Being Here Now...

"Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much

as your own unguarded thoughts."

The Buddha

Perhaps one of the many reasons I adore music lies in its ability to bring me completely into the present moment. Think about what happens to you when you hear one of your favorite songs. I might sing along if I’m in the car but at home I can’t resist the urge to get up and dance (especially if it’s a Black Eyed Peas song), no matter if I’m in my pajamas at 6 a.m. or outside in the snow with the dogs listening on my iPod. Dance I must....and dance I do.

When I allow the music to move me, everything else falls away. Problems stop gnawing at me. Thoughts cease to pester as I give in to what’s happening in the immediate moment. I don’t worry about how I look or whether I’m “good” at this or that dance move. With no censorship, I allow myself to simply "be."

Sometimes I’m able to let go like this in my Bikram yoga class as well. There is no past and no future: suddenly, as I am attempting to pull one leg up over my head while balancing on the other, I am in The Zone. My gaze is steady in the mirror. My breath is moving in and out through my nose. The room can be full of hot, sweaty people, yet I remain composed and completely absorbed in expressing the beauty of this particular posture to the fullest of my ability. And then it’s over. That posture, good....bad....or lovely, is now in the past.

I suppose, as a human being, my most important practice lately is attempting to Be Here Now. It’s so easy not to truly be present. My mind is often overactive, attempting to fill my consciousness with a million thoughts....past hurts, future “to do” lists, reruns of this or that event. I am learning to notice these thoughts and let them go. By doing this, I open up the present and become witness to what is occurring right here, right now.

"To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

Lao Tzu

The more I am able to Be Here Now, the better I feel. There is a sense of calm....clarity....deep peace. Often, I pull myself back to the Now by asking a simple question when a thought starts to gain a foothold: is it happening NOW? Let’s say I’m hung up on some past hurt or injury a person has caused me. Asking myself, “Is it happening NOW?” reminds me that it’s inconsequential. There’s nothing I can DO about it. It’s in the past, and if I spend my present moment rehashing it or emoting over it, then I lose the only thing that is truly “mine”...this moment, right here and right now.

This is my understanding of Enlightenment. I welcome activities that support and encourage a focus on the immediate. Being in nature. Engaging in yoga. Dancing. Writing. Photography. Art or craft of any sort. Cooking. These are all activities that bring me face to face with The Now. Certainly, my work with puppies and dogs also empowers me to Be Here Now. Dogs instinctively live in the Now. They don’t dwell. They don’t hold grudges. They just deal with what’s going on around them and, in my experience, try to have fun with it. They are good teachers for me.

Today, I am asking myself, "What can I do with THIS moment?" Action is immediate....one moment at a time.

Can I be done now?

“Hello. My name is Julie and I’m a dryaholic.” Huh? Alright, alright....maybe they don’t have meetings for us yet, but I’m STILL a dryaholic and I may need help to stop drying. My hair. Don’t laugh! It’s not funny. I’ve been drying my damn hair for several decades. Can I be done now?

Here’s the thing: my hair is getting older. It’s TRUE! And it’s decided that it likes being curly now. In addition to being GRAY. I know...the NERVE, right? Doesn’t matter how I try to coax it, the minute I step away from the mirror, there it goes -- kinking this way and that. I’m sick of fighting with it, and for what? Because I want it to be straight and well-behaved? It’s time to face it: my hair is a wild rebel at heart.

I know I shouldn’t be asking if I can be done now. The easy answer is YES, of course I can be done now. I could’ve been “done now” years ago. The problem is that I’m a weakling. I think my hair doesn’t look right or perfect or good unless I’ve fussed with it for a half hour. Okay, maybe it’s more like 45 minutes now that it’s gotten so rebellious. First, there’s the crazy-expensive conditioner that I slather on it in the shower. The container says to use a teaspoon. I use more like a half cup! Then I’ve gotta wait five extra minutes while the product attempts to talk some sense into the curls. After the towel-drying, I’ve got to squirt it down with some miracle leave-in conditioner just so I can get a wide-toothed comb through it. And then we’re onto another very expensive Morroccan oil product for smoothing and some sort of creamy gel stuff for straightening. And I haven’t even TOUCHED the blow dryer yet!

The actual blow drying is a whole other event. I have three (yes...THREE) brushes that I use. I know, I know. It’s ridiculous! But if I want to tame the rebel, every bit of this is necessary, I swear. I’ve got this super duper round brush that can really kick some...er....hair. This brush is so big and so round. You stretch the hair over it and blow the heck out of it. And then there’s this other round brush that is what they call “vented.” This allows the air to flow right through the brush. There are appropriate times and conditions for this brush as well. Lastly, I’ve got your basic everyday brush that comes in handy if Rebel Hair needs a little more coaxing near the end of the process. Good Lord, this is scaring even ME now that I’m writing it all down and admitting to it. I guess this paragraph and the one previous to it are part of Step Four of the Twelve Steps of AA, where you make a fearless and searching inventory of yourself. Yikes!

There’s more to this process that involves flat irons, curling irons and two kinds of hair spray, but I won’t bore you with the details. What it all boils down to, though, is that the actual BLOW DRYING is the root of all the other evils. If I can just manage to give that up, most (okayyyy, all!) of the other stuff won’t be necessary...no need for fancy conditioners and oils and brushes. No need to pull it, prod it, poke it and fry it. I’ll just be stepping from the shower, toweling it dry and maybe fluffing it a bit with my fingers. Who wouldn’t want to give up the blow dryer, then?

ME!!! I’ll have to take this slow...maybe drying just the bangs for a while. Or maybe I could give up the brushes first and just use the dryer for like....five minutes....just to fluff it up? I did a very scary thing today: I did a trial run of the above, just a little bang dry and a little fluffing. Guess what? No one died. No one shrieked and ran, bug-eyed, in the opposite direction after seeing me at the grocery store. My husband (God bless him) has tried his very very best to give me lots of “feedback” on the new look. His first comment, as he peeked at me over the Sunday paper, was “Wow, it didn’t seem like it took you very long to dry your hair today.” Just like that, I was forced to take Step One of AA: I admitted I had a problem and that I was powerless over it, that my life had become unmanageable. I told Mike I was sick of fighting with my hair and that I was trying to overcome my sick and twisted need to blow dry it. Oy. Now he knows!

When I came home from the grocery store (where nobody died and nobody ran...), Mike made note of the red highlights he’d never noticed in my hair when it was straight. God, I love this lying bastard! I mean...you’ve GOT to admit, that was a pretty creative statement for a man, right?! We’ll give him that.

Later, after I took a nap with the husband and dogs, I looked in the mirror and here’s what I noticed: my hair looked none the worse for hitting the hay, and may have even looked slightly better than before I’d crawled in for that nap. Really? I could get used to this. I ran a pick (larger than a comb) through it, scrunched it a few times in my fists and took my doggies for a walk, hair bouncing happily around my head.

Day One of my recovery is fast coming to a close. As I sit here contemplating whether it’s worth it to keep up this cold-turkey-from-the-blowdryer stint, I’m reviewing the history of me and my hair since the day in my early teens when I actually started to care about what it looked like. I’m remembering how my mom’s very French friend, Jackie, used to be coaxed into giving two or three Veilleux girls (there were FIVE of us!) Lilt home perms on a Saturday night back in the early 80’s. And didn’t we ADORE the look of a freshly-permed hairdo, even if it was a little fuzzy around the ears? I’m remembering how my Aunt Weazie gave me my first Dorothy Hamill haircut, my first shag....my first highlights. More recently, I'm realizing ALL that I put my hair through, now that it's graying...poor little wisps. They're tired of all the bullshit.

Me and my hair, we’ve been through a lot. I suppose if it wants so desperately to be curly now, I should just go along with it. Who’s going to care anyway? The dogs love me no matter what. And my husband is a fabulous liar. I guess I can "be done" now. We'll see how long this recovery lasts... I'll keep you posted.