Monday, September 28, 2009

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.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

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...

Sunday, September 20, 2009

My 4 elements


Driving along the old highway, about a mile from the entrance our village, I always find myself admiring the scenic surroundings. Within that 1½ mile stretch, I get to enjoy all the elements I feel that I desire and need in order to feel at home:

1. Water - Ljungbyån (Ljungby stream) runs placidly along through the pastures besides me. It simultaneously offers a sense of endless energy (prana perhaps?) and peace.

2. Sky - In contrast to the hills of New England where I grew up, the land here is quite flat so that the sky can spread its huge blue, and sometimes pink and purple, canvas out as far as the eye can see. The openess of it all creates an innate feeling of freedom.

3. Trees - The leafy trees, mostly birches, have been around much longer than even the eldest of houses, and their towering spires provide a sense of shelter and security. And with each season a new, seductive symphony of bold colors combined with subtle nuances opens, making every day feel like Christmas for my eyes.

4. Church steeple - The white steeple of the old church, seen from afar, reminds me of the comfort one experiences when belonging to a community, however small it may be. Mind you, this small village has more than its share of small-minded folk, but that doesn't mean we can't aspire to making this little corner of the world better for our children and the generations to come, right?

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Priorities


It's never easy finding balance while juggling an endless number of wants, musts, and needs. And some months are worse than others. This September takes the cake. I am away more than I am at home, and so I don't end up turning into a complete basket case, I not only have to say, "NO!" to a million different things, I have to be able to say it without letting the guilt eat away at me from the inside. If I let the guilt get to me, than I will be no better off than if I decided to give up sleeping, eating, and personal hygiene in order to find enough time to get everything done.

Where does one start when you find yourself at home, with a million things to do, and only one day to fit it all in? Just analyzing the situation costs invaluable units of time, something I just can't afford.

So I'm making it easy for myself. I decided that my kids have been without their mother enough this week. This Saturday, I will not allow myself to say, "I can't come just now; I have to (choose one of the following): clean, cook, work, pick up, wash, garden.." Neither will they hear me say, "Mommy's too tired right now."

My kids have more insight than most highly paid psychologists. They sense so easily when their mother is on edge, and instinctively they usually back off, afraid that one false move might be the straw that broke the maternal camel's back. I don't want them to tiptoe anxiously just because Mommy has a job that is in an extremely intense period for the moment. I don't want them to have to wait until December's vacation for us to function as a family.

So dustbunnies - this one's for you! For at least one more week you can enjoy spreading yourselves out under our beds and furniture as you shamelessly fornicate and multilply in the different corners of our house. Bushes! You can continue to expand your branches and hang unevenly over the fence by the patio. Dirty clothes - relax in the quiet sanctuary of the hamper in the laundry room. Need I say more?

OK, then. Time for me to take a shower so that my son and I can enjoy the beautiful weather outside and drive in to town. Our plans: Lego-shopping and cake-eating at the bakery.

Om shanti.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My soft place to land


This is where I fell asleep last night. Tonight I'm in another bed, in another city altogether, but at least it's only for two nights, and in 48 hours I should be back where I belong, finding refuge on my soft place to land.

At this point in time my husband is what is keeping me sane. He's my prozac when I need encouragement and my valium when I need help relaxing. He asks me how I am doing, not just to be polite, but because he is really interested in knowing.

When I'm away, he calls me just as much as I call him.

After 17 years, there's no other place I'd rather be than right where I was at this time last night.

Friday, September 11, 2009

The hag in seat 80


I’m sitting on the train, after having flown to Copenhagen from Amsterdam earlier in the day. It’s Friday, so there are a number of travellers with luggage, but the train is hardly full. Across the aisle, the last person to board is a woman who takes her place in seat 80. She has a huge suitcase.

I have a huge suitcase, too. When I got on the train I first had to lift a duffel bag (weighing maybe 2 lbs.) so that my suitcase would be out of the way. The woman in seat 80 places her suitcase in the middle of the aisle besides her seat.

The conductor comes along shortly after. After inquiring as to seat 80’s destination, which is the train’s final destination, she informs seat 80 that she cannot block the aisle with her suitcase. Seat 80, whom I now will refer to as the “hag”, whines that there was no room for her suitcase. The conductor says, “I will help you,” and starts to move some suitcases. The hag doesn’t lift her ass. She doesn’t even lift her nose out of her cheap novel. The conductor moves the suitcase to a more suitable location.

What I wish the small minded hag would consider is WHY the conductor wanted to keep the aisle clear? Well, guess what, Hag? It’s so idiots like you, along with the rest of us, can get out of the train quickly should an emergency arise. What? You don’t think that that will be necessary? I’ll bet the people in WTC didn’t think they would be running for their lives to get out of those buildings either on this day eight years ago.

And another thing, Hag… I just happen to know that conductor. She’s a wonderful woman. She happens to be from New York City, and she probably lost people, as so many others did, that fateful morning, almost to the minute as a matter of fact, in 2001. So open your eyes, and try to see the bigger picture – it just so happens it’s infinitely bigger than your ignorant ego.


Sunday, September 6, 2009

Please hold...


Tough week ahead, and as much as I would like to use the time I have alone while away on business to blog (which, I have discovered is a great form of solo-therapy), I am not certain that I will have Internet access. I look forward to writing again as soon as I get the chance, but for now, I have to get some zzzz's, seeing as how I have an early morning flight tomorrow, and already it is close to midnight.


Om shanti.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Skinless

Usually, autumn is my favorite time of year. To me, the foliage represents change; the wind symbolizes movement; the chill in the air is allows me to contemplate the cycle of life (and death). The harvest moon serves as a reminder of how enormous the universe is, making me feel small yet connected to my surroundings.

Earlier years, stretching way back to when I was a child, all these impressions invigorated me, made me feel ALIVE. This year, I find myself FEELING so incredibly much; it's as though the skin that usually shrouds and protects me has been lifted, intensifying my experience of it all. Everything seems to have a heightened potential to giving me sort of adrenaline rush, which can be stimulating when doing something I truly enjoy. On the other hand, I become hypersensitive, like a cat on a hot tin roof, and the slightest fallback leaves me emotionally bruised and battered. I feel so vulnerable. I feel the need to get out, the need to breathe, and at the same time, I'm not certain I can take it all in.

My only sanctuary comes from my husband's and children's hugs. Although when I went for a walk this morning I was elated to have two people, whose paths I crossed, greet me before I even had a chance to say, "Good morning." Still it is the the experience of human touch, the transfer of body heat, and the strength of a loving embrace, that acts as a veil to my bare and fragile soul, offering me the security blanket I need right now.