observations

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July 20, 2010

watching

Posted by Amy C under observations, van trip | Tags: , , |
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Watching Bracken work, I feel a mix of pride, love, appreciation, gratitude mixed with a touch of anxiety and guilt. I love watching him think through potential problems and find a solution. I appreciate his meticulous nature in making sure everything measures up and I’m grateful he has a clue as to what he’s doing.

I know, since neither of us have ever done anything remotely like this, there’s some anxiety and stress over whether or not we’re doing it right (is there any *one* right way for anything?), or if we’re doing it in the most efficient way possible (probably not).

And that’s where my guilt comes in. Did you notice at the beginning of my post, I wrote, “watching”? ‘Cause that’s mostly what it feels like I’m doing at this point—watching and occasionally asking questions and serving as a sounding board for when he needs to verbally work out logistics and ideas.

We’ve worked together on designing the layout, deciding what goes with us and what stays behind. But as the construction begins, I sit on the sideline, waiting to drill a hole or sand a corner (secretly hoping I don’t need to know why that screw is going in that particular spot).

I want to. It goes back to a post I wrote about wanting to want to like something, but really not liking it. I am intrigued by the construction process. I enjoy working with my hands. But alas, I sit on the sideline wishing I was curled up with a good book, the van complete.

 

June 14, 2010

vans, contradictions and the open road

Posted by Amy C under observations, van trip | Tags: |
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too many miles

I’ve been thinking about vans lately. A lot. And cars. And transportation. Oil and impact. We’re shopping for a van. Shopping for a new home. As in, the van will be our new home. That’s big for me. Different. Exciting. Adventurous. (And terrifying.)

Driving down I-25 yesterday afternoon on our way to take a look at a couple of vans, my mind wandered to how much I’ve taken driving for granted throughout my life. Growing up, we drove a lot. My parents carted my sister and I miles every week to chorus rehearsals, piano and violin lessons, allergy shots and concerts. They drove farther for the best they could offer us.

As teachers, they had most summers off and we often took road trips. One year we drove across the country—from Maryland to southern California—visiting family, and (what seemed to me, at the age of 10) every president’s birth site, grave site and historical monument in between (insert pre-teen eye roll). We also saw the Grand Canyon, Painted Desert and Petrified Forest (but I loved those stops so didn’t cultivate the exasperated attitude I’d done with the historical stops).

confidence
Our cars rarely broke down. I do remember my dad walking along a Nevada highway to the nearest gas station to get gas for us after we’d run out in the desert. But in general, we got where we needed to go without too much fuss. Driving expanded our horizons. Extended our education and opened our world (and our minds) along the pavement. I’ve been to 46 out of 50 states. Most before I was 20.

changing attitudes
I feel like a walking contradiction sometimes. I love the idea and experience of living in a town within walking and biking distance to most places I need to go. I enjoyed commuting by bus when I needed to get downtown. And I loved living on an island where a 45-minute drive felt like it was a day away.

And now we’re shopping for a van that will become a home. We plan to live on the road, experiencing new places and learning new things. In the midst of an oil and environmental catastrophe that makes me shudder when I think of the devastation. I’m searching for a home that requires that exact oil to run. But there is a simplicity that I look forward to. A wardrobe of only a few outfits to fit various weather conditions and activities. I weigh the question, “do I need it, or want it” with deliberate consciousness. Sometimes I don’t listen to the answer. Most of the time I do, although it still hard.

finding the perfect van
We’ve looked at quite a few vans now. Most were in Utah, and now one in Colorado. Two we’ve gone to look at, only to have them sold less than 10 minutes before we arrived. Grrrr.

too small

We’ve checked out a VW Westfalia (too small); a 15-passenger extended van (too big); a 1976 family van that needed a lot (and when I say “a lot” here, I mean, “A LOT”) of love. (A lot = a mouse had taken up residence under the driver’s seat.) We drove a ’99 conversion van (too much work to strip down); and a fair-priced cargo that seemed to be leaking an awful lot of fluid from the under carriage. We really liked one, but it was the first we looked at and it had over 200,000 miles, so passed.

At least we’ve narrowed down what we’re looking for. We know what we don’t want (which, when you think about it, is really important).

I have recently realized that I’ve lost a little trust in the mechanics of cars and I’m not really sure why. On our way to Kaua’i, our Subaru broke down and delayed our trip for a week. (Getting towed 150 miles from Silverthorne to Boulder leaves an imprint, apparently.) Our Jeep on Kaua’i broke down the first week we got it. (Not to mention the first time it rained, water leaked all over my foot as I pressed down the brake. And if you’re unaware of the weather on Kaua’i, it rains. A lot.)

too long

So now, searching for this van (our home), I’m feeling hesitant to commit. Our budget is small, but reasonable for what we want. Most cars work. They’re dependable and they run when taken care of. We’re not planning on putting a ton of miles in. Maybe 15,000 in the year? Just a little more than average. And that’s just a big, educated guess. It’s quite likely it’ll be less. We’re planning on avoiding as much snow and winter weather as possible.

I used to take driving for granted. I loved the feeling of independence and control I had with my first car. Now I think about our footprint. Gas mileage. How far to the next stop. Our route.

I’m looking forward to finding our next home, and looking forward to experiencing life on the road. What will it bring into my life? What will I learn? How will I change? The search continues…

 

January 17, 2010

perfectly imperfect

Posted by Amy C under observations, perceptions | Tags: , , |
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When you look out over a wide vista, what do you see? Strong and stately mountains? An ocean, smooth and glassy? Or a winter wonderland of soft snow blanketing your city?

I went hiking the other day along a ridge line I’ve often admired while walking along the beach at Hanalei Bay. The rise of the earth above the river with the sheer cliffs and lush green trees beckoned. The scene resembling a live Hawaiian postcard of paradise.

We parked at the trailhead and began to hike up (and up and up). I imagined myself walking right into that postcard of perfection. Then there were the mosquitos, and the dead, rotting branches and the smell of rotting fruit. The trail itself was slick with mud, quickly caking layers onto my shoes.

Postcards don’t show the humidity of those lush, green, tropical forests. They don’t show the hard work it requires of your heart to climb a steep hillside for two miles. They don’t include the pungent odor of wet earth.

Yet it was beautiful. And it was real. It wasn’t perfect and yet my smile and energy and enthusiasm only grew as we continued hiking.

***

Along the trail, toward the top, I noticed a bright burst of pink peeking through the foliage. I sped up, intrigued, to investigate. It turned out to be something I (as a mainlander) had never seen on a hike before: an orchid—growing wild.

My perception of orchids is of carefully maintained and nurtured perfection. I look at an orchid in a flower shop, or at a wedding, and I think about the fragility of the petals and the attention needed to make the blooms so velvety and symmetrical.

Yet here were orchids growing wild. (Of course all things in nature have an origin, but I’d never given much thought as to where orchids came from; where they might show up on their own.) They are wild, pristine and stately flowers thriving in the midst of these island forests.

From the beach, looking at the postcard image, I hadn’t imagined this small bloom would greet me with such beauty (and I certainly couldn’t see it from so far away).

I leaned closer into the orchid to get a picture. There, on one of the petals, was a brown spot. Gasp! An imperfection on what I had formerly seen as absolute perfection. And yet, to me, it seemed so much more beautiful and alive.

The way I see it, nature’s perfection is in her imperfections. Our lesson is to realize this, extrapolate the concept, and embrace it for ourselves. We, as humans (and our lives), are perfectly imperfect.

So look again at the postcard-perfect image before you.

Go hiking, surfing, or snowshoeing and immerse yourself in that vista. Look around and notice the irregularities; the dead leaves; the broken branch; the ding on your surfboard and the shells kicking up and swirling around at the bottom of the sea.

How do they add to the beauty? To the experience? What would it be like if everything was indeed perfect? Would we be missing something?

I appreciate the variances and the uniqueness of how imperfections add to the character of a scene. I think about myself, my friends, and my community and am grateful for our imperfections and how they add balance and originality to the world around me.

Our life, in all its wild variations, truly is like beauty in nature: perfectly imperfect.

 

January 3, 2010

the influence of awe

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, observations, perceptions | Tags: , , |
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the Na Pali coast

Awe.

I read a quote in the August 2009 issue of Oprah recently. It was a parenthetical comment. An aside. It struck me as the most important thing I’d read in the entire magazine and it made me think.

On page 96, Gabrielle LeBlanc wrote:

Awe, it seems, influences people to act on behalf of the greater good.

What a bold statement. I’ve been mulling it over in my mind for awhile, asking myself, what is it about the feeling and experience of awe that would have such an influence? And was it true? And if it’s true, what causes it?

Newport Beach sunset

It feels true. It resonates with my own experiences. I think about the times I’ve felt awe. Sometimes it strikes me while listening to music, reading a poem or particularly poetic prose, or in a photograph or illustration. But mostly I find awe—I feel awe—in nature.

In the mountains. Looking out over the wide expanse of ocean as powerful waves rock the shoreline.

Colorado mountains

Utah desert

Hawaiian surf

I feel it when I run under a canopy of rhododendron or through the white barks of aspen trees, hearing the leaves rustle in the wind.

My mind opens. Colors are brighter and smells are more distinct and pungent. I feel a greater sense of awareness—of my surroundings; of my thoughts; of the bigness of the world around me.

infinite bliss

When I am in nature, I am grounded. I feel connected in a larger-than-life way. I can’t explain it, but my heart fills. I want to drink in the scene and wrap it around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly winter evening. I breathe deep.

I feel the power of the whole and I recognize my interconnectedness with others (both in my immediate community and those across the globe, thousands of miles away).

I think this is what LeBlanc meant. This feeling we get when awe fills us up from the inside. We want to share its bigness, show others how beautiful and sublime our universe is.

Long's Peak from Mt. Audubon

My energy expands. I feel peace. I feel motivated to be better. I step out of myself and see beyond the problems or worries that seemed so huge just a moment ago.

I used to think awe was a luxury. It was something you only felt on special occasions. As an adult, I realize it’s essential.

Joshua Tree Nat'l Park, California desert

I have chosen to surround myself with the opportunity to experience a bit of awe every day. To drink in nature’s art. To experience first hand her grace and depth.

a lone orchid along the Na Pali coast, Kaua'i

It never gets old. It never gets tired or overplayed. It sinks deeper under my skin and into my being. This awe. This grace. The desire to grow and expand. The motivation to contribute to my world and those in it.

Kalihiwai Bay, Kaua'i

I breathe in the view before me. My heart opens and I smile.

 

December 31, 2009

10 years ago

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, perceptions, reflections, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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There’s a trend on twitter right now that got me thinking. #10yearsago — what was happening in your life 10 years ago?

The first thing I tweeted was: #10yearsago I had never run a mile in my life, couldn’t hike uphill w/o taking a rest every 5 mins & sanitas too 3 hrs to complete.

Then I remembered that I thought climbing was crazy and had sworn I’d never do it.

So I thought it would be a fun exercise to look back at 1999 and think about where I was and what I was doing in 1999 and into 2000.

10 years ago:

  • I thought swimming 15 laps in a pool was a good workout.
  • I didn’t like seafood. Or spicy food. Or interesting food. Or any food that wasn’t a carb or meat.
  • I was living with a boyfriend that wasn’t incredibly healthy for me (or him).
  • I was singing with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra Chorus.
  • I was working at a nursing home (as an Activity Director), burning out as a music therapist.
  • I got winded hiking up a trail and usually stopped every 5 minutes to rest.
  • I thought digital cameras produced inferior quality images and didn’t see the point of owning one.
  • I drove a Dodge Neon.
  • I didn’t know trail running was a sport.
  • I didn’t know much about the sport of climbing and thought “those people” were crazy.
  • I enjoyed snowboarding on greens and easy blue runs a few times a year.
  • I sewed a lot of crafts and things.
  • I was living in Littleton.
  • I didn’t know what perseverance felt like.

What I didn’t know 10 years ago:

  • That fresh sushi is about the best food in the world.
  • That climbing up a mountain was exhilarating and freeing. And that I could do it.
  • That my body was capable of developing muscles.
  • That my body was capable of running. At all, much less long distances.
  • That I would be competing in triathlons, marathons, trail runs and loving it.
  • That I would work in corporate America and go on business trips that involved good meals and a passport.
  • That I would meet amazing people who would teach me about true friendship, trust, support and total and full acceptance of who I am.
  • That I would meet, befriend and fall in love and marry an amazing man.
  • That I would climb 16 14ers and run up one of them (three times!).
  • That I would learn what a harness and carabiner were and then use them on real rock.
  • That I would fall in love with running and climbing so deeply.
  • That I would find a passion and turn it into a career that involved the outdoors, fitness and helping others learn and find that passion.
  • That food tastes really good with heat and spice added in.

I think the biggest thing I didn’t know in 1999 was that I was an athlete. I ran for the first time in March of 2000. Thinking back on all that I’ve experienced, tried, and accomplished in the world of sport and outdoor activity over the past 10 years I’m pretty amazed I fit it all in.

The journey and discovery of that hidden strength opened up so many other doors and perspectives for my world.

I anticipate the next 10 years will open up and reveal even more. I’m ready.

Where were you 10 years ago? What’s changed? What surprised you? What’s coming next?

 

November 26, 2009

thanksgiving

Posted by Amy C under observations, reflections | Tags: , |
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I am thankful for so much in my life, it’s overwhelming and humbling.

Today is just one day. One day where we, as a country, think consciously about what gifts and treasures we have in our lives and celebrate those with our loved ones. But what if we could take the spirit of today and spread it out over the full year?

What if we gave thanks each and every day? What would our gratitude feel like and look like if we had the time to notice all the little things that happen to add up to the love, the friendships, the fortune we enjoy? What if we found gratitude for our challenges? For the mundane and the ordinary?

Today is a beautiful day and I adore the ritual of spending this holiday with friends and family in celebration. But I want more. I want to remember this spirit of giving throughout the year. I want to capture the spirit of kindness and appreciation that comes with the tradition and celebration and give thanks on Monday. On rainy days. On the day I’m traveling for 12 hours.

I want to remember to give thanks on days when I’m missing my family, and on days when I feel overwhelmed with the good in my life. I want to appreciate the work someone put into writing an instruction manual that helps me understand my new gear. I want to appreciate the engineering that goes into building the bridge that takes me to a new place; the painter whose art creates beauty and brightness in a room; and the seamstress that put together my favorite jeans.

One day just doesn’t feel like enough.

 

November 25, 2009

expanding our possibilities

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Two days ago, a friend of mine sent me this link. It’s a news story from Canada about a new approach and treatment to Multiple Sclerosis. Some might say revolutionary.

For those of you who don’t know, MS has long been described and categorized as a neurological disease. You can read more here. The article my friend sent features a doctor from Italy, Dr. Paolo Zamboni, a former vascular surgeon who has been researching MS for the past 10 years.

It seems he has discovered a trait common in every MS patient he’s tested: A narrowing of particular veins in the neck or chest that are responsible for carrying blood out of the brain.* The theory is that, because of the narrowing, it creates a blockage that prevents the blood from draining as well as it should. Thus causing the heavy metals that are in our bloodstream to get stuck in the brain and form deposits, creating the lesions in the brain that are the telltale sign of MS.

Veins. Not nerves. Not wiring in the brain. It’s a very new theory and one that is in the beginning stages of research, but it’s exciting to think that this might be the breakthrough so many have been waiting for. And although MS is a cause near and dear to my heart, this post isn’t really about MS or this discovery (amazing though it is).

It’s about possibility.

It’s about remembering that we so often get stuck in the comfort zones of our own realities. “I’m a realist” we hear (or say). “This is the truth,” we tell ourselves. But is it really? Isn’t is just the truth as we know it? Why don’t we ask ourselves if our truth is the only truth? If truth and reality can’t be altered. Why do we believe truth is static?

It’s common knowledge that MS is a debilitating disease and that it’s progressive and degenerative—and neurological. Ah, but maybe not, right?

We create our own realities and our own sense of how the world works. It’s taught to us in school; we learn it from our parents, our leaders, and the society in which we grow up. I believe in the power of the mind and how what we think, so often becomes. It can be a scary thought, but it’s also one that challenges the status quo.

If we’re not happy, we can change—whether it’s our circumstances, our attitude, or our perspective (or all three)—we can change. When I heard this news Monday morning, I was skeptical. I asked a lot of questions about it as my friend was talking. I wanted to know more about the research, the approach, the results. And I felt relief and growing excitement as my questions were answered as I watched the videos and read the article. It seemed more and more possible that this man had dared to think differently and acted on his curiousity and found something that worked. He may have changed the world for many, many people. I still hesitate to think that this is “it.” That it’s the cure for MS.

But it has opened my heart and showed me how narrow-minded I’ve been. And it’s making me wonder what else I believe to be “real” and a “realistic perspective” that might actually be narrow and limiting.

It’s refreshing and humbling to remember that even in the face of the most devastating circumstances, there is possibility. In the most mundane of circumstances, there is possibility. Let’s remember that even when something seems impossible or false, there is the possibility that we—the collective—are mistaken. And then the possibilities to explore and expand our truths are wide open before us.

What is possible for you today?

*as I am not a doctor or researcher, my account of this discovery comes solely from the videos and article linked at the beginning of my post. My intent is to paraphrase the basic details to encourage further research and reading (and to tie into the subject of my post).

 

November 14, 2009

injuries and setbacks

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, observations, surfing, yoga | Tags: , , |
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I fell off my surfboard Thursday evening and landed in too-shallow water. My left foot twisted, landing under me at an awkward angle. The pain shot through the top of my arch and I screamed “OW” (true story). I knew what it meant and I was pissed.

I hobbled out of the water to the sand and sat down to examine my foot. It hurt. A lot. A dull, throbbing pain began to course through my foot. I saw weeks—maybe months—of surfing disappear before me. I thought about yoga and balancing on a foot I couldn’t put weight on. It didn’t seem likely that I’d be moving around anytime soon.

I cried. Some because I was frustrated. And a lot because I was so utterly disappointed.

I’d waffled about going into the water at 5:00 in the evening. I get cold easily and the sun was going down. I didn’t feel like my mind was totally engaged. But I shook off the feelings, knowing how much I want to keep working at this new sport and with the intention of not giving in to my fearful, hesitant, and admittedly-sometimes-wimpy side.

And now, here I was, one wave into my session, sidelined. Certainly for the evening, but quite possible for months.

frustration settles in
 It’s so easy to indulge in the pity party that accompanies an injury like this. When it’s not clear how bad it is, we tend to envision the worst.

I figured I’d broken it, or suffered a severe sprain. As I gingerly hobbled back to the car with my board and bag, I thought of all the stuff I’ve been wanting to do: get some hikes in, start running again, surf, walk the bay, window shop through town… the list goes on. I watched my friends try to walk slowly beside me, only to quickly end up far ahead. It’s hard to match the pace of one walking barely faster than a slug. Ugh.

My tears came and went. Every movement sent a sharp pain or dull throb through my foot. I snapped at something someone said. I lost some grace along with my patience. And then I felt embarrassed and bad for losing my cool.

All I wanted to do when we got home was clean up and then curl up in a ball with ice on my foot and cry.

small victories
 I had two choices that evening: indulge my private pity party at home, or go out and have fun with new friends. I will admit at the time it was a tough choice. Sometimes I’m simply not fit to be around other humans.

But I knew we were all a little on edge and I figured that getting out of the house might just be the thing we needed to turn the energy around.

And what a good idea it was! The entertainment was fun and the company good for getting my mind off myself and what I might be missing in the coming weeks. I was still thinking about my foot, but it was a good (and much-needed reminder) that I can still have fun despite a set-back. That life continues to move forward even when we want to stop and get off the ride for awhile.

a choice in perception
 That night I made up my mind to go to yoga the next day. I knew it might not be a good idea, and I knew I may very likely end up doing nothing for the 90-minute class, but I wanted to see. I wanted to know the extent of the injury. I knew there were at least a few postures I could do. And there was also the fact that my hip had just started to open up. I could feel my flexibility increasing and I wasn’t ready to give up on that too easily.

(And frankly speaking, I was really hoping I’d wake up pain-free with the realization I’d over-blown the injury.)

I wasn’t so fortunate. After a night of tossing and turning with constant, dull pain, I woke up with more pain and stiffness all along the top of the arch. I couldn’t bend my toes up or put any weight on the inside of the foot. What was yoga going to look like?

I prepared myself for the very likely chance that I’d leave in the middle of the class. I laid my mat down by the door (for a quiet exit), talked with the instructor about my injury and had brought along my journal and book, ready to pass the time as I waited for my friends to finish class.

the mind of the curious
 During the initial breathing, I thought about the class. I thought about feeling frustrated, and then I thought about my overall goals for not only yoga, but for being here in Hawaii. A big part of this trip is about restoration and nurture. I wanted to heal myself and at the same time, accept that things we don’t want to happen, sometimes do, despite our best intentions.

It’s how we respond to the bad stuff that defines our future, right? I decided in that moment that I wanted a good future based on my present situation. I asked myself, “What can I learn from this? What can I get out of this particular class, on this particular day?”

I adopted a curious mind and thought about what I could learn about my foot. How bad was it? How much range of motion and flexibility did I really have? I wasn’t too worried about over doing it. (I’m pretty aware of my physical body and my boundaries for pain, and tend to err on the side of caution.) Sometimes that trait gets in the way of progressing. Today, it served me well as I took it slow, held back and explored the pain.

I learned so many new things. There were moments of defeat when I realized I couldn’t do certain balancing postures and when my foot began to ache and throb too much from standing on it. But I was able to do far more in the class than I’d thought.

It’s only one foot after all. I have many other parts to my body that are in perfect working order. And with the help of my right foot, I was able to maintain a good balance between both feet for the initial postures.

During the first posture I was unable to do fully, I poured my concentration into my arms. (Awkward pose, for those of you familiar with Bikram. It’s the one that requires you to stand on your toes—and THAT definitely wasn’t going to happen.) The instructors are always saying to “lengthen the arms; hold them strong; maintain active muscles in the triceps.” In previous classes, I always work so hard to get my feet and balance right, that my arms are the last things I think about.

Yet here I was, given the opportunity to focus solely on the arms and core muscles. And it stunned me to realize I’d been using very little of my muscles there (or in my core). So much of my posture relied on my legs.

Ah-ha, I realized. I can still come to class and work on my arms until my foot heals.

I was reminded of the foundation. The platform upon which I am building my life. It begins with the smallest of movements. An observation here and there of the little things.

I imagined that process to be similar to what happens when someone builds a house. They check the angles of the construction and the materials they’re building with to make sure the house is stable and built to last.

It couldn’t hurt to check my materials. To make sure my muscles were engaged and moving forward with determination and strength. To align my mind with patience and clarity of direction.

My curiosity found new areas for growth and a newfound patience with myself. I found some creativity in seeking modifications for postures to get the stretch I wanted, but avoiding pain.

i admit the ugly
 It’s certainly not an easy process for me. I will admit that I wanted to cry and feel sorry for myself. I wanted to move quickly and efficiently and am at my best when I am physically in motion. I wanted to talk about it and mention it to everyone I see. I wanted sympathy and kind words.

at peace
As I sit here with ice on my foot, thinking about the day, I am reminded that I am strong; that it’s a set-back, and not the end of the world. I know I will recover, and know that if it’s a slow recovery, then it’s a slow recovery. In the meantime, I will cherish the slower pace. I will pay attention to the smaller aspects of life that add up and give nourishment for a richer life ahead.

As in yoga, it is practice—A practice of patience and openness to what life presents us. A chance to relax into our lives, no matter what it looks like at the moment, and to trust in change and progress. It’s a practice to remember that within each setback, be it disappointment , injury, heartache or pain, there is growth, renewal and room for exploration and discovery.

In class, I chose to be curious. Curious as to how my body would respond to yoga. Curious to see if I could stand strong and accept the new, unhurried pace I walk and move through my days.

Our perceptions are so often within our control. How we choose to see and approach our world leads us into our future. The lesson isn’t new, but it’s always harder to put into practice. So I’m curious, what new perception will you explore today?

 

November 2, 2009

building a solid foundation

Posted by Amy C under integration, observations, setting goals, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , |
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a beginning

a beginning

Yoga is teaching me a lot these days. Building a solid foundation is just one, but it might be the most important thing I learn on this adventure.

life happens
Our move to Hawaii is one of a number of new things in my life. There’s the new marriage, the education and launch of a new career, and a new fitness/workout/nutritional routine. I feel like I’ve swept away aspects of my life that were based on bad habits, or that I’d outgrown, or simply weren’t serving me anymore, and I now have a clean slate to begin building “awesome.”

I’m not saying that my life up to this point has been horrible. Quite the contrary. It’s led me here, and here is—quite frankly—amazing. But I needed a change.

And now, I have before me an incredible opportunity. One where I can very deliberately and consciously create a life that fits me now and paves a path toward a future that feels right.

So often life seems to happen to us. Time goes by and we find ourselves looking back and wondering how we got to where ever it is we are. Maybe we stayed on the path our parents took. Or we assumed that now that “x” had happened, it was time for “y.” And years later we realize that “y” just wasn’t right for us and who told us that that was our path anyway?

Society, influences, assumptions, time—it’ so easy to get caught up in it and forget to ask ourselves key questions every now and again. “What do I want to do with my life?” “Am I living a life I love?” “Is there something more out there that I can do?” “Am I truly happy with the life I’ve chosen?”

It’s easy to forget that time goes quickly. And it’s easy to go through life never realizing that we have the power and ability to create the life we want and dream of.

openness
For me, after realizing I was unhappy with my career last year, I took time to explore and discover what I wanted to do. I started a company that spun off from my marketing career, thinking I would enjoy that until I found my true passion. Although there were aspects I truly enjoyed, the overall excitement and motivation I was hoping for was absent. However, what it did help me to do is identify what I didn’t want to do (which is actually quite valuable information).

Once I realized that I needed to focus my energy on figuring out what I did want to do, I stayed open to whatever was presented. I noticed what inspired me. I paid attention to what lit up my eyes and kept me talking. What was it that made me smile? Think? What brought out my passion? What books did I read? What articles and blogs did I enjoy?

A month before moving here, I chose a new career path. I committed to going through a certification program to become a life coach, and my intuition hints that this is only the beginning of something amazing. The classes I’m taking and the certification is only the first step. There is more to be done in my life and more to accomplish. The possibilities are vast and open.

shaking things up
It’s great to have a path and direction in life that feels good. It’s a heady feeling filled with excitement and motivation. But there are challenges ahead. And as with anything new, your foundation is what everything else is built upon.

There are wonderful things in store for me, but I need to maintain my vision of where I’m headed amidst all the change. How do I do this? How can I prevent myself from falling into the same ruts and same routines I’m familiar (and frankly quite comfortable with)? How does one build a new foundation at the age of 36?

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

For starters, I’ve moved to Kaua’i. Thousands of miles away from a home I’ve known for 14 years. I am on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Romantic and exotic? Sure. Challenging and a little bit scary? Absolutely!

But what I love most about it is the chance to begin. Fresh. New. I am shaking up long-held beliefs and patterns in my life. I am rebuilding.

the wisdom of yoga
One of the other big changes I’m making here in Kaua’i is taking a hiatus from running—my sure-fire cure for emotional turmoil—and committing to yoga every day except Sundays. Over 150 days of exercise that will break down my body, cleanse toxins from my system and will challenge every cell, molecule, muscle fiber, tendon and ligament throughout my body to be stronger.

The postures and flexibility won’t happen overnight. It won’t happen in one week, but over time, I will have altered my alignment, my overall health, endurance, strength and flexibility.

As I embark on week four, I’ve realized that yoga has much to teach. Not only with my body, but in my approach to all things new.

building a strong foundation
In yoga, one cannot be successful in any posture without a solid foundation. Balance and strength begin in the feet. The connection of the feet to the ground must be balanced. The legs engaged and strong. The core muscles solid, supporting the back and head. The arms and hands firm and stable. The head straight and the eyes focused.

Without a solid foundation throughout the entire body, moving into new postures, or moving deeper within a posture is difficult. And if you move too early, you can fall, or simply not get the benefit the posture was designed to give.

And if you have a solid foundation and push deeper, you have more resources for balance and success.
There are two key lessons I’ve learned in yoga that I hold onto during class, that have begun to transfer into other areas of my life as I approach new changes and growth:

  • build and keep my foundation strong.
  • relax into it.
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standing bow

starting slow
For the first full week of yoga, I didn’t push my postures or go fully into them (even the ones that are easier for me). I focused on my feet and my balance. I went close to the edge of my comfort and then backed off.

Why not push through? Because having a solid foundation—in yoga and pretty much anywhere in life—allows you to build a strong structure so when you’re ready to take a leap, you can. In yoga, it strengthens your muscles and creates the awareness of what you need to do to stay grounded. In life, it strengthens your mind and your relationships and creates the awareness you need for what the future might bring.

It takes patience and discipline, but is well worth it when you’re struggling and you fall (which you will at times). If your foundation is strong, you can return to it, rest there, gather your energy and build upon it. If there is no foundation; if you go into a full-blown balancing posture and waver, you’ll not only fall, but risk hurting yourself.

As I begin moving into the postures deeper, I am grateful for the foundation I have built. I can feel the internal strength and sense of balance within. I know that there will be some postures I’ll move into quicker than others—and there will be some that will take years to progress and perfect.

That’s okay. It gives me time to keep building that foundation and stability.

all things slow
The pace of life on Kaua’i is slow. Time passes, yet there is a stronger sense of calm. There is a sense that there is time for things. I’m not worried I won’t have time for this or that. I wake up early and work. I go to Bikram yoga. I eat well. Sometimes I cook. I go to the beach and surf if the waves are good, and I read (or nap) in the sun if they’re not.

Every day in yoga I am reminded that I am not only building a foundation for class, but I am building one for my life. In everything that I am doing right now, the foundation is the key.

  • In yoga, for a strong connection between the mind and body.
  • For a new career, to lay the groundwork for abundance.
  • To gain the ability to balance (and stay) on top of a moving, fiberglass board.
  • And to build a strong marriage that will weather the tides of life.
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relaxing into our future

relaxing into the process
Relaxing into the process—whether it happens in a day, a month or over years—allows the foundation to settle.

I am learning to relax into life (instead of pushing and attempting to exert control over it). I believe that when our foundation is strong; that when we create a solid vision for ourselves; that we can then relax and breathe steady. We have the ability to allow our foundation to guide us into the next phase of the process—where ever it may take us.

And if we falter, or change direction, we have a solid foundation upon which to land.

 

September 10, 2009

taking in the moment

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , , |
[3] Comments 

being.

Sometimes I find it hard to simply (and consciously and deliberately) “be” without thinking about where I just was, or where I’d like my life to be tomorrow, or in a week or maybe in five years from now. It’s hard not to think about what might make it (whatever my present reality is) better—even if I’m currently really happy with it.

Over coffee in the back garden of Espressoria the other morning, my good friend and I were talking about my upcoming plans to move to Hawaii for six months this winter. It’ll be the first time in my life I’ve moved somewhere without a set plan on where I’m staying or exactly how long I’ll be there. I think about the adjustment. I think about the challenges and the newness of it all. I think about the adventure and about experiencing this together with my (new, yay!) husband.

Our conversation began to center around a conundrum we all seem to face (similar to “the grass is always greener” and “you always want what you can’t have”) of wanting what we used to have or what we see as “better” or “easier.” There’s the flexibility vs. structure continuum. Those with 8-5 jobs yearn for the freedom to set their own schedules and go play when they want to; those with flexible jobs yearn for more structure so they know when to stop working and can go play without a sense of guilt for not working.

Sick vs. healthy (or more often in my world, the injured vs. healthy) is another one I’m often faced with. Healthy but unmotivated or tired, I think about the rest one gets from being sick or injured (the kind that forces your body to slow down). And when I’m sick or hurt, all I want to do is get out of the house and go running, or clean or do something.

It’s hard to find a balance, and sometimes I wonder if it’s really balance I’m after. Maybe it’s simply the ability to accept what is. I appreciate the ups and downs of my life. I love the feeling when things are going well; when the energy is flowing and things feel good. And when they’re not, I find a renewed appreciation and gratitude for those good times and try to take advantage of the extra down time to rest the body and the mind.

So here’s my Thursday morning musing and thought … I am happy to be. Right now. Today. At 9:17am. And in each moment, I will remember that whereever I am, I am good. Life is good. And by wishing and dreaming too much about what isn’t, I’m missing what is.

I have a feeling that I will need to remember this over and over again… but over time, I know it’ll get easier. With more experience and with more wisdom, I can be a little more often each day.

 

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