"Silence is a great teacher"

I wish I could credit myself as having said that, but once again I am only quoting something I read this morning. The owner of this piece of wisdom is yoga expert Sarah Powers.

I need all the wisdom I can get right now. A new, stressful period filled with big decisions seems to have engulfed me. I've been hypersensitive which in turn makes it oh-so-much-easier for me to fall into the chip-on-the-shoulder-I-dare-you-to-push-my-buttons trap. So I did. I messed up.

Parallel to this I have been (slowly but) steadily increasing my meditation practice. It's small scale, but I have formed my own, little routine: 60 seconds preparation, 5 minutes alternate-nostril breathing, 10 minutes meditation, 30 seconds awakening. The other day my focus was a loved one's health issue, that I seem to worry about more than this particular person does. I asked myself silently, "What if she dies?" The answer from within my silence came immediately: "Then she dies." Morbid, perhaps? Not really. More like dead-on true (forgive the pun). Life is finite. Sooner or later we are all going to die, and even if I were to get this person to behave as I would like her to, that's still no guarantee for a long, happy life. The follow up message from my inner self was that how I carry on with my life is ultimately up to me, and that I have the capacity to deal with life's hardships without succumbing to fear.

Feeling somewhat relieved at that thought, I found myself turning back towards silence today when I found myself filled with equal portions turmoil and regret. The same wise voice returned and proceeded going through the following inquiries: Did you apologize? Yes. I totally own my bads. Had you messed up? Yes, but making mistakes comes with being human, right? Well, sometimes, yes...it happens to all of us...anyhow...What more can you do? Well, aside from promising that I will not make the same mistake again, I think it's up to the other person to see what she does with my apology? Go on... I guess I should just try to be patient and focus on staying calm; you know, stop playing the self-righteous tapes over and over again about how provoked I was, or how wronged I was - like I usually do in a situation like this. Does that seem like a good plan to you? Actually, yes.

And once again I felt a little more at peace. I hope it works.

Photo from Google

You can't handle the truth!

Well, maybe I can, but sometimes it does catch me off guard.

Two scenes from my life, both having to do with me grappling with the "truth":

At the hairdresser's
Me: (said with 50% sincerity) Let me know if you see any gray hairs...

Hairdresser: Hmm, no, I don't see any gray hairs....

Me: (silent sigh of relief)

Hairdresser: No gray hairs, but here's a white one!

Me: :-P


Talking with my 6-year-old son at breakfast this morning
A: Can I jump on the trampoline today?

Me: Oh, I don't know. It's still a little cold, and your socks will get wet and dirty.

A: (pauses) Yeah, but that's simple. If my socks get dirty, I can put on new ones when I come inside, and we can wash the dirty ones.

Me: I suppose you're right. (At the same time admitting to myself: Like, DUH!)

A: It's easy.

Me: You're absolutely right, A. I'll ask Pappa to help me pull the trampoline out on the lawn later.

A:(after a minute) You couldn't think of that yourself?

What can I say? I'm still a work in progress, trying to see the truth beyond my at times distorted perceptions. I'm just grateful for the times that life lessons contain a healthy dose of humor as well.


Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend. Kram/Hug

Hold that thought, one moment please...

In my mind I've written probably 25 blog entries this week. On the computer - nada. I thought I could put off putting my thoughts down for just one more night, but I couldn't. Thought bubbles bounce around inside my head like some twisted bubble machine at the prom-from-bubblehell. As soon as I think I'm able to complete a thought, and thereby solidify it, it crashes into another and *POP* - it's gone. About as easy to grasp as one's shadow.

My initial reaction is to shut down mentally as to avoid a meltdown. I think actually that that can be a pretty good strategy to start with, but what happens is that the fabric that holds my everday life together quickly starts to fringe. I told my husband last night that the only thing that I can honestly say that we've succeeded in doing this week has been taking care of the kids so that they got food on the table, clean clothes to wear, and were taken wherever it was they were supposed to be. Everything else: cleaning, exercising, personal "piffing", and just plain "sit down and converse for God's sake, us being married and all", took a back seat and was replaced by constant fighting to stay awake until the kids got to bed.

At this point I could just say, "Screw it," and not give a damn. But luckily being unproductive is for my wellbeing super-counterproductive; basically, it really gets on my nerves. I become pretty irritable, yes-siree-bob. It's not like I even feel like escaping on some exotic vacation. I just want to get my groove back, at least to some degree. If I could just get things started, make a little progress, then maybe the activity in my brain could translate into actual energy.

So yesterday I started off by doing laundry and making cowboy soup. Today I meditated before breakfast, and later on I took a long walk with my daughter (wearing my MBTs for the first time this year). Afterwards I popped my favorite yoga dvd in our portable player for a short but sweet mat session. Did some more laundry. Put together a jigsaw puzzle with my daughter. Put fresh sheets on our bed.

And while this week's setbacks may have been due to a major hormonal imbalance that has finally started to release its grip, for whatever reason I can gratefully say that I am finally not-so-exhausted-that-I-think-I-could-faint, at least for the moment.

I was even able to complete an entire entry now...for real.

U.F.O. (Unidentified Female Object)

Yesterday was International Women's Day. Front pages and headlines woke us up with diagrams and statistics all illustrating the grim reality of modern-day female oppression. Am I the only one who doesn't feel like she fits into that (media) image?

Naturally the plight of women who are denied their human rights based solely on their gender is something that should be addressed. But is that really the case for women like me, born in the U.S. (or Sweden) during the latter half of the 20th century? Is the fact that no women are represented on the board for a local lumberyard any reason to yell, "Discrimination!" The article that presented that information in yesterday's paper failed to mention how many female candidates were even eligible for a post there.

My career choice in the health care field is in a sense pretty typical "female". I guess it's because of my maternal nurturing instincts. I knew going into physical therapy that the salaries weren't as high compared to other professional fields, but it was still my choice to become a P.T. Other choices I have made are having kids, moving, and switching jobs. Maybe I am an alien, but basically I have plotted out my own career path. Putting the family puzzle together is an ongoing (neverending) activity my husband and I tackle as a team effort.

Am I lucky to have been able to do all this? You betcha! That's exactly my point; I'm not a victim because I'm a woman. I am not in any way anti-girlpower, but I want my daughter to belong to a generation where a girl's dream does not have to be tainted by diagrams and statistics and demands for gender allocations. I want her to believe that she can determine her own destiny based on her own individual merits.

Making a difference

I got a phone call yesterday from a P.T. He had a question about a certain kind of headrest that a patient of his had. I asked if this patient had ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease) since I had done a trial on such a patient a few months ago. It was the same person.

Even though I usually only see patients on just a single occasion, this particular person had made an impact on me. He was roughly my age, and although he was completely paralyzed there was no question as to his owning his autonomy. His condition had progressed to the point that his speech was strained, yet he made it perfectly clear that he was not satisfied with the huge, mummy-like neck brace the orthopedic engineer had outfitted him with earlier. He explained that he himself was an enigneer, and I could sense his indignation with having been prescribed something he disapproved of.

For someone who hadn't known any better, I could understand how easy it could be to mistake a patient like this for someone with, say, a serious brain injury. And it must pain him immeasurably to defenslessly witness others talking about him with his assistants, in his presence, instead of addressing him directly. For this reason, I make a point of speaking directly to the patients I meet, even if they are unable to communicate themselves.

I remember that I put together and presented three alternative headrests with forehead straps; like something out of "The Three Bears", one was soft, one was hard, and one was in between. Most people choose the soft model even though it doesn't offer as much support as the other two. Without hesitiation, the "engineer" chose the hard one, realizing that this was the optimal way of "building" support for his head. He seemed so pleased when we were done, and I felt so good to have made a contribution. I could only hope that the effect would last,even though he probably would not live for more than a year...

But now his therapist was calling me, wondering that since he had to adjust the headrest's position if it's OK that the headrest is somewhat rotated, since the "engineer" preferred it that way. I told him that there's nothing unusual about having a somewhat asymmetrical position and that he should just trust whatever his patient said.

Cautiously I inquired as to how the headrest was working. Getting headrests with forehead straps to work long term is probably the toughest challenge I face in my profession, and working with a progressive condition like ALS means that the body is constantly changing. So when the therapist answered that the headrest was great, that it had been a real "lift" for his patient, and he was so satisfied, I couldn't have been more thrilled.

More than anything I felt so incredibly grateful to have been given the opportunity to make a difference.

Milestone

Next week will mark the 20th anniversary of my moving to Sweden. It is quite a milestone. From this point on, I will have spent more of my life in Europe than I have in my home country, which is (and always will be) my HOME.

Sort of.

Because Sweden is my home, too.

And while this is a huge milestone for me since living in Europe has shaped me in a way that never would have been possible had I remained in the States, it's hardly the only one there has been or ever will be. And this day, albeit special, will last for exactly 24 hours before passing on to the next one.

And my journey, with all of its twists and turns, tops and valleys, has been lined with so many different milestones. And crossroads. And I have done my best to follow the best possible path based on what I've known at the time.

At least I haven't hit a dead end - yet. That must count for something, right?

Stuffed

I'm not stuffed on food. Yet I feel stuffed, you know, all heavy and lethargic, and once again I find myself moving in s-l-o-o-o-o-w motion. I am, however, so tired of being tired that I rolled out my mat anyway, in my crammed hotel room, after returning from work this afternoon.

But it was even earlier today that I noticed while walking through the mall for a late lunch how unappetizing everything seemed. Despite extravagant, colorful fashion-creations draping store windows as they proclaim their relentless faith in the upcoming spring, the thought of actually trying on clothes just seemed so, so out there; like I would actually find something that made me look good... At this point I don't even know where I would begin. No, as much as I love new clothes, sorry, I'm stuffed.

It was the same thing while passing by the cafes and coffee bars with their sensually tempting treats: pastries, ice cream, CAFFE LATTE; I'm like, no thanks, I'll pass. I don't feel like it; thanks anyway, I'm full. Yet at the same time I'm yearning for something. My head is filled with thoughts on time. What time is it? How am I using my time? How would I like to be using my time? Oooh, wait! That last question's easy!

Everytime I spontaneously envision myself doing whatever it is I would rather be doing, it's most often one of the following: yoga, meditation, or possibly enjoying the sauna by the sea. And when I picture myself doing any of the above, it's always with a tangible air of lightness and ease (that I am desperately lacking).

Today when I stubbornly decided that enough was enough and now I was going to do some yoga, my body felt like it belonged to an 80-year-old. A 60 minute practice took more than 90 to complete. Random thoughts clogging my brain made it hard to concentrate, so even though I usually try to give myself an intention with any given session, I could only muster enough mental strength to create an image of waves.

Anything to get this stuffed, tired, 80-year-old body moving.

Picture from Google