I resolve...

When life gets crazy, (like, when is it not?!), the worst part about it is my feeling disconnected: from myself, my family, my friends, my practice, my surroundings. As I look back on the past few months, I realize that I have gone from being someone who gladly posted small tidbits about her life on FB, to being someone who's thinks to herself, "God, does anyone really want to read about yet another uneventful day in the life of me?"

The thing is, I don't want any of my friends to stop sharing details about their lives. FB is my one, true, guilty pleasure. I love keeping tabs on what everyone else is up to. Most of all, I thrive on the warmth of smiles shared across the miles.

But do I let them know that?

I may as well admit it; I am not living up to my end of the deal.

But that's going to change.

My New Year's Resolution for 2012 is that I am going to stay in better touch and let you, my friends, decide if you want to take part in what's going on with me.

I also promise to be much more generous with my "likes" and comments, not so much to give you my two-cents; rather so that you know I care.

Already, I feel more connected.

Thoughts from the soapbox!

"Self-knowledge! It seems as though it should be so easy to know yourself, but it's very, very challenging." - taken from yesterday's The Happiness Project blog entry.

And now for some venting (you have been warned): I get so frustrated by people who stubbornly and continuously subject themselves to selfharm. When you know better, you should do better, period.

I am the first to admit at Ego and Vanity are two of the more boisterous voices in my head that tend to make themselves heard. Luckily, Pain is louder. Pain is not weakness leaving my body. Pain is my inner Rottweiler who's got my back (literally), but when provoked will kick my butt (literally). So I'm thankful for the protection so that things don't go too far, yet I do my best to avoid using it as a tool to measure my progress.

When reading about ahimsa (non-violence) before using it as a theme to yesterday's yoga class, I came across the following from a Yoga Journal article: "...to be violent to the body means we are no longer listening to it. Violence and awareness cannot coexist. When we are forcing, we are not feeling. Conversely, when we are feeling, we cannot be forcing." Honestly, I don't think people have a problem with that concept because it really makes sense. The problem is when people cling to bad habits as though they're some kind of security blanket.

Well, guess what? If you're constantly sick and/or injured, then your security blanket is a veil. If you do yoga, do it for the sake of self-discovery so that you can find new avenues to living your life to the fullest.

The cat must have my tongue...

It's the last day of November, and this will be my only entry this month. Why is that? It's not like it's been an uneventful month. I got a new job, for starters. That's pretty cool. I've had the fantastic opportunity to assist my yoga teacher during a 200-hour Virya yoga teacher training the past three months. That's certainly something to celebrate.

My meditation practice has also been growing. And I've been able to take a Yin yoga class two weeks in a row (I absolutely LOVE Yin yoga, BTW.). I even bought a bolster and dvd (not that I've opened it quite yet, but soon, very soon...).

Kids are good. Hubby's good. LIFE is good.

I don't know why the urge to write has become dormant.

Probably because I'm tired. I'm grateful. I'm content. But I'm tired, which a lot of people are this time of year, but not me so much, at least not until now.

That and I've just haven't had any ideas for topics to write about. No inner debates. No revelations. No drama. No complaints.

Shut up and listen!

Decision time. A job offer that could take me to the next notch on my career ladder. Added responsibilities. But what about the salary?

The original offer was more than I have today, but still so much lower what I expected. My counterbid was swiftly rejected. Another offer was made, somewhat higher than the first, but still far off base.

What to do? Job offers don't grow on trees now, do they? Openings through the corporate ceiling aren't easy to come by either. I was given the weekend to decide whether to accept or decline.

So I sat down to meditate yesterday. I decided to inquire within, and as though I were practicing a mantra I repeated in my mind, "What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?" After a couple of minutes, my silence sternly responded, "SHUT UP & LISTEN!"

OK, point taken. Stop mauling and start chilling.

Today, I sat again in meditation, keenly set on listening. Somewhere in the depths of my skull I could here David Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust" playing (I had heard it on the radio the other day.). My silence asked me, "Who is your greatest enemy?"

My mind, always wanting to chip into the conversation was about to respond, "David Bowie", when my silence beat him/her to it by offering the following: FEAR & AMBIVALENCE.

OK, I thought. I didn't want to admit to my silence that I had a feeling I knew what ambivalence meant, but I still wasn't 100% sure. So I looked it up online afterwards:

am·biv·a·lence noun \am-ˈbi-və-lən(t)s\

Definition of AMBIVALENCE
1: simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings (as attraction and repulsion) toward an object, person, or action
2a : continual fluctuation (as between one thing and its opposite) b : uncertainty as to which approach to follow

Point taken. Mind made up. No more fear. No more ambivalence.

Nothing on my bucket list

I spent the weekend admidst the pictoresque landscape that is Northern Sweden's eastern coast, whose white steeples set against a background of foliage-painted hills is the closest I'll come to the magnificence of my childhood New England autumns. Inside the stone walls of a medieval church replica, I enjoyed the extreme pleasure of bearing witness to the exhcange of marital vows between two of my closest friends.

P and I had also chosen to marry in the fall, and even though he couldn't join me on this joyous excursion, the spirit of this weekend has rekindled within me a profound sense of closeness and gratitude towards my husband. Despite the hundreds of miles between us, I am living proof that longning does make the heart grow fonder.

On Friday I had spoken to my sister, and she mentioned in passing that she had discussed her "Bucket List" with a new acquaintance. It got me to thinking about what my "Bucket List" should include? In short, I came up with nothing.

This, I believe, is partly due to the fact that my life has included more than I ever dreamt was possible. And even though I'll continue to welcome new opportunities to travel to say the very least, the only thing I am certain of as far as my destination goes is that I want to share it with P. In other words, I'd rather sit on a park bench with him in town than lie alone on an exotic beach in the tropics. I'd rather be happy everyday (well, at least several days a week), than feel ecstatic for just a few days of my life.

I have absolutely nothing against bucket lists. I think it's great if someone has a vision and strives to fulfill their dreams, no matter what they may be. For me, being able to continue living the life that I have, even though future changes are going to be inevitable, is all I need for the moment.

En garde

Top priority: To prioritize. Work steers my days, as long as everyone at home is OK, it's only fair to say that Work gets top bidding. Long days. A number of nights on the road.

When I get home it's time to be with my family and relieve my husband who's been holding down the fort. Mom-mode ON. Cooking the dinners. Doing the laundry. And even taking the kids on individual dates for some one-on-one quality time.

Energy level depleting. But the need for some exercise, even if it's just a couple times a week is mandatory. My mind and wardrobe refuse to negotiate on this point.

Where do I find quiet? Even my sleep is filled with dreams of me rushing to and fro (Love the fact that I just used the term "fro" in a sentence.) So meditation has become my oasis. Meditation helps me maitain a sustainable inner-atmospheric pressure level. Its doesn't necessarily deliver immediate answers to my queries, but from time to time the light bulb is lit.

Today's meditation began by yet again confirming the fact that experienced stress triggers tightness around my heart, which cannot be good at any level. Albeit nonpainful, I don't like it, period. At the same time I know that stress is my catalyst, it gets my motor running, so I can't imagine being completely without it.

I was then struck by this truth; much of my stress has to do with me feeling the incessant need to be on RED ALERT-mode. Ready for an attack at any given moment. I took a fencing class in college (loved it), and the reason I was pretty good at it was that I could wait out my opponent. When my opponent's patience had waned and he went to attack, I effectively thwarted his attempted charge and and retaliated with a counterstrike - PANG! So that's what's going on around my heart a lot of the time?

That's exactly what's going on because I don't trust myself enough to rely on my ability to take on challenges as they come, if they come. I'm acting as though there's a gang of monsters under my bed instead of just turning on the lights.

I don't want to stress my heart haphazardly. I don't wish to age more biologically than I have to. Today I promised myself to start trusting myself. I know I'm good at what I do. I just have to believe it, too.

A fortunate woman doesn't need pity...

...but there are times I crave the comfort of hearing I am not alone.

I'm experiencing that the more I discover what I want from Life the less tolerant I've become. It's like the yoga teacher whom upon receiving the question, "Does yoga help you manage stress?" answered, "No, it's made me even more sensitive to stress!" So now that I've discovered that order creates calm, I get all agitated by messy surroundings. By becoming aware of how stress effects my body, I may have become better at listening to my own body's signals, but I am über-hypersensitive to stressful vibes that come from my husband. Since my body has become dependent on the endorphine rush that comes with exertion, I go into full-tilt abstinence if I don't work out regularly. By realizing how much I have, it's all too easy to start obsessing about how much I can lose.

If meditation is about learning to transcend one's senses, why is it so crucial for me to find peace in my surroundings? In sights, sounds, and even smells? The flavor of coffee and dark chocolate when I need a pick-me-up?

I've stopped counting the number of times this summer I've had to bring my frustration with me to my mat. Maybe it's part of the cleansing process? Or is it that after taking two steps forward, I've proceeded to take five steps back?

Seeing as I'm basically stuck, not only on my sticky mat but in my relationships as well, I've decided to sign up for an online course in improving my patience with Stilla Tankar.

Holding hands

I remember in the eftermath of 9-11 the hole in my gut in combination with a constantly aching heart. No, I didn't lose anyone I knew, but as an American the collective sorrrow was simply colossal.

I remember in the days following the attacks, as I sat glued by my neighbor's satellite TV, my longing for the good news to finally emerge from the ruins. That they found survivors. Or even better, that what had happened hadn't actually happened.

I waited in vain. It happened then, and it's happened now, in Norway, in quite possibly an even more bestial and horrific manner.

In the 24 hours prior to this latest catastrophe one could hear on the news pleas for help to starving refugees in East Africa. With a few clicks on my computer, I could at least donate some money in the hopes that it might make somewhat of a difference for someone.

But Norway doesn't need our money. The dead have been transported from the island. The perpetrator is in custody. All that's left is the open wound that can't be closed. The chaotic confusion. The twinge of shame everytime one laughs only to recall in the next second the devastation of these events.

I didn't see Prime Minister's Jens Stoltenberg's speech, but I read it online, and I found this quote so moving that I wanted to pass it on:

Om én mann kan vise så mye hat, tenk hvor mye kaerlighed vi alle kan vise sammen.

If one man can show so much hate, imagine how much love we can show together.

If you want to show your support in form of a peaceful, loving manifestation, here's a link where you can join hands with the rest of the world:

http://www.vg.no/nyheter/innenriks/oslobomben/lenke.php?start=208530

Om shanti om.

The only thing we have to fear...

...is fear itself, according to FDR.

And for the time being, fear is kicking my butt. Fear is putting me to shame. Why, you ask?

Take a look at a list of what scares me the most:

* That I'll regret my decisions and/or non-decisions

* That I'll make the wrong choices and fail

* That I won't have enough of what I want (which is significantly different from having enough)

* That I'll look back on my life and realize that I should have known/done better

Today at work, I made two "house-calls". The first was at an affluent home in the nicest of neighborhoods. The interior looked like something from a design magazine spread. Even though the husband had to sit in his wheelchair in the confines of their screened-in porch (nothing that might bring dirt into the home was allowed indoors), they had each other, and I could really empathize with their situation. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, you could cut their bitterness with a knife. Not that I blame them, but it was obvious that their financial priveleges had little bearing on their happiness.

Afterwards, I rushed to my next visit, far into the "boonies" where I fitted a new wheelchair to an elderly man in his nearly empty living room. He lived alone, and I didn't even see a TV in his apartment. Still, he was high in spirits and even though he barely heard what I said, it didn't stop him from cracking jokes. A completely different atmosphere, to say the least.

I have no idea what the second gentelman's secret is. What struck me more than anything was the obvious fact that I should be on my knees every freakin' day thanking fate for my incredible fortune. Listening to the radio as I drive to and from appointments, I am constantly bombarded with news of the misery that exists in biblical proportions elsewhere in the world, hell, even around the corner. Catastrophes and disasters that never even touch me.

So why is fear holding me hostage? Will I ever feel freedom?

Will this bird ever fly out of her open cage?

Ohm is where the heart is.

Still holding back. Still wanting to be in control. Still waiting to receive love before I offer it back. Still wearing a cloak of hypersensitivity.

That was my state of mind as I climbed onto my mat yesterday. I felt more than ever that I needed a new perspective for this practice. Normally, I strive for technical precision as I dig inwardly to analyze and evaluate my experience. But faced with what I was already feeling, it made me wonder if my frustration is more a result of my feeling separate and altogether disconnected with that which is bigger than my ego-self?

Through closed blinds I could see the silhouette of leafy tree branches dancing in the breeze. The sun doesn't hold back its rays. The wind doesn't diminish its energy. Nature is always true to itself. So I decided to seek outside of myself this time and reach out to the power of nature. And it was a wonderful experience.

At the end of my session, I sang three "Ohms". Usually I sing them from my larynx as I make an effort to create a melodious sound. This time, while the sound was much quieter, it came from my heart center, and it was as though its vibration was in perfect harmony with the prana (life-energy) surrounding me.

Act your age, not your shoesize...

However, Prince was probably not addressing Europeans, seeing as my shoesize is a respectable 39 over here.

But this whole idea of dressing my age has been on my mind a lot lately. For one, all of these insane outlet sales has me trying on a zillion different pieces as I reassess my style completely. I'm lucky to have gotten help for the past seven years from my tell-it-like-it-is-shopping-goddess Maria. She's the one who made it clear that I can wear: 1) other colors than black and dark blue 2) printed fabric 3) and not everything has to be worn with jeans.

Looking down at today's at home outfit, blue t-shirt with black combat pants, let's just say I'm still a work in progress.

Another asset that I have is my 12-year-old self-proclaimed fashionite/model-wannabe daughter. When we go to her hip teenybopper stores (I say that in a positive sense), we drool over the same colorful printed t-shirts with cute prints and juvenile sayings. She hands me a Sesame Street shirt because she knows I love the Cookie Monster, and it is adorable, but on her it just looks so right. On me, it just looks so dated.

And this is something I hadn't really considered earlier, even though I'm still not completely over having passed 40. Yesterday I was sitting outside at a sushi restaurant and noticed a mother-daughter couple similar age- and fashionwise to me & L as they were looking in a neighboring store window. The preteen daughter = cute as a button. Fresh looking mom in cool t-shirt and olive colored combat pants = so my style, and yet... The next day I spotted the same t-shirt on a teenage girl and was forced to admit that the t-shirt agreed with her at least 100% more.

Then there's Trinny & Susannah, whom I happen to enjoy watching. I like the fact that they tend to get women to wake up and smell the maturity. I don't need to wake up; all I have to do is try to put on a pair of shorts from last year to realize that the changes are not only coming - they're heeeereee... So maybe I need a pant with a higher waist that chops my trouble area in half. A looser fitting blouse with details around my bust is probably more flattering than fitted tops in stretch-material.

Maybe it's not so much about redefining who I am as it is about removing the taste goggles from a 20-30-something-girl so that I can discover the real 4o-something woman waiting to emerge.

The twinge and dark chocolate

Last night, it hit me. As soon as I stepped out sometime around 9:30 P.M. to pick up my car, the cool freshness of July's summer air hit me, and instantly I felt a twinge of sorrow. You never know what summer in Sweden is going to be like. Certain years you'll have weeks of 85-degree weather. Other years, you're lucky if you wear a bathing suit once. So warm weather is not to be taken to granted.

The same thing goes for sunlight. All winter long I literally ache for the blessed return of 21 hours of daylight. Yet all too soon, the climax is reached, and the days gradually grow shorter. And you feel the twinge again.

The twinge that reminds you that this, too, shall pass. You can't hold onto it. Of course, one could argue that rather than fret over the inevitable, we should embrace the preciousness of summer's healing powers as long as we have them, seeing as how time waits for no one. Naturally, they'd be right.

But there's something to be said about that tender sadness as well, I think. It's what makes me human on a whole. The touch of bitter to that which is sweet. The cleansing release of unshed, cathartic tears behind a Mona-Lisa-like smile.

Isn't that what nostalgia is all about? Looking back, sometimes longning, yet with the knowledge that you can't go back no matter how much you might want to. Even if you could, it could never be the same.

The picture you see is taken from where I am sitting as I write this entry - Scandic Hallandia Hotel in Halmstad, overlooking the Nissan. This is the town where I met my husband 19 years ago. I swam in that very canal my freshman year of college. Tonight I walked by the café where Catarina and I celebrated the completion of our exams with a cappucino and almond cake. And I get all mushy inside.

Remember when we used to eat all of our Halloween candy, except for Mary Jane's and Hershey Dark Chocolate? Today, that 70% bittersweet chocolate is the only kind I'll eat.

Heartwishes

Crazy week. People giving me sh** about things that aren't any of their damn business. At 41, I realize that I'm entitled to make my own decisions regardless of what others think, but I still have no problem falling into the provocation trap should the opportunity arise.

Now that I'm really trying to apply new techniques to my meditation, I've discovered that my heart doesn't feel open and full of light. No, my heart often feels dark, and sometimes I get a hard clump in my chest as though my heart was made of stone. Dislike.

It's been easier to move my mind up towards my brain. Being a lover of rules and order, I need to first deal with a lot of things intellectually in order for them to take root, even things of an emotional or creative nature. Which is why I'm loving my Sally Kempton book, "Meditation for the Love of It". It's like a cookbook with tons of meditative recipes. And like any cookbook, you have to try different recipes to find what suits your taste. Since taste is individual, I recognize that if one method doesn't do it for me, I can try another.

Still, this feeling of darkness around my heart has been a concern. When a yoga participant recently shared that she experienced an epiphany while taking part in a yoga workshop I was teaching with some others, naturally I was happy for her, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to feeling somewhat jealous as well. What she told me was while she was thinking about how grateful she was about her circumstances, she was suddenly overcome with a strong feeling of sheer and utter joy. Hmm, just like the book said.

Grateful. Thankful. Gratitude. I so get that. So why is it so hard for my heart to realize it, too?

Then I reached a turning point this week. Not in meditation, instead while I was thinking about everyone that was annoying me. I suddenly realized that I didn't want to be pissed off anymore. And so it began.

I still haven't reached a point of awakening in meditation, but "the shell that separates me from love" doesn't feel as thick.

I think I could even sense the arrival of dawn.

It's one thing to talk the talk...

...but we all (should) know that talk is cheap

...and what matters is how we walk the walk!

I have to admit, it's very convenient to label myself a "seeker" so that I don't have to overly exert myself to actually change something. I get all the creative urges that can be associated with the seeker - I long to go on retreats, read selfhelp books on philosophy and meditation, and search online for artistic summer courses. I fantasize about changing my exercise routines and eating habits at the same time I strongly consider the ontake of a simpler lifestyle that's more sustainable with less consumption.

Then the urge turns more into an itch, and that's when I feel like something, anything, has to happen. It could be that I start longing for new clothes, workout equipment, along with a sundae from the Ben & Jerry's café. I buy some wine (still unopened) in order to set the mood for the romantic evening I dream of my P and I having once the kids have gone to sleep.

I make plans. I make promises. And instead of actually doing these things, I keep on searching, usually by Internet, for more. It's like I'm the "non-adrenaline" seeker; the effort it takes to get going somehow manages to outweigh that insatiable longing for more.

And so yet again, late last night, I was online admiring a print that had caught my eye a few months earlier. When I googled the quote depicted in this print, I discovered that there were a number of others that had made their own version of this print. Then it dawned on me; the orginal artist was perhaps not the one who had come up with this particular saying... And if there were others making their own prints...

Turning around, I reached up to the top shelf of the bookshelf behind me and pulled down my small painting box that I had bougt for a summer course my husband had treated me to last summer. I grabbed my sketch pad and googled fonts. Then I spent the next two hours (although it felt more like 20 minutes), making sketches and drawing.

After all this time, I hadn't realized that I had it in me to create something on my own. Either that, or I just didn't dare try.

Picture from Google

House of mirrors

Just got back from a trip to Stockholm where we had had an awesome time at a great amusement park: Gröna Lund. It was a roller-coaster bonanza, and luckily I didn't have to deal with my distorted reflection in the house of mirrors.

It's enough that my mirror vision has already gone freaking haywire, and we haven't even hit bathing suit season yet! May was to be my month for "displaying some character", and while I don't feel the need to go all out on a diet, I did vow to take extra care of myself for a period of 31 days and see what, if anything, happened. I skipped temptuous snacks, made a greater effort to eat more healthily, and increased my number of workouts as well as meditation sessions.

The results can be summed up with one word: eh? On the surface nothing has changed. However, I notice I'm becoming more and more selfconscious about my appearance and its supposed deterioration, which I know is crap, but still I'm feeling really mental about it. This is why I neither diet nor do I weigh myself because it takes almost nothing for me to start obsessing about my figure.

I realize I'm heading towards my next phase in life (to put it diplomatically), I just wish there were a handbook that could show me which changes are inevitable, and which ones I can only blame myself for. I remember from an episode of Oprah years ago that Dr. Christiane Northrup (pre-Botox, yikes!) presented her book, "Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom", and I thought, "I'll have to remember that for when I get old!"

Well I guess it's time for a visit to Amazon.com.

Picture from Google.

How about a warm cup of "Shut the hell up"?!

If we're going to allow all of our feelings to come forth on the mat, well at least I won't have to worry about whining frustration not showing up...

Even though tonight's session felt good from the second I got onto the map, and the therapeutic effect was just what I needed after a tough day at work, that nagging voice in the back of my head was truly begging me to open up a soulful can of whoop-ass (to put it mildly).

Here's an excerpt, and might I commend myself for not giving in to my mind's aggravating, passive-agressive comments and "suggestions" (save one):

God, you're just so tired today. Are you sure you want to do this?

I just don't think you're up for getting sweaty.

Maybe you just should write that e-mail reply now (Note that it's 6:45 P.M. and NO ONE is working at this hour!)

Maybe you should just go eat dinner first instead, and maybe you can do this later.

Or you could just do this tomorrow instead. No, wait, you can't, well maybe you can just skip it altogether this week.

Aren't you going to call your family, just so you can check in on them?

I wonder if anyone's written anything interesting on FB within the last 20 minutes?

Oh! A text-message!! Aren't you just going to make sure it's not important? (I did; it wasn't.)

Try as you may, I was onto you tonight. I let you babble on aimlessly while I focused on breathing and how I was feeling on the inside. There I could feel that lump of frustration after a long and tiring day.

Luckily, the pros totally outweighed the cons. Before I knew it, a 75-minute session had passed.

And I felt so incredibly much better for it. Now I'm going to tune in to BBC's "Property Ladder"!

Picture from Google and title shamelessly stolen from Ben Stiller's sadistic orderlie in "Happy Gilmore"!

Being Confusedcius

A Facebook group titled "Åttaveckors meditation" (8 weeks of meditation) has inspired me to start meditating on a (nearly) daily basis. For that, I'm grateful.

I'm also in the midst of reading Sally Kempton's Meditation for the Love of It in an effort to take my meditation to a deeper level. It all sounds so nice in the beginning, things like: There's no such thing as a bad meditation along with other incitements meant to ease the nervous novice.

Then certain ground rules are laid: Meditation requires discipline, and in order to go beyond the first pleasures of relaxation and move closer towards the Self, one must have a clear ambition to journey inward. "OK," I think to myself, "That makes sense..." I try some of the exercises and realize that this kind of meditation isn't as easy (at least for now) as the mindfullness exercises I've tested.

In the following chapter (that I'm in the process of reading) the suggestions start: create a sacred place (perhaps with a raised altar), meditate at the same time each day, cleanse yourself first, wear the same (washed) clothes, and so on. I know this is what Patanjali had written in his Yoga Sutras, but that was another era to say the least. This is when I start to wonder, "Whatever happened to 'meditating is as easy and accessible as breathing itself'?"

While meditation isn't about religion, the element of faith is unavoidable since one has to believe in the Self in order to bring some meaning to this practice. Yet my Western mind reminds me that if I'm not critical to my readings, I'm basically a sitting duck begging to be brainwashed.

So with furrowed brow I try to figure out what leg to stand on: Go back and stick with simpler feel-good exercises and see what happens? Or raise the bar, follow the suggestions, and hope I'm not making a fool out of myself?

But, wait! I live in Sweden - the mecca of the middleground!!

I come to realize that I can try deepening my practice with Kempton's techniques whether I follow the suggested routines or not. I've decided to interpret the suggested routines not as mandatory, but rather as well-intended advice that may pave a more focused way towards seeing my Self.

Wants and needs

Angry patients may use their frustration as a way of not letting their disability get the best of them, but the price they sometimes pay...

Ask yourself, if given the choice between having a wheelchair you can lift into your car without any help (but that you sit like crap in) compared to sitting comfortably, with support as well as good pressure distribution (while you get a subsidized wheelchair lift for your car), what would you choose? All too often I meet people WHO ARE COMPLETELY HUNG UP ON THE ONE THING THEY CANNOT DO that it overshadows everything else and consumes all this energy the way a leech sucks blood. Paradoxically they are limiting their freedom more by prioritizing their damn cars because the chairs they subsequently choose restrain their level of function in all other areas.

I, too, need to be reminded about what I really need as opposed to what I want. My motivation to doing yoga still has a lot to do with vanity and my idea that keeping my figure will keep me happy. My past two sessions I have concentrated first on acceptance while tonight I needed to cool down, soften up, and de-stress. Almost immediately I could feel a mental shift and realized that when I'm stuck in a fixed idea of demanding that things either stay the same or are adapted to suit to my tastes, I am not the most fun person to be with.

How refreshing it was to suddenly feel myself open as a vision of my family and me on vacation in the sun materialized. We're leaving for Teneriffe in two days. Instead of worrying about what I want to do, I am going to try to appreciate not having anything to do.

Woe is not me.

Here's the thing. I have money. I have more money than I need. I have the privilege of being able to buy stuff I don't need. So why do I get stressed out by spending money? At the same time I stress out for being unable to satisfy my spending urges?

This month we spent more money than usual buying bikes for me and the kids. Despite the expense, that purchase in particular felt like a no-brainer because it's something we'll use for years to come. It's the smaller purchases that trigger my bouts of anxiety - things like styling products, summer shoes, anti-wrinkle creams, books. All those things that cost anywhere between $20-$50. As soon as I've bought one of those things, I am suddenly struck by visions of just a few more small, inexpensive items that I don't necessarily need, but that in my fantasy world would make life just a little bit easier and/or more comfortable... If only I had them, too, then I'd be satisfied...or so I think.

I totally get those who make a decision to cease with all unecessary consumption as a way of taming their desire-beast. I've done that myself for shorter periods of time when I've felt I needed a time-out from a sense of shopping frenzy.

Still, I don't want to just tame the beast; I want the beast to disappear or at least transform itself into a nicer creature that I can live with without feeling nervous about it taking over. I remember reading years ago that money is like energy; the only way to gain more is by sharing (i.e. spending) it. I get that.

Desire in of itself isn't the problem; it's the the fear of losing objects of affection that causes my pain. I remember my mother-in-law with a storage area literally stuffed to the brim with old things she dare not let go of because they were worth a lot of money. And I remember thinking, "They're not worth a dime if they're just lying here in heaps collecting dust."

My husband has a lot easier time when it comes to consumption by using his "Screw-it!" philosophy. And at times, he's clever enough to do it without confronting -ahem- I mean consulting me. Case in point: Next Friday we leave for a week-long vacation to Tenerife. We've been looking forward to this for months. We've been so busy that we're lucky if we see each other in passing as we go from one appointment to another. I realize, however, that since we have the kids with us (as always), there's not going to be any real opportunity for doing things on our own.

So P took matters into his own hands, and he booked us for a morning brunch and spa tomorrow, even though we'll being flying in less than a week. Had he asked me what I thought, I would have answered that we'd be better off saving our money for our vacation.

On the other hand, I realize that this is our chance to have some real quality time together.

And truth be told, we can afford it.

Sometimes, my husband is a genius. (Just don't let him know I said so, Ok?)

Picture borrowed from Google (at least it didn't cost anything).

Maturity aches (the senior version of growing pains)

I feel the older I get the more I learn. That may, of course, be more do to necessity, seeing as I forget so much nowadays, rather than progressive development. Still, not a day goes without me either being introduced to some new trinket of previously unknown information or else I am struck dumbfounded by a true epiphany.

Sometimes it's enlightening.

Sometimes it's disheartening.

Last week while driving, I nearly wanted to cheer upon witnessing the return of cranes to the brown, Scandinavian landscape. When I first moved here more than two decades ago, one of my first outings with my then-boyfriend's parents was to a shallow lake where each spring literally hundreds of these lovely, gangly creatures engage in a mating dance for all to see. Back then I could hardly care less. Looking over a sea of spectators with campers, picnic baskets, binoculars, and camera objectives, it was apalling for me to see so many people with nothing better to do.

Today, me spotting just two birds in the middle of a muddy field fills my heart with joy. I've learned to appreciate the beauty and goodness of nature. The return of spring means more to me with each passing year. So that's a good example of learning.

I've mentioned in previous entries that I have a gift when it comes to bearing grudges. I jokingly say that it's part of my Catholic heritage, and keeping with tradition, much of my animosity is at times targeted towards my parents. What's so hard to get?! Why didn't they know better?! Wasn't it obvious?! Over and over I've played these tapes in my head.

Then all of the sudden it hit me. There was no way for them to know any better. Or at least it was a lot harder back then. Many of the truths I have been able to access have very much to do with the modern society I am able to raise my family in. My teachers have been among others Dr. Phil, Oprah, and Google. I won't even go into all that I learn from reading and just listening to the radio. Quite often they've been the voices of reason that have pointed out my own patterns of destruction and graciously offered an alternative.

I asked myself yesterday after this thought had struck me like a bolt of lightening, "How much of what you know, that which you do differently from your parents, would you have figured out on your own, without any input from your teachers?" Alas...zero is probably a safe guess.

Ouch.

I have shamelessly taken the crane photo from my girlfriend Jeanette's blog Handmade. I just love her photographs!

Changed my mind

This morning I made my regular three hour drive to a client, using the time as I often do to write blog entries in my head. I was planning on taking a dare and writing about a seemingly provocative subject (although anything I write usually only has to do with me, and when I write I only speak for myself). Still, there was a pretty good chance that certain people, friends even, would be taken aback.

Then as my day progressed, I felt that I was just receiving one complaint after another. Complaints that were somewhat justified, yet petty enough that I felt compelled to offer a different point of view. Even though I've improved greatly throughout the years when it comes to expressing my opinions, especially when they're not shared by the recipient, it still takes a lot out of me.

So when I finally made it to my hotel, the merciful sanctuary that my yoga mat offered was greatly welcomed. And when I was done, I didn't feel like being self-righteous anymore.

Freedom and farting noises

As part of my Saturday decompression I am presently sitting on my couch, checking my FB and e-mails. In the background my son and his friend are sprawled out on the floor on the other side of the living room. They're in the midst of creating a fantasy world on paper, filled with unique vehicles, armies, weapons, along with an added touch of sound effects in the form of constant farting noises.

Their tongues and pencils move individually in constant motion without hesitation. Yet the two of them seem to be in complete harmony, perfectly synchronized, and totally oblivious to the three dimensional world beyond their IKEA paper-roll.

They've been at it non-stop for 50 minutes. They've just added a restroom to their building (even warriors need to use the bathroom), and now they're talking about sending their picture to The Guiness Book of Records.

I'm still trying to wake up, despite the fact that I've been up for two hours. My mind is still clouded, I'm in my pajamas, and my caffeine fix hasn't really had any measurable effect. I watch in dazed fascination as they unroll another meter's length of paper seeing as their hands can barely keep up with their imagination.

I have yet to hear them utter the words "no", "can't", or "shouldn't".

All I'm hearing, over and over again, is "Yes!", followed by a fart.

Wake me when it's Monday

I have a confession to make.

I suck at weekends.

When I'm in work mode, I am so much better at sucking it up, keeping it together, getting a move on, making it through the day so that I can bring home the bacon. On the weekends, I pretty much break down. But not in the way that I am lying in bed and recharging my batteries. Nope - I'm up early, getting the breakfast made while trying to figure out the logistics of the weekend.

What I want and wish for every weekend is a chance to work out and time to clean. That's usually not how it goes. It's easy to get caught up in seeing to that everyone else gets done whatever it is they need to get done first - after all, I can work out "anytime", and the cleaning "isn't going anywhere; it'll still be there..." The problem is that by the end of the day when it's MY turn, my MOJO is running on empty.

And it's gotten to the point where I don't even enjoy weekends anymore because they're characterized by anxiety, frustration, stress, and in the end, apathy. I would almost prefer just being allowed an extra hour's sleep in the morning, 7:30 would be perfect, then the rest of my day could continue on like a regular work day.

Because at least then I'd feel like I'm getting something accomplished.

And justice for ME!

If holding a grudge were an Olympic competition, then I would have more gold than Fort Knox. Sometimes it gets so bad that my ego voice (the one symbolized by a little devil on my shoulder) doesn't even register that in the real world millions have just been devastated by earthquakes and tsunamis; maybe being interrupted isn't quite as dire a situation?

no-no-NO... Little devil reminds my ego that this is just ONE of the many times I have been WRONGED! Then he proceeds to open in my mind a Pandora's Box of all wrongs past. And no good intention in the universe from angel-on-my-other-shoulder can diminish the dark shadows from hurtful memories.

I can almost see the little devil rubbing his knobby, little hands, as he thinks to himself, "Yes! I'll have won yet another weekend of misery, just you wait!" This being my first thought when I drowsily open my eyes this morning and am instantly reminded of yesterday's bad mood.

Then out of nowhere, Pride and Self-dignity step in like two, cool superheroes. They point out the obvious, which is that all these thoughts are disgustingly pathetic, and I should just get over it. Now let's get on with my life, shall we?

Prayers and thoughts to all who were affected by the tragedies of yesterday.

Thoughts about time and money

We talk about "making time" and "taking time" pretty much the same way we talk about "making money" or "making withdrawals" (as a way of taking money).

Tonight being case and point: I have put off for days now sitting down with my blog, and finally my yearning has gotten the best of me. Instead of doing the dishes, I am staying put on my couch until I get an entry done. Not that I even have a ready subject in my head... But hey, it's not like I need to buy anything in particular as an excuse to allow myself to go shopping, right? The same way spending money on a new top offers a nice, little high, just telling myself that I can take the time to blog, in spite of the pile of dirty dishes stacked in the kitchen, puts a smile on my face.

At night when the hamster wheel of thoughts goes spinning in my mind, I am probably fantasizing as much about having more time as I am about having more money. I can't honestly say that one is more vital to me than the other. Sure, if I were a real yogi, I would argue that material things are mere symbols of pain-inducing desire, while more time would allow me the opportunity to connect with my divine self. But even tantric philosophy encourages seeing beauty and divinity in all things, and I would be lying if I didn't admit to enjoying certain luxuries...such as finding a bargain on designer clothes, drinking the perfect latte, staying at nice hotels while travelling, etc.

I've tried more and more to curb my desire to shop and replace it with more meaningful activities such as working out, meditating, reading, blogging, or just plain doing nothing. And sure, I'll buy that I am probably more likely to connect with myself while delving in creative types of hobbies, but I must confess that I am still in the process of trying to get ahead. It's not even about winning the lottery; it's always that little bit extra I'm striving for; the same one that inherently has me longing for the level after that, and the next one, and the next one.

Fortunately for me, it's not all about paychecks and side jobs. I'm lucky to actually feel passionate about what I do, whether it's teaching aspiring yogis to realize their potential or to help OT's find a suitable seating solution that benefits their patients. I work hard, and I have yet to feel that I've reached my own full potential, so I keep on trying to develop and deepen my skills.

In order to get anywhere with my endeavors, I have to invest a lot of time: early mornings, long days, nights away from home. I use the money I make to make the most of the time that is left. Paying to learn yoga is one example of using money to find a way to stay in shape physically, mentally, and spiritually while on the road (both literally and figuratively).

When calculating my combination of these two sources of currencies, time and money, I find the bottom line is that I am able to rejoice in the blessings I've acquired within my home and family. That being said, I figure the value of my life as a whole is really paying off.

Cocooned

My own made-up word - cocooned. That's where I've been hanging. I've had to go inside myself, closing myself off from my social world, in order to keep myself in motion. I've had to prioritize: family, work, yoga, home, and there's been neither space nor energy for anything more.

Tonight, I finally feel that I can enjoy the luxury of simply being. At a hotel yet again, but I am more relaxed than I've felt in quite some time. Not that I've suffered, but gosh, nothing goes up against having time to do whatever it is I feel like doing.

My son greeted me this past Tuesday with a cheerful "Happy March 1st!" I couldn't have said it better myself. In Southern Sweden where I spend my workdays, the snow has completely melted. Brown, earthy fields bordered by leafless, brown trees are, for me, a breathtakingly beautiful sight for sore eyes this year. I welcome the return of daylight like a long, lost friend.

While I think I'm past turning into a beautiful butterfly, I'm more than happy to crawl out of my cocoon to once again greet my friends and with my heart and soul welcome the coming of spring once more.

Dated

How do I know that I've crossed that line from having turned 40 to being 40-something?

* Nowadays, about half of my sentences open with, "I just heard on the radio..."

* I've gone from listening to pop-radio, to listening to CD-books, to listening solely to public radio.

* After yet another week of snow showers and artic temperatures, moving to Florida seems like such an attractive alternative.

* I've had to go to a foot dermatologist twice this month.

* I cleaned my closets and removed all articles of clothing that don't fit anymore.

* I only wear t-shirts when working out so that I don't have to worry about having perfectly shaved armpits.

* My tweezer's working overtime.

* Only dark chocolate will do.

Cloudy weather

Oh, I've had the opportunity to work on those equanimity skills today, that's for sure! And let's just say I am a real work in progress - with a really long way to go.

I hate confrontations. Even the ones that are supposed to lead to improvement. But that's about me; I recognize that and realize that it's something I have to work on. I need to learn how to say what I think without getting too wrapped up about it!

Something I read last week in my latest issue of Yoga Journal has been a big help today. It was a metaphor where blue skies represent who we really are, and that while clouds of obstruction may block our view, they can't diminish the skies that we know exist behind them. So when those clouds literally came rolling in today, I did all that I could to find even a glimpse of blue between them.

When I talked to my husband on the phone, cursing rabidly about the day I was having, he just told me to come on home, that everything would feel better then. I nearly bit my tongue off resisting the urge to snarl something back. He called me back two minutes after I hung up to say, "Puss (kiss)."

He was wrong, of course. I started feeling better just five minutes later. The same way that clouds come and go, so do my moods. But recognition of that fact helps me remember that even when my clouds are dark and seem all encompassing, that they, too, shall pass.

Long time, no see

Or more like NO time, NO see.

I miss blogging, so much so that I left my warm bed at 6:30 A.M. on a Saturday morning so that I could indulge myself while the rest of the house was asleep. So my absence from this page isn't due to a lack of interest. It's just that I'm at the point where I have to prioritize whether I want to write entries or get enough sleep...

I think I can honestly say that I've never been busier than I am at the moment. Granted, having a newborn was a lot tougher than leading the life of career woman/mother of school children/homemaker/yogi/yadayadayada which is why you will never see me being a trendy mother of three! Having small babies was for me just utterly exhausting, albeit well worth the effort, if you know what I mean.

Nowadays it's the art of juggling in combination with the art of logistics that is vital if anything is to get done. In the process some balls must be dropped to the ground in order to keep the rest of them airborne. Funny thing is, for the first time in my life, I'm not feeling completely frazzled, and I think that learning to meditate is finally really starting to pay off.

In yoga literature you read about detachment, non-desire, differentiating between self and mind, but it's so incredibly diffuse in the beginning that you don't know what to make of it. And I definitely didn't see the point of it!

Growing up, I was the hypersensitive (still am), perfectionistic (still am), type-A (not so much now), reactionary (at times) whirlwind type. Note that I "still am" a number of these characteristics. However, I find that more often when faced with adversity, I'm not just living in Sweden - I AM Sweden (neutral, that is...). It's suddenly apparent that crumbs on the kitchen counter is easily remedied, and a cooler version of myself just grabs the dishrag. All the while, I see myself, almost in an out of body experience, from a distance, in a much calmer place than before.

The idea that I am not my thoughts is really starting to ring true, and the liberation that entails is mindboggling.

The fact that I am completely blessed in my life obviously plays a huge role, making it all the more natural to feel contentment despite our typhoon-like schedule: I have a good job that I enjoy, I have my darling children who seem to be doing well in their own life adventures, I have my husband, I have my yoga, I have my home.

If I were lacking in any of those areas, or if I were to lose any of them, I completely accept that I wouldn't necessarily be able to seem as self-assured as I am feeling for now. No kidding that it's easier to be detached if you know that you have the thing you're detaching yourself from! But maybe, just maybe, using the good times to learn more about myself will help me out when the dark times come.

OK, so it wasn't exactly a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, but...

Just think that one can remember the title to a book that Mrs. Joy read to us in the 5th grade. We were then given a written assignment to write our own, similar story that Tony Chemero won, using Jimmy Carter as the hero of the story.

So maybe today wasn't a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, but I'm so glad it's over. It was one of those days when a million little things seemed to go slightly awry. Nothing bad enough to cause a disaster, but put them all together. Things like: getting a late start Monday morning (what a way to start the week), getting overcharged at Mc Donald's (!), telemarketer-calls to my private cell (that I do my best to keep PRIVATE), icy roads, and finally, getting locked out of my e-mail account.

And as irritating as each mishap felt, the fact that I've listed them here and put them on display for all to see is enough - for me to keep it real. Seriously, it's not like I don't know where my next meal is coming from or if I'm going to find shelter for the night. If I want melodramatic, I have a preteen at home who can fill my misery reserves (and then some!).

At the same time, I'm not trying to make myself out to be a saint. Like I said, I'm keeping it real. My mantra today as I pulled into the hotel parking lot was, "I made it through today; let's just get through tomorrow as well."

Puppy love

My cold had me awake at 6 A.M. today - Saturday. To top it off, Mr. Meow doesn't do weekends either, so for him 6 A.M. is breakfast time any day of the week. I got up, found my nose spray, and fed the cat. Everyone else was asleep so I figured I may as well do a morning meditation.

Meditating has gotten so much easier these past months. I wouldn't say it's effortless, but it's not nearly as tedious as it could feel in the beginning with thoughts ricocheting all over the place. This is where I'm at instead today, and most of what I've learned is from the authors Jack Kornfield and Ola Schenström:

- I realize that my body is breathing me. In other words I can just let that action go and occur naturally.

- I don't forbid thoughts and sensations from entering my mind. Instead I recognize them by name. For example, if I'm hungry I say to myself, "Hunger." If I start mauling about something from the past, I say to myself, "Memory." If I start imagining something that has not yet happened, "Future." And those gentle labels are enough to keep me anchored in the moment.

- Being able to separate the thoughts that come from my mind from my meditation is a big step for me. It becomes really apparent that the mind is a part of me, but it's not who I am. Imagining that my mind is more like a playful puppy that has to be reminded to take it down a notch also helps to keep my frustration at bay. (The puppy gets to go to the park to play when I blog instead.)

- Once my puppy settled down, I realized that I so wanted to feel that presence deep within me that appears every now and then. At the same moment I realized that "wanting" that is exactly what will prevent me from experiencing that. Even there, I had to let go. If the presence arose - great.

- If not, it's enough to be still. And even if "nothing" happens, I'll still get the benefit of feeling like I've taken a micronap when I'm done.

Om shanti om.

Picture from google

Wish list with minor obstacles

Completely steered by desire, I know. On the other hand, if you don't know what you want how will you know when you've found it?!

1. Get my son into dance class. During each commercial break on tonight's "Dancing with the Stars", my 7-year-old insisted that we practice our tango along with a little bit of jive. He also has all of Sean Banan's and Squidward's moves down pat.

The challenge: I could probably skip housecleaning yet another weekend and get him to the local dance academy's open house next Saturday; but how will we be able to add yet another activity to our already saturated list? We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, I suppose.

2. Get in both a yogic as well as a cardiovascular workout this weekend.

The challenge: dang cold. Problem most likely solved.

3. Get dolled up and make the most out of this winter's first (and probably last) date night.

The challenge: staying awake past 9 P.M.

4. Help my daughter find age appropriate makeup.

The challenge: getting my daughter to let me help her find age appropriate makeup.

5. Serve warm, delicious homecooked meals (and maybe even prepare something that can be heated up while I'm away next week).

The challenge: If I could just figure out what to make, that alone would make doing this a lot easier.

6. Get to bed on time.

The challenge: Shower? CHECK! Pajamas? CHECK! Get kids into bed? CHECK! Get into bed myself? CHECK!

In other words, "Good night."

The boss

Another thing I had done the evening of December 22nd, after having heard that it was just a matter of time before my friend would pass away, was a mat session. I was alone in the studio, and I dedicated my practice to B; I imagined I was channeling his light, his kindness, his warmth in every move I made.

Afterwards I took a long, hot shower. I sat in the sauna. I was especially aware of my breathing, all too clearly reminded of this fragile link that separates the living from the dead.

So when I left it was late, and I had one more Christmas present left to buy at the supermarket. Pulling into the parking lot, wiht just minutes left before the store would close, all of the sudden "The Streets of Philadelphia" started playing on the radio. Spellbound, I turned off my motor and just sat there, absorbing each note, word, and (heart)beat.



His funeral was on Thursday. Utter sorrow. So many tears. My heart went out to his wife and children. Paradoxically, it was equally beautiful, and a cathartic comfort was brought about, not in the least from the music that was played: Simon & Garfunkel, John Lennon, The Rolling Stones, and finally, Bruce.

That evening, when I got home, I started the car to drive my daughter to the mall. She asked to turn on the radio to a station that plays "good" music.

The first song to be played was "The Streets of Philadelphia".

Benneth: We know that you loved reading. Maybe you'll manage to find this. Throughout six years of cancer, chemo, operations, and hospitalizations, you still managed to call me several times a week to see how I was. So I expect that you will find a way to keep in touch even though you're no longer here. Vila i frid.