Once Upon A Time, There Was You

Elizabeth Berg somehow manages to publish a novel once each year. I don’t know how she does it, but I know this: her stories are amazing. It’s not that they are complicated or clever. Quite the opposite is true, in fact. She is able to create a wonderfully deep and interesting novel about....nothing. I’m serious. Her stories are about the most ordinary of people, folks just like you and me. The characters aren’t sexy or strong or rich. They are...normal. Their problems, conflicts and joys are run-of-the-mill, just like you’d find in your life or mine. Some get divorced and some stay happily married. Some struggle with cancer and others with growing older. I suppose this is exactly what I love about Elizabeth Berg’s novels - they are approachable, easily digestible, and yet...they make me feel things very deeply. That is her greatest gift: the ability, through writing, to elicit emotion in the reader.

Last night, I was reading in bed as my husband pretended to watch the Bruin’s game. (I say pretend because his eyes were closed.) In any event, there I was curled up against the pillows with my iPod reading along as one of my characters was sharing with her dinner date something that had happened to her that day. This character had watched a woman sitting on the commuter bus crying. All the passengers could see the tears running down the woman’s face and the woman was just sitting quietly with her hands in her lap allowing her tears to flow. Then, a 50-something male passenger came and sat next to the woman and placed his arm around her shoulder and just stared straight ahead. The character was so moved by this small act of kindness. It gave her hope in humanity and made her feel that we’re all connected. And it made me cry.

Yesterday was a hard day for me, so the tears were easy in coming. I just felt sad. Maybe it was Monday-itis after a warm, sunny weekend...but after reading that passage and sharing it with my husband, I began to wonder if that heavy sadness I’d been feeling throughout the day was more than that. It’s true that I tend to have these bouts of heavy heartedness now and again, without cause or explanation....sort of a recurring tug on my heart strings. Last night, Elizabeth Berg’s writing helped me to realize that what I may be feeling is a longing for connection, for that sense of belonging in the world.

I don’t talk about it much, but I had a pretty sad childhood in a lot of ways. I wasn’t a “wanted” child, and my needs, both physical and emotional, went unmet much of the time. Perhaps this transient feeling of sadness and disconnection, this sometimes intense longing for an elusive something is related to those early experiences, sort of like a very long arm reaching out from my childhood and tugging on me, leaving me rattled and off kilter. I shared these thoughts with my husband and he seemed to understand. It felt good to be held and kissed on the top of my head as I let my own hot tears flow.

I am ever-grateful for writers like Elizabeth Berg. She writes about ordinary, everyday life through characters we can relate to. Some of us need a good novel to help us access our own feelings and thoughts, to process things we’ve been through, looking at things through a different lens. Good literature, music, movies, art - these are the mediums that help me appreciate humanity, mine and other’s. A simple story, a poem, a song. Sometimes, these are my salvation. I’m hopeful, too, that my own “art” might touch others. A photograph, a journal entry....the simple sharing of words and images. You just never know who needs your touch, even though it’s scary to reach out, to open up. We need each other. That much I know is true.

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.

When Your Husband Shows Up At Yoga...

After six years of pretty much having my yoga studio to myself, my husband has decided that he’s now a Yogi too. Not only does he go to classes with me, he sometimes goes all by himself! What’s a girl to do when her husband has set up his 2x6-foot piece of real estate twelve inches from her own? Don’t get me wrong -- I’m all for “togetherness” in a relationship, but I have to wonder: how much is too much?

Last night we were reading in bed and he quoted a few lines from a book he’s reading by Dr. Wayne Dyer....it was some comment about Bikram YOGA! Apparently the wise Dr. Dyer is now a Yogi too. This just further bolsters the husband’s conviction that the time has arrived for him to become a mellow gumby like his wife. Oh goody!

The truth is that Mike and I do get along really well. After 14 years together, we still actually enjoy and prefer each other’s company to pretty much anyone else’s. Neither of us is into “girl time” or “boys night out.” He doesn’t have a Man Cave and I don’t attend Stitch & Bitch meetings. And that enjoyment of each other has always included our athletic pursuits. We jog together and run road races side by side. We hike and swim and bike and occasionally we even raid the bank account to down-hill ski together. So...what’s the big deal if he hones in on “my” yoga?

I’ve been doing this hot yoga thing for thousands of classes. Twenty-six postures, each done twice, over the course of 90 minutes in a room heated to 105% and controlled for high humidity. That’s why they call it “practice,” because we’re doing the same thing over and over and over again. I’ve worked through COUNTLESS things in this room, letting go of one habit or behavior after another: My need to be perfect. My hatred and loathing of the size and shape of certain body parts. Obsessing over the best pants or top for the heat. Wiping sweat from my face. Guzzling water. After all these years, you’d think I’d be running out of stuff to work on, but the list is just endless. And now, having the husband in the room has added more things to my List of Things To Let Go Of.

I see the little corrections I’d like to make in his postures so they’d flow more easily for him, so he wouldn’t have to work quite so hard. I tune in when he’s holding his breath, breathing too hard, huffing and puffing, etc. Bottom line is....I worry about him. And then there’s all the talk before class and after class. The analysis of every pose, the heat, the humidity. Before Mike started coming, it was, “how was class?” and “fine” covered it. Now, it’s, “So, in Standing Bow, did you see how much further I could lift my knee this time?” and “Did it seem unusually hot in there tonight, or was it just me?”

Beyond that, I REALLY worry sometimes. I mean, this Bikram yoga is no joke....it’s freakin’ HOT in there. And, well....Mike....isn’t quite as athletically inclined as I am. So, he was late coming home from a class the other night. I called his phone. No answer. TWICE. This is what it looks like inside my head at a time like this: Mike has had a heart attack IN CLASS. They’ve rushed him via ambulance to the hospital. No one has thought to CALL me!!! Five minutes of pacing later, he walks in the door looking a bit flushed but very mellow and not at all in the aftermath of a major cardiac event. He’s had a great class and wants to tell me ALL about it.

I suppose there are worse things..... But I’ll tell you this: I’m sure gonna make certain that I’m on the next mat over whenever that boy practices for a while. It’s easier to keep track of him that way. Letting go will take a while....

The Lies We Tell...

I’ve been giving a lot of thought lately to the lies I tell myself. This behavior has become habitual and automatic. If left unchecked and accepted without question, these lies are often harmful and addictive and muck up my daily round, leaving me sad, frustrated and generally unhappy. Here are a few examples:

I can’t go to yoga tonight because my back hurts, I didn’t drink enough fluids today, my favorite pants aren’t clean (insert many more reasons here).

I’m fat and ugly and wrinkly and old (insert other yucky descriptives here).

My son doesn’t appreciate me.

My husband doesn’t pay attention to me.

My dogs only like me because I feed them.

I’ll never get out of debt.

My business is going to fail.

Are you getting the picture? It’s painful to write these things down....but I have to admit that I’ve had all of these thoughts (some of them OFTEN), as unattractive as they may be. Are they true? They are if I LET them be....if I give them space in my mind to take root, fester and grow.

A few years back, a friend turned me on to the work of Eckhart Tolle, spiritual teacher and author of The Power of Now and A New Earth. Tolle’s advice is simple: learn to ignore your ego. Applying his advice? I’ve been working on THAT for years. Ignoring my ego has first involved becoming aware of it and how it is affecting the quality of my life. By “ego,” Tolle means that little (or not so little...) voice inside your head that is constantly feeding you judgmental messages about everyone and everything. Tolle teaches that being present in the “now” helps you build awareness of your ego. As I have increased my ability to be present and aware, I have begun to notice how my ego is working against me.

I’m sure that one’s ego is helpful in some ways, but mostly I’ve found that my ego is NOT my friend. It’s always seeking to inflate or deflate me. I’ve found it very helpful to practice mindful presence as a way of quieting the voice of my ego, taking away its power and reclaiming my own. I’ve really had to come to an understanding that my ego is separate from the true essence of who I am. It’s so easy to believe that my ego is “me”....but it’s not. I am the observer. The ego is a voice, most often negative, that wants to steal my peace. The ego seeks to attach meaning to everything happening around me, usually negative or judgmental. He or she is bad....this or that is painful.... I am learning to question those ego messages and toss them out as often as possible. I’ve been totally amazed and blown away by just how toxic my thoughts are!

Noticing....that’s the first step. Questioning...that’s the second step. Banishing...that’s the third step. Here’s an example from this morning: It is really cold outside...subzero. My ego has been tossing up all sorts of negative statements about this and about how hard my day’s going to be, working outside. I’ve been noticing all of these statements....hmmmm.... And as I’ve spent time outside, I’ve realized that it’s not so bad. I’ve got a down jacket, a warm hat, excellent boots. It’s true that it’s cold, but it’s not so true that I’m miserable outside. In fact, I’ve picked up my shovel and gotten busy...and that’s helped me to stay toasty inside my fine winter duds. Perfect! I’ve quieted those negative thoughts that easily could’ve led me into a very negative mood. Ta-da! It’s that simple.

But, if it’s THAT simple, why am I still struggling every single day to keep my ego in check? Old habits are hard to break and die hard. It’s like any other addiction. Recovery happens one step at a time, and in this case, one thought at a time. And, oh my! There are SO many thoughts coming at me. Some days, I need an imaginary fly swatter to whack them all! And....it’s also really challenging to stay “present” all the time. I forget. I get lazy. And before I know it, I’m all negative and unhappy again because those tapes just keep playing those old songs on and on and on.

It’s wonderful to be able to start again and to immediately see the benefits of the work. The quality of my relationships with my husband, son, customers...all improve when I stay present and calm and clear-minded. There’s a freshness, an honesty, a vulnerability that is wonderful to experience. I remind myself that THIS is who I am and who I want to share. Totally worth the effort! Take a peek at the work of Eckhart Tolle. If the time is right, you will understand his message and begin the work.... Being in the Now is a powerful thing! Just for today, I’m going to try watering the flowers...instead of the weeds.

What IS it about Yoga?

In March, I will celebrate my sixth anniversary as a yogi. In yoga years, I’m still very much an infant. That’s okay with me, and I believe it to be very true. How is it possible that I have been practicing Bikram yoga for so long, doing the same exact sequence of postures for hundreds of classes and still feel like such a novice?

Last night in class, the teacher said that “Hatha” is the body’s yoga and “Raja” is the mind’s yoga. So, we are working on two things: quieting and focusing the mind and perfecting the body’s expression of each posture through stillness and determination. No easy feat! Another teacher, one of my favorites, says that in Bikram yoga, “Millimeters matter.” I suppose this is true in all areas of life, if you think about it. What he means by this is that your progress is made in wee little baby steps...a fraction of an inch deeper into a posture....holding a pose for just a few seconds longer....staying calm in the face of heat, sweat, distraction for a heartbeat longer. As you gain millimeters, you also gain confidence, willpower, self-reliance. You begin to understand that you are at the very center of things....and that having a quiet, centered mind and a calm body are essential to your work.

It’s amazing to me just how helpful my yoga practice has been in my life. The things I’ve worked through in that hot sweaty room on my 2.5x6’ mat leave me humbled and grateful. And who knew? Who knew I had SO much to work on? Who knew that a yoga practice would reach into so many dark corners, bringing light and hope, illuminating the work to be done, providing encouragement to stick with it and see it through?

I have to wonder: is yoga my religion? It does make me a better person, inside and out. It keeps me honest. It humbles me. Perhaps it’s true that LOVE is my religion, and yoga is both the vehicle and the path of love, to love. I need it. I crave it. Yoga quiets me in a way that nothing else has or can. For me, the combination of a serious body work out and a focusing of the mind through meditation...plus the breathing (THAT’s a practice on its own!)...and of course the heat/sweating...is necessary to break through all the crap that accumulates through daily life. It takes the full 90 minutes to bring me back into alignment, to reset the internal clock.

So...what am I working on as I approach the six year mark in my practice? Letting go. This has been my focus all along, and it’s a good one. The “objects” change as I go along. Right now, I am letting go of the illusion that I need to wipe the sweat off my face with a hand towel during class, and that I need to drink water while practicing. It’s amazing the lies we tell ourselves, the craziness we cling to. One of the wonderful things about my yoga practice is the opportunity to confront these illusions and winnow away at them. Once you begin to recognize a habit as just that, you are able (maybe) to question its reality, to wonder whether it truly serves you. For years, I’ve clung to my towel and my water bottle to get me through class. Now, I am ready to listen to what the instructor has probably been saying all along: water won’t help, wiping your sweat will bring more sweat. That’s another thing about doing the same practice over and over....when you FINALLY have ears to hear whatever lesson is “next” for you, there it is. Your yoga practice is like a labyrinth, taking you past the same guideposts and markers over and over again as you travel the path, offering you the opportunity to learn this or that when you are ready. The repetition is necessary. So...I’m down to a maximum of 4 sips of water each class. And I’m learning that I don’t even need it, that I’m still clinging to it a little. I am learning to trust. The towel is still there, and I use it when I can’t see through the sweat dripping in my eyes or to wipe my hands before a posture so I can get a firmer grip. But I don’t rely on it between every posture, I don’t cling to it as “necessary” to my practice.

You might be thinking, “Who even cares? It’s just water....it’s just a towel. What could it possibly matter?” You are correct....it’s just water. It’s just a towel. These are objects. It’s the CLINGING that I’m working through. I am learning to let go and be still. I am learning that the only thing I need in that 105 degree room is my breath....in and out....steady as I go. It’s crazy-simple, but oh so complicated inside one’s mind, yes? Yes.

I’m not always as faithful as I’d like to be in my yoga practice. The hardest part is getting myself into the car. Once I’m on the way, the most challenging aspect is already behind me. It doesn’t matter what happens in the practice room....whether I do a particular posture well or terribly....whether I am happy, sad, angry, frustrated. I’m always glad I made it to my mat. There is always a gift waiting to be discovered. It’s a beautiful, hard-won, difficult, wonderful relationship....with myself. Namaste.

Thoughts on Loss and Living...

Just before Thanksgiving, my world was shaken by death and illness. A beloved grandmother, 87 years old, passed quietly....a beautiful life coming to a close as is natural and expected. Kay Cullenberg was the mother of 13 and grandmother of 33, every one of whom truly believed he or she was the favorite.

A customer and friend (they are ALL friends...), just 47 years old, passed quietly in her sleep, surprising and stunning those who loved and cared for her. Lynn Watson Potter posted a daily note on her Facebook page, sharing with us what she was grateful for....oftentimes naming something as simple as her warm bed.

A mother (my own) struggled in the grip of powerful pain, took to her bed, tearful and afraid. Valerie Conaway suffered quietly, unable to eat, losing 20 pounds, yet unwilling to seek medical attention because she is without health insurance.

A long-distance writing pal, the active mother of three, gave up both breasts, surrendering them to breast cancer in exchange for her life. Betsy Voreacos struggled with feelings of guilt over opting for the more drastic and invasive double mastectomy when a lumpectomy may have been enough to stop the cancer’s spread.

All of these endings and challenges others are experiencing, understandably, have caused me to take stock. How have I lived? HAVE I lived, truly? And...if I haven’t lived, what the heck am I waiting for?

Christmas is now barking at our heels and I’m wondering if I will, once again, fall into step with most of the modern world and spend money I don’t have to purchase presents the recipients may or may not need or desire. Is there a way to express my love and appreciation for family and friends other than this? Am I brave enough to let go and try something new?

Lynn died without life insurance. My own mother has no health insurance!! My friend lost her breasts.

I want to be kinder, gentler....with my children, my husband, my dogs and my friends.

I want to know how others are suffering and how I can help.

I want my children and family to remember me after I go as a person who cared and dared.

In the short-term, I may anger my children...who have grown accustomed to having everything they could ever want, wrapped up and shiny under the tree. In a larger sense, though, I would be leading by example. Maybe someday my son and my stepkids will say, “She taught me to look beyond myself” or “She understood what was most important in life.”

Isn’t it true that we are each writing our own obituary every day of our lives? Doing what feels right and good in the deepest part of your soul may leave you out on a limb. There are always risks....always consequences...with the important decisions we make as we move through life. This holiday season, and hopefully well beyond it, I am challenging myself to do what my soul requires, leading with my heart.

My friend Lynn taught me to be grateful for the little things.

My son’s Grammie taught me to shower each person I love with real attention.

My mother, in her quiet suffering, is teaching me to pay closer attention to the silences of others...to check in and ask what’s wrong, what’s needed, how I can help.

My pal Betsy is teaching me to put myself first when it really matters, guilt be damned.

I feel so full and so blessed to be awake enough, present enough, to receive their gifts. I want to help. I want to give back and pay forward. I want to live fully every single day. After all....we just don’t know how or when each of our stories will come to a close. Today, I just might lead with my heart and turn the corner onto a road less traveled, hoping it will, indeed, make all the difference.