Where is everybody…?

I woke up grumpy. 

Not simply aggravated, or even annoyed, but straight up grumpy.

The kind of grumpy that had me lying there in bed planning how I was gonna share the wealth with the first person I met. The kind of grumpy that had me building a catalog of slights and creating a corresponding menu of rebukes, so that I could be ready to express the mood no matter who the lucky target recipient was.

Yeah, that kind of grumpy.

Which is not like me. And, thankfully–thankfully, thankfully, thankfully–there was still enough of me present that I recognized that. And so rather than surrender to the momentum of these thoughts,  

I called a pause… And I got curious.
Full disclosure, it wasn’t my most subtle or eloquent inquiry. I believe that I started at, “WTF? What is happening here? Seriously!”
But it was enough to halt the momentum.

And give me space to breathe.

And–gradually–feel my way into better questions:

Why on earth are you being so nasty first thing in the morning? 

What has you so upset?

Are you still tired? Hungry? Thirsty?

You do know what will happen if you say that, right?

Why would you want to say such a thing to him?

Seriously, darling, what is going on here…?
Eventually, it came out: my feelings were hurt and I was in the reflexive response zone. And my feelings were hurt because there had been low attendance at the event I hosted the day before. 

Ah, that makes perfect sense! People let you down, you’re hurt, you reflexively want to hurt in return. 

And now, instead, you get to decide what to do with/about that hurt. 
My first instinct was to turn to my journal. 

I was very aware of the possibility that this journaling session could degenerate into a bitch session, so I made myself start with gratitude. Now, I know that forced gratitude journaling isn’t quite in keeping with the spirit of the thing, but it was important that I find at least three things that had gone right–essential really. I probably wouldn’t have been able to articulate it then, but it’s crystal clear in retrospect. Starting with something, anything, good-feeling would create a space that allowed for honesty while also pointing me towards constructive Possibility. 
Turns out that many things had gone right–nine to be precise. Numbers one and two definitely felt  forced, but by the time I got to number three I was on a roll. And by the time I got to number nine, I could definitely feel that my momentum was shifting. And I felt much more ready to explore the question at hand.

Still cautious of my tone, I framed the journal entry as a debrief of the experience–that is literally the phrase that I started the entry with. And then I just let myself write… 

The results caught me off guard…and then surprised the heck out of me!
I was caught off guard by the fact that I had several constructive suggestions for myself: a promotion that could have generated more buzz; to what extent timing probably played an issue; and even some inspiration based on a few unexpected participants. 
I was surprised, when I found myself writing this:

If I had done my 100% for the event and folks had bailed, then I could’ve surrendered the outcome to having done my best. But having been unable to give it my all, there’s the nagging sense that I could have done more and had a different outcome. 

I wrote it. Then I read it. And then I realized, I wasn’t experiencing hurt feelings, I was experiencing Guilt. 
My working definition of the word guilt draws liberally on the work of Karla Maclaren and Brene Brown. These two brilliant feelers and thinkers have taught me that guilt is the feeling that arises when my behavior is out of alignment. Out of alignment with my values, my priorities, my commitments, my Joy, my Truth. Guilt is my signal that I’m moving through the world in a way that doesn’t sync up with my Inner Wisdom.

In this case, I had planned an event with the best of intentions but work and schedules had intervened, leaving me with minimal bandwidth to nurture it. So, it wasn’t that people had let me down, I had let me down. Ohhhh…
Now for the coolest, potentially trickiest, part: owning my guilt without letting it own me.

If I had let my guilt own me, I would have been on an express train to the land of self-recrimination. Why do I always do this? I should have found the time; I should have made the time! Why didn’t I plan better? Blah, blah, blah… You all know the script and you all know how icky that script feels in your chest and how it solidifies the weight pressing into your shoulders. You can come back from that, but it takes quite a bit of effort, so let’s just not go there.
In this case, the process of inquiry that revealed the guilt to me was also the process of sitting with and owning it. Cool, huh? By listing specific things that I could have done differently–that I fervently wished I had done differently–and starting to think through how I will actually do things differently next time, I was simultaneously 

1) acknowledging that my behavior felt out of alignment to me

2) acknowledging its consequences, and 

3) exploring what both had to teach me about how to be more aligned, more in the Flow, more true to my Self on the next go-round.
Oh, and I was also forgiving myself. Not letting myself off the hook, but definitely giving myself credit for having done my best under the circumstances. It got done. And it was a solid first step. And I’m gonna own that too.
So, I ask you, do have any opportunities to come back into alignment today? And how will you lovingly create the space in which you can do so?

What are you saying?

AcroYoga is not a physical practice; it is a communication practice that happens to be physical. -TS Fields

I have to begin with apologies to TS, as there’s a chance that I’ve mangled his words here. But I believe that I’ve captured their essence.  In fact, I know that I have, because I’m living their essence this week. I’m doing some of the most intense acrobatic training that I’ve done in years and everywhere I turn I’m tripping over lessons in communicaton.  Ahh, AFOGs (Another F*ing Opportunith for Growth)…. My lessons this week mostly center around (1) The way I communicate with myself and (2) The way I listen with my body.

We’ve been spending a lot of time on calibrations, flow series that are designed to tune flyer and base to each other, refining the space in between us. As we explore new (and challenging) ways of moving between familiar body shapes there are all sorts of opportunities to learn how to work together. There are also all sorts of opportunities to blame your partner when it doesn’t work. Not that I would ever do that, of course, but I’ve heard that things like that sometimes happen. Riiiight…

Actually, I can honestly say that I’m innocent of that particularly acrobatic sin. 

Because I’ve been condemning both of us for our struggles.

Which, of course, was the only thing creating “struggle.”

My first clue came when during a 1-on-1 sidebar about core activation, my coach Chelsey said, “You’re so hard on yourself that you’ve become your own worst enemy.” Very subtle stuff, I know, but I was able to pick up on the possibility that she was maybe, sort of pointing me towards something worth exploring. So, I started paying conscious attention to my inner dialogue. The results were equal parts illuminating and horrifying:  

During a skills demo: I can’t do that!! How the *#@ do they expect us to do that!?

During handstand practice: Well, here goes nothing…

During a practice round: Come on, come on, just do it already! You should be getting this!

During handstand practice: Crap, that’s scary, gotta’ bail!

During strength training: Thats gonna be too hard, so let’s do this version instead.

Such self talk! And, of course, having recognized the self talk and been horrified by it, I then had the opportunity to compound the sin by condemning myself for the workings of my mind. 

So very tempting… 

So tempting that I did spend a few minutes dangling my feet in that swamp, but I find that I’ve lost my taste for thrashing around in the muck. So, instead I turned my attention to writing new scripts. In the words of Sakyong Mipham, I decided to turn my mind into an ally:

During a skills demo: Ok, I feel super intimidated. *breath* What part of that series am I willing to try?

During handstand practice: What am I learning?  What can I do differently this time? 

During a practice round: *breath* *giggle* no more words. it’s not always genuine at first, but I find that if I’m willing to at least attempt a giggle it goes a long way

During handstand oractice: Crap that’s scary! Gotta bail!! (What can I say, I’m a work in progress)

During strength training: Lets try one rep, just one…

And when I remember to use these new scripts, I am able to pull up out of the bubble of my own mind and tune in to the space between me and my partner. And that’s where the listening comes in. 

I’ve been hearing this particular teaching team talk about the flyer feeling into points of support for years and I thought I understood it, but something clicked on Day 5 and I felt it in my cells. With my mind free from inner dialogue–well, freer from it, I had space to bring my attention to the connection points. And I’m learning that I can have as much intelligence in my shoulders and hips as I do in my hands. I can rest my awareness in them and feel when the hand or foot beneath me is stacked and ready to bear weight. I can also sense when it’s too soon and I must be patient. And I can trust that embodied wisdom. And the more expansive my listening, the more my base is able to find–and transmit–freedom and ease. 

Yup, that’s right, the more fully present I am to what is actually happening, the more skillfully I can participate in it. Why has no one ever thought of this before??

In all seriousness, beyond improving the quality of my acrobatics practice, this feels like deep practice for cultivating awareness of my Inner Voice. A chance to dive deeper into that particular quality of internal listening and manner of placing your focus even as you remain responsive to what’s happening around you–or, in this case, under you. And a big part of that practice is noticing when I’ve slipped into the old, unconstructive mental groove, forgiving myself for it, and choosing the new scripts that support expanding awareness. Again. And again. And again. 

So, I ask you, where does your Wisdom reside? And how will you turn your mind into an ally for the exploration?  

Are we done here?

The two hour cup of tea

The three hour dinner date 

The silence that rings with the echo of a just-chanted Om

The happy-sad feeling of coming to the end of a beautifully written book

The wide open possibility of the very first moment your eyes open in the morning
Ahh, don’t those feel good? So good that you maybe want to hang around for a little while–you know, linger…?

Today, I’m campaigning on behalf of the Lost Art of Lingering (brace yourselves for an onslaught of ellipses!).  I’m advocating a return to the incomparably delicious pleasure of savoring something all the way through to the end…and then giving it even more time and space to resonate with and in you. And, because I know that change begins at home, this essay is my declaration of intent.

This issue popped on my radar screen when I was out to dinner with a friend recently. We had a great meal at our neighborhood spot, tasty food and solidly entertaining conversation.  I was really enjoying myself. I thought we both were. But as soon as the credit card slips were signed, my friend jumped up and, seeming to already be halfway out the door, asked me if I was ready to go.  Well, not really, but you’re not leaving me much choice, I thought. Also, what on earth have I done to send you fleeing from the table? Is there  spinach in my teeth? Do I have a spot of politics stuck to my cheek? And can I at least finish my water?

It turned out that my friend’s haste was inspired by his concerns for the waitstaff–the more tables they get in a night, the greater their income potential–and not at all a reflection of our shared experience. And once my concerns were allayed, the situation got me thinking about what I would have wanted instead. Rather than that jarring end, I would have preferred to stay at the table sharing some final words and laughter or simply sitting in companionable silence, bathing in the energy of our shared meal. In other words, I would have preferred to linger. 

That, in turn, got me to thinking about the many ways in which I have gotten in the habit of doing the precise opposite, the ways in which I tend to bring my own experiences to a jarring, incomplete end. In other words, rushing. Alas, I am very well practiced at the art of moving quickly from one experience of the next in rapid succession with little transition or even time to catch my breath. It’s just one thing to the next: Finished the book? Ok, that was nice, now it’s time to check email. Almost finished eating? Ok, then go ahead and get started on writing that note. Finished practicing asana? Ok, now it’s time to hop up and go start the laundry. Even though I knew it had become a habit, when I began to pay attention, I was astonished by how often I sacrificed opportunities to linger on the altar of busyness in the name of getting things done. 

And those missed opportunities matter. They make the difference between arriving at the end of the day with a sense of fullness and completion and falling into bed with tomorrow’s to do list running circles in my mind. They make the difference between savoring the full arc of an experience and only dimly noting its passing. They reflect the difference between being fully present to this moment and living in my mind’s version of the next. 

That’s why I’m now committing to deep practice of the Lost Art of Lingering. I want to savor, to luxuriate, to taste every last drop of every single blessing that comes my way.
So, I ask you, will you join me? And if so, how will you savor the moments?

When’s it my turn?

Everyone is good this year

Oh wow, that was truly awesome!

What a great song

Ooh, I like what she did there

Nice riff!

What if last year was just a fluke?

Oh man, that was really good…

Will I be able to do as well as she did?

What if I forget my lyrics?

What if I can’t follow along on the improvs?

Wow, she’s much better than me…

Welcome to my Mind. 

It’s Day 1 of my second annual (and ever!) singing workshop, and I’m toggling back and forth between enjoyment + appreciation and comparison + fretting. 

One moment I’m swept up in a fantastic performance.

The next, I’m fending off a creeping dread that I’m not anywhere near as good–and everyone will know it

It’s a potent cocktail of (quantities approximate):

3 parts comparison 

1 part scarcity

1 part perfectionism

mix well, garnish with a fresh sprig of self-doubt 

And yet I’m not drunk. Not even politely buzzed. Quite the contrary, I’m clear-eyed and sober, watching fascinated as this inner dialogue unfolds across the day. The thoughts are like intermittent clouds, occasionally enough to obscure the bright sky of mind–all but one corner of it. And that corner is the part of me who is able to Witness and Breathe. And while I’m nowhere near proud to be having such petty thoughts, it’s amazing to realize that I’m having them, rather than them having me. 

I’m pretty sure that I have Tara Brach to thank for the experience. Her book Radical Acceptance has taken my experience of mindfulness not just to a new level, but also in a new direction. Inspired by her teachings, I deliberately choose to accept the thoughts. Rather than brand them small and petty (though they so clearly were!) and try to banish them from my consciousness, I experience them:

Thought… Oh, how interesting, I’m comparing myself to her. That makes my belly churn. {breath}

Thought… Oh, I see, now I’m measuring how much of the teacher’s attention will be left for me. That tightens my throat. {breath}

Thought… Hmm, now I seem to be thinking this is a competition. That sits like a lump in my chest. {breath}

Thought… And now I’m inventing disaster performance scenarios. That speeds up my heart and I feel antsy. {breath}

Connecting each thought to the associated physical sensation was incredibly powerful. It allowed me to stay grounded and to, in a way, hold space for myself. It also kept my attention from getting sucked into thought loops. I simply acknowledged each thought as a visitor to my inner landscape and sat with it. Even, as Tara suggests, inviting them to share a cup of tea. After all, they are aspects of me and are worthy of the same compassion that I give to the more obviously lovable parts of my Self. Some stayed longer than others, but none of them really got any traction. Without additional mental energy to feed them, they just kind of hung out, milling around aimlessly. Once it became clear that there wasn’t going to be much else going on, one by one they drifted away like people leaving a party that never quite got started…

I’m convinced that my choice to accept rather than fight was the key to this whole experience. And by the time it was my turn to sing in front of the group–last in the day, so I had plenty of time to practice both comparison and radical acceptance!–I was just excited to sing. Yes, I was a bit nervous to do so in front of seven strangers, but mostly just excited to be in the music. And I wound up having so much fun! I sang a challenging song, one towards the top of what I think of as my comfortable range, then played, riffing and improving with our instructor. Sometimes it came out ugly. And that was perfect. Sometimes it came out sweet. And that was perfect. Still other times, it came out two octaves higher than I thought I would ever, ever sing. And that too was perfect. It was all perfect because it was all suffused with the sheer joy of doing it. And made that much sweeter by the inner journey I took on the way there. 

So, I ask you, where are you resisting yourself today? And how will you use your mindfulness skills to open the doors to the healing magic of fuller self-acceptance?

Am I hungry?

Am I hungry?

Am I tired?

Am I thirsty?

Do I have to pee?

This is my checklist. Whenever I catch myself overreacting, or wanting to snap at someone, or just generally feeling cranky, I stop. Take a breath. And run the list, my crankiness diagnostic algorithm.
If I’m hungry, I eat. And much like a squirrel, I have snacks cached everywhere in case of just such an emergency. Whether it’s granola bars in the glove box, beef jerky in my briefcase, or even airplane peanuts in my tote bag (hey, don’t judge me; there aren’t many other snacks that pack that much fat and protein into that many calories–for free.)

If I’m tired, I rest. That may mean going to bed early or just taking a nap. It may also mean giving myself permission to take the time that I think that I don’t have to pause. And take a deep breath. And another. And another. Before moving on to the next thing.

If I’m thirsty, I have some water. Self-explanatory. 

If my bladder is full, I proceed with all due to haste for the nearest socially acceptable place for emptying it.
The checklist evolved years ago, organically and almost accidentally. As I got deeper into yoga and other mindful practices, I became more aware of my internal states and was able to realize that almost any crankiness I experienced had its basis in a denied basic physiologic need. And the checklist has served me very well over the years; although simple, its powerful. It has prevented countless regrettable spats, avoided countless unfortunate reply-alls, and generally helped me to care for my body in a way that supports my Self. And yet it recently underwent another evolution…

Several times in the past few months, I’ve caught myself being cranky with no explanation. One time the crankiness persisted for days. I walked around for the better part of a week with my shoulders braced, my belly tight, and my face trying desperately to rearrange itself into a snarl that only a werewolf could love. All of this, despite the fact that I’d been consistently eating well, was ahead of the game on my fluid intake yet empty of bladder, as well as sleeping deeply and at-length. Perplexed, I tried my customary solutions anyway, largely because I couldn’t think of what else to do. And, not surprisingly, they didn’t make much of a difference. 
It finally got to the point where I realized that for the sake of everyone–those around me as well as myself–I had to figure this thing out. 
So I got quiet. 

And I got curious. 

I asked myself: what is it that I need right now? How can I best support myself in restoring my mood?
The answer, when it came, shocked the heck out of me. I almost didn’t believe it, tempted to dismiss it as a product of my Mind rather than wisdom from my Heart. But it was the only piece of intel that I had to go on, and I didn’t have anything to lose, so I figured what the heck.
The answer was: complete these tasks. 
Some of the things were corporate work, items that had been left to molder in my inbox like lumps of forgotten Muenster. Some of them were life management, a form of self-care that involves performing routine maintenance on my life’s infrastructure. Others were related to my personal projects, creating and sharing. And still others were about relationship maintenance, calls to be returned, connections to be renewed. 
You can see why I was skeptical about this being my Heart’s answer. After all, lists and tasks are most often the province of the Head. But, as I said, I didn’t have any other insights or ideas, so I set about gettin ‘er done. 
One by one, I completed things from the list. And with each item cleared, I felt better. My face began to relax. My shoulders began to melt. My belly began to soften. And by the time I finished with the list, I felt fully reconnected to my usual, sparkly self. Ahhhh…

Reflecting on the experience has since inspired me to add a fifth question to my checklist:
Am I not doing something that I must do?
My working theory of the case is that incomplete things create a kind of energy sink. Whether it’s taking yourself out of alignment by ignoring your inner voice’s urging to pursue something or simply pulling yourself out of integrity by failing to honor a commitment, those trailing loose ends pull on you and subtly drain your energy. I sometimes picture them crowding around my ankles like so many small dogs, milling around and vying for my attention, their yipping and yapping constantly scratching at the edges of my awareness. Quite frankly, it’s annoying. It’s also distracting, making it challenging to truly, fully focus on anything else. (From the record, I adore dogs–of all sizes. But loving them all doesn’t mean having to deny how annoying the little ones can be!) 
I use the word must here, and I deliberately use it instead of should. Although the thesaurus considers them synonyms, there is a world of energetic difference between the two. Elle Luna eloquently captures it in her brilliant essay The Crossroads of Should and Must (https://medium.com/@elleluna/the-crossroads-of-should-and-must-90c75eb7c5b0) To paraphrase her: 
Should is how others want us to be, Must is who we are at our deepest and most authentic core. 

My crankiness last month, that chronic unease, was a symptom of having strayed from my authentic self, disregarded my personal musts. I had neglected my self-expression by letting personal projects lapse. I had behaved in a way that wasn’t consistent with my intention to be honorable, a woman of my word. Caught up in the trance of busyness, I had been distracted away from my soul’s agenda. And as I made my way through the list, I was literally clearing away all of the accumulated mental and energetic debris that marked unfinished, or at least unattended, business. And in clearing that static away, I was able to re-experience the peace that always resides in the deepest heart of me. 

So, I ask you, what are your body and spirit asking for right now? And how will you continue to hone your ability to hear and honor them?

Falling into place?

Deciding everything is falling into place perfectly as long as you don’t get too picky about what you mean by place. Or perfectly. -Brian Andreas

I love this one. In fact, it has become one of my inner mantras. For me, it’s the perfect blend of Buddhist equanimity, openness, playfulness, intention setting and sly wit. And it always serves me well. Or, it usually does. Earlier this week, it felt like nothing was falling into place no matter how I defined it, never mind perfectly!
Inspired by a recent read (Leigh Ann Henion’s Phenomenal, with Elizabeth Gilbert to thank for the recommendation), I had been salivating over the bioluminescent bay in Vieques. How could I not? It is literally made of two of my most favorite things: water and sparkles! I had to go. Full stop. So, we planned a quick jaunt down there–a mini-break, as the Brits call it. Four days to chill on the beach and three magic nights, each an opportunity to see the dinoflagellates strut their stuff. 
It sounds like such a reasonable plan, but eight (!?!) hours into our journey down there, we began to wonder. And the wondering continued as we…
sweltered in the 90-plus degree heat of the ferry terminal for four hours, but comforted ourselves with thoughts of the lovely beachside studio that awaited us

And then arrived to find that our lodging was as sweltering as the ferry terminal (maybe warmer) and the nearest beach was, in fact, more like a place where massive, ankle-high drifts of seaweed come to die on a two foot wide stretch of sand, but comforted ourselves with the thought of using our kitchen to prepare a lovely meal

And then discovered that there were no fresh vegetables to be had in town–anywhere!–but comforted ourselves with the thought of spending the next day on the island’s other beaches 

And then, on the morrow, learned that all of the car rental places were sold out so we wouldn’t be able to get to those other beaches

And then realized that we were fresh out of comforting thoughts.  
We were hot, hungry, and tired.
We were disappointed.

In his book Emotional Equations, Chip Conley defines disappointment as:
Disappointment = Expectations – Reality
And expounds on Alex Michalos’ taxonomy of disappointment:
“People establish a perceived level of satisfaction based upon comparing three gaps: what you have versus what you want…what you have versus what you think other people have…and what you have versus the best experience of what you’ve ever had in the past. I would add a fourth: the gap between what you have and what you feel you deserve.”

Well, no wonder we were both disappointed! We were experiencing gaps by all four measures:

-what we wanted was a comfortably cooled (by breeze, fan, or AC–we’re not picky!), beachside delight

-what other people–in this case, several friends and family members who had been before us–had was experiences that they raved over

-what we’d had in the past had been a comfortably cooled, beachside delight

-and we sure as heck felt like we deserved it this time around after making the epic trek to get there!!

Needless to say, it felt like a particularly inauspicious start to our vacation, one compounded by the fact that our physical discomfort was a guaranteed component of the remaining days in the island. There was no hope of the air conditioning fairy visiting while we were there. And lest you think we were just being typical Americans, this was Puerto Rico, so the mercury was consistently above 90, the humidity was close behind it, and we were on the leeward side of the island, behind two walls, in a concrete block. It. Was. Hot. By any standard. 

Before I go any further, I must still you that several things did, ultimately, fall into place:

the Bio Bay was literally awe-some. The water sparkled and shimmered, humming with life under a waxing eighth moon, and the dinoflagellates glowed a bright silvery-blue, turning our paddles into light sabers and our hands into shooting stars

the Blue Beach was heavenly. We found a quiet spot where a small offshore island broke the waves, creating a natural swimming pool: placid, cool water, five feet deep and well over twenty feet out.

the restaurant at a resort on the other side of the island was an oasis. We ate salad. And vegetables. And more salad. And a few more vegetables.
But during the first 24 hours, it was sometimes a stretch to believe that anything would fall into place…ever again. And, no, I will not stop being dramatic, thank you very much.

Conley recommends three strategies for working with disappointment:

1. Ratchet down your expectations–that is, letting go of what you can’t control and knowing when you’ve lost the ability to affect the outcome

2. Learn a lesson from the stock market–that is, be proactive about managing disappointments

3. Ask yourself, “In terms of my lifetime, how important is this disappointing result, and what can I learn from it?”
And I have an opinion about each:

1. Although I understand what he’s going for here, this one has never truly resonated with me. Having spent the past decade reconnecting to my optimism and sense of positive expectation, I have no interest in dialing it down. I’d rather be occasionally surprised by disappointment than perennially braced for the next blow.

2. This one is better for me, but still feels like an exercise in managing down your hopes. 

3. This. This is the one for me. Context, context, context. Lesson, lesson, lesson. This is right up my alley because it’s how I make meaning. 
And, I’m pleased to say that is what we both wound up doing instinctively on Day Two. Separately and then together, we got to the place of 

Okay, so it’s only three days. That’s number one.

Number two, now we know. Next time we ask about how the space is cooled and how well provisioned the local grocers are. Neither of us fares well when physically uncomfortable on multiple dimensions for very long, so we plan accordingly and we take nothing for granted! And, better we learn that on a four-day trip than a four-week one!!

We also laughed. A lot. And when we couldn’t yet laugh, we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that it’ll all be hilarious a few weeks from now.

And, unexpected bonus, I got a blog post out of it!

So, I ask you, what are you experiencing as disappointment today? And, what lessons might that experience have for you?

Did you hear that?

Hatsurei ho
The whisper was so subtle, so faint that I almost missed it. In the breath between waking and opening my eyes, it ghosted across my awareness…
Hatsurei ho
And, thankfully, I caught it. Considered it. And yielded to it. 
I completed my morning ablutions and then, rather than strapping on my running shoes, I strapped on my meditation cushion and entered into ritual. This particular ritual comes out of the Reiki tradition, and it’s a process that we practitioners use to clear our energy. I think of it as both tuning myself up and clearing out any clogged pipes so that energy (call it Ki, Chi, or Prana; a rose by any other name…) can more effectively move through me to a recipient. Thirty-or-so minutes later, ritual complete, I emerged feeling renewed and reinvigorated. And grateful for the gifts that the Reiki healing tradition offers. And grateful that I had been steered to this ritual–one of so many that I know–at the moment when it was the perfect thing to bring me home to myself.
For me it was a lesson in remaining alert to my inner voice. It was also, just as important, a lesson in the value of being a spiritual magpie. By which I mean opening to all spiritual traditions and approaches, shamelessly incorporating elements that resonate with me whether I buy into the entire theology or not.
Hatsurei ho

Vipassana noticing techniques for grounding

Tonglen for navigating uncomfortable emotions

Thai massage for offering and connection

The Placement Process for asking for and opening to help 

Native American flute for relaxation

Midnight Mass for immersion in holy awe

Asana for coming home to my body

Pranayama for quieting my mind

Kirtan for ecstatic community

Earthing for the cellular pleasure of infrasonics
The list goes on and on and on and on. I have been exposed to so much wonderful wisdom over the years and I consider myself to blessed to have been able to integrate it all into my own personal, individualized spiritual mosaic.This probably won’t seem all that insightful to most of my friends and readers who are in the yoga and/or spiritual communities, but for me it is. 
I was born and baptized into the Episcopal church and raised firmly within its walls. And while I always had questions about God’s claims on exclusivity, I accepted them well into my teen years.  Then, like most of us, I went to college and that was the beginning of the end. It was a ridiculously short walk from Comparative Religion 101 to my current gleefully eclectic brand of paganism… kind of. Because even as I left behind the content of the strict Christian doctrine of my youth, I carried its structure with me for a long time. So, although I embraced Buddhism and yogic philosophy and Abraham-Hicks, I did so sequentially, eschewing much of the previous tradition as I learned about and embraced the new. Yup, I was basically a serial spiritual monogamist. And yet for all the sweetness that each new model for experiencing the Divine brought, none felt fully complete:
The Buddhism of my college days didn’t seem to leave much room for the normal ebb and flow of emotion and relationship

The Yogic philosophy of my early practice didn’t seem to leave quite enough room for my body’s specific needs

The Law of Attraction teachings didn’t seem to leave enough room for me to just have an occasional bad day

So, somewhere along the way I became polyreligious. It wasn’t deliberate–at least, not in the sense that I came out to my priest and my loved ones. It was more like a gradual knitting together of all I’ve learned as I chose tools and techniques for each situation. Swami Satchidananda taught that
Truth is One, paths are many.
And somewhere along the way, I began living that principle. My Truth is the absolute love and peace at the heart of this universe and I embrace all experiences, teachings, and rituals that remind me of it, ground me more fully in it, and infuse me with it. And I feel no compulsion to limit myself to one particular set of ideas or approaches. Why should I limit my approach to god when the divine is incomprehensibly limitless?

So I ask you, what is your Truth? And how open will you open to all the ways of experiencing it?

Where Am I?

As you all know, I’ve been feeling under the gun lately. Like all of us, I’ve got lots of irons in the fire, and worry that I “should” be doing more towards my goals. Last week, I shared that I had finally decided to release that pressure. That I decided to savor where I am and surrender to the plateau, that juicy experience of being between intense phases of growth and development. It was a solid decision, a powerful declaration of intent and, it turned out, a largely mental exercise…
In the wake of my plateau insight, I expected to feel relief. Yes, there would still be the daily experiences of and responses to Life, but mostly I expected to feel the absence of all that pressure. What I actually felt was buzzing in my belly, prodding at my back, tension in my jaw, and an overall sense that my body was being squeezed. In short, I felt under pressure. 

Still. 

Again. 

Intermittently, thank goodness, but more often than was comfortable. Puzzled by this persistent unfolding, I returned to my intention:
My belly would start to buzz and I’d respond to it by reminding it that we were relaxing and enjoying the plateau.

I’d become aware of tension in my jaw and a story loop about the jewelry business and remind it that we’re relaxing and enjoying the plateau.

I’d notice myself rushing through the morning to get to the afternoon and pause to remind myself that we’re relaxing and enjoying the plateau.
Over and over again, I returned to my intention. And I reminded myself to be calm. Exhale. Be calm. It’s okay, you’re okay. Be calm. 
It was a good practice. It was a solid practice. It was also, I’ve come to realize, a completely insufficient practice. 
In this case, setting an intention was necessary–completely necessary–but not sufficient. It wasn’t enough to complete the mental exercise of deciding to be on the plateau, I was going to need to embody it. And The Magic of the Universe being what it is, the book that I’m reading this month is full of timely, relevant loving wisdom–thank god! The book is Tara Brach’s Radical Acceptance and two of its principles stand out here: 

1. Being in your body

2. Taking refuge
Being in your body is just that. Being aware of your moment-to-moment physical experience. 

Our bodies are such exquisitely tuned receptors, not just our “higher” sense organs in the brain but also the massive neural networks in our heart and gut. They are constantly interacting with our internal and external environments, gathering data, crunching data, and sending the resulting information to our awareness for processing. The first part of being in your body is, of course, (re-)learning to hear and understand those messages. 
I feel comfortable that I have a solid handle on being in and listening to my body. It’s a skill that I’ve cultivated through my work with horses as well as my acrobatics practice, honing my sensitivity and awareness. And as I shared above, I am very aware of my physical experience of the plateau. And that was the “problem.” 
Although consciously reconciled, I clearly still have some subconscious questions about this whole plateau thing. And my experience of those questions was not so pleasant. And my initial, reflexive response was to tell the unpleasant sensations to go away. Like an adult trying to subdue a group of rowdy teenagers, I pointed insistently at the “Shhhh, Quiet Zone” sign on the wall while exhorting my feelings to just behave themselves (insert foot stomp here, but only if you want the fully authentic experience). And I was about as successful. My feelings paid my words little to no attention, continuing their waveforms with only the slightest regard for my desire that they calm down. 

That’s where, thankfully, taking refuge comes in. 
As Brach explains it, taking refuge (in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha) is about claiming a 

“place to rest our human vulnerability and a sanctuary for our awakening heart and mind.” 
Yes, please. 
At its core, taking refuge is about saying Yes, which you know is my jam. It’s about saying Yes to your current experience–both internal and external–and then holding it with compassion. It’s about letting everything–EVERYTHING–be just as it is. For me, this new level of acceptance has started on my mat:
Letting my chest be a bit above parallel in triangle pose because right side body feels tight (when it should feel and look the same as the other side)

Letting my left knee bend in pyramid pose to accommodate my hamstring (when it should be straight because it was last week)

Letting my chest be upright in upavista konasana so that my spine can be in integrity (when I want to be able to fold forward all the way like the pancake girls)

Letting my feet be wide and my knees soft in uttanasana (when they should be together and straight, respectively, because I’m technically flexible enough to fold in half)
Noticing the sensation. Noticing the urge to push through it to “fix” the asana. And choosing to accept the asana I’m having right now. This, of course, is the point of yoga. But lulled by years of practice and a thorough understanding of my physical capabilities, it’s easy for me to get lazy about paying attention to what’s really going on in every practice from moment to moment. And, easy to get caught up in the mental picture of what my practice should be based on what I know it can be. 
Instead, I’m now exploring the idea of taking refuge in my asana practice. Engaging with asana in a way that creates a sanctuary for my body-mind. A place where I accept myself exactly as I’m showing up and then observe how things unfold with open, agenda-free curiosity. 

Interestingly, this approach doesn’t leave me feeling calm. 
Rather, it opens the door to something far better-feeling and, I believe, more useful: spaciousness. In the quiet after my asana practice yesterday I sat on my mat and felt more connected, more grounded, more open than I have in weeks. I felt my chest expanded, my belly softened, my entire body receptive. Taking refuge is about laying claim to a spiritual space big enough to hold and accept any and everything that is going on in my body-mind. (Side note: I’m looking forward to playing with it in my running practice also.) Hold and accept. Any and everything. 
That buzzing in my belly (which should have been banished)

That tension in my jaw (that’s inconsistent with me decision to be calm)

That prodding at my back (that I shouldn’t be feeling)
I can acknowledge all of it and breathe into it as it is, confident that my heart has more than enough space for it, that the heart of the universe has my back, and that everything is unfolding perfectly. 

So, I ask you, how can you be more in your body today? And how will you support yourself in creating a refuge for your authentic, embodied experience?

Am I stuck?

The things I want to achieve are because I want to feel a certain way

-Danielle LaPorte

Well, duh! I mean, it seems pretty obvious that we want things because of how we believe we’ll feel when we get them:

I want to spend less time traveling for work because I believe that I’ll have more fun and therefore feel more joy at home.

I want to attend the yoga festival because I believe that I’ll feel more peaceful after a few days in the bubble.

I want to master that trick because I believe that I’ll feel strong and competent when I finally do it.

You could probably also add milkshakes and french fries to that list, but there’s no need to go into too much detail. You all get the point.

I–we–want things because of the feelings that we expect to be associated with them. And yet it’s very easy to  become focused on the things (the means to an end) rather than the feelings (the end). It’s the classic distinction between a goal and an intention.  Goals can be very powerful, their specificity focusing your energy and attention.  And, yet, their very specificity is also their potential limitation. Without proper context, goals can distract you from the path towards your true intention.

Case in point, I’ve recently been putting a lot of pressure on myself to Keep Growing. There’s the book project, the jewelry business, the singing workshops, the acro training, and the general training. And they’re all running through my head in a near constant loop of things that I should be doing… but am not currently doing. And don’t even get me started on the secondary loop about why I’m not doing them, with its requisite inquiries into my resistance (Why am I holding back? Am I playing small? Am I self-sabotaging? and so on) and pep talks. 

But here’s the thing (thankfully, there’s pretty much always a thing), I’m not doing those things because I’m busy enjoying my spring– celebrating family milestones and cultivating new relationships in my still relatively new home. In short, I’m not doing those things because I’m busy feeling delightedly content with my world. I’ve eased up a bit on the goals because I’m already living my intentions: joy and authenticity. In short, I am on a plateau.  

Dictionary.com defines a plateau as:

a state of little or no change following a period of activity or progress. Synonyms: quiescent period

To that definition I would add, “and preceding the next period of activity or progress.” And that extra clause is the key to getting the full value out of a plateau. The plateau is a phase of integration, often rest, and, yes, delight. A plateau is a time to fully savor the fruits of where you’ve been and what you’ve done–with full knowledge that you’ll soon be off on the next phase of your adventures. 

So, I herein declare my intention to experience this plateau to the fullest. And to be ready to surf the growth curve when it’s time to start moving forward again. 

And I ask you, where is your life inviting you to rest and integrate today? And will you give yourself permission to enjoy the plateau? 

Yes, And…?

Rule #1: Say Yes

Rule #2: Not Only Say Yes… Say Yes And 

-The first two Rules of Improv as expressed by Tina Fey

I knew that Tina Fey was brilliant from her TV and film work, but reading her memoir Bossypants introduced me to a whole new level of girl crush. The book was a tremendously fun read that also offered substantial lessons. The biggest Aha! for me came when I read about these Rules. No sooner had I digested them than the lessons started smacking me in the face…

At restaurants:

Man: Hi, how are you this evening?

Me: Good, thanks, how are you?

Man: Good, good. I was staring because you remind of someone I know, you look just like her

Me, smiling: Oh, yes? You know, I get that all the time. I think I just have one of those faces!

(Man, stands awkwardly for a few beats and then wanders away…)

At parties:

Husband: Come on, join me on the dance floor

Wife: No, I don’t want to

Husband: Please? I’d really love to have you join me, and besides its a tradition.

Wife, agitated: I said I’m not doing it.

(Husband stands before her, entreatingly)

Father-in-law, unaware of what has already transpired: Won’t you join us on the dance floor, he called for all the married couples?

Wife, red-faced and strident: I said, NO!

(Husband, Father-in-law retreat; Wife sits alone and agitated)

At work:

Colleague, urgently: So, can you come to the meeting? It’d be a real coup to have an MD there.

Me, cautiously: I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you. But beyond the logistics, there’s the question of what my role will be at the meeting.

Colleague, airily: Oh, well, it’s all about their a work to standardize care, so, you know…

Me: Actually, I don’t necessarily. That’s not one of my particular areas of expertise, so I’m not sure that I have a clear role to play here

All three of these scenarios are great examples of people, mostly me, saying No. Sometimes it’s an explicit No, as in the case of me to my colleague and the wife to her husband. Other times it’s an unintentional No as in the case of me and that poor man who was, I later realized, trying to flirt with me (imagine that, a man crosses a restaurant to talk to a women because he wants to hit on her, not because he wants to talk about how much she looks like his Great Aunt Mildred!!) Either way, I realized that I had a surprising amount of No in my life. 
To be perfectly clear, I am a fan of the word No. I believe that there is tremendous power in the word No. It is a precious tool for setting boundaries and, in that capacity, a complete sentence unto itself. Check it out: No. Two letters, one period, an entire thought conveyed. You may choose to window dress it with a thank you if the situation warrants, but that No will be just fine on its own. No can be deeply empowering and, as any women’s magazine will rush to remind you, it’s a word that women often struggle to embrace. So, I’m not throwing shade at the word No or those who use it.

I am, however, casting light on the realization that for me there are at least two types of No: the healthy, boundary-setting ones and the far less healthy reflexive ones. The former are all about my personal integrity and staying aligned with what feels right for me. The latter are all about maintaining the status quo, often more specifically maintaining my current parameters and/or limitations. I’ve learned to tell the difference by how I feel:

A boundary-setting No rings in my chest and I feel my energy simultaneously open into the space and more firmly ground into the earth. It’s a really cool centering process. 

A reflexive No feels like a closing, a drawing-in of my front body and I feel my energy tense and get murky as I work to pull it in. 

And I think that’s the key. In the latter, I have to work to pull my energy in because my head and heart are running different programs; my head is running the Withdraw script, but my heart is running the Engage script, and it takes effort to override that. I’m often saying No in these situations because I’ve convinced myself that I can’t say Yes. That I don’t have the skills, the resources, the knowledge, the whatever to engage with whatever it is. The effort to drown out my heart’s wisdom on the matter takes me out of alignment with my higher wisdom and leaves me with a wicked emotional hangover.

So, inspired by the fantastic Ms. Fey, I decided to start playing life like more an improv game. What if, I challenged myself, you found a way to say Yes to everyone you meet today? Bonus Challenge Round: What if you found a way to not only say Yes, but also to say Yes And? 

Well, I’ll tell you, it’s a lot. A whole lot. And it’s all good. I cannot honestly claim that I manage to say Yes to everyone, but I’ve been saying Yes far, far more frequently:

My seatmate on the plane starts a conversation and I say Yes by holding off on my headphones and responding

My colleague asks me to participate in a meeting and I say Yes by clearly articulating how I understand my potential contributions and verifying whether that will be valuable in this particular client interaction

My friend asks for a favor and I find a way to do it, even in the midst of a four-city week

My client asks me to do the literally undoable and I say Yes by offering what we can do that will still move us towards their goal  

My partner and I hit a tender spot and I say Yes by sharing my feelings with him rather than yelling my story at him

What I have come to realize is that Yes, And is simply another face of surrendering to what is. These Rules are a brilliantly simple template for how to surrender to each other, to the reality of how other people are showing up in this moment and the reality of the space between you. They’re a powerful reminder of how important it is that we meet each other where we are. Which, to be clear, doesn’t mean giving the other person control. You’ll notice that several of those Yes examples were as much about me setting my boundaries–this is where I can comfortably meet you–as they were about saying Yes. That kind of Yes allows me to contribute while growing at a pace that works for me. Sure, it’s a challenge, but it’s scoped so that there’s a nice mix of comfort zone and stretch. And it universally strengthens the relationship, because people can feel when you’re willing to engage with them and they respond, finding their own ways to meet you in the middle. 
So, I ask you, how many people will you surrender to today? And how will you express that surrender with a Yes, And?