On our walk yesterday morning, the frozen ponds were melting, singing and moaning, and I noticed around the edges that algae was starting to form, bright spring green spreading under the cloudy frozen surface of winter. The sky was bright blue, the sun blazing, and later in the afternoon, it turned gray and thick, and there was snow.
On this day of rest, I am still struggling to get used to my new progressive lenses (did I tell you I needed bifocals?), so the world seems blurry and is making me woozy and dizzy. I can’t figure out where to look, how to get things in focus. My right ear is plugged up, throwing off my balance that much more.
Amidst change, in what can seem like chaos and confusion, I still feel grounded. This morning while folding laundry, I was listening to Brene’ Brown’s The Power of Vulnerability. She clarified that being wholehearted (living and loving with your whole heart, “all in”) wasn’t a thing you had or arrived at, mastered or possessed, but rather it’s a practice, a series of moment by moment choices, what we invite into our lives and make space for, and what we let go of, release.
I’m hearing this message repeated in the Mondo Beyondo class I’m assisting, in the Cultivating Courage class I’m taking, in Rachel Cole’s Ease Hunting class, in other things I’m reading, other people I’m talking to, in the wisdom of my own heart–that with anything you want to achieve, do, be, you can approach it as a practice, a process that is ongoing.
As with any practice, one must suspend judgement, drop the agenda, show up with an open heart, allow whatever might arise, try not to get attached or hooked, stay relaxed, be soft and gentle, be present and mindful. It is so for me with creativity, with my various practices of writing, walking, yoga and meditation, with my life.
You move forward, in the direction of your dreams, on the path towards True North, you have an intention, a goal in mind, a map, but without expectation of arriving or being finished, and open to whatever shifts might happen in the weather or the terrain, allowing for days when you feel strong and full of energy, as well as days you feel tired and sad, accepting what is. You don’t take a breath thinking that once you do, you are now done, or once you do it “right” you’ll never have to do it again. You simply breath in and breath out, and keep doing so. So it is with practice, with life.
Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now.
~David Whyte
Sometimes we use food and our weight as a way to be left alone. Since many of us believe that, regardless of what we get paid to do, our real job is to on call for people who need us, we leave ourselves with a way to get what we need and want: food. But when you say yes when you mean no, you abandon yourself. And when you say no when you mean no, you signal to yourself that it is safe here, inside your body. Safe here, where you live and are and breathe. You don’t have to run away. You don’t have to lie.
Saying no is a way of being tender with yourself and honest with the people around you. And when you say no with your voice, you will no longer need to say it with your body weight. And when you say no to what you don’t want, you have space to say yes to what you do.
And this one:
Right now, in this very second, ask yourself if what you are doing, what you are thinking and how you are acting brings you closer to yourself or farther away. Does it open your heart or does it close your heart? You have a choice. Break the trance. Come back to kindness.
And this one too:
Sometimes happiness is as difficult to accept as sadness or loneliness. Sometimes, we eat because we don’t know what to do with happiness or joy. We think we’re not allowed. We think we will get “too big for our britches.” We become superstitious. If we talk about it, people won’t like it. If we tell someone, they might be threatened and go away. We hold onto our sadness because we think that that is what connects us with other people–that if we feel terrible about ourselves, we will get help, but if we feel as if we are occupying our own lives, if we feel powerful, we will lose. In this way, we keep ourselves psychologically small. We keep ourselves wounded and afraid of our own magnificence. But it’s when you are aware of, and own, the hugeness of your heart, your being, your love that you are most connected to other people–which then allows them to connect to their own power, their own love. It begins with you.
10. Ben’s Friday Dance Party. I love this guy. He makes me smile. But I also watch this video and wonder if you were around him all the time, would it get annoying? Or would your face and stomach hurt from smiling so much and laughing so hard?
16. Why We Write: Mary Karr on the Magnetism and Madness of the Written Word on Brain Pickings. Equally depressing, refreshingly honest, and oddly comforting is this, “I still don’t support myself as a writer. I support myself as a college professor. I couldn’t pay my mortgage on the revenue from my books. The myth is that you make a lot of money when you publish a book. Unless you write a blockbuster, that’s pretty much untrue. Starting when I was five, I always identified as a writer. It had nothing to do with income.” I wish it weren’t true, and yet if it is, wouldn’t it just be better to surrender?
22. Yo La Tengo – “I’ll Be Around” video, a simple but magically complex video.
23. Danny and Annie, a sweet, sad love story, with an ending like so many others.
24. 10 Things Parents Should Never, Ever Do on BlogHer. I’m never sure if these are funny to me because I don’t have kids, or if they’d be that much funnier if I did.