January | 2016 | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

The last time I made a New Year’s resolution (the same year I started this blog) it was “to be a better friend to myself.” In the years before that, I was always resolving to lose more weight, exercise more, read more, watch less tv — all the typical ways of improving myself that never worked, and if they did, never stuck because at the heart of those wishes was the belief that I was broken, that something was wrong with me, that I wasn’t good enough already.

In the years since that vow, I have instead picked a word to guide my year. A mantra of sorts, a reminder of what I want most, what I want to cultivate. I have picked retreat, freedom, home, and this past year was nourish. As is usually the case, the year didn’t turn out at all like how I expected.

I picked nourish because of its double meaning: to feed and to cherish. I imagined a year in which I would reach some optimal level of health and well-being. I felt like I had a solid foundation, had done the work and was standing on solid ground. Instead, I spent the year in a cycle of illness and injury, some of which I talked about here and some of which I didn’t. I was laid low.

It was so confusing to me, considering my intention, my wish to cultivate strength and health. Instead, nourish for me meant feeding and cherishing from a much deeper place. Any one of my issues carried the threat of being long-term, even chronic and ongoing. I had to confront the impermanence of my body directly. The year was about strength, but rather than a kind that allowed me to do extraordinary things, it was the kind that enabled me to endure suffering, the kind that kept me from giving up, the kind that cultivated healing.

1. A whole new year. It’s good to start over, to get another chance, to begin again, to let go and come back.

2. Supportive (and free) practice programs, such as Building a Mindful New Year (BMNY), a six day program from Susan Piver and Lodro Rinzler that just ended yesterday in which we focused practice and study on the six paramitas. What a nice way to spend that weird in-between time after Christmas but before New Years. Today I started 31 Days of Devotion, hosted by a teacher from BMNY, one of my favorite teachers Adreanna Limbach. The focus of a contemplation we did during our meditation this morning was “what do I feel devoted to this year?” (more on that in a later post). Both of these programs — rather than being more content I feel guilty about, more noise, another obligation, another thing on my should do list, something else to beat myself up about — are actually things that bring ease and clarity to my practice, add something that simplifies matters and creates space.

3. Ringo and Sam. We are in the golden years with these two now. Nobody is old or ill or dying, and no one is a baby. They need our care and attention, but it’s at a manageable, enjoyable level.

4. Eric. Buying me flowers, cooking for me, walking the dogs and taking them hiking, watching movies with me (we are going to see Star Wars today at the fancy theater), making me laugh, sleeping through the fireworks at midnight.

5. Marionberry jam. And butter, on toast.

6. Walking. A whole year ago my foot started hurting, five months ago I realized it was a thing and I needed to get it treated, four months ago I started physical therapy, two months ago I went to a podiatrist because it was only getting 90% better and I needed to do something else, and two weeks ago I got a cortisone shot in my foot. My routine for the past four months was this: Every morning the first thing when I get out of bed is a series of stretches. Next I put on shoes with special insoles, even though I’m still in my bathrobe, and I wear shoes all day long until I go to bed. Three times during the day, I ice and stretch my foot. Before I got to bed, I ice and stretch my foot one more time, and when I go to bed, I wear a splint on that foot. Every other day I do a series of strengthening and stretching exercises specifically to help that foot. Once a week I go to physical therapy — a combination of needling (so painful), electric stimulation, ultrasound, and massage, finishing with kinesiology tape. Finally, finally, finally my foot is better. It will take some time before I can walk the full nine miles in a day (six in the morning, three in the afternoon), but I can go three miles with no pain and that feels like some kind of a miracle. Yesterday morning, I got out of bed and both of my feet felt exactly the same, like totally normal feet.

Bonus joy: my new laptop, bran muffins with dried raspberries inside, clean water, my new bathroom (yes, still), good friends, the internet, a $45 repair for my cellphone (so I don’t have to spend hundreds of dollars buying a whole new one), heat, down blankets, wool socks, hot water, medicine, lotion, toothpaste, having choices, being able to say no, begin able to say yes, practice, writing, teaching.