Break time!

I've decided to take a break from Yogamamma Exhales in order to start what I hope will be a different kind of blog: Searching for My Puzzle Peace .

Hope to see you there!

Light and love,

Judie

The difference between living somewhere and feeling at home

I moved to Sweden in 1990. It's been 20 years since I met my husband, and we've lived on and off in his hometown for the past 15+ years. On any given day, a walk downtown means frequents stops to greet HIS former schoolmates, workmates, teammates, along with the regular group of friends and acquaintances. On such encounters the normal procedure is that polite introductions are made, I put out my hand and smile, and continue smiling and nodding in silence as they chat briefly before it's time to move on. Throughout the years, my sense of vision has pretty much been put on hold simply because I haven't had nearly as many contacts as him, and thus, there has been no need for me to tune in to those that pass by us on the street.

My New Year's resolution this year, to reach out and broaden my own circle of friends, is one that has really remained present with me for the past 10 months. I have been inspired by book MWF Seeks BFF (which I've mentioned in past entries). Besides that, I am a huge fan of Facebook, which has done loads to help me rekindle old friendships (something that was really made clear at this summer's high school reunion) as well as develop and deepen blossoming friendships here.

The payoff is fantastic. Just yesterday, my lone 1½ block walk between the gym and my car included three warm hugs that left me feeling like I was walking on clouds...

Time for a change?

I'm toying with the idea of retiring this blog and maybe start a new one. It's not that I don't like this one. I took a stroll down memory lane a few weeks ago, reading through past entries, and there's not a single one I would change. And this is coming from someone who's never had much confidence in her writing skills!

The problem is that my "Yogamamma" bar has become too high for me. Since I try to let my inner voice dictate my words (I know that sounds looney, but bear with me), I only write entries with which I feel I can come full circle. I strive to find something concrete for me to grasp onto at the end. A burning desire to tie up any loose ends...

And even though "Yogamamma" is a large part of who I am, I wear a number of other hats as well. Maybe I could learn even more about myself if I include those parts as well? By allowing myself to just be myself and not worry about whether I can land the planes of thought (as opposed to trains of thought) that circle around in my mind? Perhaps if I just put those thoughts out there, shed some light upon them, then maybe at least I will someday be able to make sense of them? Find meaning in them?

But it's a question of having enough confidence to put into writing my points of view at any given moment, knowing that not everyone is going to agree. Making myself vulnerable to criticism has never been my forté, yet I really admire opinionated persons who have no qualms about stating their position. I am soon going to be in a position where sticking my neck out will be a mandatory job requirment, and this would be a good way to get some practice in...

I'm going to give it some more consideration while encouraging myself to embrace the following quote:

Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind. ~Bernard Baruch

Funny, I just came across this one while googling for a picture - coincidence???

Sometimes in the winds of change we find our true direction... ~Anonymous


Light and love.

Hakuna matata

Picture from Google

My daughter has this playing in her room right now as she cleans. Hakuna matata: There are no worries. I don't usually buy into the idea of putting on rose-colored glasses as a way of dodging life's obstacles and challenges and avoiding living up to one's potential. It sort of takes me back to the 80's fad with the whole "Dont worry; be happy" thing going on. To this day, that song makes my stomach turn.

But something weird has been happening to me during the past couple of weeks. There have been on several occasions moments when I, completely out of the blue, notice that I feel...happy...for no apparent reason. And in those moments, Life couldn't be any richer. It's as though the Universe is smiling down on me, and I feel like I'm an intricate part of the Whole.

It's only fair to admit that this is exactly the kind of thing the skeptic in me rolls her eyes at when hearing it from others.Where's the logic? Where's the cause and effect? And most of all, what's the catch?

Then I realize that this is exactly the kind of phenomenon I've read about in countless numbers of self-help books throughout the years (For the record, I have not read The Secret.). Little by little, I've worked at shifting my focus and changing my attitude. Even though I don't meditate as diligently as I'd like (It's on my to-do list.), I believe that that has been a key to this transformation.

It gives me new faith in having...faith.

Happy. Healthy. Whole.

Just a sketch, but this is how I am envisioning the Tree of Life.

Pay it forward? Nope. Time (for me) to pay it back.

There's a belief that one's karma is determined by past actions. So if you want to know how you were doing earlier, look at your life today. If you want to know where you're headed, look at what you're doing with your life today. Simple rules that are not meant to be taken to the extreme. Naturally, a 7-year-old's brain tumor has nothing to do with bad karma!!

Rhetorically, the idea that you can empower yourself to make a positive difference feels so much more enlightening than doing penance for fear of retribution. But I can't honestly say I am in the position to pay anything forward; if I look back on my own good fortune, my path has been paved by the love, support, compassion, and selflessness of both specific as well as nameless individuals. They have been as much my teachers as they've been benefactors, so I feel I owe it to them to make better use of my abundance.

At the start of the new year, I resolved to be more generous in my relationships - something that  has proven to be more rewarding and fulfilling than I ever could have expected. Now it's time to roll up my sleeves and get to work by doing more for those in need, regardless if I know them personally or not. For years I've been telling myself I need to do more than just contribute monthly to my sponsor-children. If there are people willing to dedicate their entire lives to different causes, surely I can tear myself away from the magazine, shopping mall, Internet, or wherever else I am spending my spare time to make an effort to and thereby a difference.

If youngsters can take it upon themselves to perform selfless acts, without any profit to themselves other than the satisfaction of having given unto others, then what possible excuse could I have for not joining them? Besides the fact that I take my hat off to their parents and teachers, they are, to me, the true pay-it-forwarders! RESPECT...

A prayer for giving

Have you ever tried to put on eyeshadow while holding back tears?

The past couple of days have been pretty emotional for me. The past month has brought with it news of people within my personal sphere being stricken both directly and indirectly by cancer: a friend of a friend, a friend from afar, and now, lastly, the child of a friend. I can’t hug any of them from where I am sitting. And I'm feeling so conflicted because I know that I should be praying, but I want to be able to do it in a way that will make a positive difference. In order to give, there must be a receiver. And just how will the receiver be able to accept the gift of prayer if it is given unbeknownst to them?

I’ve written an earlier entry about my hangups when it comes to prayer. No doubt, I have issues when it comes to acceptance. Yes, I understand that there can be no light without darkness, but this degree of random injustice is so distressing. As much as I support the idea that certain things happen for a reason, I draw the line here. I want to file a complaint with someone in charge.

The problem is I don’t see God as a “person”. After all, what role would he portray? The customer service manager for the universe? A switchboard operator who relays messages from pray-er to pray-ee? A call-in DJ waiting for caller #1,937,299,920 to have their wish granted? When I was 10, a friend of mine had followed along with me to church school. To this day, I remember her asking the reverend (this is when we were temporarily Episcopalian), almost pleading, to explain to her why her puppy had to die, even though she had prayed and prayed for its survival? Of course, he had no good answer, at least not one that our 10-year-old logic could grasp. I wonder if whatever he said then would have resonated differently with us now?

Back then, I never questioned the traditions of the Church. Today I follow another kind of ideology. It’s not that I don’t have faith, that I do. I believe in the benevolence of the Universe. I believe in the divinity of the Self and the interconnectedness of all Life. When it comes to pain and tragedy being an intricate part of Life, even if I have been spared the worst Fate has to offer, I still have to look no further than today’s newspaper to understand that it’s everywhere. 

Still, I just can’t wrap my head around that when I’ve decided to NOT accept the adversity, that there is nothing more that I can do than...pray. Even though I’ve recently encountered humbling lessons on acceptance in my yoga, and I understand the necessity of channelling energy productively, I can’t help but to continue to rack my brains every waking moment in an effort to figure out something more that I could be doing.

I've finally compiled short list; you might call it a pretty modest list. But it’s a start.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. ~ Lao-Tzu

Marathon

It's Sunday morning, and outside it is gray and raining. I am sitting on our couch together with my 9-year-old son. I'm on my laptop; he's on his tablet. We're sharing a blanket so I can fell he the heat from his skinny, little body; how is it possible that this little shrimp of mine, with 0% bodyfat, is always so warm??

I know a mother on the other side of the globe. She's a friend, and a fantastic woman. I've known her since we were preteens. She's been in my thoughts all night long. She, too, has a little boy, even younger than mine.

Now my cursor is just blinking at me, urging me to continue.

It seems they've discovered her child has a brain tumor, and their lives will never be the same again.

If just typing those words is enough to scare the daylights out of me (and trust me, my ego is madly coaxing me to delete the above sentence), what can she and her family possibly be experiencing?

The other night my husband and I were about to watch "Along Came Polly..." on TV. That's pretty much the only kind of movie I can handle nowadays. Before the movie began, an ad for an upcoming documentary was shown; it was about bullying from the young victims' point of view. For me, it was 30 seconds of heartbreak as I nearly started crying for two reasons: the unfairness of it all, and my inability to just grab onto those kids and hold them like there's no tomorrow.

That's exactly how I am feeling now, except the tragedy is happening to someone I both know and care deeply about. But what can I possibly do to relieve their burden? Is there anyway to alleviate such pain, even for a moment?

All I can think to say is that this mom has one quality that I don't have. She's a long distance runner (while her feet might have another opinion, that's her passion and a large part of who she is). See, I've never had that. I remember when I first came to Sweden and was invited to go on walks outdoors, my first thoughts were, "Where are we going?" and "When we will get there?". Long distance runners aren't like that. They take on the challenge of pushing their limits, and the most successful ones are the ones who acknowledge the difficulty, the pain, and yet they go on.

The great ones know that it's about continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

I'm here for you, SJ.

Hurt back is not all bad

Ahhh, living room turned sanctuary...

The clock on the computer reads 7:52. It's Saturday, and I am alone in our house. Any other day, maybe I would not have been doing a backflip, but you would probably have found me on my mat doing some serious backbends while basking in the peace and quiet. That's not going to happen today seeing as I am still recovering from having thrown my back out the other day. Just tying my shoes is a feat worthy of an Olympic medal.

At another point in my life, this situation would have me wallowing in throes of selfpity. I would have felt abandoned by my husband who is out racing his horse. I would have written list upon list in my head of everything I wanted to do but couldn't given my present condition. I would have been gritting my teeth fearing that all I've learned from my 13-year practice would disintegrate in the handful of days I would unable to exert myself physically. I would have shaken my fist at the ironic fate of having spent hours last weekend doing extensive hip openers, only to misjudge my newly found spinal range of motion a mere two days later, which is exactly how I ended up with this injury.

Instead, I'm ok with it.

What makes yoga different than my years of tedious exercise rituals is the training of the mind along with the body. And, yes, that, too, takes practice and dedication. Certain things fall into place at once while other hard-earned lessons come about only after I've gotten tired of making the same old mistakes over and over and over again.

I experienced one of my biggest a-ha moments a few years ago during my yoga for pregnancy course. The ob-nurse walking us through the delivery process (like I didn't know, having been-there, done-that, TWICE) stopped me in my tracks when she said that regardless of how much pain a woman experiences during a contraction, it will pass. It doesn't last forever, just as with everything else in life, she continued on saying. You could have knocked me over with a feather on the spot. It's been my #1 mantra ever since.

The other lesson acting as my pillar, or rather, more like my crutch today, is one on acceptance. I admit that the idea of acceptance is something that I have struggled with throughout the years. Not when it comes to tolerance, but rather when it's about me and my life story. I feared that accepting the negative could be equated with surrendering, giving up, like a dog rolling onto its back to expose its belly. Last weekend, at the same workshop where I found the new depths in my hips, my yoga teacher offered the idea of acceptance as a marker for your present state. From there, you have your "square one", a starting point from which you can move forward.

Just because it sounds simple doesn't necessarily make it easy, at least not for me, but I am grateful for the times when I feel the shroud is lifted, the clouds have parted, and the joy of finally "getting it" warms my heart and mind like rays of sunshine.

Quite frankly, it's kind of nice to have this morning, on my own, and for once not feel obligated to roll out my mat.

"Suck" means sigh in Swedish



Picture from Google



Lift stomach, lower tail. Lift stomach, lower tail. Lift stomach, lower tail.

This is my mantra. Every. Single. Day.

Except for one infinitesimal moment today.

When I worked as a sales rep I moved much larger pieces of equipment in and out of my van time and time again, and not once did I forget this golden rule. However, today I wasn't solo; I was helping another rep. And the model to be moved out of the car was the smallest version. I didn't even have to bend over. And I guess this was enough to make me relax...

The end I was supposed to lift just a smidgin' to help it roll over the ramp threshold wasn't even off the ground when I felt that indeniable tug in the small of my back. In less than an instant, I released my grip. I swore to myself and hoped that maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Why isn't there a rewind-delete function for such idiotic mistakes? As soon as I returned to my hotel room, I pumped myself with Advil, took a hot shower, and sprawled out on my bed wishing for a miracle. But my well intended attempts to reverse the process were in vain; the damage, I knew, was already done.

Alas, I must grudgingly admit that the 4-day pause from my yoga due to travelling will undoubtedbly be prolonged. Which is just so freaking typical after having treated myself to three days of mindblowing, eye-(and body)-opening yoga for my teacher Josephine.

*SUCK*

You can't take it with you

I've been "grubbling" alot lately. To "grubble" means in Swedish to be stuck mentally in a somewhat melancholy, puzzled state - you know, the kind that makes you go around muttering incoherently to yourself; the only difference being that you mutter about in silence.

It has to do with the autumn. This year's gone so quickly (again). It's been nearly six months since we were in Florida. The summer months and time off from work have drawn to an end. The only thing left before winter once again is unleashed upon us are, at best, a few weeks of crisp air and fall colors that seem to come and go at will. So when I was out walking last weekend, my head was spinning like crazy. I felt like I had to take it all in. Senses set on overload. Musn't miss a moment, a breath. Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I was determined to TAKE EVERY LAST DETAIL IN, DANG IT! Something like this: Look! Blue sky! Listen! Birds chirping! Wind in leaves! Look and Listen! A flock of geese heading south (gulp)! Focus! Feel your footsteps! Smell the soil from the harvested fields! Hurry up! Notice your breath, your heartbeats! All this, so that I might have something to fall back on and wrap around myself like a quilted comforter while I await the light of spring's return.

Needless to say, the ratio of pleasure and stress was about 50-50.

So I contemplated this mystery in meditation. I thought somewhat defensively, "I was under the impression that this is how I was supposed to practice santosha (contentedness)? By acknowledging the wonders of nature... By appreciating my abundance... By recognizing that I am a tiny part of the infinite whole... So why am I feeling more anxious than fulfilled?!"

Then my Silence spoke to me. While taking in all the universe has to offer is the right way to go, the pleasure associated with it is meant to reinforce my conviction that I am exactly where I should be - at that particular moment... Instead I've been like the person, heck, I AM the person, who wastes their vacation making sure all the perfect pictures are taken so that we can have the memories as keepsakes. It's no different than the rich man who's determined to bring his fortune with him into heaven, a feat even more difficult than a camel going through the eye of a needle. Memories cannot be a surrogate for joy. This is what my silence told me. So I asked, "Well, what do I then, when life is dark, dreary, and allover depressing?!"

"You seek out the positive from that particular moment, so that you can again experience the same happiness you felt on your autumn walks." In other words, memories really won't help me then anyhow, so I shouldn't bother wasting energy wishing I was somewhere else.

Then I saw this sign a week later in Stockholm.

Well played, Silence, well played.

Baby Krishna and Bette Midler

Today, my mat session was dedicated to the sneaky, butter-stealing, and forever charming baby Krishna - the one who gets into trouble yet somehow manages to melts one's heart with his sweetness. His playful mischief is more a result of innocent curiousity rather any sort of animosity. So I decided to focus on playing with expansion today and reminded myself that having fun is just as important as having good technique...

In the background, Spotify-shuffle was my d.j. The exact moment it was time for Savasana, one of my favorite ballads of all time started to play. It took me back to my childhood and my adolescence, and I was struck with an enormous sense of gratitude to all my friends from way-back-when. It's been both an honor and a pleasure to have been able to know you. You will always be my heroes, whose beautiful qualities to this day continue inspire me.

And would you believe that there are even a few Republicans included in in that list... (Sorry, I couldn't resist; and yes, I'm joking!)

Love to you all.

Fall

Driving home from Denmark this past Friday, I noticed how the leaves on the birches along the highway were already spotted with yellow. "It's still August," I thought to myself with a slight cringe. Grin and bear it, I guess.

However, truth be told, I love the fall. I can't help it. As much as I've grown to dislike winter (and fall is the undeniable sign that winter soon will be upon us) nothing is more seductive to me than crisp, fall air. Today while P and I were out walking in the woods, a nearly overwhelming feeling of simultaneous warmth and sorrow washed over me, and I got all "verklempt" (Yes, as in Linda Richman from "Coffee Talk" verklempt). For my Swedish friends, it means I got all choked up.

The same thing, every year. As soon as the first signs of autumn arrive, I get all choked up. I've never been able to figure out why, but today something dawned on me. I had dreamt last night that I was about to die, perhaps due to some illness, I'm not sure. Anyhow, the only thing that mattered was for me to write letters to my husband and children telling them just how much I loved them. And despite my sadness, it was those feelings of love and my determination to express that love that were still present when I finally woke up and realized with a sigh relief that it was just a dream. I immediately curled up behind my husband, ever so grateful for the warmth from his body.

I've read accounts written by cancer survivors who proclaim a newfound appreciation for life as a result of their upclose and personal experience with crisis, finity, and mortality. According to them, they are now able savor each breathing moment more than they did before, a kind of rebirth and/or awakening, you might say.

I think that it the reason why the coming of fall affects me the way it does. While I am reminded that yet another year is drawing towards a close, I realize on another level that the passage of time is inevitable, and since there is only a short span of time left to enjoy the sight, sound, and smell of grass and leaves then there's really no time to be lost, least of all by fretting. Instead I have to get out there and enjoy it as much as I can.

With all due respect, I am in no way equating the comparison of a changing of seasons to the plight persons fighting for their survival face. And while I would never dream of saying that I can even begin to understand what it is they go through, there is still something to be learned by the lessons they offer on not only surviving, but on living as well.

Oh, ME of little faith...

Picture from Google

I am still working on venturing outside of my comfort zone.

On the one hand, I want to keep making an honest effort to be more generous with random acts of love and kindness to those around me. It's become apparent that my biggest obstacle there is once again the fear that I'll screw it up somehow. Can you believe that? Wouldn't you say that the likelihood of someone being somehow offended by a humble act of kindness is about as realistic as me informing my child who's made, say, a Mother's Day card that their drawing is sub-par? Am I right?! But honestly, I believe that my unreletting fear of making mistakes and of what others might think is what keeps me from giving more of myself to others.

Then there's the other side of the spectrum within my comfort zone - one that I temporarily exited yesterday. This is where I give a perfect stranger a piece of my mind. She was rude, and I called her on it. For once I didn't just look the other away because that would be like signaling that inconsideration to other people is OK, and it's just not. Still, my heart was pounding, and I had to struggle to remain calm, because I am the worst when it comes to these kind of confrontations. Surprisingly enough (yes, I'm being sarcastic here), she didn't agree with me at all, and this is why I usually don't bother saying what I think since I know it won't make a lick of difference. That and me being terrified of making a fool out of myself. But I didn't back down. And I remained civil. However, the flight-reaction of my sympathetic nervous system really let me know how far of a stretch it often is for me to stand up for what I believe is right without coming across as a nervous wreck.

For whatever reason, in cases like these, I put others' feelings above my own.

Is it because I don't trust myself enough?

Or is it that I don't value my own set of personal values?

Or could it be that the problem is that I am my harshest critic; in other words, I am the one who's incapable of forgiving myself for my own shortcomings?

When will I learn that if my intentions are pure, and my actions are consistent and earnest, that I won't have to worry about the consequences - regardless? Seriously, how much cool stuff could I replace all this fear with, now that I've become so much more aware of it?

Chemical warfare

Mmmmm, a banana barge.
(I remember making these when I
 worked at Carvel as a teenager!)

I am being put to the test this week. Even though I haven't been travelling, there are a number of assignments that I have been working hard on. A lot is riding on them, so I've been weighing each word, slide, and sales argument with "a golden scale" (Swedish expression). The stakes have gotten higher, and at the same time, I know for certain that not all of my attempts are going to be successful. I will in fact be falling flat on my face from time to time, now more than ever.

This results in me turning into a nuclear reactor with steadily rising toxic levels. The demands I place upon myself in combination with my fear of failure turn me into a poster-child for stress reactions. Yoga has taught me to recognize the signals: burning sensation in my gut, increased pressure on my chest, heart pumping faster, tension in jaws, and an acidic taste in my mouth. It's like I can envision the release of adrenaline into my veins, that in turn leads to a heavy shower of cortisol being poured out into my system. If this keeps up, my insuline levels could be affected which opens an even greater Pandora's box of health ailments.

So what can I do? No, seriously, what should I do?!

This is how I am attempting to remedy the situation in a true trial & error fashion:

• Try to create harmony when possible, but above all, be more accepting when things aren't exactly the way I want them to be = be less reactive.
• Remember that when I get upset about something, that my feelings only make up one perspective; there are probably a million other ways to read a situation.
• Recognize that when I am starting to stress, I can be grateful for my practice that has taught me to be more attuned to what my body is communicating to me.
• Accept that I am going to fail, and that it won't be the end of the world. There's something to be said about having enough faith to realize that things will still somehow work themselves out in the end, as long as my intentions and efforts are true.
• Remember what's important in life.

One things that's been helping me a lot the past couple of months, is that when I roll out my mat, I pour out everything into my practice. If I'm stressed, I offer that. If I'm angry, I offer that. If I'm frustrated, I offer that. If I'm exhausted, I offer that. Sometimes, I offer all of the above.

And when all else fails, there's always ice cream.

Om shanti om. Peace to you all.

Wanted: Positive motivation

Picture from Google

While doing yoga yesterday, I wondered what I was feeling right then and there. What was motivating me?

The answer: fear. *Dang it!*

Fear is my strongest motivator. Fear of regret. Fear of what could happen if missing this session led to a snowball-effect of more missed sessions. Fear of how my ageing body would handle the ageing process if I didn't practice (I found out two years ago that I have a hole in the cartilage of one knee, and I suspect the other knee is not any better.). And when Fear comes around, it brings along its siamese twin Worry. Next to my Should-dos, Fear/Worry are the most present actors in my mind.

Should I ignore my fear? Does this mean I yoga for the wrong reason if I succumb to it? I may be wrong, but fear sometimes get a bad rap because it's not like it doesn't serve a purpose. Seriously, if I could lie on the couch and eat Ben & Jerry's all day without gaining an ounce, chances are my yoga mat would end up on e-bay faster than you could say "Half-Baked". What Fear/Worry do is remind me that the consequences of MY choices are MY doing. And my fear of regretting a missed mat session because I don't feel like it arises because experience has taught me that I will feel better 99.99999% of the time if I just do it. That's not so much worry as it is intuition or just plain lessons learned from the school of been-there-done-that!

Regardless if it's true fear, intuition, or empiric knowledge, I've still given these emotions too much power. Yes, they get me to do arm-balances and backbends that aren't always the most comfortable, but they cheer me on in the wrong way. They taunt me with daydreams about a future I know nothing about and lure me into the trap of rehearsing unhappiness (something I brought up in an earlier post). And that energy, that on the surface may seem to be moving me forward, in fact, is keeping me from being present.

Because when I in the middle of my session yesterday finally took a moment to notice myself and my surroundings: rays of sunlight peeking through blinds, the smell of the wooden floor, the beautiful Lotus flower mural before me, my heart open and lifted in extended mountain pose, I realized that THIS is where I should be.

In the words of Baron Baptiste, "If you aren't NOW HERE, you are NOWHERE!"

Multiple personalities



Picture from Google

 Sometimes I have more personalities than the Sally Field character from the movie "Sybil" (I think she had 16 or so). Today was a gloomy day both inside and out. It actually felt like the black clouds filled to the brim with cold and heavy raindrops were inside my heart. Your typical pity party. I learned while taking a class in improving my patience last year that that melancholy inner being is a part of my inner child, the part that doesn't feel she received enough love and validation when she was young.

You don't have to watch many episodes of Dr. Phil to realize that there's a myriad of people who didn't get what they needed while growing up. His advice in these situations is that we as individuals sometimes have to give ourselves that which we did not receive from, say, our parents. Another part of me, that which I call my silence since she only makes herself heard when I am still (usually in meditation), thinks that's mighty sound advice. My silence seems to exist outside of myself, and I wonder at times if she's what Buddhists consider to be spirit? In any case, my silence is the soothing voice of reason that reiterates all the tokens of wisdom I try to pick up here and there. She's never condescending, but she doesn't exactly take command either. So when I'm blue, she reminds me to be mindful, that it's ok to be blue, that it will eventually pass, and that seen from another perspective, maybe things aren't so bad. It's sort of a spiritual "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning."

Yoga is my aspirin. But it's a tough bottle to open. I have to convince my physical body to be willing to subject itself to something my ego really isn't up for. My ego coaxes my body to pull the covers over my head. But then good sense puts on her coach cap and whistle and says, "Let's give it a shot first before we give up." My intellectual self knows that if my physical body manages to get moving, then the endorphine rush that follows physical exertion might be enough to get the storm front to pass. But my good sense has to be smart about it. She has to be willing to let me lose my focus now and again, encourage me to choose modifications, and graciously allow me to slowly ease into my session.

Nice to be able to enjoy only party cloudy skies now.

Namaste.

Stuck in the 80's

Picture from Google

My husband sometimes jokes about it being high time to exchange my forty-plus-self for a couple of younger, hotter 20-something-dolls. Lucky for me he's a high school teacher, so by the end of every school year, he's had it with hormone-ridden teenagers.

There is, however, another kind of glue that helps us stick together. That is, despite the fact we grew up in different cultures on opposite sides of the Atlantic, we both come from the same generation; so we still, in fact, share a lot of common ground. And although we've both changed immensely since our teen-years, our adolescence was still the time when we were most impressionable as we sought out to find and define ourselves as individuals. And our music served as a beacon (perhaps misguided at times) while we fumbled around in the dark. The power of that music, that separated me and my peers from my parents' generation, was the first, sure step towards our emancipation. I think that's why I still crank up the volume everytime an 80's song pops up on the radio; it takes me back to a time when anything was possible, and we were the ones who were going to conquer the world.

But who wants to be a lone conquerer? At the same time, we longed to belong and still do, to this day. For me and P, listening to 80's music or watching a brat-pack film together is one way for us to connect while keeping us young at heart.

"If you've never failed, you've never tried anything new."

I've made a real effort the past couple of days to do more of my "should-dos", and it's gone pretty well. I've even gone out on a limb a couple of times and tried to do the opposite of what I normally do. This is a rare course of action for me since leaving my comfort zone inevitably makes me feel vulnerable. And when I'm feeling vulnerable, my deep-seeded fear of failure makes itself known. Mostly I fear doing something wrong. Ridiculous, I know, since I do things wrong all the freakin' time. Still, I have a knack for chastising myself whenever I think I've screwed up.

Today, I rolled out my mat after my Tuesday had gone from good to really frustrating. Since I knew my motivation wasn't on top, I decided to play my teacher's DVD for the first time. I was even going to do the sequence that I had learned during my advanced teacher training, but have since avoided like the plague for fear of having to acknowledge that my body wouldn't be capable of assuming various positions. Turns out I was right. Whether it's because my arms are too short, my hips are too stiff, and/or my waist that is voluminous, I just couldn't bind myself in most of this program's forward folds. But instead of feeling defeated, I felt OK. To be honest, it hadn't gone as badly as I feared. There were even some moves that I was surprised I was able to do. And for once, I didn't feel that my lack of success had any reflection on me personally.

Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project was the first one to get me to really reflect on this subject when she wrote about challenging herself to find fun in failure. By the way, I am lightyears from ever taking failure lightheartedly. But something else struck me that I read on her blog tonight; it was a comment from a reader who had formulated her own "commandment": Don't rehearse unhappiness. Wow. It's amazing the impact just a few words can have, because these hit me like a ton a bricks. The volumes of dialogue and scenes that I have played out in my mind, doing exactly this. I'm talking about daydreams that make Ingemar Bergman seem like a regular Pollyanna. Now I have a new commandment, too.

I am also thankful for George Takei's FB post on "Famous Failures" from earlier today, which also offered wise thoughts and an alternative take on this whole failure thing.

Should-do lists



Picture from Google



At least 85% of my thoughts are comprised of ever-looming should-do lists. Naturally, each and every point should be placed on the much more prestigious "to-do" list, but since I never seem to get any of them done on a regular basis, well, then, that sort of ends that discussion.

When I started listing these items one by one, it soon struck me that one list alone wouldn't suffice. There are, in fact, just as many categories of should-do lists as there are should-do tasks! 

A sample of categories off the top of my head:

1. Things I should-do for my personal well-being

2. Things I should-do to keep get my home in order.

3. Things I should-do to be better organized for work.

4. Things I should-do to be a better mother

5. Things I shoud-do to be a better wife.

6. Things I should-do to be a better friend.

*sigh* It's no wonder I feel so inefficient...

Being the self-help junkie that I am, I firmly believe that making conscious, healthy choices is the key to leading a happy life. At the same time, the stress of living up to such high standards is enough to suffocate anyone. Let's say I was going to dedicate all my time and energy to completing the first list, things I should-do for my personal well-being, then this is how a day in my life would be:

 

1. I would meditate.

2. I would take a long, morning walk.

3. I would wear nice (i.e. ironed) clothes. with done-up hair and made-up face.

4. I would do some yoga, or some other kind of work out.

5. I would take a shower and spend an hour in the sauna.

6. I would blog.

7. I would paint.

8. I would make healthy meals from scratch.

9. And of course, I would be in bed by 9:30 P.M.

 

Ok, so I am exaggerating to some extent, but deep down, this is no joke. Note that items such as facebook, shopping, and café-visits aren't even on the list, since this enlightened life I strive for is supposed to be down-scale. Yeah, right.

 

On the other hand, truth be told, I usually manage to find more than enough time to facebook, while my bursting closets tell the tale of a girl who never turns down the chance to save on clearance! Is it then possible to redirect at least some of the time used on mindless and/or useless acitivities to doing things that may require more effort, but would feel more enriching? And manage to do it without feeling like I'm stressing myself towards an early grave?

 

Then maybe a number of my should-dos could be promoted to to-dos.

 

And maybe, just maybe, even make the nirvanic been-there-done-THAT-list.

Summer daze

It's 9 P.M. For once, I am just sitting quietly alone in our easy chair by an open window. It's dusk; the sky is a mix of light pink and blue and lined with purple clouds. A lone grasshopper is putting on a solo act in the bushes (my crickets substitute).

At another point in my life, I may not have allowed myself the luxury of just being here, enjoying this moment. Are there other things I could be doing? Absolutely. How about that meditation practice that I've managed put on hold? Still on hold. Because, you know what? For now, I'll settle for being mindful and enjoy the sweetness of Santosha, the social discipline of contentment. Change that - right or wrong, I prefer it.

As always, there's work that could be done, clothes that need to be folded, projects that I promised myself would be started. But luckily for me and my indulgent, lazy self, there's enough of a household system at work that I can feel a small sense of order in our surroundings - far from perfect, but enough to keep me from going into a guilt-ridden rage of straightening up. Have my standards sunk so low? Probably to some degree. But most of all, I feel like there's more space around me, within me, so that the pressures normally associated with seemingly endless to-do lists lose their steam.

I start back to work in a few days. The two major private projects I was going to tackle while I was on vacation were never even started. But tonight, in this moment, whether I'm right or wrong, I couldn't care less.

Homecoming

As I drove into my hometown of New Milford, CT, nearly two weeks ago (incredible how fast time passes), I started off feeling both anxious and even a bit disheartened as I swerved to avoid potholes while noticing a number of older houses in various stages of deterioration. A sense of surrealism arose as the nostalgic good had to compete with the honest reality of how things actually were today.

Upon my return to the very enviroment that had shaped me, I could only wonder how much of my past defined who I was today? After all, I returned as an entirely different person, complete with new views, experiences, and references. How would the new me feel about the hometown I paradoxically cherished while I planned my escape as fast as I humanly could after high school? And what about the warm feelings of belonging that were washing over me at the familiarity of it all? Were they authentic? Or was I grasping at some innate desire to believe that no matter where I end up in life, I would at least always have some roots here?

And as far as the imperfections I was picking up on went, would I put on the rose-colored blinders of selective memory or instead scowl at the wear of this typical New Englad town, for it not staying in better shape? Even though anyone who has read yoga 101 knows that change is inevitable, could I just once wish for some things to remain the same? And why, in that case, would I want them to?

The whole reason for my visit was to attend my 25th high school reunion, so it was only natural that thoughts of my past made themselves even more present than usual. Soon after my arrival, I started meeting the people I had known from "way back when", and from the very first hug my initial, puzzling thoughts ceased to exist.  And yes, I'll admit that one of the reasons for this trip was in the hopes of receiving the approval of my peers, a check in the old "you turned out ok" box, as though I was being put to a test. As it turned out, this was a desire from the ghost of my insecure youth, since any nervousness and worrying that there would be any awkwardness in meeting old friends and acquaintances dissolved in an instant. After three days of lunches, workouts, and reunions, I was on cloud nine.

I hadn't realized until then that we were just kids in our so-called former lives. For whatever reason I was still relying on the thoughts and ideas from the 16-year-old-me, the one who blazenly believed she had it all figured out at the same time she felt she didn't fit in anywhere. After all, 1½ lifetimes had passed since we had last been in touch (relatively speaking). And of the roles I assigned myself and others, most of them self-imposed fantasies of what I thought everyone else was thinking, only the occasional shadow remained. And honestly, even those would have probably disappeared as well if there had been enough time to really shine some light upon them.

Everyone I met at the reunion contributed equally to its joyous success. I don't recall having ever been at such a fun party, where we all felt like equals. As nice as reminiscing along Memory Lane might be, nothing goes up against the amazing pleasure of loving everything and everyone in the shared present moment.

Unsnarling

A month ago, I was fortunate enough to squeeze in a yoga class for my teacher Josephine Selander while in Stockholm for work. As always, the session was equal parts joy and sweat. As always, Jossan had to remind me about the clenching of my jaws and subsequent snarl that appears when I'm overly focused on "getting it right". It's a tick I've had as long as I can remember, and none that I've ever really addressed.

Until now.

The past weeks have been devoted to erasing my grimace. I've decided it's time I trust my skills enough to allow myself the luxury of letting go once I'm in a pose. Instead of constantly judging my progress, tediously adjusting and readjusting, I've decided that that the time has come for me to start having enough faith in myself to accept that what I'm doing is good enough and then follow it up by letting go.

So far, it's going better than I expected. I've started urging myself gently to smooth out the skin on my face. Instead of striving to create perfect symmetry, I search for ways to experience lightness, and air, and contentment, as well as happiness and fun. Does it make my moves look better? I have no friggin' idea. But I feel like I'm onto something here, although I still have a long way to go.

After my mat session yesterday, it dawned on me that I've never once attempted using the concept of "moksha" (=freedom/liberation) as a theme to my practice. Frankly, the reason is that the idea of freedom intimidates me (=freaks me out), since it's something I equate with relinquishing control. A truly scary thought for me. This has made me come to realize that I really have some serious trust issues, not only when it comes to other people, but even when it comes to my feelings towards the universe.

Yes, I will continue to believe that I myself am responsible for forming my own destiny. But somewhere along the line, I need to figure out how to grant myself enough freedom to enjoy it.

What I wish for my kids...

Sometimes when I'm daydreaming, I get flashbacks as to how I was  just as I was starting to wean myself from my childhood home.  Finally free, at last, I would have a voice.  Alas, I would soon find out the hard way that I knew absolutely nada about communication, least of all with myself.  I literally shudder at the thought of what I put my old boyfriends through, up until and including my husband during our first years together.  Somehow, I was under the impression that it was, after having grown up in a family of seven, MY TURN to have things MY WAY. Suffice it to say, I had no coping strategies whatsoever to utilize when faced with the inevitable mishaps and shortcomings that are basically everyone's fate at this stage of life, which left me pretty much going beserk on a regular basis.  Not a pretty sight, and one that I wish I could delete from my memory bank.

I've never been completely cured of this innate desire to be in control (and in the right), nor can I, with a clear conscience, claim to be a particularly "patient" person. Luckily, yoga and meditation have been my most important schools throughout the past few years, and I have been slowly noticing more and more progress in my way of reacting to adversity, especially during these past few months. I find that my breathing remains more calm even during stressful situations. I understand that getting angry will only make things worse. I've even come to the realization that "I" am not my feelings, and that when I act out, I am only shadowing my true self.

When do I most easily forget how to be yogic? When my kids "forget" to set the table. Or when they don't have their things ready when it's time to go to school. When they ask for D, right after having been given A, B, and C! That list goes on, but I've made it my personal mission to take my control obsession down more than just a few notches, so that they won't have the same mute start in life that I had. Easier said than done.

That's why I've taken to a slightly odd parenting method. See, I have this thing for self-help programs: "You Are What You Eat", "The Dog-Whisperer", "Lyxfällan (The Luxury Trap)", "Property Ladder", but my absolute favorite is: "Mary, Queen of Shops" (I am simply mad about Mary!). And more than that, I love watching these shows with my kids (who seem to have inherited my passion for these kinds of shows) because it gives them a chance to see that if we don't get it right, right off the bat, then you're given the opportunity and possibility to learn, develop, and change. In other words, it's OK to be wrong and ask for help. But YOU have to do the work if you want things to change for the better.

I want more than anything for my children to realize that life doesn't just "happen to them". If they are to leave this nest in the next 5-10 years (gulp), then I want them to know that they can be in control of their decisions, and thereby their happiness. And if they screw up, then they can decide to make a better, more informed decision the next time around.

In the words of Ilyana Vanzant (that have been my mantra for the past 13 years), "When you know better, you do better."

Supermoon & Supermen

Last week we were visited by the "Supermoon" which shone in all its glory across a cloudless, indigo sky when I went to bed that evening.

I had a normal enough night's sleep. My husband snuck out around 5 A.M. to work the morning shift at IKEA, and since it was Sunday, I was able to sleep in until about 7:30. I got up and made the kids my signature pancakes and bacon breakfast and went about my business throughout the day.

While doing my yoga practice that afternoon, I was playing my nostalgic Spotify list on shuffle when all of the sudden, All That Jazz started crooning "How Can I Fall?". And in an instant, I was completely aware of a dream that I had had earlier that morning, shortly before I awoke. In it, I was visited by four men who have, each in their own way, had a profound impact on me and the course of my life.

The first was my Teacher. The best one I ever had. The one that without criticism taught me that I needed to learn to channel my thoughts onto paper by applying myself. The one whose eyes conveyed that he, if fact, believed in his students, and whose quiet smile and pauses spoke more volumes than the teachers who had chosen a more vocal and forcefeeding method of teaching. I don't recall what we spoke of in my dream. But I do remember how he made me feel so very validated through his tacit approval.

The next person is the one that I was always think of when I hear the aforementioned song. The Best Friend taken from us by a queer twist of fate. And on the occasions that he visits me in my dreams, I am so overwhelmed with joy and love upon seeing him. It's like I can't hold onto him hard enough.

After that, my Husband shows up, but just in passing. Again, there's no "plot", and barely any dialogue. Still, I am reminded of our unique bond and intertwined souls.

Finally, the Workmate/Friend appears. The one so full of himself, that never hesitates to speak his mind, yet he does it in such an unapologetic, charming manner, that I can't help but love him. We made a great team. We understood each other without having to always agree with each other. Above all, we will always respect each other deeply, and that's why he's one of the few that I feel I can really trust.

All in all, the dream probably lasted more like seconds than minutes. But it has stayed with me in the days that have followed. I am genuinely thankful for the crossing of our paths.

Recurring nightmare

As I child and far up into adolescence, I used to have nightmares about snakes. I can still recall waking up with feelings of utter helplessness combined with complete terror. I really hate snakes, to say the least. The difference is that when I dream about them today, I am able to focus on remaining calm in order to find the nearest escape route. And it works. So you would think I was making progress...

But that which scares me even more nowadays, that which several times a week has me waking up completely on edge and out of breath , is.....that I am about to miss a flight. The scenario constantly replaying itself in my psyche is that I suddenly realize my flight is embarking in, say, 5 minutes. Meanwhile, I am still at home or at a hotel and supposed to be on my way home, completely disoriented. Nothing is packed. I can't find my passport. I move in slow motion as though I were swimming in molasses as I vainly attempt to manuever myself out of the room, with an increasing sense of panic that slows me down even more.

Often times, enough time has elapsed to realize my flight most likely has taken off, but I continue steadfastly on, pulse pounding and stress hormones trickling out of my ears, in the feeble hope that my plane by some miracle has been delayed.

Last night, just to spice things up, the trip involved my husband and kids as well, and no one was even near ready. To top it off, my mother kept calling me, since I had apparently booked her ticket to wherever it was we were headed, and she was missing the last four digits of her reservation number. I promised that I would e-mail it to her just as soon as we hung up, which I immediately forgot to do. So she calls me back, once, twice, and finally tells me they won't let her on the plane without those numbers (which I still hadn't looked up, and now we were hopelessly late ourselves, and I couldn't locate the computer that I also knew was already shut down).

Besides the stressful, mental breakdown I encounter everytime I have this dream, I also find myself experiencing feelings of deep shame for causing this, in my eyes, uneeded failure. I absolutely hate doing wrong that which I feel I could have and should have done right.

I think I just need to miss a flight at some point, for real, so that I once and for all can realize that it wouldn't mean the end of the world. Otherwise, in the words of Voltaire, I am yet again letting "the perfect (be) the enemy of the good."

Mental Tourette's

Not exactly a cheery title, but it's a recurring pattern I want to break. On the outside, I have gotten much better at keeping my cool. Still, for whatever reason, my stress threshold is mighty low, so every time something happens that isn't what I want to happen, curse words start flailing about in my mind. Maybe it's a way of letting off some steam, in order to prevent a complete breakdown?

Even so, is having to get up to answer the phone just after I sit down any reason to become irritated? So what if the car in front of me wants to drive 5 miles under the speed limit? Is is really a huge inconvenience to have to rearrange the pillows on the couch to suit the way I want them to be?

Really, who do I think I am?

My body's not liking it one bit, either. E-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e t-i-m-e something starts to get me riled up, I get riled up (like, duh?!). My stomach knots and my chest tightens. Yay me, for being better at identifing signals; shame on me for not being more accepting. I think it's because I am feeling more driven, both with work and myself. And being driven is tiring.

In meditation I was wondering if I should take a break from yoga. I thought I would come to the conclusion that it was time to let go a little from my practice. I was genuinely surprised when my silence answered, "staying fit is part of the discipline". How true, I thought. Acquiesence isn't the solution either.

Or if it is, I'm not there yet. So far, I've recogized my problem. I've decided I want to change it. F-i-n-a-l-l-y, I've taken the time to sit down and write about it. (It amazes me every time, the calming effect writing has even when I feel no direct pride in what I am conveying.)What would my namesake Yogamamma suggest?

She would probably tell me to take a breath instead of swearing. I'll give it a shot.

April 3, 1999

Easter Saturday. Outside the hospital window, I can see the sun is shining as a Swedish flag dances in the gusty wind. At 1:59 P.M., my first-born arrives, and it's a girl.

There have been 12 other birthdays since, accompanied by 8 others thanks to the arrival of our son four years later. Having been probably the world's worst at a) being pregnant and b) giving birth, I have never longed for a third child. And as they have grown, I have never even experienced the bittersweetness often associated with the realization that the baby years are over, followed by the toddler years, preschool years, and so on.

Until today.

She is beautiful - my daughter. Her inner light glows far beyond her years. I wish for nothing more than her feeling confident enough to grab onto Life by its horns and explore every avenue she wishes. Yet earlier this morning, lying in her bed with her head resting on my chest in the same manner it did just moments after she took her first breath, I could hear the slight cracking of my heart. I see pictures hanging on our walls, portraying the different phases of her life up until now, and I know all I can do is try to accept the inevitable passage of time.

P.S. I know I am supposed to be grateful and happy for my tremendous good fortune, and I am! But if a girl can't wallow a little in self-pity in her own blog, then just when can she wallow, for God's sake?!

Doing my part for Danish democracy!

So I'm sitting at Kastrup's (Copenhagen Airport) Starbuck's (big surprise, not) sipping on a grande Chai Tea Latte (suprise, for real!). Just didn't feel like having coffee, even though I got up at 4:30 this morning for my flight out of Amsterdam. Back to the topic - anyhow, I have just put my foot ever so discreetly up on the chair next to mine, hoping no one would notice, and no sooner do I settle back when I am approached by a (pretty handsome) uniformed guy (who reminded me of Johnny from the Danish TV show "Mordkommissionen").

He asks if I speak Danish, and I answer that I speak Swedish as I lower my foot back to the floor. Taking no notice of my civil disobedience, he continues to explain that he is with the Danish police, and as such, he dutifully flashes his badge, as though I would know a real one from a fake one. Still, this is the first time a badge has been flashed before me, so now I'm curious as to where this conversation is leading...

He's holding a gym bag, and I catch only about half of what he is saying, because native Danish is spoken as though your mouth is full of oatmeal. Basically they're training dogs to sniff out explosives, and would I mind if he places his gym bag by my stuff as a test? Uh, street-smart as I am, I realize this could easily be a scam, trap, diversion that could send my ass up the river indefinitely. But being the nice girl I am, I answer, "Sure!", and he places the bag by my suitcase as he takes my computer bag saying, "I'll just take this so it looks like I'm holding a bag while I sit over there (points to a table nearby).

Smart-street girl goes at this point mentally going beserk over yet another of Nice-girl's gleeful "Absolutely! I'll just keep drinking my tea like it's no big deal."

A couple of minutes later, three officers show up with two dogs. I do my best to play the part of the suave, international criminal offender, sipping ever so nonchalantly on her Chai Tea Latte (ironic, right?). The dogs, which are more like pups, instantly recognize their trainer who's sitting with my computer bag and seem to momentarily forget they're on duty, tails wagging wildly as though they hadn't seen him for ages. But then they're reminded of the task at hand by the other trainers, and pretending it's a fun game, they're led from table to table sniffing everyone's bags.

When they get to mine, I continue my portrayal of an aloof James Bond, but the Lab isn't fooled, and she sits right down beside me. "DUUUUKTIG HUND!" exclaims the cop holding an automatic weapon. "Goooood dog!!" And the dog is thrilled, "I found the explosives! Yippee!! I found the explosives!! Reward me!" The cop throws down a red ball on my handbag, and bomb dog jumps right on top of it in pure ecstasy.

The other dog, not sure of its race, is a little more subdued, but even she finds the explosives, and a new rain of "Gooood dog!" is showered over them, and everyone is so happy. Smiles and hugs and petting and jumping, and even the other guests are getting caught up in the festive spirit of it all, and smiles are exchanged all around.

A portrait of cheeriness that transcends all borders when a dog finds what could have been a bag of explosives. Surreal.