Life in Pieces

June 2015.  That was the last time I published a blog post.  6 long months ago.  It was also the last time, I wrote anything more than my daily "To Do" list.  I have been completely constipated--creatively speaking.  

June 2015.  We closed on a new house.  Not a new, new house--relatively old in fact--1989, but new to us.  In the beginning, we were excited.  The "new to us" house sat on Lake Norman and  I imagined myself sitting on the deck for hours sipping wine and writing, writing, writing as the water soothed my central nervous system and sparked my creativity.  I fantasized about boating and kayaking and paddle boarding.  In my minds eye, I could see my newly defined abs from all that paddling!  And most of all, I felt certain that as a family our quality of life together would increase exponentially.  The kids would be so excited to live on a lake, they'd willingly leave behind the digital world they live in and spend time frolicking in the surf.

But almost immediately, as we put our house on the market to sell, anxiety took hold of my heart and began to squeeze the breath right out of me.  The children were not allowed to sit on the furniture for fear of crushing a perfectly puffed pillow.  They were not allowed to eat inside the house.  All snacks and meals were served outside on the deck.  I stopped cooking meals.  Everything was take-out so that counters stayed clean and dishes stayed done.  I've always thought I walked extremely close to the edge of insanity.  But during this time, I jumped right off the fricking cliff.

Panic set in when the old house, which was actually newer than the new house, didn't sell within the first month.  That's right.  We closed on the new house in mid-June with no offer on the old house.  We owned two houses (and two mortgages) and the real pisser was that the kids were not even excited about moving or living on the lake.  In fact, the day the moving truck arrived,  Numero Dos threw himself on the ground.  Flailing and sobbing, he exclaimed, "My whole life is a downgrade!"

A downgrade!

Can you imagine how spoiled my children must be that moving to a house on a lake is a downgrade? Of course the truth is, he wasn't exactly wrong.  From it's brass fixtures, to it's one-piece fiberglass shower inserts, to the popcorn ceilings in the basement--this house was a downgrade, relatively speaking.  But it was still on the freaking water.  That's got to count for something, right!?

Wrong.  We experienced one disappointing set back after another.  The flooring company, which we hired to refinish the hardwood floors, flooded the house before we even moved in resulting in the decimation of the main floor powder room and the basement bedroom.  6 months later, both rooms are still barren wastelands.  The toilets were not a standard 12" on center and now sit two inches away from the walls.  The washer and dryer I purchased were too big for the space resulting in the loss of the closet doors and there was no garbage disposal.  None.  So, take the stress of not selling the first house, add in a slew of installation mishaps, multiply it by the gut-wrenching sound of your child sobbing everyday after school because we left a neighborhood he loved and you've got a recipe for depression, anger, frustration and regret.

And thus I didn't write.  Writing about anything other than my true feelings seemed disingenuous and really who wants to listen to me whine about how much it sucks that we chose to buy a house on a lake?  Does anyone feel sorry for me?  Shit, I don't even feel sorry for me.  And besides, I had the perfect solution.

We needed a boat!  A boat would make everything better.  What good is it to live on a lake if you can't even get out on the water?  And so we bought a boat.  But, you know what?  The boat did not make us feel better.  Not even by a little bit, because not only did we discover that our lack of knowledge around a boat only led to more frustration, but we also discovered that our boat lift didn't work.  Chalk up one more disappointment to the tune of $8500 in favor of the house.

Fast forward to this week--the last week of 2015, I stumbled upon this blog post.  I am going to post it in it's entirety as it is the catalyst for me picking up pen and paper this week...and I just happen to think it's really, really, good!

Big Dreams Are Made Of Little Pieces

by Grant Andrew

COO IE Dawson International

I’ve been thinking about breathing lately. 
How it just seems to happen.
We don’t think about it until it gets labored or we are short of a breath or two.
But under everything in our lives, is breathing.
It is a kind of ground for consciousness.
It is keeping the lights on.
The quality of your day is dependent on ~20,000 breaths a day.
Our world is built of pieces. Like breaths.

The quality of your internet connection reflects how well the packets are moving.
Your nutritional intake is dependent on bites of food.
Big ideas are made of little flashes moving through your brain up to 268 miles per hour. (Sparks move inside you.)(Baby, you’re a fireworkfly)
We are pieces of pieces.
Companies, communities, and causes are made of people.
We see things as monolithic – solid, whole, together, but when you really get inside something, there are always pieces.
Atoms, Lego blocks, letters, and slow-twitch muscle fibers. All pieces.
What we accomplish is made of pieces too. The life you make, the work you do, the relationships you’re a part of…made of pieces.
It is tempting this time of year to teeter between euphoria and despair.
In every life, in every year, there’s always a hope for more. We have almost infinite capacity for hope and longing, so we want more from everything. Standing at the end of such a clear block of time, it’s not difficult to look back and despair for all that wasn’t, didn’t, or won’t be.
Breathe.
Turning our gaze forward, it’s easy to imagine the next year differently. So much that will be. All our hopes/dreams/longings manifested. Big things birthed, big breaks healed, big holes filled. Such a glorious and euphoric view, the future is.
The truth is more pedestrian. The future and the past are all just pieces. The same pieces, actually, that you have right now.
Breathe.  Swallow.  Blink.  Think.
That’s what makes this life beautiful and difficult.
Everything is small, simple, easy. The next right move, the next deep breath, the next right word.
But everything worth doing is difficult because it is a million right moves, a thousand deep breathes, pages and pages and pages of the next right words.
Life is made of pieces. We traffic in pieces. We are made of pieces. We are pieces. All we get is PIECES.
So even now, good traveler, as you stand in this present, this piece, at the moment when the line of NOW and the end of a big block of time happen to align, don’t get lost.
Your task today is easy. Your task for this next year is simple:
Take control of the pieces.
That’s it.
Think of all the big dreams you have. The moments you long for. The ones that will take away all your breaths. Break them down. To pieces. Look at them, so cute and cuddly. The atomic layer of your deepest hopes. Just little pieces. The tiniest manifestation of your dreams.
Look at this next year. 

Don’t see it whole. Don’t see it in quarters or months.
See it in seconds. Minutes. Moments.
Set your intentions high – aim for your Everest – then come back to the present, set your compass true, and a take a step.
Take a breath. Swallow. Blink. Think.
2016 is coming. And 17. And 18. Don’t worry about those.
We are made of pieces, we make pieces, pieces make us.
Please make good pieces. The world is hungry for your hearts. 
Enjoy the journey.

Throughout all the stress, anger, disappointment and regret, rather than lean on my yoga practice for strength, I ran from it.  In fact, I practically hid.  Yoga is quiet and calm.  It requires stillness of the mind and body.  But it takes time to sit in stillness, and I didn't have any time.  I was too busy trying to sell one house and prepare to move into another house.  There was too much cleaning to do.  And then there was too much packing to do, and then unpacking, moving, worrying, and mostly feeling sorry for myself.  Do you know how much energy is required to feel sorry for oneself?  I had nothing left for my yoga practice.  I didn't even have time to sit and breathe.

And then I came across this lovely, poetic blog post and the first line caught my attention:  I've been thinking about breathing lately.  I used to tell any one that would listen, that for me, the magic of yoga was in the breath.  And yet for the past six months, I have been holding my breath, drowning in regret and self-loathing.

"The future and the past are all just pieces. The same pieces, actually, that you have RIGHT NOW.  Life is made of pieces. We traffic in pieces. We are made of pieces. We are pieces. All we get is PIECES.  Our world is built of pieces--Like breaths." 

There is an old zen saying:  "You should sit in meditation for 20 minutes a day, unless you are too busy; then you should sit for an hour."

This year, I plan to breathe more, regret less and break everything down into small, delicious, bite-sized pieces.

There are so many morals to this story.  I know I don't need to type them in black and white.  As a post script, we received an offer on the old house mid-July and closed early August.  One week later, we made our first payment on the the new house, being spared the hardship of making two mortgage payments in the same month.

I am sending up prayers of thanksgiving right this second as I am once again reminded of how everything always works out in the end.

Happy 2016.  

May your year be filled with lots of happy pieces!

The Power of Positive Thinking

As part of my 200 hour yoga teacher training, I was tasked with journaling 5 things I felt grateful for each day, over the course of 30 days.  From this assignment, I discovered that there is an amazing shift in paradigm that occurs quite quickly when asked to contemplate gratitude.  I gained a new found appreciation for perspective.

At the end of each day as I sat down to journal, I discovered the ability to turn a negative situation into a positive one.

"Saw a snake today--grateful it didn't chase me down and attack."

"Backed out of the garage with the passenger-side door open--although a bit askew, grateful it still closes."

"Sat in traffic today while an accident was being cleared--grateful to see both drivers outside of their vehicles uninjured.  Double grateful I reached my destination safely and without incident--even if I was a little late."

In all of these instances, I could have wallowed in the negative:

Seeing a snake created a fight or flight response.  Because of my fear of snakes, I chose flight.  I turned back and walked an additional mile in order to avoid crossing its path.  Fortunately it was a beautiful morning, I had no where else to be, and I needed the exercise. 

Crunching my car door may prove to be an expensive repair.  Fortunately, it is not a repair that is critical to being able to use the car.  The repair can wait--if I even have it repaired at all. 

And while being late usually induces anxiety, I used my yogi Dirga Breath to remain calm.  And when I finally did arrive at the doctor's office after sitting in traffic for the accident, I discovered she too was running a bit behind schedule.  My time spent sitting in the waiting room was significantly less than it would have been had I arrived on time. 

Three potentially negative situations; three positive perspectives.

Abraham Lincoln said, " We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses."  

I will admit I haven't always viewed the world from a rosy place of love and gratitude.  For most of my life, I had a "glass half-empty" soul.  I loved drama. I loved exaggeration.  I loved playing the victim.
  

"Woe is me...I had to walk an extra mile because there was a horrible reptilian creature blocking me from my path."
 
 "Woe is me...I cannot drive an ugly car.  We are going to have to fore go our family vacation to pay for the repair so my car can be pretty again."

"Woe is me...I had to sit in traffic, causing me to be late to my appointment, and no one was even injured."

My husband used to say, "You're not happy, unless you're miserable."  He was right.  And that is one more thing for which I am grateful.  I am grateful to have found yoga..not just as an exercise program, but as an entire mind-body experience.  Those words have since been shuttered from his vocabulary.  In the present moment, I have such peace and contentment--all because of a change in perspective.

So...when you're having a bad day, see if you can shift your perspective.  Try looking at the situation from a different angle, and see if you can find gratitude where before there might not have been any.

You'll be grateful you did!

If you fail to plan, plan to fail.

Anyone who knows me, knows I like order.  I like to plan, and more importantly, I like to stick to the plan.  Do not even suggest we change the plan once the plan is written in ink, because it might as well have been carved in stone. I'm also a consummate list maker and derive great pleasure from crossing things off the list once the task is accomplished.

As flexible as my body is, my actions and mindset are often a stark contradiction.  That is why Yoga is so important to me. It provides me relief from myself.  For sixty minutes or ninety minutes or for however long the class is, the only task on my "to do" list is to breathe.

So when I began this journey, it was quite out of character to not have a plan.  The truth is I felt scared.  Yoga is so important to my sanity, I didn't want to ruin it by placing expectations on what I was going to accomplish by attending teacher training.  I told myself, even if I do nothing--if I never teach a single class or earn a single dollar, it doesn't matter.  Yoga is for me.  If the only thing I get out of teacher training is a better understanding of Yoga, then it will all be worth it.

But then I started to feel pressure because that's what a control freak with a Type A personality does.  I started to brood, my heart grew heavy, a slight depression began creeping in.  Where's the path leading me?  I wondered.  Ironic considering, at the time, I was walking in circles on an outdoor track.

"If you fail to plan, plan to fail."  

The first time I heard these words, I was sitting in a large lecture hall with a few hundred other students on the campus of Michigan State University listening to Professor Jon Vredevoogd.  He spoke them loudly, clearly, and with intent.  And then he repeated them.  "If you fail to plan, plan to fail."  It was my first term at MSU.  Always a good student, I eagerly scribbled the words down in my notebook.  Nearly twenty-five years after I first sat in that classroom, those words are the only thing I remember and yet they seem counter-intuitive to what I am trying to achieve at this moment in my life...to Be. Here. Now.

 
So, just as I felt I may be on the verge of a complete meltdown because staying present is a lot harder than being present, Miss Peggy, from Lake Norman Taekwondo approached me about teaching yoga in their TKD studio.  Wow.  Talk about the universe showing up and taking charge.

Where my yoga journey takes me from here, I don't know.  In the course of writing this blog post and having the opportunity to reflect, I realized not having a plan was the plan.  So, in the future, when I start to feel anxious about where the path is leading me, I'm going to get out of my own head, go to the mat, and breathe...and trust that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be.

 Much later in life, I would learn those famous words first belonged to Benjamin Franklin not Jon D. Vredevoogd, but by that time it didn't matter.  They were already ingrained in my memory banks giving Vredevoogd total credit for placing them there.  Because I couldn't remember how to spell Vredevoogd, I googled my old Human Environments and Design professor.  In doing so I discovered Professor Jon D. Vredevoogd passed away in November 2013.  He was 70 years old and in addition to teaching at Michigan State University for 35 years, he also worked for NASA and American Airlines and  finished 6 Chicago Marathons...all of which I'm sure required rigorous planning.  

Rest in Peace, Professor.

Sanskrit Word of the Week: Prasaada: Grace through the eyes of a child.

I hate to lose.

While I'm sure most people don't enjoy finishing second or worse--last--I really, really despise it.  And, I'm really bad at it too...do not handle losing well.AT.ALL.

 In Sanskrit, the word PRASAADA means GRACE.

In English, GRACE means many different things depending on the context or situation.  It can mean:  elegance or beauty of form, courteous goodwill; or in Christianity, the free and unmerited favor of God.  In Sanskrit, PRASAADA, means the expression of a positive disposition to someone or something, which is also an English translation for the word GRACE.

Last Friday, started off with a two hour school delay, which resulted in me not being able to go to yoga.

Boohoo.

When I stepped on the scales, I weighed an additional 4 pounds; my indulgences in Dallas finding their way to my hips and thighs.

Boohoo.

The dog peed on the carpeting twice and pooped thrice, and the highlight of my day was mopping the floors and cleaning the inside of the refrigerator.

Boohoo.  Boohoo.  Boohoo.

While I could have been grateful that I slept an additional hour that morning or that the tortilla shells I ate in Texas were the best I've ever tasted, I wasn't. 

The day came and went and I had found very little to celebrate.

That evening, my youngest son played in his first basketball game. EVER.  If I had a million dollars to bet, I'd guess it was his teammates first time ever playing in a basketball game too.  Every time, his team had the ball, they would either in-bound it to the other team, pass it to the other team, or make a mistake which resulted in the other team gaining possession.  Every time the other team had the ball, they would shoot and score.
 

Too painful to watch, I occupied myself with Candy Crush Saga and Facebook status updates, from time to time sneaking a quick glimpse of the court.  His team lost by A LOT.  The exact number unknown because the scorekeeper quit posting the numbers once the game reached 15-0.

When the game was over, my son ran up to me, big smile on his face and exclaimed, "THAT WAS FUN!"

My heart broke as I realized my mistake.

While my son exemplified GRACE, I needed to ask for mercy.  Not only was I a poor sport, I barely paid attention to my son's first basketball game. EVER.

Boohoo...for real this time.

A weekend's worth of gratitude

On Thursday, we flew to Dallas, Texas to attend Taekwondo America’s annual National Tournament.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Son competed with his club’s demo team and also individually in forms and sparring as a Senior Blue belt.

• Grateful this busy weekend started with a great yoga session.

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• Despite a few mid-flight bumps, I am grateful we landed safely.

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• And despite having trouble understanding the GPS and getting lost multiple times leaving the DFW airport, we eventually found our way and arrived at the hotel without incident.

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• Because we were able to buy four seats to Dallas direct on American Airlines for the low, low price of $560, we opted to drive 2 ½ hours to the Raleigh airport instead of flying out of the much closer/more convenient Charlotte airport.  The decision to do this could have been a disaster given the fact we have never traveled to or flown from this airport before, but ultimately everything ran smoothly…right down to how polite the shuttle bus driver treated everyone on her route.   I am grateful for the ease of travel and the cost savings we achieved with this decision.

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• Grateful that when we checked our bags at the kiosk, our new American Airlines credit card had been activated thus waving the fees resulting in a savings of $100.

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• Grateful for the suggestion to go to the Perot Museum in downtown Dallas.  We would have loved more time to explore the amazing exhibits, but are grateful for the time we had…well worth the visit.

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• Numero Uno and Numero Dos were invited to tour the museum with the other TKD kids.  They had so much more fun with the group than they would have had with their dad and I.  It always feels good to be included.

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•  Despite the fact the demo team did not place in the top three, I could not have been prouder.  The team worked hard and gave their best performance to date.  Grateful to Mr. O’Regan for spearheading this venture and giving Teenage Mutant Ninja Son a place in this world to shine.

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• After the competition Master Dang took the demo team out for dinner.  It was after 10 p.m. CST, so we arranged for Teenage Mutant Ninja Son to go with the group while we stayed back at the hotel.  Very grateful to Master Dang and the other parents for keeping a watchful eye and transporting him safely to and from dinner.

Daily Dose of Gratitude...Three barking dogs and a snake, oh my!

 “You simply will not be the same person two months from now after consciously giving thanks each day for the abundance that exists in your life. And you will have set in motion an ancient spiritual law: the more you have and are grateful for, the more will be given you.” — Sarah Ban Breathnach

Yesterday, the rain gave way to sunshine and blue skies, so Archer and I decided to go for a walk.   

While walking I nearly stepped on a snake.  The snake measured approximately 12 inches in length and was no thicker than my pinky finger.  Normally terrified of snakes no matter how small, I actually felt sorry for this little guy.  He had been disturbed from his winter slumber by the construction of a new house being built.  He slithered groggily and I doubted he would survive the trek across the street.

As Archer and I continued on our journey we were met by two angry dogs protecting their side of the street and then a third joined the chorus of rabid barking.  Invisible to the naked eye, a fence protected us from their fury.  While the owners of the barking dogs never made an appearance to ensure their Cujoesque dogs were not making an appetizer out of my sweet puppy, another neighbor did show concern.  She could hear Archer’s terrified yappy barking, and despite her own fear of the dogs, she came outside to make sure we were not in need of stitches...or worse.

By the time we were done assuring the sweet neighbor lady that we were fine, the middle school bus had arrived.  We walked home with Teenage Mutant Son and had a nice, non-confrontational conversation...a lot to be grateful for in a thirty minute span of a single day! 

A Belated Daily Dose of Gratitude

 I have a teenage son.  He’s thirteen to be exact and a combination of belligerent, obnoxious, and omniscient, topped with a great big dollop of spoiled.  As an infant, I loved him too much.  As a child, I wanted too much for him.  As a pre-teen, I gave him too much and now as a teenager, he expects too much. 

On a good day, he arrives home from school happy, eager to see his mother and brother.  We don’t have many good days.  Monday was a little worse than typical.   And after a slightly worse than typical exchange of words and actions, I had trouble finding 5 things for which to be grateful.

After he stomped up the stairs to his room, he yelled back down to me,” CAN I SHAVE?”

“You’re asking for permission to shave?!?” I yelled back up to him.

“YES!  I wouldn’t want to do anything without asking for approval.”

Taking a deep breath…

“Yes.  You may shave,” I responded. 

The next morning while driving Teenage Mutant Son to school, I noticed his whiskered chin and stubbly face, and so I said, “I thought you were going to shave last night?”

“Yeah...well,” responding with a half-crooked smile, “I didn't have time.  I was too busy having a meltdown.”

I smiled.  I felt grateful that we could have a bad day but then get over it; that our anger and frustration with one another had a finite end.

And upon further reflection, I realized I am blessed in countless ways that I take for granted every day.   That even when I am having a bad day, I need to acknowledge:  I am never hungry, cold, without shelter or unclothed.

 

I realized I too am spoiled.  My yogic path is forcing me to examine myself and take stock in who I am versus who I want to be.  Who I want to be is someone who appreciates every day and what has been given to me, even if it is nothing more than the air I breathe.

 “Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let us all be thankful.” – Buddha