Rules of Engagement

For me, for you, and for anybody else who needs a list of reminders to follow—in life, in love, and everything in between . . .

• Our self-worth has nothing to do with how many clicks, likes, comments, or messages we receive.
• We’re all human and we’re all being vulnerable by putting our hearts on the line. Treat everyone with the same kindness and respect as we’d like to receive.
• Don’t fear the long road. Good things come to those who show up and remain true to themselves.
• A new message notification is not puppet string. An immediate response is not a requirement—nor is it a sign of like or dislike.
• The goal is to meet new people and make connections. That is all. Trust that the other stuff will fall into place.
• Life is not lived behind the computer screen. Get out and do things you enjoy—or think you might enjoy. Explore. Try. And then try again.
• Smile. Say hello. Make eye contact.
• Make the first move. Strike up conversations. Take the gamble. The real living happens across the line that bounds our comfort zone.
• It’s not just in the doing—but also in the being—that positive, lasting change takes place.
• There is no timetable or growth chart or other measuring stick needed for us to live happy and fulfilled lives.

Soundtrack: “Don’t Be Shy” by Cat Stevens

Strength in Kindness

In packing for my move, I came across an old one-subject spiral notebook from high school. It was hot pink and tattered--a hodgepodge of dramatic and overly adverb-y short stories and sappy love poetry, all written between the ages of 14 and 16. Quality stuff, I assure you. But toward the back of the notebook was this list of goals that I wrote for myself the day before entering my senior year: In two separate instances, I told myself to (a) be a nicer person and (b) be friendlier. After coming across this gem of a list, I posted it on Facebook, which was met with a whole slew of "I remember you being very nice" responses. And I believe I was nice. Very nice. So, what gives?

My 39 year-old self chewed on these judgmental words from a 17 year-old for a bit. Knowing how quiet and shy I was, I think perhaps what I was trying to say was "be more outgoing." I think "be a nicer person" was my way of expressing a desire to be more popular. More well liked. But, but . . . again thinking back to those days, I was well liked. Just not by myself. And therein lies the truth: I needed to be nicer to myself. And no rigid list of goals was--or is--going to make that happen. Just compassion. Just kindness. Just acceptance that who I am is wonderful and enough. As is.

Like those instructions from the flight attendant about fastening your own oxygen mask before helping others, sometimes you simply have to put yourself first. And that's okay. Wise even. Human nature has us wanting to help others. To do things to make them happy. To do things that make them feel liked and loved, safe and secure. But I don't think it's possible to selflessly give your companionship to another person if you aren't able to love yourself first. Otherwise, that companionship is a sneaky bartering tool. I gave you this . . . so you should give me that. (Insert hurt feelings here.)

I've been making lists for my entire adult life--some functional (return mirror, pay parking ticket, refill prescription, bake muffins), some more emotional. In fact, earlier this year, I did some work with a life coach and one of the goals I had set for myself was to "be more loving." Again, if I can do something for another person, I think it will make me happier. And it may--for a minute. A day. A year. But then what? There's always more to "do"--but what if, for once and for all, I decided to just "be more loving" toward myself?

"Don't look for love in faces, places
It's in you, that's where you'll find kindness."

Soundtrack: "Be Here Now" by Ray Lamontagne

Three Words

I know better. Really, I do. And yet--I blame myself. I knew we weren't meant to be back in 1999 when we first met. Kind of like I knew I shouldn't have enrolled in that AP English class in high school. But I can play a good game, talk a good talk. I get my way, and for a moment, I think I'm winning. It looks like I'm winning. But I'm wishing I had the courage to speak up and step down. To tell the truth. Hey, this doesn't feel right.

I loved you for your commitment to your left-of-center beliefs and your passion and outspokenness about all sorts of things. I loved you for being one of a kind. A dramatic, abstract piece of art that I wanted so badly to comprehend. I wanted to be more like you: fervent, brazen, steadfast. And sometimes I was--and sometimes I wasn't. And it was those times that I wasn't when I felt like I was in over my head. Like Mrs. Whoever had just assigned a character analysis of Tess of the d'Urbervilles and all I can come up with is "Tess is a pretty name." But mixed in with these feelings of inadequacy were countless periods of growth, too. That's life outside the comfort zone.

As I count the growing ripples between "old us" and "new us," I am wrestling with a way to define the unquestionable love I felt for you. I loved love you with my soul, but I don't think I was ever able to fully put my heart into it. I looked to you on so many occasions to "fix" my feelings with those three words--and you couldn't either. It saddens me to admit that I loved without my heart--and perhaps it hurts you to know it. Or maybe you agree.

But there is something so liberating about walking away from that abstract piece of art or putting down that book full of impossible prose. Isn't that what the expression "something for everybody" is all about? I'm grateful to live in a world where all these differences exist, but I think I now have a better idea of what will make my heart sing--and that's the direction I'm headed.

Soundtrack: "I and Love and You," by the Avett Brothers

After the Storm

Seven days out . . . I don't hate you for disrupting my life. For forcing me out of my comfort zone. Making me change gears. No, you're teaching me to love myself first. To prioritize my happiness. To chase my dreams. To give and receive truly, madly, gorgeous love. To find my cheeks. To reignite my spark. To be authentically me.

Change is hard--physically and mentally. But you've given me a gift. I will treasure it. I will grow. I will move forward and become an even more splendid, desirable, enriched version of me. I am finding myself, starting now.

I've been feeling lost, but not sure where to start, what direction to turn, which step to take. You found me spinning and said, "Here, this direction. I know it will be hard, but here is where you need to put your foot. It may feel like it is filled with lead, but rest assured, the other foot will follow. And I know you can't comprehend it right now, but eventually this will feel really good. So right. Liberating. You'll be scaling this wall in no time, but for now you've just got to trust me--and trust yourself, too. I've got your back. I'm holding your hand. You may not see me, but I'm there. Always have been, always will be. But you have to trust. It's through these cracks that the light shines in."

Soundtrack: "After the Storm," by Mumford & Sons

My Happiness Commandments

I'm a champion list-maker. I find the process of writing something down, doing it, and checking it off so incredibly satisfying. What I don't enjoy, however, is that for every item I complete, three more seem to take its place. And there are only so many hours in a day. And I'm just one person. And . . . and . . . well, all that doing gets exhausting.

Ironically, for a good two-plus years, my someday-maybe list has included "draft my own happiness commandments, a la Gretchen Rubin." (It's amazing how many fun, meaningful things on the someday-maybe list get brushed aside in favor of practical, boring things--like laundry and taxes--isn't it?)

Fast forward to today: I finally made the time to create my happiness commandments list. What I love most about this exercise is that there isn't a single task in sight. Everything on the happiness commandments list is meant to stay on this list. To-bes, not to-dos. And while I do love drawing a line through all those completed tasks, I'm quite alright with letting these 12 items stand.

So, without further ado . . . my list.

1. Everything counts.
2. You don't have to. You get to.
3. Invest in love--and invest in life. (And vice versa.)
4. Quality not quantity.
5. Great--not just good.
6. Avoid crinkly things.
7. Just do it.
8. No apologies, no regrets.
9. Rest your head.
10. Everything is a miracle.
11. Flap your wings.
12. Foresake comparison.

Like Lucy, there's some 'splainin to do on each of these. But for now, I can say that I've written my happinesss commandments--and cross that off of my to-do list.

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©2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because making lists--on heavy weight, wide-ruled paper with a fine point Sharpie pen (preferably blue)--makes me happy. (Photo by donireewalker via Creative Commons.)

Pure Potential

From the outside, it may not have looked like I did much in tonight’s yoga class with OmGal. I took it slow, skipped each and every chautauranga, sunk deeply into many a child’s pose for minutes at a time, and kept both feet on the ground in the balancing poses.

I was dehydrated and depleted. My body wanted to go home, but my mind needed the sanctuary. So, instead, I dedicated tonight’s class to recharging my body through my thoughts.

By coaching myself into remembering how I feel when I’m “at my best” on the mat, I was able to come up with a few grounding words, which became my mantra for the evening.

Deep breath in . . . I am graceful. Exhale . . . I am strong. Inhale . . . I am pure potential . . .

For 90 minutes, I breathed these words in and I breathed these words out. Even without my wonderfully familiar power yoga flow, I was graceful and strong. And my potential? Limitless.

Best yoga class ever? I dare say so.

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye."                                                                         -- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because stillness can be expansive. (Photo by lululemon athletica via Creative Commons.)

For the Birds

This morning, just as everyone seemed to be getting out the door and on with their day, the skies opened up. The street went from speckled to soaked in an instant. And those rumbles in the distance? Not the garbage truck. You could practically hear the collective “aw, sh*t” across the eastern half of the state.

Except for the birds. They were lovin’ it. While stopped at a red light, I watched a posse of sparrows hopping and flapping and splashing in a giant curbside puddle. To them, the morning rainstorm was pure delight.

I need the rain. It reminds me to appreciate the sunshine and the flowers. That brighter days always lie ahead. It nourishes the trees that provide shade on my lunchtime walks and brings a twinkle to their leaves, which will soon turn fiery shades of orange, yellow, and red. I need the snowfall. It reminds me that warmer days will come. I need the hazy, hot, and humid days to remind me that a break is always just around the corner. I need it all.

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome, then New England’s widely varying weather should be a source of comfort and peace of mind to its inhabitants.

Long story short: I simply refuse to complain about the weather. Sure, it gets me down sometimes, but a rainy day is just that. A day. It passes and I move forward. That’s the nature of nature.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because my happily ever after has four seasons. (Photo by doortoriver via Creative Commons.)

Gratitude Roundup: Summer Lovin’

Alas, (not to be confused with  “at last”) it’s fall. Sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes are just around the bend. Scarves, too. (I love scarves!) And even though the calendar still says we have two more weeks of summer, I’ll always associate September 1 with fall’s unofficial start. Maybe it’s the latent meteorologist in me . . .

But before I usher in autumn, I must pay homage it its spunky little sister. This year’s summer was filled with things to love, both big and small. Such as: 

• Park trips aplenty with the pups and my beloved
• My best pal moving back east
• An indulgent, two-hour yin + vinyasa workshop with YogaThree’s Chanel Luck and Bonnie Argo
• Upleveling my life with creativity coach extraordinaire, Christine Kane
• An outdoor yoga class in the DeCordova sculpture park
• Learning how to hold ’em and fold ’em
• A new car (after a year-plus of being a one-car family)
• Hosting a fancy-pants dinner party at the Liberty Hotel (even though the hotel lost our flowers)
• My hair got crazy long
• Perfecting the art of cold-brewed iced coffee (thanks to smallnotebook)
• Front-row seats to see Willie Nelson at the House of Blues (and access, to the fancy-pants Foundation Lounge)
• Laughing in yoga classes with Boston’s omgal, Rebecca
• Cupcakes and iced coffee on the porch of a yellow Victorian with my best pal
• Discovering lovely, serene sittin’ spots around town
• Getting my geek on with this uber-addictive card game
• Digging my toes in the sand while sitting beneath my beach umbrella
• Taking lunchtime walks and snapping photos (like the one above) on my cell phone
• Falling in love with croonsmith Ray LaMontagne
• Playing bocce (win!) and mini golf (let’s not talk about that score)
• A leisurely, cloudy morning spent at a harborside coffee shop (with a new notebook in tow)
• A foodie gift bag from a friend, which included the most lovely jar of dandelion honey from Italy
• Trying new flavors at the ice cream stand up the street from my house (graham central—yum!)
• Eating raspberries in the parking lot at Russell Orchards, fresh from the field, still warm from the sun

I’m a simple pleasures kinda gal. Sure, a week on an island would have been lovely. But my memory of those raspberries is priceless . . .

"That much gathers more is true on every plane of existence."                                                                     --Charles Haanel

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because, so often, the little things can add up to something spectacular. 

Enjoy the Silence: Meditation with Mantras

I've been attending a weekly Kundalini yoga class for the last two months. It's a style of yoga that's very different from the power/vinyasa flow I am used to. The poses are dynamic (i.e., you're moving) but you do the same pose for several minutes. It might look easy on the surface, but I can attest--this stuff is intense!

What has really captivated me about this style of yoga is its bevy of mantras. Lots of chants and hand motions. It's like cheerleading in Sanskrit--but without the kicks, flips, and squeals. The mantras serve as a form of meditation.

Generally speaking, a yoga class is a meditative experience in and of itself. But there's something about throwing around all those Kundalini gang signs (better known as mudras) and the lullaby of all those foreign words that has swept me into a place where to-do lists and everyday woes are just a tiny blip on the horizon.

"Your strength is how quietly, calmly, and peacefully you face life."

                                                                                           --Yogi Bhajan

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically, on Tuesdays at 7:15 p.m.--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of stevoarnold via Creative Commons.)

Cheesy Gifts

In the car on the way home from work this evening, in the middle of our how are yous and how was your days, Andrew announced that he had a gift for me. He reached into his coat pocket and handed me a piece of paper. It was a coupon for a dollar off on Sargento cheese. Actually, it was two coupons. "One for now, one for later," he proudly reported.

I laughed, he laughed, and it was all good. Really good. Even though I can't remember the last time I actually used a grocery store coupon, that moment of a shared chuckle after a long day was exactly I needed.

Plus, I love cheese.

"Laughter is the closest distance between two people."                                                                                  --Victor Borge

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. And to find lots to laugh about.