel along. It craved no reflection, and everything was neatly packaged and spoonfed to me from a silver platter. So after having instructed Body Balance in Kalmar for a couple of years, my dear friend Carina introduced me to Baron Baptiste. Baron and I started up an acquaintance (OK, his recorded image and I had an acquaintance), but Balance was still the backbone of my practice - until I moved to Växjö.

In Växjö they didn't offer Body Balance at any of the gyms. However at one gym they had yoga, and since both of their yoga instructors were pregnant, maybe I could teach yoga? Mind you, I don't feel that watching DVD's and reading books qualifies me to teach, but here I was, at a crossroads: I could either switch tracks and start onto an uncertain, unpaved path or just end my journey right there. So I did the best I could and started doing more yoga with the help of Baron's image, and considering the circumstances it went rather well.

Josephine Selander, my yoga teacher, had been during this time one of the Body Balance team instructors, and I had had the privilege of training for her on a number of occasions. I admired especially her deep knowledge and high demands for good technique. So when I found out that she was starting her own yoga teacher education, I didn't hesitate to sign up.

Since then my yogic path has led me from a dimly lit and winding path to a vast open area, sort of like if you put a meadow, some trees, add a beach and the sea, and whatever else you find appealing, and mix it all together. It's not nearly close to being my final station, and sometimes there are different obstacles to overcome, but all in all I have so much more to choose from now since my yoga has come to mean so much more than just the physical practice.

And the best part of it all is that when I look back, I don't feel that I was the one who found yoga. Honestly, I wasn't even looking for yoga. Yoga found me. And it found me when I needed to be found and was ready for it.

Keeping my head above water

At times I fear that my yoga teacher would be disappointed if she knew how little time I spend on the mat. (On the other hand, she just became a first-time mother a month ago, so maybe she, too, will soon be in the same must-prioritize-boat all working mothers sail around in?) Anyhow, my absolute minimum is once a week. If I manage to do yoga twice a week, at this point in my life, I'm satisfied with that. Sometimes that second round is maybe 20 minutes in the morning or evening, but I'm finding out that I'm able to reap enough benefits from these shorter sessions for me to feel that it's definitely better than nothing. And since I strongly feel that yoga doesn't have to be restricted to only doing asanas, I find that taking walks is also a great way to recharge/re-balance.

My good friend, Carina, noted that my latest entries have been laced with a tone of gratitude, and that's something I've been doing deliberately. My schedule is insane for the moment, and the fact that I am nursing two sick children to boot doesn't make it easier. Or, actually, it does. It makes it easy to "choose" since there are no other options; my children need me. And I need that they need me.

I've always felt that offering forgiveness is the hardest thing for me. We Catholics are after all masters at carrying grudges and passing judgment... But I've done a lot of reflecting this past year about what kind of life I want. Reading blogs like Börja Om, written by a widow who lost her husband to cancer in March and is the sole parent left to raise their two small children, has taught me so much about finding perspective. I try to make a point of seeing the small things that bring me joy: the yellow leaves that are starting to dot my lawn, when my son melts into my arms for a hug. I think that the reminder of life's finity along with its lack of guarantees is finally helping me learn how to forgive myself for not excelling in all areas at all times (or even some of the time) so that I can just focus on what I have.

The other day I received a package in the mail. It was a book that I ordered from Amazon, completely on a whim, and solely based on its title, "Life is a Verb". I love that title. I truly believe that we are the masters of our destiny, or rather, of how we perceive our destiny.

I think that a certain sense of self-autonomy is the difference between keeping your head above water and living, as opposed to keeping your head above water and merely surviving. So what do you think of the picture I found on google? Is the duckling struggling? Or is she enjoying the feel of water and the energy of her life force? Hmmmm...