Yogamamma exhales

I resolve...

2011-12-28T22:11:00.004+01:00

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!

2011-12-03T07:44:00.003+01:00

"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...

2011-11-30T21:34:00.002+01:00

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!

2011-10-23T14:57:00.002+02:00

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

2011-10-02T13:35:00.004+02:00

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

2011-09-19T19:37:00.004+02:00

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...

2011-08-09T08:55:00.005+02:00

...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

2011-07-25T08:05:00.003+02:00

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...

2011-07-20T20:23:00.002+02:00

...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.

2011-07-16T08:53:00.003+02:00

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...

2011-07-07T20:49:00.002+02:00

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

2011-07-05T19:32:00.005+02:00

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

2011-06-22T22:36:00.003+02:00

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...

2011-06-05T20:30:00.003+02:00

...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

2011-05-31T22:15:00.002+02:00

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"?!

2011-05-17T21:38:00.007+02:00

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

2011-05-07T07:44:00.007+02:00

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

2011-04-20T22:30:00.004+02:00

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.

2011-04-16T10:53:00.006+02:00

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)

2011-04-04T10:22:00.004+02:00

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

2011-03-30T19:37:00.005+02:00

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

2011-03-26T09:45:00.004+01:00

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

2011-03-20T09:40:00.006+01:00

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!

2011-03-12T08:03:00.004+01:00

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

2011-03-10T18:25:00.004+01:00

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

2011-03-03T21:56:00.006+01:00

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

2011-02-23T20:42:00.003+01:00

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

2011-02-21T19:32:00.004+01:00

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

2011-02-19T07:02:00.004+01:00

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...

2011-01-31T20:25:00.004+01:00

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

2011-01-22T07:15:00.003+01:00

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

2011-01-21T22:17:00.006+01:00

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

2011-01-15T08:23:00.003+01:00

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.

It's getting close now...

2010-12-28T22:16:00.004+01:00

Those were my 7-year-old son's first words on December 22nd. Being awakened by his enthusiasm towards the pending Christmas celebration was like being awakened by the first returning birds in early spring. I woke up with a smile.

Outside it was bitter cold, but the shock of getting hit with subzero temperatures was easily surpassed by the beauty of the sun shining on the crystalized snow. With strokes of pastels colors from sunrise still visible along the morning sky, I headed to the village church to enjoy the school's Christmas assembly. The snow crunched beneath my feet as my lungs were filled with crisp, clean air.

Inside the church I listened to the children's songs and sang merrily along to "Stilla Natt" and "Nu Tändas Tusen Juleljus". Throughout the entire procession I concentrated on enjoying each moment with warm detachment. For once I felt able to experience joy without the normal pangs of dreary bitterness upon the simultaneous realization that the Christmas festivities as well as that beautiful winter weather would soon be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Instead I walked back home afterwards feeling utterly content, thinking to myself that two days before Christmas Eve may very well be my favorite day of the year: we're close enough to the actual holiday that you can feel it in every cell of your body, yet there's no need to start freaking out about all that needs to be done seeing as there's still two days to prepare...

So, yes, I was content, even happy. Played Christmas carols on Spotify while wrapping the kids' presents.

That afternoon I received a phone call from a colleague/friend. Our mutual colleague/friend, the one who's been battling cancer for six years, had once again been hospitalized. This time there was nothing more that could be done. He died the next day.

We all knew that we were eventually going to lose him; yet he had fooled us by tricking Death out of taking him prematurely so many times before...that it seemed unreal. We had had our last conversation just a few days prior, and I had ended it abruptly because I had a another call waiting. How idiotic is that?!

Still, I know he didn't mind - he wasn't the type who would. And what would the point have been of knowing that this was the last time we would speak to each other? Maybe, at least I hope anyway, that it was just as well that we both enjoyed that last phone call just as it was, without worrying about the inevitable future.

Status report

2010-12-18T19:50:00.004+01:00

I can't freakin' believe it's been 4 weeks since my last entry.

To be honest, I already have an entry in progress ("What I Believe"), but I can't freakin' figure out what to write.

And my thumb hurts...

That said, I'm feeling absolutely pathetic. My half-severed thumb (OK, grandiose exaggeration) is what I went to sleep thinking about last night. It was my first thought this morning. I have spent every freakin', waking moment incessantly thinking about it today. And I guarantee it will be my final thought before sleep blesses me with merciful reprieve.

Because that's what pain does. It takes over and takes no prisoners as it kicks your a**. It penetrates your psyche as it clouds your mental abilities, making you feel as though you've been cursed with a voodoo doll (complete with accompanying needles).

Simultaneously I find myself feeling so incredibly frustrated. Last year, when I turned 40, I was still recovering from knee surgery and longing for my mat. Last week I turned 41, and I joyfully went to my first Zumba class. Afterwards I swore that from now on, I would get back into including more cardio to my workout schedule. I was both excited and eager to get started (once again) with my "new" life!

And now that's all on hold. All because of a piece of thumbnail no larger than half a dime.

I'm not so self-centered as to not understand that my "trauma" is about as serious as running out of milk. I know that my life is still as rich and rewarding regardless of potential dangers lurking in silverware drawers. Yoga isn't about the physical practice. I get the message that radio station P3 is relaying with their 6-day "Music Help" sit in to raise money in the battle against child trafficking, which puts my petty ails in perspective.

I think sometimes that practicing equanimity (steadiness of the mind) simply means going with the flow, with neither too much thought nor attention. And I realize that in a couple of weeks, I will (yet again) be able to pick up where I left off. That is, until I hit my next speed bump...

Topic 7 - My Best Friend

2010-11-23T21:18:00.004+01:00

What am I, 10?

Sorry, I'm 40.

Although I do wish I still had the kind of best friend one has when one is 10. Nothing beats juicy girl talk.

But finding die-hard girlfriends isn't easy for me. I used to have a handful, pretty good, mostly long-distance girlfriends, but after tiring of being the one who always called first, I decided that a sustainable friendship should be based on mutual interest and initiative.

The few that I have today, albeit not quite as intimate as in SATC, are ones that I truly value. At the same time, all I hope for is to enjoy them on a day-to-day basis, without expecting nor demanding too much. And that's OK as long as my life is OK. Should I end up in an emotional gutter, I honestly don't know who'd I would or could call.

So what else is there?

Naturally my husband is falls into the category 'best friend', as long as I'm not mad at him...

My cat is a really comforting friend, that is, if he's in the mood to snuggle...

I have some great colleagues, mostly guys, and while we laugh alot, there's a limit as to what topics we can discuss!

And sure, I'm lucky to have my four siblings, but they HAVE TO be nice to me!

What's left then?

Here's something I'll never forget; something my childhood friend's mother once sternly asked with (pointing index finger and everything) :

Friend's Mom: Judie Moss, who is your best friend?!

Me: I dunno...G?

Friend's Mom: YOU are your own best friend, young lady!

And that small piece of wisdom has stuck with me for the past 30 years. And the truth of those words are my mantra today.

Still, if anyone is interested in being a BFF, or a BF For Right Now, or just a F that feels like going for some latte, just say the word.

Topic V: What is LOVE?

2010-11-21T07:47:00.002+01:00

I doubt I'm in any way qualified to answer this question. That is, if you want an answer filled with universal wisdom of any sort.

Still, it is an interesting question, and I've had a difficult time trying to come up with a coherent answer. To be frank, I still don't have an answer. But then I realized that I was trying to find a way to narrow down my definition until it was both airtight and waterproof, only to discover that I am not capable of pure, undying, and unconditional love. I feel that as a human, knowing how thoughts, feelings, and life circumstances are constantly changing, that even my deepest feelings about love can also suffer from impermanence.

Which is a drag, I know. At least that's what I was thinking to myself as I grabbed my mug to pour myself a cup of coffee. I grabbed my favorite mug, one with I [heart] NY printed on it, and I instantly thought, "God, I love this mug." Followed immediately by my thinking, "and, God, I LOVE my morning cup of coffee!"

My internal Swedish voice wanted to scold me for so flagrantly using the term love to describe how I felt in the above statements. That's one criticism Americans get from (some) Swedes: that we are superficial because we use words and expressions like "love" and "how are you" without genuinely meaning it.

The thing is, when I drink my morning coffee out of my favorite mug, at that particular moment I am as close to experiencing bliss as I can come. So I put a gag on my internal Swedish voice and wondered instead, "What else do I love?"

Instantly, a picture of Ben & Jerry's popped into my head (big surprise).

Lighting the candles in the lanterns I have hanging on my porch this dreary, rainy, November morning.

Silence.

Yoga, or rather, how yoga makes me feel after a session on the mat.

Ocean waves.

Hearing my children and husband laugh.

You see, once I broadened my definition to include anything that brings me joy instead of excluding everything that was less than perfect, finding a definition of love that I could live with suddenly became easy.

Topic IV - What I ate today...

2010-11-18T21:13:00.005+01:00

For those who may or may not be keeping count, I skipped Topic #3: my parents.

Moving on...

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I eat the same breakfast just about every day, but since I had to hit the road early today, I skipped my usual soft boiled egg with caviar.

Otherwise, I drank a glass of freshly pressed orange juice to wash down my mulitvitamin, glucosamine tablets, and artic root tablet. While a pot of coffee was brewing, I poured some milk over my bowl of shredded wheat, müsli, and flaxseed combo. Usually I add a handful of blueberries from this summer's harvest, but since they're frozen I didn't want to wake up the kids by using the microwave.

Poured some coffee (light and sweet, just like me?) into my Starbuck's thermos to drink on my drive to Skåne.

I had clinical workshops today, so I bought apple-cinnamon cake for my customers and helped myself to a piece around 10:30 A.M. For lunch I only had about 20 minutes, so I'm afraid that Chef Ronald once again made my lunch: two cheeseburgers, Tropicana orange juice, and a medium latte.

Another small piece of cake around 2:30.

Then on my drive home I found a bottle of strawberry oat-drink that I had forgotten about - YUM. Also, I had bought two pouches of apple slices while at McD's that I washed down with a bottle of water.

For dinner, my kids were starved, so I made one of their favorites: smoked pork-pancake (more like an omelette made in the oven) along with cloudberries mixed with sugar. Drink: water.

Not my proudest day as far as my culinary habits go, but both honest and pretty typical...

Topic II - My First Love

2010-11-17T17:15:00.002+01:00

I hope my daughter gets to experience her "first love" the same way I did. Oddly enough, I look more fondly back upon my first love, than I do the four-year relationship I had with the guy I was living with up until I met P.

I was 16. He was 17. There must be something about capricorns with a wry sense of humor, because that's what attracted me to this guy, and it just so happens that my husband shares those exact same qualities. Also, he was the strong, silent type, just like my husband.

We were friends first. So when it was time to take things to "the next level", I was emotionally ready because at that point, we were truly in love. I have absolutely no regrets.

The following year, I started college, and eventually I wanted to see other people. I was all about convention, and wanted to follow the plan mapped out for me, but my boyfriend didn't see his future that way. He followed his own path which I had a hard time accepting. That, and I was on my own for the first time in my life and curious as to what was out there.

And so what do I end up doing? You guessed it; I moved to Europe. So much for convention.

Thirty days...discuss!

2010-11-15T20:22:00.004+01:00

Ok, a list is circulating on the web with 30 personal topics to blog about. I'm in the midst of a severe case of "Blogger's block", so I thought a challenge like this sounded like fun. You remember what fun is, right? I'm not sure I'll manage 30 days in a row, but I'm going to try!

Day 1: Allow me to introduce myself...

A woman with several hats: wife, mother, physical therapist, sales rep, clinical trainer, yoga student, yoga instructor...

...or rather, a woman who juggles between her different hats, hoping to one day figure out who she is so that she can go hatless, and still keep everything in motion.

I'm still in love. It was definitely lust at first sight way back in 1992. The best part today is grossing my kids out by kissing my husband in front of them.

My children are my oxygen; they sustain me. And yet I can't wait to see how they shape their own lives when they are no longer dependant on my husband and me. I hope I can help them to become happy and secure individuals as well as compassionate citizens. I hope they can look back on their childhood with joy.

I wish, however, I had more patience with my family. My hugest fallback is being overly sensitive. I could use lessons in chillin'.

I'm much better one-on-one than in groups, unless I have a leading role, such as teacher. Why? Because I'm basically a pretty shy person.

So I have very few close friends. I used to be the "nice" person who gave more than she took. Now I'm only interested in relationships that offer some sort of balance.

I've always been interested in staying in shape, but I am hopeless at getting my butt in gear. What to do? Find a profession that encourages me to keep on moving - physical therapy. And to really keep me moving I became a group-training instructor because that forced me to the gym, and later on, to my mat.

Yoga is my beacon. Yoga found me when I was ready for it. Yoga has been patient and met me where I am, and taken me to the next level when I've reached the point that I am ready to move on. My physical practice is still a big part of my well-being, but I find myself more and more drawn to using yoga to create inner peace.

My work offers me a way to "do some good", and it in turn I get the chance to feel good about it. And many times it teaches me perspective.

For example, I was mistaken in my previous entry. The young man with cancer whose father had written to me had passed away on November 6th. Even though pain is a relative concept, when I am once again reminded about life's fragility, it only makes me want to appreciate what I have even more.

And one thing I love about life is laughter. I love irony (as does my husband). As well asSNL from the 80's, which is why I had to include a picture from "Coffee Talk" in this entry.

Picture from Google

What to say?

2010-11-10T22:32:00.005+01:00

Today I received an e-mail from the father of a young patient I met this past summer. His 19-year old son is dying from a brain tumor. When I was contacted by their consultant I managed to book in a wheelchair fitting just a couple of days afterwards.

When faced with a case like this, I feel utterly compelled to GET IT RIGHT. There are no second chances. If I manage to utilize my knowledge within my field to in any way ease this family's burden, then there is for me no greater satisfaction professionally. Equally important, however, is getting past the anguish attached to the gruesome combination of youth, cancer, and dying.

Very simply, I wanted to relay to them every ounce of empathy I could offer without becoming overbearingly sympathetic. I wanted to share with them my feelings of compassion without violating their integrity. Most of all, I wanted them to feel that they neither were on display nor were they to be shunned for having drawn the shortest straw imaginable...

The fitting went well. The tone was open yet unemotional. We focused on the problem at hand and worked our way towards finding a solution. They were able to leave the same afternoon with the wheelchair I had brought. At that time I had no idea how much time remained.

He's still alive. The father had sent the e-mail to thank me and to share with me a few ideas he had about our product. Overall they were still very satisfied with their wheelchair which gladdened me.

But now comes the tough part. I have been racking my brains trying to figure out how to respond to his e-mail, which really warmed my heart, without sounding either pompous or pathetic. Yet I want it to be honest.

So I started by hugging my kids a few extra times tonight. All day and all evening I had tried writing a reply in my head to no avail. That's when I decided to share this on my blog. And once again, just going through my thoughts and putting words to them seems to have freed the words I needed. The ones I believe (and hope) will appropriately answer sum up how I truly feel:

I am happy that the chair is working out for you, but most of all I hope YOU AND YOUR FAMILY are doing as well as possible.

Why is it so hard to be human sometimes?

Overwhelmed and obligated

2010-10-22T07:54:00.003+02:00

I've written it before, that I prefer blogging when things are good as opposed to when things suck. My blog voice is many times influenced by my "silent" voice, you know, the quiet, introspective, wise one that (all too) often gets to play second-fiddle to my tempramentsfull, control-freak, hamster-spinning-incessantly-in-her-wheel side.

But here I am, alone at Arlanda airport in Stockholm. I have enough time to just sit at Wayne's Coffee café in Sky City and reflect. Because here's the thing: I'm in Stockholm to yoga all weekend. I'm sitting at a café with a huge, delicious latte. I'm wearing warm clothes and a knitted scart I got as a for-no-special-reason gift from a great girlfriend. I talked earlier to my loving husband and could hear my adorable son in the background. I got a text message from my daughter wishing me a good weekend.

When things are going this good for me, while there is at the same time so much need and suffering elsewhere in the world, the very least I can do must be to pause long enough to show my gratitude and appreciation?

Speechless

2010-10-12T19:15:00.006+02:00

Funny, my mind is cluttered with endless thoughts. Constant bombardment, 24-7 actually.

Yet I can't seem to express them. Heck, I can't even identify them. Thus, I can't make any sense of them.

Maybe it's kind of a defense mechanism? To prevent overload.

Or have I short-circuited? God, I hope not...

It's surrealistic. My senses are in tact, yet it's as though I've "left the building". I'm aware that I'm observing, and I enjoy reading what others are up to with great interest, but I don't feel I have much to contribute for the moment.

I think I miss this blog, but I'm not sure if I really miss it, or if I think I should be missing it. The same goes for FB; before I had so much I wanted to share, but now...

I know I'm giving my thoughts too much power. They're only THOUGHTS after all. Still, there's a few hefty, pending issues that are monopolizing my mind. It's only temporary, I know. And hopefully some clarity will shine on through soon, too.

So I'm going to allow myself to continue carrying on in my quiet numbness for the time being.

Quiet revolution (or maybe even an evolution?)

2010-09-30T17:41:00.006+02:00

It's no secret that I have issues with the (Catholic) God I was raised to worship.

So I'm no longer a churchgoer. And even though I feel at peace with my present faith, I'm still uncomfortable when it comes to prayer. I can't stand feeling helplessly feeble when faced with making requests (because, honestly, that's what praying is all about, right?). I find the powerlessness associated with placing one's fate in the hands of what will hopefully be a benevolent, supreme power disheartening.

I'm not talking about winning Lotto or finding a great parking space. It's about dealing with the heartwrenching emotions I experience when I hear or read about yet another atrocity of our so-called civilization. It's about desperate appeals expressed when witnessing a highway accident scene and seeing medics treat a person laid out on the asphalt. It's about desperately wanting to find the right way to meet with parents while fitting a wheelchair to their terminally ill teenage son.

I want so badly to be able to do something about, but I can't! And I can't see how my begging for things to be different will make any difference.

Or so I thought...

...for something shifted within me while meditating a couple of weeks ago. I was following Jack Kornfield's forgiveness meditation, and suddenly his words resonated with me. Forgiveness is a practice, meaning that it's not a permanent state of "either/or". Again, being raised Catholic, I know a thing or two about guilt and sin, which is perhaps why I feel incredibly inept at forgiving. But what this means is that I can gradually work at it, build it up, and when I take two steps back, I can try again.

And then it hit me - that's what all this softening-the-heart-stuff means! It's not about obtaining perfection or being otherworldly! So I'm like, OK, I can do that; that is, do what I can to the best of my present ability... And it was like a load was lifted from my shoulders.

It triggered a memory of something else I had read (not that I can remember where I read it). Anyhow, it had to with how our thoughts and feelings, the softening of our hearts, are powerful enough to change our energy. And, in turn, that energy affects the energy around us, and in effect, the energy of the universe.

So by "praying", I am not asking - I am doing! And even though I may not be able to personally solve all issues, heal others, alleviate pain, I can at least do my part by having the warmest of intentions. I can open my heart, and hopefully my feelings of compassion will reverberate to my surroundings the same way one candle can light a thousand others...

Accessibility

2010-09-11T08:12:00.003+02:00

It's there, and it's not as hard to reach as you might think. It's not buried within secret rituals shrouded by ancient tongues. You don't have to have a master or even master it. Granted, reading some literature and practicing a number of times will most certainly guide you; still, it's something you actually, for real, can do in the comfort of your own home.

There's no one keeping tabs on how much or how little you do. No scales. No final exam.

I am finally getting more and more into meditation. My practice is still somewhat sporadic, but I sense that I am finally opening up to something - something larger than myself.

There was an excellent article by Sally Kempton in this month's issue of "Yoga Journal" with a brief introduction to various "core" meditation practices. Among these she mentioned the "self-inquiry" method, and my lightbulb lit up. That's the one where I ask my silence for advice! Kempton encourages us to find the type of meditation that suits us to use as a "core" practice, and then spice it up now and then by experimenting with the other techniques.

Yesterday, I set my clock half-an-hour earilier. It was raining, but still mild enough that I could sit out on the porch. I listened to the rain splatter against the windows and felt the hint-of-autumn's-arrival-breeze caress my skin. Since I didn't have any particular issue to ponder, I simply asked my silence, "What do I need to know?"

For the most part, I just experienced stillness. A couple of minutes before my timer was about to go off, a gentle gust of wind gently blew a couple tresses across my cheek. I thought I heard in that instant, "Enjoy life."

Wishful thinking?

Who knows?!

Does it really matter?

I decided that in whichever case, I was going to make an effort to utilize that small piece of wisdom.

Picture from Google

Bring it on...?

2010-09-06T21:00:00.004+02:00

Here's a news flash - Life is insanely busy! Yeah, like, what else is new?!

So life is insanely busy, yet again. And the bottom line is that I'm getting exactly what I asked for. Every aspect that is demanding my attention is of my own making. Which makes me somewhat of a mad scientist, I know.

The solution? Other than falling into a coma - sorry, no Snow-White-apples or Sleeping-Beauty-spinning-wheels found on E-bay last I checked - all I can think to do is to suck it up and stick it out.

And prioritize. Keep the wheels in motion. Stay healthy (even mentally = HUGE challenge).

Accept living with things being "good enough".

Decide which attitude I'm going to have.

Break down and cry if necessary, just not in front of the kids.

I'm lucky to have so much to do. Certain things have recently arisen and come to me that go far beyond my dreams.

Will my tactics work?

I have no friggin' idea.

But, hey, that's life.

To my dear friend, C: I wrote this in my head before I read your entry today. Trust me, I know what you're going through. Jag hoppas att ljuset i tunneln snart visar sig för dig. KRAM

My thoughts on building a mosque close to Ground Zero

2010-08-28T07:58:00.003+02:00

Here's what I think:

The TERRORISTS responsible for the atrocities of 9/11 should be tried and punished to the fullest extent of the law.

The actual Ground Zero site should remain as a symbol for our sorrow as a well as a reminder of the preciousness of life and our need for solidarity.

Muslim fanatics do not and should not serve as representatives for Islam on the whole.

While I agree that violent acts committed in the name of Islam are often reported in the media, I choose to believe (in an optimistic act of faith) that the vast majority of Muslims neither condone nor do they in any way wish to be associated with such acts.

In other words, I choose to believe that the vast majority of Muslims are not so different than anyone else. My children go to school with Muslim children. If these children were in NYC along with their families and decided to visit a mosque that happened to be in the vicinity of Ground Zero, I wouldn't see any problem in that.

Again, this is solely an expression of MY opinion.

Coerced non-violence

2010-08-21T08:05:00.005+02:00

This is actually kind of funny.

For starters, I am a real-life yogi. That means that I have by no means transcended to an especially divine level of existence. That being said, I am the first to admit that although I naturally believe in the yogic principle of ahimsa, meaning non-violence, there are just as naturally some minor exceptions to that rule.

Yesterday when I rolled out my mat in my bedroom, I noticed a fly flying about. Realizing that this guy was only going to land on me the second I was still, I decided he best be on his way to the other realm before I got started. Since the fly swatter was upstairs I rolled up my issue of Yoga Journal (which I know is sacreligious!) and decided to flatten him once and for all.

First I couldn't find him. And when I finally did: A swing and a miss! *damn*

"Ok, screw it," I thought and got started on my session. Lo and behold he hung out on my white closet for a while before going back to buzzing around me. So I paused between sequences and tried to nail him again as he sat on my overnight bag that lay beside my mat. Strike two!

"Whatever!" So I go back to doing yoga, and I figure that before I lie in savasana for my final relaxation I better end this once and for all. At this point, however, he wasn't anywhere to be found.

"I surrender." At this point, I could honestly see the irony in my actions and could do nothing other than laugh at myself. Sure enough, as I lay spread out on the floor, Mr. Fly landed first on my leg, and then my wrist, and then my hand... I figured I could use this opportunity for some vispassana inspired meditation, where you allow all sensations to be a part of your experience. So everytime he landed on me I thought silently to myself, "Fly on ankle. Fly on wrist. Fly on hand." And so on.

Once finished, I got up to turn off my music, and all of the sudden there he was: right on my white nightstand table, next to my cd-player.

With a smile on my lips, I turned off my music and left.

Crossroads

2010-08-13T08:19:00.007+02:00

The pendelum can really swing in lightning speed from delight to despair. I think I'm at a crossroads and in withdrawal simultaneously. Interesting combination (written with a thick dose of irony).

So what am I learning, if anything?

Time off from the computer and shopping is starting to open my eyes as to how I am really feeling, and it's giving me the OPPORTUNITY TO FEEL IT. Sometimes fun, like when you see the beauty that surrounds you in everyday life and realize just how lucky you are to be alive, but far from always. As I wrote in my last entry, FEAR uninvitedly made herself at home recently, demanding much of my attention, but she's gone now and has been replaced by a stone on my chest named DREAD.

Now that I've admitted to myself that mindless Internet surfing and impulse shopping are just a way of filling a void with a temporary, surgary fix, you know, the kind that offers instant gratification and a quick burst of vitality soon to be replaced by crippling lethargy and lacking any form of nutrition, I can't go back to doing what I've been doing. So even if the thought of creating CHANGE entails dusting off FEAR and DREAD from the back of my emotional closet and bringing them out into broad daylight, I don't feel I have any choice; HONESTY has also gotten a hold of me and refuses to allow me to continue fooling myself into believing that I need my fixes in order to feel good.

HONESTY has placed me in front of my closet, filled to the brim with gorgeous clothes (most of them worn on perhaps one or two occasions at most). She asks me what more can possibly be on the racks of any given store that will offer me any more satisfaction than that I already own? She demands that I remind myself of how pleased I was when I found the garments, as though I were freakin-Columbus-discovering-America-himself, the same garments that now are lying deserted and forgotten in piles of lifeless fabric.

So getting back to DREAD: right now she's made herself all comfortable as though she were propping her feet up with a tub of Ben & Jerry's on her lap at the start of a SYTYCD marathon; in other words - she ain't goin' nowhere.

Because I really dread the hard work that lies ahead while I figure out a new direction.

On the other hand, there's no way I'm going to let DREAD drain me of my will to live my life to the fullest. So my only option is to actually get started.

And for that I'm GRATEFUL.

Picture from Google

Feeling of the day = FEAR

2010-08-04T19:48:00.004+02:00

I'm considering changing paths. For years I've toyed with the idea every now and then, but call it part of having turned 40, now more than ever it seems as though it's more or less now or never.

For the time being I'm just throwing out some hooks. But that alone was enough to send me into a near panic mentally earlier today. When I started the warm up part of my mat session, I felt completely numbed by FEAR. I had no idea that FEAR had such a stranglehold on me. Above all, it's my FEAR of sacrificing economical security that's paralyzing me from taking action. It's my need for 100% guarantees that I won't screw up that is keeping me prisoner.

I hadn't quite realized what a debilitating effect FEAR had on my actions. Naturally FEAR'S strongest ally is DESIRE who uses her siren-like power to distract me from trying to transform my dreams to goals.

That's why I think my exercise in not buying stuff is just what I need if I'm ever going to manage shifting paradigms. By not distracting myself, or rather, by not stressing myself with endless consumption, be it material or virtual, I am giving myself the opportunity to find fulfillment in other areas.

And if I'm somehow able to find out a way to earn a living while being able to maintain a practice that allows me daytime workouts, well then maybe it's time...

Picture from Google

Blueberry days/daze

2010-08-03T21:14:00.004+02:00

Day 2: Got home last night from a short trip to Skåne. For the first time in years my husband and I had an entire evening, night, and morning to ourselves. Very good for the soul...

No real abstinence from avoiding the computer or shopping, but I notice how frequently some thoughts arise, things like, "...maybe I should just...check this...price that...", but aside from checking e-mails and blogging, I am still on the wagon.

Maybe by slowing down I am allowing myself to feel my discomfort (the word pain sounds too melodramatic - I'm not exactly suffering). But as soon as I'm not doing something, I feel as though I should be doing something. And when I do something, if it's something I'm supposed to be doing, like work or household chores, I don't feel like doing it.

Today I took to the woods to pick blueberries. I'm not even one who considers herself a blueberry-picker, but I felt a desperate need to escape outdoors. With my eyes to the ground in the shelter of the damp, scented forest, I experienced a nagging desire to find some deeper meaning in my actions, as though my method of picking (or rather, my non-method) could somehow manifest itself into a blueprint to success in life.

But the only blueprints to be found were the ones left by my stained fingers. I found the whole thought process agitating actually. I decided that I just wanted to pick some berries - period. No divine revelations needed for the moment, thank you very much. So I picked and picked, and moved in silence as though in a trance. Two hours later my husband called to say that our son needed to be driven to a friend. At that point, I could easily have stayed another two hours - at least.

So basically I'm not doing anything at the moment. I even skipped mat pratice today (I'm blaming it on a sore hamstring that doesn't want to heal). I just want to vegetate, and maybe that's what I need for starters. The same way an injured person might have to be sedated at first, until the body can get things under control.

The blueberries were gorgeous, by the way, a lot of them as big as marbles.

Picture from Google

A pause from chasing rainbows

2010-07-30T18:13:00.014+02:00

The funk continues, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it. And I'm frustrated with myself for feeling the way I feel which is unfulfilled.

The problem is: I like nice things.

In other words, I like to go shopping, especially for clothes. Even though I thrive on finding great sales, I tend to follow the time-old addage: The more you buy, the more you save!

I like caffe latte.

I like taking courses and workshops.

I like being able to book vacations in warm places.

And so on...

In order to enable myself to lead this lifestyle, I at times subject myself to living in a hamster wheel. And it's spinning more and more. And I'm getting dizzy.

All the while I have the memory of my new year's resolution resounding in my brain, the resolution I really took great time and effort in forming - making what I have work. Although I feel sometimes tempted to leave my profession, that's just not an option. But in order to find some peace of mind I've decided to attempt a small experiment, effective as of August 1st, just to see what happens:

* No Internet (except for private e-mail and writing blog entries should the need arise) for 1 week.

* No shopping for anything other than bare necessities for 1 month.

This is because my willpower dissolves the minute I sit down with my laptop. I can easily disappear in a cyberic-stupor for 2-3 hours without blinking after a long, hard workday/-week. And when I'm bored, I start hunting for things that I "truly" believe might fill that void (but, really, who are we kidding?).

I noticed while sitting in my car for 4½ hours yesterday, how hard it was for me to maintain a single train of thought. Chaos of the mind, pure and simple. But I perservered and came up with a plan to create structure within my physical practice. And hopefully with the time I won't be wasting online or "in-store" for the coming weeks, maybe I'll be able to clean house and somehow start to excavate that joy that so many wise people claim we posess within our hearts.

I started yesterday with a 90 minute mat session at the studio I use. Through the gauze curtains I noticed the murals painted on the outside of the neighboring Thai restaurant. Although blurry, it appeared that the bird depicted in the paintings was just as beautiful regardless if she sat in a voluminous, leafy tree or alone on a naked branch. (I know it's not easy to see, but just trust me on this one.)

OK, it's not like I'm getting ready to join a nudist movement, nor am I about to abandon the material world and live in a cave (!), but perhaps I received a signal that I don't need all these nice things to be beautiful after all? Because all I can say is that I don't feel beautiful having them...

...because it never seems to be enough.

Wearing my nerves on the outside

2010-07-24T07:55:00.009+02:00

Since there's something about the permanency of the written word, in combination with the vulnerable exposure that blogging entails, I make an effort to weigh my words carefully in every entry. My intention with this blog has been to find perspective in my own journey through simple, everyday happenings and hopefully allow my subconscious mind to guide me towards insight. My own form of do-it-yourself therapy (for better or for worse ;-)....)

I strive to maintain a positive tone. A humble, forgiving, been-there-done-that tone.

I don't want to taint reality, though; I want to be honest. Yet, since I firmly believe that whining gets me nowhere, and I feel the world has more than its share of self-acclaimed martyrs, I avoid my blog on days when my frustration levels peak. It's also a way of maintaining some balance between being personal without being too private. So just because I don't write openly about my personal crap doesn't mean I am leading my life in a rosy shimmer of denial.

Lately I've had a lot of days when I feel as though my nerves are sitting outside of my skin, without protection and without a filter. The slightest touch feels instead like I'm being struck by a million volts of electricity that lead straight to my heart. I'm in somewhat of an emotional turmoil - nothing demanding professional attention (at least I don't think I need professional attention...), but enough to keep me off balance for the moment.

Maybe it's because I've taken some time off this summer that bottled up feelings see their chance to get noticed. Maybe it's time for me to regroup and consider a new path. Maybe it's my old, inner demons who are trying to fool me into thinking that what I'm doing isn't right for me.

I honestly don't know.

Photo by Philipp Klinger, found on Google

Jukebox rescue

2010-07-14T06:56:00.003+02:00

I haven't done much meditating this summer. Instead I've used my mornings for taking walks. And while walking can many times be likened with meditating in that it cleanses my thoughts, I just can't dig as deeply if there is something I need to contemplate on.

I'm in the midst of reading Jack Kornfield's "Meditation for Beginners" and was reminded yet again that we behold the potential to happiness within ourselves - that it's there for our taking 24/7. It dawned on me that I have been extremely focused on searching for contentment outside of myself, especially now that the weather's been so warm and so wonderful. When I'm not just sucking up every last morsel of summer weather, I am trying to figure out how to plan our next vacation so that I can get even more!

So when I finally decided to sit down and meditate today, I challenged myself. I asked my silence, "Is it possible for me to be completely content with what I have NOW (regardless of how NOW might look at any given time)?"All the while various thoughts came and went, dreams about Florida and Canary Islands popped up, begging for my attention, but, NO, I wanted an answer! How could I start pulling out the Florida sun from within? Why the resistance in letting go of, once again, all this desire???

My silence has a sense of humor, I'll give you that... When my timer ringed, it was as though someone dropped a quarter into my mental jukebox, because out of nowhere, of all the songs I have listened to throughout the years, a U2 track started in my head:

Better late than never!

2010-07-10T10:58:00.006+02:00

As a 40-year birthday present, my husband signed me up for a weeklong summer course on Öland, appropriately named "Everyone Can Paint and Draw". The best present I've ever received. Despite this having always been one of my secret dreams, since I lacked the guts to back it up (because let's face it, I could very well SUCK at it), I would never have gotten around to signing myself up.

The question remained, however, bearing in mind the course's title: "Was I to become the exception to the rule?!"

The answer, surprisingly enough, turned out being: "Who gives a crap?"

OK, I would be lying if I didn't admit to wanting to be able to create something that didn't completely suck.

But the whole process for me was like heaven for a week. It started out by us having perfect, summer weather. Every morning I got up, went for a walk, ate breakfast, drank coffee (outside), before I got into the car and steered towards Ölandsbron, the 6 km long bridge connecting the island to the mainland. From the second my feet hit the floor, the day was all mine. At the school we sat in a huge studio with enormous plate glass windows from floor to ceiling. Through the windows we could see leafy trees, fire red poppies, and the sea a couple of miles from us.

Our teacher gave us enough tools for us to get started. And that jumpstart is what I needed make the transtition between dream and deed.

When it was time to eat, we were served lunch and dinner. Otherwise my focus was completely dedicated to the act of creating. I have never enjoyed every second of every day more than I have this week.

To have a week completely to one's self. Why in God's name hadn't I thought of this sooner?!

Rollercoaster

2010-07-03T08:34:00.003+02:00

I'm feel as though I'm on the same rollercoaster one rides after the first kiss.

The intensity.

The thrill.

The ecstasy.

The anxiety.

The exhilaration.

The nervosity.

The aliveness.

The urgency.

I can't take anymore.

I can't get enough.

I don't want it to end.

Yet I know it must.

That's how I feel about this summer after the longest, snowiest winter I've ever experienced.

It's a struggle to not get caught up in the sorrow of its passing.

All the while my sense of gratitude and joy seem infinite.

Reminder

2010-06-24T20:34:00.005+02:00

This week I attended a conference for work that was held at "Vildmarkshotellet" (The Wildlife Hotel) which neighbors Sweden's largest zoo. Glorious weather, astonishing landscape, fantastic food, indoor pool & spa, families with KIDS everywhere! And even though I tend to get nervous with mobs of children running around rampant like mini-maniacs, I got that; this place was kid heaven.

And then I passed the mini-movie theater while headed to the restaurant, and I spotted the wheelchair. Being in the wheelchair business, I have this "work-related-condition" that compels me to as discreetly as possible investigate any wheelchair I come across. Damn, I thought, a competitor's. Then I saw the thin, youthful looking legs. My eyes continued upward until I noticed that it was a younger woman quietly seated in the chair. But she didn't look like she was paralyzed; nor did she resemble someone with MS or some other condition that's common among wheelchair users.

That's when I noticed the scarf around her head, and my aching heart reached out to her.

It completely filled me with sadness to realize that this was probably a woman stricken with cancer who had most likely lost her hair due to chemotherapy. Later on, I couldn't stop thinking about her; I couldn't stop feeling sorry for her. Yet, somehow I doubt that pity does anyone any good. So I asked my silence, "What am I supposed to feel? I mean, I can't help this woman. I can't do anything for her young family. Is there any way to feel anything other than despair?"

That's when my silence reminded me, "You can be thankful for all that you have, just as I'm sure this family is making the most of the time that is given to them." So it's not like I'm saying, "Thank God it's her and not me!" But I am grateful for the reminder and for the much needed perspective (yet again).

And as I saw her young daughter crawl up into her lap the following morning with her slightly older son by her side, I silently hoped that their stay had been perfect, and I prayed that all would turn out well for them soon.

Happy Midsummer.

Don't try hard; try easy!

2010-06-13T11:42:00.003+02:00

That's probably my all-time favorite Baron Baptiste quote. Sometimes more progress is made by not overdoing/overthinking everything. Sometimes just doing little things is enough. Not every day has to contain bold, new revelations to behold.

My favorite chore is mowing the lawn. We have a self-propelling lawn mower, so the tempo at which I move is decided by the motor. I am forced to move at a constant speed for roughly 45 minutes. We have a pretty symmetrical, flat lawn as well, so I only move back and forth, in straight rows.

Talk about an opportunity to just be in the moment. At the start of a new row, I lift my gaze to see the line I need to follow. Then I have to drop my eyes in order to follow my steps. A steady tempo. Senses subdued. I breathe, and I usually don't think about anything at all. The mower is heavy enough that I feel my body being comfortably exerted.

And when I'm done, I feel an immense joy to be fortunate enough to have a home in such a beautiful place.

It's Vicki's fault!

2010-06-05T08:33:00.006+02:00

Yes, I blame Vicki. She just had to mention "fried dough" in an FB post a couple of weeks ago. Since then I have been aching to return to my hometown, the place where I grew up. I am even clandestinely pricing airline tickets. I want to see the bandstand. I want to go to the Village Fair Days (and smell that fried dough). I want to sit on a blanket by Candlewood Lake. I want to take a walk along Kent Falls.

So what creates this longing? It's not as though I don't like where I live today. On the contrary, a day doesn't pass where I am not struck in awe by the beauty that surrounds me. I mean, I live in a village outside a medieval town that borders the sea for crying out loud! So what is it that I am missing that lies embedded in my memories of my childhood? I have come up with a theory; here goes...

You know the cliché regarding old people who reminisce about when they were young with crystal clear details, but they still don't know what they ate for breakfast? I believe that as children we are so much more naturally inclined to practice mindfulness. And by absorbing our experiences into the deepest parts of our memory, they become molded into a part of our identity. Thus, we never forget them since they represent who we are. It's nothing we even deliberate over; we just are that way. We take our shoes off and run in the dewy grass (and don't care that we get dirty). We hold our hands up in the air to keep gnats out of our face so that we can play "Ghosts in the Graveyard" until bedtime (and refuse to let anything stop us from having fun). We catch fireflies in jars. We lose ourselves in the crickets' lullabies at night. We eat fried dough (without having the least bit of interest whether it's GI-friendly or not).

We live. And we feel as though we are a part of life.

I think that's the secret. By seeking out experiences, by removing our veils of shoulds/shouldn'ts, by just being in the moment, we are rewarded with a sense of belonging. And that sense of belonging brings with it the gift of security. We feel no separateness because within that security we receive validation as we realize that we are always welcome to actively participate in the universe's neverending dance, no matter where we are. And we meet the universe halfway by embracing the opportunities we are given.

So while I am not one to condone "living in the past", I think that by revisiting our past every now and then, we are reminded of how we could (should?) be living in the present. And yes, while there's a lot of things I wish I would have done differently as a child and adolescent, there's so much more we as grownups could learn from the wisdom of children.

Soaring in circles, without ever landing

2010-05-29T07:48:00.004+02:00

Forget anything I've ever written about life being busy before. A regular stay at Club-Med compared to life right now!

The job change may be to blame, but changing jobs was a conscious choice I made in an effort to create a better life for me and my family. Implementing change alone, however, will not decide the outcome of that change. It's what I bring to the table in terms of intention, attitude, and strategy that will ultimately determine whether I succeed or fail (or end up somewhere in between).

Time is of essence. It's my currency. I read somewhere recently that time represents modern man's poverty. At least it feels that way. The true challenge (I think) lies in finding the delicate balance between work and play as well being able to recognize the difference between rejuvenating rest and ineffective idleness. So I'm feeling the heat because I really don't want to screw this up. I find myself constantly searching for inspiration and guidance, in books, blogs, and practice. Yet, I can't seem to attain that sense of gut-felt confirmation that what I'm doing is right. Naturally I'm being way too categorical if I limit myself to only two alternatives: right or wrong. Seems pretty adolescent. Still it would be such a comfort if I felt that there was some kind of order to my plans.

For that to happen, then I guess I need a plan, huh? A vision. A future goal that won't overshadow my need to be here and now, experiencing the present. Now if I could only find the time... Where should I get started? Instead of grounding myself I seem to be flying around in circles.

Maybe I should just google "secret to life's riddle" instead...

Picture from Google

Small lessons

2010-05-23T08:18:00.004+02:00

Just as I wrote in my last entry, the difficulty I have in taking initiative (in combination with being incredible talented at procrastinating), leaves me in desperate need of finding ways to get myself going. Yesterday, for example, I had rolled out my mat to do a 90-minute "flow" practice, yet I found myself, or rather my-ego-self, doing the old put-it-off-two-step: Aren't you too tired today? You don't want to overdo it. You know you're hormonal, and it's already late; you could easily do it tomorrow instead... Wouldn't that be better???

I'm so sick of arguing with myself. So instead I offered a compromise: Why don't you at least TRY doing some yoga and see how it goes? Not even my stubborn ego could argue with that! So I started, and it went spendidly. For once, it felt good the entire time; I felt energized. Before I knew it, 90 minutes had passed. Perhaps someday my intellect will understand that my doing yoga is hardly a chore and that it gives more than it takes.

The fact that I managed to persuade myself so easily to do the right thing has largely in part to do with a blog I just recently started following: The Happiness Project. My sister had told me about it, and immediately I knew that this was what I needed. It gives me practical how-to tips so that I learn how to tackle my demons, thereby helping become the person I want to be.

Take this entry where the message was in fact the point of making it easy to do the right thing. By giving words to not only solutions, but rather to the small patterns that we lock ourselves in like hamster wheels, you know, things that drain of us energy without getting us anywhere, suddenly my eyes are at least a tad bit more opened. I feel as though I'm being offered keys to unlock the door to a mind shift.

As I was driving through the farm landscape of Southern Sweden this week, everywhere I looked there were acres of blooming raps, blossoming fruit trees, and scores of birches with their baby, lightgreen leaves. It was breathtaking. Earlier years, the taking of my breath was more like a tightening of my chest, as I knew that this was only temporary, that winter would eventually take it all away, how could I make this moment last even longer? So basically, I tainted the experience by fretting over the inevitablility of change. This year, I saw the same spectacular beauty and thought to myself, "I'm so happy to be a part of this moment."

And that's exactly what I felt, if only for a brief few seconds: Happiness.

Who IS she?!

2010-05-13T20:05:00.008+02:00

The best line from the best movie ever, delivered by Sally (Meg Ryan) in "When Harry Met Sally". Said with an overtly corrosive combination of distaste and disbelief, and with emphasis on the middle word, "IS", those three small words have forever been etched into my memory.

And suitably enough, that particular line comes to mind when I see my tired reflection in the mirror. There is no word that I am more tired of than the word T-I-R-E-D. I am always tired. When I think about it, I have been tired for as long as I can remember. Not only is it the cross I exhaustingly bear, it's an enemy I must confront every single day. And since that means me fighting myself on a daily basis, let's just say the the tired side has a pretty sizeable home-field advantage. And since it reigns over such a large portion of my very being, while at the same time creating my greatest obstacle, I can't help but wonder what part of my existence this being is?

This condition controls my primary instincts, so whenever I embark on a project, I must always first muster up enough energy to overcome the urge to just lay back, put it off, and zone out. Even as a child, I was a good student, but incapable of applying myself. Basically, I got by. As an adult I find it difficult to even do the things I enjoy most because of this ogre that resides within me. This is why I chose to become an instructor: that way I wouldn't have to bargain with myself every single time I needed/wanted to work out. And I love working out!

Even this morning, after having slept soundly through the night, I woke up wanting to meditate, LONGING to meditate. The voices inside me began immediately with their plea-bargaining. Just ten more minutes. You have all day to do it. Why not do it tonight? Your husband is probably going to come in before you're done. Or else you know the kids are going to wake up and start running around. You don't want to wear yourself out. Pace yourself...

Who ARE you, annoying, debilitating voices? Why must you torment me like demons with nothing better to do? On all other planes I see myself making efforts that lead to progress, but with you, I am getting nowhere, no matter how hard I try to bridle the beast.

A passionate a-ha moment

2010-05-08T08:13:00.003+02:00

This week I had the opportunity to yoga for Ulla Lundgren, certified Anusara Yoga Instructor. It is awesome to be given the chance to learn from those that have dedicated their lives to the art and philosophy of yoga. In comparison I can barely call myself a novice. I'm more of a dabbler, gathering thoughts and ideas where I come across them, and then returning to my ordinary life comprised of family, home, and work.

So when Ulla introduced her theme, icha shakti, asking us what we were passionate about, I was temporarily stumped. Icha shakti is the power of will or desire. It's what drives us towards the direction of becoming God. In other areas of yogic philosophy one is taught to strip oneself of desire in order to create true non-attachment. But this is different. This wasn't about hot and heavy romantic passion. Nor was it about eternal access to bottomless tubs of Ben & Jerry's. It was about connecting to the deeply rooted love within us in order to use its power to ignite and propel us in our practice.

Which is easy, I suppose, if you have a clear picture of what you truly love. So much of my energy goes towards "getting through the day" or "going through the motions" on a daily basis that I initially had no clear idea as to what the heck I was doing there. Because if you're not passionate about your practice, really, then what's the point?

Anyhow, two images came to me. The first was a cloudlike fog (OK, I know that fog is per definition cloudlike, but this was more like the clouds you fly through with an airplane than London-when-you-know-Jack-the-Ripper-is-on-the-loose fog). And in the fog resided peace in its purest form. That's my secret dream - to be able to attain that sense of peace in meditation, something I sense that I am really, really far from at the moment. The other image was my children. Yes, I love my husband, but I think there's an additional aspect of unconditional surrender in the way I love my children that engulfs my entire being. It renders me powerless while at the same time empowering me to the point that I could walk through fire for them.

There's probably a lot more there that I should be more attuned to, but this is what carried me throught the next 2½ hours of matwork. The highlight of my evening, aside from getting my insight tickled, was me actually doing a handstand-split against the wall. That made me feel like a kid again.

When is silence golden?

2010-04-25T09:07:00.009+02:00

One of the many things Facebook offers is the opportunity to speak your mind and let others know how you feel. Among my Swedish friends the opinion barometer is much like the Scandinavian temperament - stabile. My American friends, however, are more polarized than I ever imagined possible. For one who finds herself constantly contemplating the balance between truthfullness and diplomacy, I am, to say the least, challenged on pretty much a daily basis.

Case in point: Someone writes in her status box that she supports same-sex marriage. Among the comments a friend writes that he, too, supports same-sex marriage, but he feels that its legality should be decided by state government. Yet another friend questions the previous comment, wondering why all individuals can't be treated equally? The reason, according to the first friend, is that laws should be defined by the people of the state and examples such as laws banning father-daughter marriages as well as sibling marriages are used to support this argument.

I happen to belong to the category of people who believe in allowing two, consenting adults to enter marriage regardless if they are hetero-, homo-, or bisexual. I didn't add my own comment, but I was tempted to write something to the friend who believed that state governments should decide who gets to marry whom, something like: Then if I understand you correctly, you wouldn't have anything against not being able to marry your wife, should you happen to live in a state that banned heterosexual marriage?

But instead I got to thinking about WHY I wanted to write something? What was my true intention? A person who is against same-sex marriage is hardly likely to get me to change my view, so I'm assuming that the same goes for him as well. What's the point of beating a dead horse? On the other hand, maybe by letting people know my point of view, it would be possible to sway opinion enough in the direction towards change?

Maybe by speaking out I am being egotistical? Or is it perhaps by remaining silent I am simply a coward?

What would the Buddha have done?

A new kind of prayer

2010-04-16T08:30:00.005+02:00

I remember from my when I guess I was about ten, that my mom was going to go on a retreat by herself. Curious, I asked her what one does on a retreat? She explained that it's a quiet place you go to so that God can talk to you. Upon hearing that, I so wanted to be able to go, too. Imagine God talking directly to me! That would make life so much easier!!

I grew up in a Roman Catholic family. You went to church every Sunday, without exception. We learned to recite prayers, and most of our evenings ended with us reciting them together before going to bed. I really yearned to find some sort of sprituality, already as a young child. I read bible stories, got involved in youth groups, participated in church plays. Yet I did most of it out of duty, because we were taught that sinners when to hell.

Prayers were either about wishing for something I didn't have or asking forgiveness so as not to end up on St. Peter's "naughty list" should we unexpectedly end up in front of his pearly gates. We were taught to do as we were told without question. Even after moving to Sweden I felt compelled to at least go to Christmas and Easter mass.

My turning point came about 15 years ago, while seated in a pew towards the back end of the dome catherdral in Kalmar. It was Easter mass, and the priest was offering his prayer to the Lord, proclaiming that we were not worthy of Him. That's when my cup runneth over, and I left. I haven't been back since.

Now in meditation, I realize that I am in fact praying, praying to my silence, as I call it. Nowadays my prayers consist of requests for guidance, tools to aid me in my quest towards the divinity within my soul. At first I thought I was just alone with my thoughts, but now I tend to believe that there actually is a universal benevolence with limitless love and intelligence. It offers me answers.

For the first time in my life, I feel as though God is talking to me.

With all due respect,

2010-04-12T04:51:00.003+02:00

I don't mean to step on your toes. Unless, of course, you feel that I am addressing YOU.

It happened again at yesterday's yoga class, which, by the way, was a great class. There's something about certain students who have practiced other types of yoga. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe all yoga is good yoga, but I do have a problem with students coming to my Virya class without any intention of practing Virya yoga.

What I, in turn, see, are students who lack all form of reflection in their poses and who disregard the purpose I am trying to convey. They tune out completely, self-absorbed in their own little (Do your practice and all is coming?) bubbles, and don't even show the least bit of interest in learning the biomechanics of the positions and transitions which are vital to a healthy practice.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, if you want to freestyle and/or do it all your way, don't come to my class and disturb the other students. Or rather, don't selfishly steal the focus from the rest of the class who have an amicable agreement to practice individually-together in a peaceful decorum.

Now that I've agitated a number of yogis who would beg to differ, I may as well continue while standing on my soapbox because yesterday evening I broke what is for some a huge taboo: I yoga'd to music. No, correction: music and lyrics! I've always had a secret urge to do it, and, yes, there are a lot of renowned yoga teachers out there who use music in their practice. You all know that I love being ironic, right?

Anyhow, I am a self-admitted Body Balance nerd. So yesterday I played the soundtrack to Body Balance release #30 during my own mat practice and loved every minute of it. I am, at times, somewhat of a technique freak, and the beautiful tones, beats, and rhythms I heard unleashed within me a true sensation of flow. Just as the music felt as though it ran like currents through my veins, I could sense my prana coarsing through my nadis.

Even if I don't do it every time, I'm definitely going to do it again.

An alternative to the ugly cry

2010-04-11T08:55:00.004+02:00

To start off, my life could be so much worse. My life could be plagued with tragedy and distress. That is so not the case. But since I tend to adapt very well to "having it good", when things get imbalanced, needless to say it effects my mood. The past month has been, for several reasons, more trying than the months prior.

I have always been a crier. I can cry at a drop of a hat. I hate it. I wish I could cry on demand, like an actress, but I can't. But when I am overcome with the urge, and that black, hard cloud forms in my throat, it is almost impossible to stop and seems to come when it's least convenient. The last time it happened was a few weeks ago, and it craved all my willpower to swallow my tears, that which was bound to turn into an "ugly" cry, and the clump proceeded to land like a lump of coal in the bottom of my stomach. It has stayed there since. It disturbs my sleep as well as my digestion. My threshold for stress is almost non-existent.

Yesterday's weather suited my mood hand-in-glove. It was gray, dreary, wet, and windy. It was spring at its ugliest, to be frank. I had to go to my sauna-on-the-sea. I needed the 180 degree heat (80 degrees C) to sweat out my frustration. And when I couldn't stand it anymore, I walked outdoors and submerged my clothesless body into the 40 degree water (5 degrees C).

It's like when someone who's gone into cardiac arrest is given those paddles, and a medic yells, "Clear!"

The shock of the cold literally froze my tension and cracked it open like a clamshell. The intense sensation of going from one extreme to the other purged my seemingly pointless, blackened emotions. I reminded myself as I afterwards rested my head against my propped up hand in the heat, staring through the window over the gray, choppy sea, that pain and suffering are an essential part of life's all-inclusive package. And the amount I've been dealt out thus far isn't even close to being unbearable.

Even so, that, too, will pass.

Terminal escapism

2010-04-06T20:44:00.005+02:00

This is how my mind (re)acted while reading a yoga magazine the other day:

Me: Hmm...a yoga and meditation retreat....

Mind: I wanna go on a yoga and meditation retreat!

Me: Oh, look, a guru's going to offer the participants "shaktipat"...

Mind: It's not fair; I want SHAKTIPAT!!

Me: Interesting article about Ayurvedic treatments...

Mind: I want, no, I NEED Ayurvedic treatments!!!

It reminds me of how I used to fantasize my escape from whatever stress or frustration I at times found myself experiencing. I pictured myself impulsively packing my bags and passport, followed by me arriving at an airport terminal where I could study the departure sign in search of an exotic destination - ANY exotic destination. My so-called reasoning resounded itself like a mantra in my thoughts, "If I could just get a break, a chance to rest and recharge; that's all I need..."

I learned eventually that just as the term "terminal" in a medical sense means in essence a dead-end, this type of daydreaming was getting me exactly nowhere. But while I may have made some progress intellectually, it seems that my mind is still trying to lobby for my ego's desires. Just as you can see by reading my mind's "comments", it is simply trying to delude me by wrapping up my self-centered desires in pretty, seemingly soulful, yogic packages. *Sigh* I thought I was past this!

One thing is for sure: I am still searching, always searching. In meditation this morning I started out by asking my silence, "What am I searching for?" But I quickly reworded my question to, "What should I be trying to find?"

I was somewhat surprised by the speedy reply:

Silence: Happiness

Me: Is that all? What about everything else, the retreat, shaktipat, and stuff like that?

Silence: Seriously, do you need anything other than happiness?

Me: No, but...

Silence: (says nothing - typical(!))

Me: OK. When you're right, you're right.

So freakin' obvious - and just as brilliant as it was simple.

"Silence is a great teacher"

2010-03-30T21:42:00.004+02:00

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

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

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

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

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

Photo from Google

You can't handle the truth!

2010-03-27T09:04:00.005+01:00

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

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

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

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

Me: (silent sigh of relief)

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

Me: :-P

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

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

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

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

A: It's easy.

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

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

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

Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend. Kram/Hug

Hold that thought, one moment please...

2010-03-18T23:08:00.007+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

U.F.O. (Unidentified Female Object)

2010-03-09T16:21:00.004+01:00

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

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

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

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

Making a difference

2010-03-06T18:59:00.007+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Milestone

2010-03-04T22:25:00.003+01:00

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

Sort of.

Because Sweden is my home, too.

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

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

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

Stuffed

2010-03-02T19:45:00.006+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Picture from Google

Tick-tick-tick...tap-tap-tap

2010-02-27T08:57:00.005+01:00

A newspaper reporter asks a five-year-old to explain what time is. The kid answers, "Time is time. Kids have more time than grownups." In two days I will be turning yet another page on our family calendar, the third time this year. MARCH! Which is exactly what this year is already doing, marching on and ahead, and losing no time in the process!! On the other hand, isn't this what I wanted? For winter to end as quickly as possible so that we can get on with our lives while bathing in light and warmth to the sounds of birds singing and leaves rustling?

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. The stacatto sound from outside my window draws my attention. The temperature is finally above freezing, and it's raining. Thick layers of snow are drawn towards the edge of roof, and I watch as drops of rain and melting snow cascade in a waterfall of transformation. The glistening snow's spell is broken; its beauty is being extinguished before my eyes. And I find myself thinking, "Gee, maybe it wasn't so bad with all the snow after all?"

In whichever case, that question is moot as time is ever unfolding and ultimately unstoppable. While planning for a workshop tomorrow I come across an article written by yoga expert Donna Farhi. She addresses the limits of time with a question that feels as though it were directed to me personally, "What are we afraid of giving birth to?" Basically, dare we try to attain our dreams? Or do we settle for clinging to what we have by playing it safe?

Good question. Fair question. I like safe. I don't like failure. But does that mean I am letting fear run my life?

I'm taking a small step in what I believe is the right direction. This spring I am going to lead a group in yoga for pregnancy. Which means it's time for me to, albeit on an extremely small scale, take the first step towards going into business for myself. After all, time waits for no one.

Hibernation

2010-02-24T07:17:00.003+01:00

Everytime I open my blog, I start thinking that I should really try to write something. The problem is that I am more or less just going through the motions at the moment. I wouldn't say I'm apathetic, but somehow my mind's defenses have shut down parts of my brain in an attempt to prevent me from getting cabin fever due to this insanely white winter we are experiencing.

My mantra these days is what the birthing nurse reminded us about at my yoga for pregnancy course two weeks ago: Nothing is permanent; everything you're feeling will eventually pass.

So I'm surrendering to Mother Nature (as far as I know, no one's beat her at any challenge anyhow). I'm accepting that everything we do on an everyday basis is going to demand more time, energy, and patience, and with that I'm to accept that it's only natural that I am feeling depleted as a result. So when I'm tired at 9 P.M., I can't start doing yoga or blog; I NEED to go to bed.

Removing my veil

2010-02-16T21:26:00.003+01:00

Early Monday morning I got home at 3 A.M. after having been to Stockholm for a 5-day course in Virya yoga for pregnancy. Exhausted from lack of sleep, I spent most of Monday in a daze, feeling cranky and frustrated and thinking that maybe it's time to make some changes. I've brushed upon this topic recently when I got to thinking about the pros and cons a job change may or may not entail. My main hangup has been to what extent I would be willing to compromise the peace of mind accompanied with a comfortable salary. And sensing my hestitation to embracing a "simpler" lifestyle, this yogi-wannabe finds herself once again questioning whether or not she's mature enough to live truthfully - both towards herself and her family.

Later on that afternoon I grudgingly went out to shovel yet another few inches of snow from our driveway. The combination of cool, fresh air and physical exertion helped me snap out of my funk, and as I continued to pile snow on top of the 4-foot drifts that line our lawn I sort of had an epiphany. During my "digging meditation" I began to scrutinize in what ways I thought that a job change would improve my life, especially when it came to my yoga. I found myself fantasizing about teaching more classes and holding workshops and having a more regular and vigorous physical as well as spiritual pracitce.

The yogic term maya translates to "not that" and more or less refers to the illusions that incessantly spin around and get stuck in our minds. All of the sudden I realized that I was simply wasting my creative energy on an imaginary escape plan. And it's hardly the first time either. I am somewhat of a master at avoiding both conflicts and disasters, and in the past I have willingly tried different jobs and lived in different places, always in search of finding more satisfaction. The thing is that today I'm finally doing what I set out to do more than 13 years ago. And chances are, a change of jobs might lead to some improvements, but most likely there will be as many (if not more) disadvantages. And me taking on more classes isn't going to free up more time for me to hit the mat on my own, that's for sure!

Last month I couldn't decide on a New Year's Resolution. What came to me as a revelation as I sweated it out with snowshovel in hand, that which I have decided will be my New Year's Resolution for 2010 is:

- Making what I have work.

Picture from Google

Letting Debbie Allen Quiet My Demons: Part II

2010-02-12T17:53:00.003+01:00

For those who know me (and/or this blog), you may or may not have noticed that guilt to me is like an old, cranky relative that you can't stand, but whom you have to put up with since it's part of who you are. So anything positive almost always includes a "Yeah, but" clause, and this visit to Stockholm is no different...

In "Part I" I joyfully listed all the positive aspects ofcoming here. I love being able to relax, recharge, and simply be able to focus on myself...as well as being able to continue on my journey towards self-authenticity.

On the other hand, what my choices entail are leaving my husband along with our two kids (plus cat) for 6 days. Not only do I miss them, I can't BE THERE for them other than the occasional phone call. Naturally, one of them gets sick; this time it was my daughter who caught a (albeit mild) 24-hour stomach bug. No vomitting, thank goodness, but the poor little thing had to constantly sprint for the bathroom all day Thursday. Today she was feeling better, but just to play it safe she stayed home from school for a second day.

Alone. In my bed. With the TV and cat to keep her company and soup she had to warm for herself in the microwave. All the while her mother tried feebly to "mother" from afar as best she could. And all the while my guilt-demons are doing a happy, little jig, jeering at me as I try to restrain from beating myself up for being so selfish and egotistical.

And I'm sure there's a lot of people, especially parents, who might think it serves me right. For them being a parent is their 24-7 call of duty, and being yourself is what you do once the kids have left the nest (unless they start having kids that you suddenly have to grandparent 24-7...). And I'm not judging them one bit; I think it's a choice everyone makes for themselves.

As for me, I don't see myself as just being a mother, a professional, or a wife. I want to be ME in addition to all those other things (which I, by the way, signed up for all by myself, thank you very much...). But in doing so, I find myself forced to work for it and compromising is essential.

Which brings me to Debbie Allen.... My girlfriend Maria has a workout top with "Miss Grant's" famous quote written on the inside. I just changed the word fame to "self-discovery":

- So you got dreams; you want (self-discovery). Well (self-discovery) costs, and right here is where you start paying, in sweat (even if it's mental sweat we're talking about).

Anyhow, that's the choice I've made. And I will continue on, trying to find the balance, going at it one day at a time, and always make a point of showing those dearest to me how much I love them.

Letting Debbie Allen Quiet My Demons: Part I

2010-02-12T07:53:00.003+01:00

Now there's a title. Unfortunately I don't think the content of this entry will quite live up to the expectations a title like that brings, but here goes:

I'm in Stockholm where I am taking a 5-day course in Virya yoga for pregnancy. Just listen to the sound of that for a second:

1). I'm = on my own, without kids, in the process of being completely spoiled by my girlfriend Maria with her espresso machine, beautiful apartment, homecooked meals (topped off with Ben&Jerry's), and above all, lots of laughter from where we lay spread out in our pajamas on her couch.

2). in Stockholm = for those of you who have never been to Stockholm, it is breathtakingingly beautiful, let me tell you.

3). 5-days = see the point 1).

4). course in Virya yoga for pregnancy = and loving every little corn of knowledge and exchange I'm receiving, knowing that I am going to be able to use this knowledge and do some really positive things with them.

What about the demons then?? And where's Debbie Allen?

Stayed tuned for Part II...(which I hope to write later on this evening because I sort of have a bus to catch so that I don't come late to class!!)

Prioritize me!

2010-02-08T19:48:00.006+01:00

The constant battle in my mind continues. Every now and then we (that is, my various wants, needs, wishes, hopes, dreams, etc) call a temporary cease-fire, and I can feel satisfied with things just as they are. But then somebody starts whispering, "What would life be like IF...", and within a split second all those other characters are riled up, and like strikers walking with their handmade signs in a picket line, they're all demanding to be heard - and appeased!

Take the following scenario for example: This weekend I read a want-ad for a pretty cut-and-dry P.T. position within the neighboring community, which happens to be the in the same town as the school where my husband teaches. With that I try envisioning the following: no more overnights, evenings free (=more yoga), steady work-schedule, car-pooling with my husband, being in a closer vicinity to my kids, all are included on the plus side.

The minus side: a lot less money, freedom, stimulation, travelling the country and Europe.

Plus side: no more guilty conscience for always being away when one of the kids fall ill or when the cat decides to battle it out with his little bird prey in the living room while the house is empty, leaving it up to my husband to defend the fort (and clean up the mess) on his own.

Minus side: The peace of mind associated with being able to afford a family vacation, activities for the kids, new clothes when needed, haircuts, birthday presents, car repairs.

On the one hand: don't change a winning concept.

On the other hand: you won't know if you don't try.

I think it's time for a hot bath (plus side, by the way, since I'm spending the night at a hotel).

Picture from Google

Don't want to jinx it!

2010-02-06T09:20:00.002+01:00

I've written before that where some might have a hard time admitting to others when times are tough, I have find it more difficult to admit when things are good. This partly due to my fear that if I openly express my own good fortune, I then risk that a) things won't get any better, and I will have to "settle" for what I have or b) I'll jinx my luck and things will take a turn for the worse. Ridiculous, I know.

The other reason I at times hesitate to answering, "Things are great!", when someone inquires as to how I'm doing, is that I am suddenly struck by guilt, afraid that my enthusiasm and all around positive attitude might offend others who aren't doing so great. Not that I really get how my being miserable would help others (other than the fact that misery loves company)... Juvenile, huh?

Anyhow, here goes: Things ARE great. Work is fine. House is warm. Kids are (pretty) healthy. Take this Saturday morning for example: I'm in pajamas lying in bed and blogging. Hubby is next to me in his bathrobe watching an episode of "Bands of Brothers". Daughter is upstairs singing along with some YouTube clip. Son is doing what he loves more than anything - playing Playstation.

Sure, we have a house to clean later, lunch to make, clothes to wash; but for now things really couldn't be any better.

Picture from Google

What I want most when I am dead

2010-02-01T20:24:00.005+01:00

This is not something I have ever really thought about until now. This evening, as part of my post-workday routine, I checked into my favorite blog, Börja Om, and the author was literally fuming at the type of comments that were being left on another blog, Vimmelmamman, as a response to her latest entry. What had transpired the moblike reaction was a letter that "Vimmelmamman" had posted from a widower to yet another blogger, a 36-year old music teacher who had lost her battle with cancer this past summer. Along with her husband, she is survived by two young daughters.

The widower has since his wife's passing fallen in love with another woman and gladly expressed his happiness for having had this woman enter into his and his daughters' lives. Apparently his daughters had taken so well to his new partner that they felt they could call her "Mamma".

After having read his letter, a number of people went simply ballistic; so much so that is was scary surrealistic. I, on the other hand, clearly remembered how tears had rolled down my cheeks when the widower had early last summer informed his wife's followers of her death and his extraordinary loss. My reaction to this turn of events was marked with nothing but joy for him, his daughters, and even his wife, whom I believe is somewhere in the spirit world and thrilled to see her family moving on and focusing on the positive side of life, and living it to their fullest.

And, gratefully, I dare say that most of the those who commented to this newly published letter were also optimistic. But those who disagreed really got me thinking. The most common negative reaction was that people were so afraid of being replaced. They couldn't bear the thought of their spouse loving someone else, at least so soon (yes, there apparently is a time limit). Even worse, they claimed, would be to have been forgotten by their children.

O.K. I can sort of understand that type of spontaneous reaction, but if one were just to go back and really listen to what they just said or wrote: Afraid that they would be replaced after their deaths?! I mean seriously: even the most ardent marital vow is referred to as "'til DEATH do us part", not "'til DEATH AND THEN AT LEAST FOR 1-10 YEARS AFTERWARDS do us part".

Ownership... Desire... Fear... Pain... And it becomes so clear to me that this is what the yogic philosophies are trying to teach us! How can we possibly place demands on those we are supposed to love more than anything from our graves? I am surely not the only one who has wondered what it would be like to lose my husband or my children? And when I think about that uncomprehensible pain, I doubt I am the only one who has selfishly said that I am less afraid of my own death than the prospect of having to survive the death of one of my loved ones.

But I swear that if I were to die, I wouldn't want my husband or children to suffer even a microsecond, should there be some alternative way for them to lighten their burden. And should love enter into their lives, no matter at what point, I could only pray that they would jump at the chance to accept it and continue on in their pursuit of happiness.

And should my children experience enough love, compassion, and security that they could call someone other than me "Mom", well then I would consider myself to be one lucky spirit.

Would you have stopped and listened?

2010-01-31T21:16:00.006+01:00

This weekend I received an e-mail about this experiment the Washington Post did with violin virtuoso Joshua Bell (whom I'd never heard of earlier, so that you don't think I'm trying to impress anyone with cultural namedropping). This guy, dressed in jeans and cap, who plays his $3.5 M violin for soldout houses with tickets costing $100 each, agreed to stand in a Metro station an average Friday morning, and simply do his thing, incognito, just to see if the average passerbyer could perceive beauty in an unexpected enviroment at a random time of day.

How many musicians have I walked by without taking notice? Have I ever deposited money? Am I capable of distinguishing gifted musicians without having to dress formally and sit myself down in a concerthouse with a glossy program in hand telling me that what I am about to listen to is fabulous?

How do I act when going to and from any of the following, where I might find myself in the vicinity of such a musician: subway? mall? train station? town square? Here's how: head down, no eye contact, hurry on by so as not to feel pressured to make a donation.

Thus, I would more than likely been one of the approximately 1050 people (out of approx. 1070) who just rushed past, had I been at that particular Metro station that particular morning.

The article linked below is REALLY long, but you can skim through it and still get the opportunity to explore and ponder the question: Just how mindful are you in your everyday life? Because isn't that exactly what this is all about? Being in touch with your enviroment, your circumstances, your macrocosmos as well as your microcosmos? All that stuff we yogis love to read and recite about? Anyhow, it made for a really great theme in today's class. And I myself, as I prepared for this specific theme with my own mat session, only proved even more so to myself how easily distracted I at times become, and therefore found myself having to stop and start several sequences over, simply due to the static in my brain as well as my foggy perception.

How did Joshua fare? After an hour he had received $32. Something to think about.

Here's the link to the actual Pulitzer Prize winning article (and there's even some video footage along with the article). And if you just want to see a clip from YouTube:

In Defense of One's Ego

2010-01-28T18:40:00.008+01:00

Yet another week between entries. And despite these longer intervals between writing I have yet to uncover or offer any new personal reflections. In fact, when I finally landed in my hotel room for an hour long break (before heading out again into the freezing cold for dinner with my boss and coworkers), I immediately knew that I would use this fractional timeframe to open my blog and just write whatever popped into my head - whatever I felt like writing.

And being the natural born goodie-two-shoe that I am I naturally had an almost immediate reaction as though I would be doing something daredevilish, like a true renegade, because we all know that we shouldn't be so egotistical, right? It seems that just admitting to having an ego is something that induces a cringing effect in those "others" we so hopelessly aim to please. Throughout life a lot of girls, who had a traditional Catholic upbringing like me, have within their psyche the feeling that if we're just good enough souls, then maybe we will be worthy of love and above all, approval. And within yogic philosophy: anything that distinguishes you from everything and everyone else causes separateness, desire, and pain.

And then there's little 'ole me, sitting alone in the an old, yet comfortable armchair, still wearing my hat and with my feet up on the table, in a quiet room laced with the slightly musty odor signifying the somewhat rundown state of this hotel, can't help but feel (selfishly) satisfied for these ever so fortunate circumstances - to be ALONE, to hear the QUIET, and have the OPPORTUNITY TO DO WHAT I WANT TO DO, without having to take everyone else into consideration - and all I can wonder is, "Is it really so bad to just take care of one's self for a while?"

Or is solitude simply a modern day sin? I vote not.

Report from Clontarf Castle

2010-01-21T18:51:00.003+01:00

My mind's been a blank for the past week, a condition that regretfully is becoming more and more common. I don't know if it's because of age, brain overload, or a general lack of lucidity. Right now I am sitting on a bed fit for a queen, suitably enough considering that I am at the moment staying at a castle hotel in Dublin.

I wish I could come up with some incredibly creative and keen observations about my experiences here, albeit brief and extremely limited since I will have no time to explore Ireland, that could act as metaphors to some broader, philosophical truth, but my mental fuel guage is reading empty. So in this neanderthal state, I am able to focus only on my basic needs, and I can only take note of what I am feeling here and now.

Luckily enough, I can honestly say that I am feeling pretty content at the moment. The bed I am in is the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. The wind is howling as the rain batters against the window. And since the maid had opened my window earlier, my room is filled with a certain dark dampness that seems to fit perfectly in this type of enviroment, allowing my comforter to "comfort" me all the more.

The people I've met since arriving yesterday have been, to use their most common term, "brilliant". I think they would have no problem striking up a conversation with a lamppost. They excuse themselves for crowding even when they're not even close to nudging you, but a word of caution: I saw the customs officer rip into a passenger like a lion simply because she wondered why he was asking her about her studies. Looking back at my own upbringing, their need to maintain a certain level of decorum (great word, huh?) makes me feel right at home.

After a long day of lecturing I am basking in the opportunity to just zone out, space out, and completely relax. And funny enough, I don't even feel the least bit guilty, despite the fact that I am presently in the country that turned otherwise turned Catholic guilt into an art form. So if you don't mind, I am now going to go down to the Knight's Bar so that I can order a pint of Guiness (this coming from a girl who can't even drink an entire beer). Cheers!!

The (surprise?) party

2010-01-17T21:16:00.013+01:00

How connected I feel to my husband at any particular moment varies, and hopefully I am not the only half-of-a-couple that at times wonders, "How did we get here?" It's not my love is erratic. I guess if you compare the outlook (not the strength) of our bonds to the weather, then some days it's sunny with clear skies and 100% visibility, while on other days the fog comes in, and you can't even see the hand in front of your face. I won't even go into what happens when a hurricane hits; I figure you get the picture.

Anyhow, we were invited to a party to celebrate a good friend's successful disputation. Neither P nor I are the partying kind. We weren't even altogether shocked at the realization that the last occasion where we had to "dress up" was my mother-in-law's funeral six years ago. I know; that's pretty bad. But I always feel like a fish out of water any time high heels are required, and I have a hard time hearing what's being said if there's loud music, and I get so tired in the evenings, and I don't know so many people, and if I try to drink some wine then I will end up with a hangover before dessert is even served: I assume you're getting this picture, too? Let's just say I'm more a small gathering with a few good friends, good food, and lots of laughter kind of person - you know, lazy and comfortable...

Going through my closet wondering whatever posessed me to buy 90% of the articles of clothing that laid there gawking at me, I finally found a skirt (given to me by my shopping goddess of a friend) with a top that oddly enough matched perfectly. All I needed to buy was a pair of stockings. Nice. Hubby tried on his pants with jacket and a new button down shirt from Tiger that he had purchased while we were in Florida last month. Gulp - very nice.

My husband was granted the honor to serve as toastmaster for this dinner; it would be the first time he ever did something like this. But as he started to welcome the guests, all of the sudden I was transported 18 ½ years back in time to the first time I heard him speak. Despite his height (6' 4") he stood with his back fully erect, yet his words were so natural and full of warmth and humor that it just hypnotized everyone, especially me. We weren't seated by each other at dinner, but as soon as the music started he pulled me onto the dancefloor, and we danced the only way we know how - slowly. In short, it was an awesome party.

Picture from Google

My need for santosha

2010-01-16T08:24:00.003+01:00

My absence from my blog is usually a pretty good barometer of: a) how little free time I have at the moment and/or b) how little energy I have to do more than I absolutely have to for the moment. Still, there are some advantages to my line of work which entails long hours of driving in my car to and from clients. I have gotten into the habit of listening to CD-books and this week I finally finished off one of the most beautiful books I've ever read(?), "The Story of Norea (Noreas Saga)", by Marianne Fredriksson, the final book from her Children of Paradise trilogy.

Throughout her life the character Norea embraced her innate ability to transcend time and exist in the moment. Since she neither compared her present circumstances to the past nor wondered what life could be like in the future, she was more or less fearless, fearless and free. This got me to start thinking about the yogic principle of santosha, which means contentment. I have always struggled with admitting to others when I have felt content since I've been afraid that that would automatically mean that I would have to settle for that and never get more.

The more I think about that whole "getting more" attitude, the more apparent the negative effects of desire become. Sure, one should strive for development and self-improvement, but most often my desires are linked to my ego, to simply wanting more than I have. And the energy I waste concentrating on what I don't have diminishes my ability to appreciate and embrace that which I do have.

From optimism to confusion - from anxiety to responsibility - and then some sushi...

2010-01-10T21:21:00.003+01:00

That pretty much sums up my week, the first week of 2010. During the first few days I was wrought with jetlag, but at least I was still off from work and surfing on the post-buzz of having spent our Christmas vacation in Florida. So basically I went around in a dazed state of feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. However, the fog in my mind slowly started to thicken after a couple of days, and fatigue started to set in. Random thoughts flashing like lightning bolts began ricocheting through my brain, neither giving me a chance to decipher them nor comprehend any type of coherence.

On Monday it was time to return to work mode, still I was lucky enough to not have to take any business trips. Plus, Wednesday was a holiday. Yet at this point my mind was thick and sticky like syrup, and I felt like I was trapped in one of those dreams where you have to run but you can't move your legs. I felt completely drained. I tried to meditate, but my thoughts, albeit distant, stilled bounced around without offering the least bit of insight. When it was time to go to bed, I had a hard time falling asleep and an even harder time getting up in the morning.

Of course it could very well be that I was still experiencing the aftermath of my jetlag. This being the coldest winter in years wasn't helping. I used to enjoy the contrasts of the seasons, and while I found the winter wonderland-scape to be beautiful, if given a choice between that and the warmth of Southern Florida - well, it would be a no-brainer at this point! What got to me today, though, was that I just couldn't come up with a theme or figure out what kind of yoga class I should put together for this afternoon's class. I surfed the Internet in search of inspiration and ended up pulling out my old notebooks in the hopes of discovering that perfect, a-ha idea.

Nada... In the end I toyed with the idea of repeating an earlier theme, and while I was in the car driving to the gym my ego pleaded with me to ask my group if we could just repeat the flow class from New Year's Eve; I could just explain to them that I was low on energy and just wanted to yoga with them. When we gathered for the introduction of today's class, I immediately rejected that idea. As a teacher, my students rely on me to offer them food for thought and help them on their journeys. As a teacher, I must put my students first, and most often their positive attitude and dedication both energizes and inspires me. (God, they were fantastic tonight!) So after class I ended up rolling out my mat in order to do some yoga on my own in a last attempt to get myself back on track.

Halfway through my flow I received a spur of the moment text message from my husband and laughed out loud as I read the words: "Treat yourself to some sushi." It made me remember that I am loved. And suddenly continuing on wasn't so difficult. Afterwards I heeded his words and enjoyed Kalmar's best sushi and miso soup before returning home.

I solemnly swear (maybe)...

2010-01-07T18:28:00.003+01:00

Am I the only one who feels that the pressure's on to figure out some kind of New Year's resolution? That it's mandatory, because if you DON'T have a New Year's resolution by now, then obviously you aren't willing to further develop and/or improve yourself. Oh, the hubris!

Yet isn't it even worse to have announced to the world that you've decided your New Year's resolution (like giving up your overpriced-calorie-bombs-courtesy-of-Starbucks (right, Patty?!)), only to discover on January 2nd that you really need your drug-of-choice so you tell yourself that one last treat is OK (sort of like me only eating half a chocolate chip cookie), and by January 4th you're like, "What resolution?" before quickly changing the subject.

Isn't life hard enough with so many promises rendered worthless due to the attachment of invisible strings in the form of conditions that can only be found in the fine print? How many people do I trust unreservedly? Can I be trusted? What's the promise of my dreams like? Can I trust that any of them will come true? Am I living up to my own promise, living my life to the fullest? ...offering as much as I can to those dearest to me ? Dare I resolve to do so? At this point I had to go back to this last paragraph and change the subject to all the previous questions from "you" to "I". God, it's hard to turn the mirror towards oneself, sorry, I mean MYSELF.

So basically I'm right back where I started - do I make a resolution or not?

If I do make a resolution, then I want nothing short of me having to be hooked up to life support to stop me from achieving my goals. With that said, all I need to know is what my goals are. Just one problem: I have no freaking idea what my goals are.

Great, I've just turned 40, and it's dawned on me that I have no idea what my goals are... My thirties consisted of me starting a family, taking charge of my career, and developing my interests. I am, to say the least, pleased with the results - Hell, I'm thrilled with the abundance my life has brought me! But my thirties are over, and I'm thinking perhaps my new era needs a new sense of direction.

So my New Year's resolution for 2010 is: figure out whatever it is I should resolve to do with my life from this point forward!

Picture from Google

Airing of grievances...

2010-01-03T22:01:00.005+01:00

I realize that I just wrote in my last entry that I can only look ahead, but, hey, that was like two days ago; things change, right?

So here goes: Damn, that yoga (written with a healthy dose of sarcasm and just a pinch of candor)! Leave it to a session on the mat to jumpstart the process of peeling layers, opening up, digging deep, stripping defences, and removing veils. Left is emptiness, all save that black clump lodged in between my stomach and heart, the place that I imagine inhabits, among other things, my soul.

OK, once again, I get carried away with the melodramatics, but if it's (almost) Festivus, then it's (almost) Festivus. That, and when my mind quiets, and my body's been worn out physically, I can sense a feeling of dark emptiness within the clean emptiness that otherwise replaces the regular bustle of everyday thoughts and actions. It's like all the insecurities from my past, all my misconceptions, all the times I felt I was either in the wrong or wronged, past hurts, feelings of wishing I had done things differently, they resurface longing to be set free.

In my favorite book, "Eat, Pray, Love", the author describes a couple of accounts where she cleanses her soul and mind of her own mental baggage through meditation. At one point she even experiences pure bliss. I wonder what that must be like? How much lighter would my step be? How much more energy would I have? How fewer sighs would I release?

No sadness here, just thoughts from the heart. The baggage has been around for so long, it's like second nature. I've made some progress throughout the years. I haven't gotten rid of my load, but for the most part at least I have wheels on my luggage, so it's not as hard to pull it along to wherever it is I'm going. Still, it would be nice if I could get the light to some day reach all the way through to my core; then maybe I could air my grievances and be free of them once and for all.

A new year, a clean slate...

2010-01-02T01:29:00.005+01:00

Jetlag has me up at 1:30 A.M. this January morning. The fireworks from last night have been replaced by a soft blanket of snow, and the silence is only broken by the sound of tangent keys being pressed as I write. Up until now I haven't reflected much about the fact that we have now all entered a new decennium, but with me being a child born in the final breaths of the sixites, I realize that every new, decennial transition marks the next age-oriented phase in my life: the past decennium represented my 30's while the 2010's are going to mark my 40's. When 2019 draws to a close, I will be turning 50.......

OK - no need to get depressed (!); on the contrary I have noticed that for the past couple days I have for some reason felt a sense of warm optimism. I am feeling the same kind of anticipation I felt every year on the first day of school when everything was new from the clothes I wore to the teacher and classmates I would receive; it was just as exciting every year. The past week P and I have discussed (as much as one can when the kids are around constantly demanding our undivided attention 24/7) what changes we may or may not choose to make in our lives. At any rate, we both seem to have come to the realization that time is ticking, and life offers no guarantees. And while we can do our best to make informed decisions, at some point we have to take risks if there ever is going to be a "some day". Maybe it's time for some transformation? or perhaps a change of climate??

I am also curious as to what lies ahead in my career. The past few months I have been reflecting on what route I need to take: the "forward-march" in my career so that we can afford to live the life we desire for us and our children (in the hopes that all desire doesn't have to be o-yogic desire), or is it soon time for me to live more simply so that I can search for more soulful riches?

In one of the books that changed my life, "A Simple Abundance", the author opens by explaining that in the beginning of our journey one is not expected to have any answers; it is however a good time to start asking the questions. Maybe I should be looking back at the year that has past, but for whatever reason I can only look forward from where I am right now at the moment. The slate has been cleaned, and I hope and pray that the 2010's will be the decennium I gravitate even more towards my authentic self.

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

2009-12-19T14:30:00.004+01:00

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

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

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

Respect.

Joy to MY world...

2009-12-17T02:42:00.003+01:00

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

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

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

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

Been where? Done what?

2009-12-11T23:44:00.002+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

Pictures from Google

The laugh factor

2009-12-08T21:50:00.003+01:00

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

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

Note to self: must laugh more often.

Here's the commercial:

Prescription for stress relief...

2009-12-06T21:17:00.003+01:00

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

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

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

Dim the lights and light a few candles.

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

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

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

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

Use as many props as you like.

Think as little as possible.

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

Pictures from Google

Sorry...

2009-12-03T21:41:00.004+01:00

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

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

What's the point?

2009-11-28T18:43:00.007+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pictures from Google

Giving thanks

2009-11-26T23:07:00.002+01:00

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

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

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