BE HERE NOW

All week last week I was feeling anxious. Unstill. Struggling to stay in the moment, any moment.

I let my classes out early. I rushed everywhere and was still late. I wore a watch, and checked it, even during yoga, which I left. . . early. Twice.  I checked the time even when assisting.

I never do that.

Like ever.

All week, I could not turn off a total body sense of urgency to

 

HURRY.THEFUCK.UP.

 

For nothing. For everything. For no one, and for everyone.

 

By Sunday evening,  I felt like something was going to burst out my chest, literally perhaps. I was looking for some kind of release— somatic maybe— and what I was doing wasn’t working, yet.

So I went for a run because, sitting in it (whatever “it” was) any longer wasn’t working. I was craving efficient motion. Immediate results.

Yes, there is total irony in that truth. Clearly. But it worked.

Five blocks in and my heart rate slowed. Yes. Slowed. Ten blocks and the space between my forehead softened. Two miles and my shoulders dropped away from my ears. By the third mile I had forgotten what I was doing or where I was.

So I stopped. And I saw. And I felt.

And I reconnected with the moment.

Around me was the abundant beauty of spring in Sacramento. Up and down the streets were people biking, walking, talking, and engaging.

Present. People were present. And that was perfect and enough.

As am I.  As are you. Because,

 

You are whole and complete and exactly where you’re supposed to be.

 

There is nothing to rush. There is no where else to be. There is no “done,” anyway.

 

To be alive is to be impermanent.

All things change. Always. And thus, the attachment we place to time becomes somewhat arbitrary. Why rush? So we can wait? And, why wait? For whom? For what?

Frantic motion is not a solution. Neither is hiding, stuffing, or inauthenticity.

Refuse to live in multiple spaces. Get present. Not behind. Not ahead.

Get real. It’s enough. I promise.

There is this time, there is this space, there is this now. It won’t be back and it won’t wait for later.

There is simply this moment; so be in it.

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SONGS OF CHAOS (I LIKE IT).

“You like living in chaos,” I was informed recently.

“I do not!” I replied immediately (and indignantly).” I like routines and structure. For some things. Sometimes. For a few parts of my life. Well hmmm.”

“I just like flexibility and the ability to be spontaneous. And change. I really like change. I don’t like predictability. Usually. Well sometimes I do. I just like space, and freedom and choice and doing what I want to do when I want to do it and with the people I want there.”

That’s not chaos. That’s being alive. Okay fine. Maybe it’s also chaos. Controlled(ish) chaos though.”

End scene.

Okay, so let’s look at that conversation, because how you do anything is how you do everything, right? Let’s consider where that shows up in my, uh, life.

Up first, oxymorons, anyone?

Walking contradictions. I am a living breathing opposition of terms. I like to be chill, but I can’t stop moving. I’ve calmed (the fuck) down but I’ve also upped my game. I like having plans, but only if I can write them in pencil. I like to know what’s next, but I love surprises more than chocolate. I cook but hate cleaning, am articulate but curse like a sailor, am strong but love feeling small, etc., etc., etc…

The takeaway- I am not defined by any one term or thing, nor do I want to be. I am willing and adaptable.

I’m a yes.
To all of it.

Second point- see above. That can be problematic, often.

In saying yes to possibility, I have created a bit of. . . dynamic motion.

I’m happy and positively in love with my life now. For real. I am thriving in the energy in which I’ve surrounded myself.  I recognize that it’s taken a lot of work to get here, like a whole lot.

However, I’m coming to terms with the fact that by running so far from a life ruled by the misperception of safety in categories I ended up standing in my own special kind of volcanic residue.

I might have gone a bit far out of bounds.

Maybe.

But then again, I like pushing my limits.

Obviously.

Which brings me to my third reflection- the rationalization of my own bullshit.

I’m like the Queen of explaining myself, evidently, even though I’ve made a lot of progress in that department (I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true). My verbose response makes allows one to draw the inference that rather than having learned the lesson of “less is more,” I’m uh, still working on the application of that concept in the real world (like in this paragraph. . .where I’m using a whole lot of words to say- I talk a lot).

So (as it is always so), just like in my daily life where I have a strong tendency to overdo it that’s pretty much exactly how I communicate.

BIG.

I’m not apologizing for that. I’m not criticising myself for it either. Just observing.

So, in sum,

  1. I’m a yes.

  2. I like living outside of my comfort zone.

  3. I go big.

The end.

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.”

C.G. Jung

*Sidenote- I’m finding my summary rather ironic in size and message. 

*Sidenote to the sidenote – there I go again with the talking. 

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TALKING BODY

I saw a picture of myself the other day, unfiltered.

I didn’t like it at first glance.

I looked, well, different than the me I remembered, or at least, the me I wanted to remember.

I saw something unalike than the athlete who was exercising two to three times daily, and something that varied from the me that hadn’t found yoga and was “just” a runner.

I looked vastly changed from the new mother I was, twice.

I looked unrecognizable to the me I was when I when I got married, and when I got divorced.

It was like looking at pictures of different people.

Because it actually was.

It’s the same person, but not.

Those are different versions of me. They are not me today, and they are not me tomorrow.

Some of them are good. Many are not.

All depict something other than my body, they illustrate something that was happening on the inside and showed up on the outside.

Why? Becuase,

The relationship between body and spirit have a direct and distinct correlation.

Our interior, emotional selves control the functions of the body and tell the exterior physical being what to do, be, and project.

Really.

The way my body looked in each of those images is wholly related to what was going on in my life, and in my head.

Times when I was stick thin I was unhappy and trying to control my life by running away from it, literally.

Times when I was overweight I had thrown myself so fully into caring for other people, into taking on their hurts, pains and troubles and stuffing my own down deep (right along with the lasagne) and I actually grew in size.

When I was working out like a madwoman and consequently fitter than I’d ever been in my life? I was happy, but I was in also self defense mode. Protecting. Seeking validation. Hard on the outside to look tough on the inside.  Holding on to strength like it was oxygen. Dismissing grace. Feeling worthy primarily through blood, sweat, tears and bruises. My value measured in medals and PR’s.

The times in the middle, just right shots, those are times when things were running pretty seamlessly for me. Life was balanced, well rounded. Neither too full nor too empty. Those are Goldilocks moments.

However, they were often right at the start of something new and big and different, happening just before a guest name Change arrived. Because you know, as the story goes, the bears come home and our golden haired heroine has move right on out of her cozy little comfort zone.

That’s when things shift, even my squishy parts. During the transition. The expansion. The adjustment in slope.

My body takes on a new form when my life does too.  

Right now? Right now I see equal parts soft and hard. I see things I like, and things I’m struggling to accept. My muscles are still there, but there is a layer of cushion coating them. My yoga practice has never been better nor felt more fluid. I feel powerfully gentle, and slower.

That is new.

There are areas of my life that are building steadily and I want to keep feeding them. Yet they are quickly overshadowed by those that continue to invade my creative space with their obligations and constant presence.

I’m somewhere in between here and there. In this body and space I’m leaning out again while generating a wider range of motion and a newly developed affection for smooth and shapely surfaces.

I’m strategically deciding what kind of fat to cut out, how, why, and when to do it, and exactly which muscles I wish to continue flexing.

I’m checking my ego in with my car for a tune-up and leaving the house with my heart not simply on my sleeve, but sliced into pieces to give away to the world.

Leading with love. Power AND grace.

The picture shows what I know is happening to me. I’m growing and changing. Again. Softening and standing taller all at the same time.

It’s almost time for a new profile picture, I suppose I’d better start looking for something to wear.

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LOVE ME HARDER

So, last week I gave something up (anger) to let something in (love). It was awesome. It is awesome still. I feel good, very good, about where I’m at. I’m full. I’m happy. Motivated. Making progress. Redefining my life, again. I’m enjoying my freedom and expansion. I like this space I’m in right now. However, I must admit I feel a bit, well, alone in that innermost circle of the space. Solo. On my own.

Single.

I’m still struggling a bit with the whole relationship status thing. I’ve had five years of singlehood. Five years to learn about myself. To date different kinds of people. To make new mistakes. To create better experiences. To figure out what the fuck I’m actually looking for in a partnership. Five years is a long time to be rollin’ in as a party of one these days. Sure, I’ve had some long-term relationships squeezed in there, and a few flings and whirlwind romances that end in radio silence for both parties. It’s fun, but often it’s exhausting. I love being able to make my own decisions, go when I want to go, stay when I want to stay, and yet despite evidence to the contrary,

being single is really not my thing.

The facts however, suggest this is not the energy I’m putting out there.

Oops.

One of the groups I write for is hosting a “most eligible bachelor and bachelorette” event tonight, and while I’ve been to many singles events over the last few years, it will be the first time I’ve attended a showcase of that very status. My friends find this rather intriguing. So much so that two of them, on separate occasions, while learning about the event, asked me:

Oh, why weren’t you nominated?”

Followed immediately with:

Well there’s always next year.

Yes. That’s right. Next year. Because apparently I’m still going to be single this time next year. Ummmmmm, how about no? How about HELL NO? Insert indignant foot stomp here. Except. . . If I’m being honest with myself, if I don’t knock a few bad habits off here soon,

I just might be.

I’ve hit a point in my dating life where I’m can identify a clear pattern in the type of men for whom I keep falling. It’s. . . not really a good one. Apparently, the way to win my heart is to possess some (completely random and unrelated) combination of any of the following (varying shades of shallowish) attributes:

  • Abs, biceps, and other kinds of muscles that come in packs.
  • Tattoos. Most especially tribal and placed on said rippling musculature. I just.cant.look.away. Or stop touching. Not apologizing for that.
  • Confidence. Not arrogance. Smooth charismatic confidence. Yes, this also means a man who speaks in complete sentences. And can write. Well.
  • A head that rises at least an inch above mine. Not even kind of sorry for this.
  • A wicked sense of humor and full mastery of the art of sarcasm. If I have to explain it to you, we’re done here.
  • An April birthday. Don’t ask. Please.
  • Athletic prowess, abilities, and interest. Keep up or move out.
  • A massive sense of adventure. Couch potatoes need not apply.
  • People skills and compassion the size of Texas. Must.Love. Dogs. People.
  • The ability to pick me up (and not just at the bar)
  • A Hey Girl smile. Yes, this includes your teeth.
  • Eyes on my eyes. I see you, seeing me.

And, most significantly:

Total emotional unavailability or interest in having an actual relationship

No really. If you’re smoking hot, successful, sporty and intelligent but only call me when you feel like it, I might love you forever and think wistfully of receiving just one minute hour of your attention. On the contrary, if you smother me with compliments, let me know right from the beginning how you feel about me, put off any vibes that feel less than what I’ve (admittedly stereotypically) categorized as manly, I’ll be bouncing like a superball baby, stat. Yes, I am shaking my own head at myself. Actually, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Yuck. That’s just. . .  not okay. Unless of course I want to remain perpetually unattached or heartbroken, in which case I have really got this game dialed in tight. But I don’t. (Sigh.) Because this is what we do, we imperfectly perfect humans.

We want what we can’t have.

We like the adrenaline rush that comes with the chase. It’s exciting. Until it isn’t anymore. Until we learn better, and do better. Until the version of ourselves we’ve been waiting for shows up and represents. Until we see below the surface of our images, accept what we deserve and invite it home to stay. Perhaps it’s time I choose differently. Proceed more wisely. Stop turning in circles and looking for gold at the end of the rainbow.

Slow down, so I’m not so busy being busy that I leave no time for anything lasting.

Observe and then respond. Be vulnerable, but with discretion. Be open, so I can see and receive that which is truly prepared to be given. Say no to being treated as something other than a priority, something other than important, no longer allowing myself to be an afterthought. This round, maybe I can for once and for all get this love thing right. Maybe.

And if not, then I suppose there’s always next year…

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