Sounds Like Hallelujah

My fingers were immediately drawn to the pink eraser that a St. Mark’s school girl had carefully stood up in the corner of the pencil tray in the hollow of her desk. It wasn’t one of those rectangular salmon-colored erasers with the sloped ends that felt grainy to the touch; no, this one was oval, ballet slipper colored, and powdery smooth like my Cabbage Patch Kid’s cheek. And while my CCD teacher stood at the front of the room telling us third-graders a story about the Tower of Babel, I slipped that eraser into my hand—and then into the arch of my Top-Sider shoe. From first through eleventh grade, I sat through these weekly religious ed classes—distracted, bored, and tuned out. All those stories of fear, of wrath, of shame and helplessness sat uneasily within me.  Nothing about it felt good—or believable—to me. While the formality and the top-down belief system of organized religion doesn’t work for me, you can’t stand on a yoga mat and bring your palms together time and again without feeling something come over (and overcome) you. What 20 years on the mat has taught me is this: I believe in me.

It has taken me decades to get to this place. Decades. For much of my life, I compared myself—my trajectory, my possessions, and my talents—to you. The “yous” I know and the ones I don’t. Those old feelings of fear and shame still sat uneasily within me. I tried shake off this pattern by telling myself to “fake it ’til I make it” or to “just do it,” but none of that worked. I couldn’t believe in the artificial me, nor could I continue believing that my life was in any way inferior—just because I hadn’t followed certain conventions. Doing so felt toxic, inside and out.

I don’t believe in placing blame. Not on my lineage. Not on my ex. Not on society. And not on me. All of life is just a learning opportunity. There is no arrival. There is no “making it”—even now, living with my boyfriend. Some might see this milestone as a “hooray, we made it.” And, indeed, it is good. So good. But I have to keep reminding myself that this, too, is a lesson. It’s just that not all lessons need to come with tears or heartache or feeling lost or second-rate. It is possible to vulnerable and emotionally wide open with a big, authentic smile across your face. So, that’s what I’m doing—because I believe in me.

All along, I’ve had a vision of what I wanted my “happily ever after” to look like. But I hit the off switch on that vision ages ago—and had thought that I’d come to peace with that decision. No so. Now, here I am playing that vision over and over again in my head and my heart, treating it like a coming attraction to a blockbuster movie. I’m waking up to my own dreams.

Letting go of expectations has been a big part of my journey these last 10.5 months—and gathering the courage embrace uncertainty is the outcome of years of introspection, both on the yoga mat and with a notebook and pen in hand. But in the process of letting go of expectations, I’ve remained steadfast to my vision.

I believe we should all have a dream for ourselves. A big and beautiful dream. Let it play out like a scene in a breathtaking movie. Play it a million times over, until you memorize every word, bat of an eyelash, and knowing smile. Smell it, taste it, feel it. Let it lull you to sleep. Let it greet you in the morning. Let it get you through those quiet, lonely moments and accompany you when times are good. Let it because you have nothing left to lose. Let it because you have everything to gain. Let it because this is your one, precious life and making it epic is your soul’s mission.

Let your life be everything you’ve ever dreamed of—and surprise yourself when it’s even more than you imagined. Trust it will happen, even when reality seems to be telling you otherwise. And don’t take any part of it for granted as that vision comes to life.

That's what I choose to believe.

Soundtrack: “Sounds Like Hallelujah” by the Head and the Heart

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.)

Playlist: Don’t Forget to Breathe

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This song has been on one of my yoga instructor’s playlists all summer—and in my head (in a good way!) for just as long.

From the first strum of Alexi Murdoch’s guitar in that first downward-facing dog of the day, I can feel the stress just slide off of my body. Ahhh . . . the beauty of deep, slow, complete breaths.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making space in my busy day for more deep inhales and exhales. 

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.)

My Time Out

It came out of nowhere as the workday neared its end. One minute I was making progress on my to-do list; the next I was in complete meltdown mode. Inconsolable, indefatigable, petulant.  I needed a time out--or a miniature Milky Way Midnight.  I called my boyfriend at home and explained, with all the ration I could muster, that I did not want to grill seafood for dinner, nor did I want to eat any vegetables. I did not want to go to the grocery store, cook dinner, or pick up something ready-made. I was hungry and  just wanted dinner to appear without either of us having to cook. I blamed it all on my lunch: a lovely pocket sandwich filled with a homemade bean dip, sprouts, cucumber, red pepper, carrots, avocado, and tomato. And now I had bacon on the brain. Or maybe an ice cream sundae.

Somehow, I made it to the grocery store. I staggered through the aisles, managed to run over my own foot with the cart, and left the store with an odd assortment of food, including a few mozzarella sticks from the prepared foods counter--which I ate before even leaving the parking lot.

Once home, I collapsed on the couch and ate slices of Swiss cheese and Sun Chips while watching that awful show about the Kardashian sisters on E! I didn't feel any better. I puttered around upstairs. I hovered over Andrew. I hovered over the cat. Finally, at my wit's end, I cleared a space in our spare room, swung my legs up the wall, and closed my eyes.

Twenty minutes later I reemerged, a whole new Holly. It wasn't long before I was in the kitchen running a knife through some fresh herbs and zesting a lemon for this delightful lemon spaghetti dish (how I managed to pick up parsley and cream in my state of mind earlier, I do not know).

So, did I learn any lessons while in my self-imposed time out? Glad you asked!

While a Milky Way Midnight (or 17) would have been delightful for a moment, what I was really craving most were a few slow, deep breaths. With all systems a go, go, go--and a to-do list that was growing by the hour--I had flat-out forgotten to pay attention to myself.

Viparita karani (a.k.a. legs up the wall, one of my favorite yoga poses) has a magical way of soothing my nervous system and draining tension from my limbs. Lying still and with my eyes closed, the deep breaths I needed a few hours earlier suddenly flowed easily. No fancy props needed (though they're nice), this pose is completely worth you clearing a place along the wall and giving it a try at home.

• Sit parallel to the wall with your hip right along the baseboard, knees bent and feet flat on the floor.
• Turn your hands so that your fingertips face the wall
• Begin to lower your back to the floor as you raise your legs up the wall
• Give yourself a little wiggle so that your backside is in nice and close to the wall
• Rest your arms by your side--above or below your head--with your palms facing up
• Give your shoulder blades a little tuck, rolling them back and down
• Exhale

With your eyes closed and nothing to do and nowhere else to be, use your breath to sweep away whatever it is that's cluttering your mind or weighing you down. Feel your chest rise and fall as you recharge your mental batteries, breathing in just as deeply as you let go on the out breath. Maybe you even choose a short little mantra to repeat to yourself, letting it absorb into your psyche with each inhale annd exhale.

If the logistics (i.e., working in an office) get in the way of you being able to slide your leg up the wall, just work with the breath component of this pose. Even if it means you have to hide out in a bathroom stall. Save the chocolate for another time when you can truly enjoy it. For now, just find your breath . . . perhaps for the first time today.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Ahhh, the power of positive thinking and deep breaths. (Photo credit: Debra McClinton)

Maybe I Was Born to Run

Personal productivity experts say that one of the best ways to help you achieve your goals is first to put them in writing and then to share your plans with others. So, that's exactly what I'm doing, right here and right now. I am going to start running.

I had pretty much written this off a no-go quite a few years ago, remembering how silly I looked running (or so I was told) as a child, and later as a teen. With my legs flapping and my arms flopping, I too believed it wasn't a pretty sight. No big deal though; I had plenty of other activities to occupy my hours and never gave running a second thought.

Exercise has never really been my thing--that is, until I discovered yoga back in 1994. Heart-thumping, liberating, acrobatic, and introspective all at once, this package deal clicked with me and my long limbs right away. I quickly subscribed to its noncompetitive spirit and never looked back.

However, my body is calling out for some cardio--and my soul is begging for more time outdoors. I enjoy my alone time, like listening to eclectic music, and am inspired to introduce another healthy habit into my life. I need balance. So what if I have floppy arms? So what if my stride makes me look like I am hopping over puddles?

"You achieve much once you stop telling yourself you can't do things."                                                                                   -- Elizabeth Kadetsky

Here I go. I'll start this weekend; one foot in front of the other, one minute at a time. Cool Running has a Couch to 5K running program for raw beginners. In two months--with a commitment of training just three times per week--I should be able to run a 5K (that's just over 3 miles for those of us who never really learned the metric system) by the beginning of October. Just as the air starts to develop its New England crisp and the leaves begin to change colors. All the more reason to be outside.

I've satisfied the productivity experts by declaring my plans. Next, it's time to answer to the fitness pros and register for a race. My favorite part of this assignment is that so many of them are tied to some sort of charity or nonprofit cause. So, pick your platform and let that serve as motivation and inspiration to kick butt.

The plan:

• Get fitted for a new pair of sneakers from the pros at Marathon Sports. Resist the nagging temptation to purchase a heart rate monitor or a cute running skirt.
• Take a nice, long walk in my new sneakers to break them in. Load up the mp3 player with some good, rollicking music.
• Sign up for an upcoming 5K run/walk. (I'm eyeing one in my old neighborhood that benefits the Travis Roy Foundation; I wish the Boston Race for the Cure was a bit later!)
• Begin the Couch to 5K program, starting with 60 seconds of jogging followed by 90 seconds of walking, for a total of 20 minutes.
• Keep at it--three times a week for the next two months, along with twice weekly yoga.
• Celebrate!

Can I do it? Of course I can. Not only am I really looking forward to spending more time outdoors--and getting in better shape--but I'm excited to carve out this additional 90 minutes per week to do some additional mental housekeeping. To-do lists, goals lists, daydreaming, story ideas, more daydreaming . . . bring it on. 

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© 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (These two photo copyrights are not my own--though I wish I could claim them. Don't you just love that dog face?)

Travel Utensils: Not Just for Weirdos

While in college, I briefly dated this guy who carried his own set of chopsticks. I can still remember diving into our take-out containers, my girlfriends and I all watching as he unceremoniously removed those glossy red sticks from his messenger bag. The most outspoken of the bunch asked him why, point blank, did he carry his own chopsticks. The tone of her inquiry rang out weirdo alert, weirdo alert. Admittedly, I agreed. (Forgive me; it was the mid-1990s and I was just a wee twentysomething.) "Because I never know when I'll need them," he replied in earnest.

Fast-forward a dozen-plus years . . . to today. I'm sitting in the Upper Crust, taking a little time out of my busy day to keep the staycacation vibe going by treating myself to lunch outside of the office. (I had a buy one slice, get one free coupon, so this was a budget friendly splurge. Plus, a girl needs to eat.) I had forgotten how big and floppy their by-the-slice pizza could be. The type of pie where you're wise to fork-and-knife it at least halfway up. Especially when you're wearing a white jacket and a light-colored blouse.

Reluctantly, I picked up a plastic fork and knife along with my paper napkins. And because I was really thirsty--and forgot my water bottle back at the office--I poured myself some water in a plastic cup. Other than wishing I hadn't forgotten my water bottle, my first thought was, I sure wish I had some travel utensils so I didn't have to rely on the disposable stuff.

Pot? Kettle? Yes, indeed.

Truth be told, my handbag is heavy enough without adding a fork, knife, and spoon to the mix. But it just seems so wasteful to pitch the plastic. Perhaps if it were recyclable, I'd feel a little bit better. Fortunately, I'm not often faced with a need for plastic utensils. I have my own set of stainless at work (along with my mug, plate, and bowl). But for those rare occasions, I think this would be a pretty easy switch. It's the type of thing I could even just stash in the glove compartment. I'm much more likely to use a fork than I am that tire pressure gauge.

A few days ago, Simple Savvy posted a cool tutorial on how to make your own utensil set. How neat, I thought--until I saw how much sewing was involved. But there's nothing keeping me from rolling a fork, knife, and spoon in a cloth napkin, tying it up, and carrying it with me next time I find myself faced with a big, floppy slice of pie.

N.B. I brought the plastic utensils home for washing and reuse, and the cup for recycling; only used three paper napkins; and managed not to get a drop on my clothes. Go me.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.