The Terror of Becoming

 Rejoice, surrender, I vow to live a life of wonder
I vow to reduce the unnecessary suffering in the world
I vow to become rich soil for others to bloom
I vow to live in embodied awareness

I just spent a month at the Organization for Awakened Kindness (OAK) - the bay area branch of the Monastic Academy for the Preservation for Life on Earth (MAPLE). Within one week, I was head of operations. The CEDAR network is like this - pushing you into the bleeding edge of your abilities - trusting that you will grow and fail and grow and fail and grow until you become what you are not for the people you’ve never met; for a world that desperately needs awakened leaders. I love it and I hate it. It leads to spiritual stretch marks. It leaves one scarred. It sometimes simply isn’t calibrated right. It is a model meant to create teachers within years rather than decades. Will it work? Will we mature adequately? Will we grow in a safe and healthy way? Trees live longer if they're able to grow slowly. Is this true for humans? One of the great frustrations of my training has been a maddening inner cry of “where are the adults?! who’s in charge here!?” Are we being nurtured enough? Protected enough? Are we being taught how to strive with love? Are we being taught to be kind to ourselves, to cherish and tend to our human bodies? 

We are taught that one meditates with the body, breathes with the body, moves and speaks from the body but is the message getting through that we must cherish our bodies as a part of nature? (We must cherish our bodies! Please hear this! We must cherish each other!) As a part of the beautiful world our hearts know is possible - a world that we desperately wish to protect. I had to leave MAPLE a year and a half ago in order to learn how to love myself. For me, leaving MAPLE was a first step in self-love. It was a first attempt at saying “NO” to things that weren’t working. I thought of myself as a failure at the time, as being too “weak” to stay and do the training - choosing to pursue romantic love and work-life balance instead. In retrospect, I believe this is exactly what CEDAR, MAPLE, Willow, OAK are meant to do - invite us into true ownership of our lives. CEDAR is here to help us step up and become the ones we’ve been waiting for - the ones who will protect the earth and each other even at the expense of our own comfort.

But what of our health? Must we sacrifice that too? Is that really what is best for the earth?  I’m asking myself: Is it possible to prioritize personal well-being and communal well-being in the monastic model? Is this a “me” problem? The question plaguing me for so long has been “how can I justify self-care when the world is burning?” A truer question now seems to be “how can I NOT?” This commitment to great love, to protecting the earth, to protecting all living beings- it starts right here, it starts right now. It starts with this body, mind, and heart and the knowing that a commitment to life is a liberation for all of us. It starts for me with a gentle coo of “it’s ok body, I love you, you’re safe, you’re doing great.” I keep repeating that, no matter what comes up, because I don’t totally believe it yet. I keep repeating it, no matter what comes up, ESPECIALLY in a monastic model where a focus on striving can make it hard to rest and easy to forget that we ourselves are as deeply precious as the beautiful world we fight to protect. 

The last month of training has been the best and worst of my life. I'm as exhausted and spent as I’ve ever been but annoyingly, because I don’t want to admit it, I'm also the happiest and most satisfied. When I first arrived at OAK, I immediately wanted to run away. I wanted to escape so many times in those first few days as the trauma of monastic training came back to me in waves and the fear of losing myself, of losing autonomy over my life flooded my system. Can I trust this container? Can I trust myself? Can I trust anything? I almost ran. Just like I almost ran away from supporting a vision quest last month. But both times I didn’t. Both times I stayed. Both times I faced my demons - at least enough to stay in the room with them. Both times I’ve come out stronger, more confident, more grateful; full of laughter, full of some mysterious sense of purpose and energy. I can’t deny this and I don’t know how to trust it yet. I want to understand the mechanisms that lead to awakening and from what I can tell so far, you don’t get a true peak behind the current until you’re so far in that the only way out is through. This terrifies me. 

Day 3: Knowing and Remembering

When i can feel 

compassion 

with my entire body

when i know 

no self, 

no thought, 

no attachment

when i can

play the ball

by knowing exactly

what THIS moment

requires of me.

and win the game

by carrying it out 

to the best

of my ability.

Then i can begin.

(I'm still figuring out where the ball is)

Day 2: Don't Rush, Don't Wait

You must push beyond what you know you can do in order to discover what you can do.

"Momentum, momentum, momentum" - may we allow it to propel us forward into the beautiful unknown.

Day 1 of being a "Zero"

No, I am not being hazed at the monastery. But I am trying to be a "zero."

Everyone wants to be a "plus one" when they start...someone who will contribute and make things better and run more smoothly. But really, the best you can hope for at the beginning is to not mess things up or get in the way. So day one was dedicated to making sure I was on time to everything (from the 4:30 am wake-up call for chanting, to 7:30 am silent breakfast, to 1:05 - sharp for lunch, and 7-9 evening meditation) and making sure I didn't mess up scrubbing the toilets and folding laundry. I've been here before so the monastic schedule is no surprise to me but as a guest, I was participating in cleaning, cooking, and service activities on a volunteer basis since my main goal was to work on my thesis. Now, all these tasks are a necessary part of my awakening and responsibility to the monastery. It is beautiful and I am grateful to be here. Let's see how long mopping floors and scrubbing toilets feels like a blessing.

In fact, I actually did make the mistake of using bleach to clean a bucket because our head teacher, Soryu, is allergic to synthetic fragrances and the smell of bleach is hazardous to his health...wonderful. But, all in all, I've kept my toes in line which honestly, isn't the point at all...the point is to AWAKEN. During interview hours (a special one-on-one time with Soryu  during meditation) I asked him about expressions of joy.  He was encouraging my continued practice of feeling compassion with my entire body - every cell of my being and he told me to welcome joy and awe - not to suppress it.  This was interesting to me as the monastery can feel like a stifling place. It is so quiet at times and I usually attempt to refrain from being loud so as not to be a distraction to others.  We even try to breathe quietly! But I asked him about singing - if that was ok and he told me not to suppress anything - to embrace my authentic expression of joy as fully as possible.  I am excited to continue to explore what this means. I may end up singing and dancing around the monastery as that is truly one of my most authentic expressions of joy. Can't wait for that!

On a side not, my favorite part of the day was helping Autumn, my roommate and the only other female resident, clean and reorganize the fridges and upon consolidating two jars of grey poupon mustard, I got to lick the spoon! Yay! ...Yep. It's the little things out here.

Another very fun and exciting thing that happened today: I jumped in the frozen pond and ran around in the snow barefoot as part of my morning exercise... what an exhilarating experience! I plan to make a habit out of this.

The Human Machine

I've been driving this beautiful vehicle of a human body around for 25 years but I've never consulted the user's manual. I've explored some of my physical limitations through competitive soccer and some of my psychological limitations through personal experiences with grief, depression, and the challenging process of writing a thesis on positive death-care. But I've never created space in my life to dive deep into the capacities and limitations of my psycho-spiritual being.

I'm about to embark on three months of meditation practice at the Center for Mindful Learning - a center dedicated to personal awakening and service to the monastic community and the world.  It's starting to get cold up here in Burlington, Vermont and will get colder still through the months of December, January, February, March.   I am so grateful to be here - even relieved. 

My intention is to truly truly begin to understand the workings of my own mind; to begin to free myself from the prison that my own mind can become. To become well versed and knowledgeable of all the beautiful tools that this form has provided to me. And to find the inner strength, courage, patience, and compassion to harness the power of those tools to the best of my ability.  I believe I will be both clearing the debris and detritus from the dusty corners of my mind and heart and beginning to learn just what this form is capable of. Getting out of my own way, learning the way my body wants to move, connect, activate, becoming a master of this form and understanding and surrendering to my own limitations and capacities.  I am excited to explore what this form is capable of and above all else I am excited to give myself to great love - to express love in all of my actions, thoughts, and relationships - both with myself and the psycho-spiritual intimacy of my meditation community. 

Let the adventures begin!!

True Love Exists

What does love look like in the 21st century? 

Does true compassion exist? So often we love another in an attempt to validate ourselves. This is not love but self-love. And perhaps it's not even self-love because it is coming from a place of scarcity, from thinking we are not enough. We need to reassure ourselves that we are enough, that we are lovable, that the world sees and appreciates our value. Even making another person feel good or acting in a generous way can be an act of selfishness if our motivation for action is for the sense of reassurance that "I am a good person" or for the joy, peace, and comfort that comes from bringing joy to another person.

Granted, if all motivations of pleasure and pain are inherently selfish, not all forms of selfishness are created equal. Mutual rapture is light years away from sexual abuse. Giving to charity or helping your neighbor may be a selfish act if it is done for the personal validation of improving someone else's life but it is far superior to stealing from someone.

In the Jewish tradition there is a saying "the anonymous mitzvah is the greatest mitzvah." A mitzvah is an act of service or kindness. If you were to perform a good deed and ask yourself: "would I be doing this even if I never gained recognition for it" what would be your answer? If it would no longer be worth performing, perhaps motivation is coming from a desire for validation, appreciation, recognition, or love.

Here's the good thing: if you bring your attention to it, if you are willing to look at your moment to moment experience and entertain the idea that you may be acting out of selfishness, that selfishness can not hold. Selfishness breaks apart, dissolves, just like an emotion. It may come back again and again, in various forms but if we remain a compassionate and courageous observer it loses it's power.

I do believe that true compassion, true love, and true selflessness exist.

You Are Not Alone

Today is the five year anniversary of my father's death. He was fifty-five when he took his own life. I would say chose to die, but there is something less than autonomous about a desperate desire to be free from emotional pain. I think we both imagined a different future together. I know we did. And after a hard winter that left me reeling and healing and tender and simply grateful for air, I now understand just a little bit better how hard life can be, especially in the prison of our own minds. At least it gave me my new favorite tag line: some days, success is putting your pants on. I think I understand my father's desperate desire to replace pain with peace and yet, I have a fierce certainty that he would love to be here if he could.

I do hope my father is at peace and I know he truly was in a great deal of pain - he lost much of his autonomy in the last few years of his life to an addiction to oxycontin, he lost his job as a lawyer, was getting a divorce from my mother, was generally unhappy with these changes in his life.  The reason I'm compelled to share this information is because we don't talk about these things. On father's day I put up a relatively generic "I love you Dad and miss you" post but at the very moment I clicked to post, I remembered there was someone, somewhere, thinking about suicide, chilling in a psychiatric unit after a suicide attempt, or generally feeling uncomfortable in their own skin because being in the world and in our bodies can be incredibly uncomfortable at times.

This post is for all the people who have felt at their wits end, perhaps unwilling or unable to reach out or feeling that no one would be there to catch them if they did.  This is also for the people who genuinely have trouble understanding what it must be like to not want to live, to be in so much pain and discomfort that the only option seems to be death. This world can be an incredibly lonely and alienating place and sometimes, there is no solution to the things that ail us. But there is power in storytelling and conversation.  I am not ashamed of my father or of my own experiences with depression. Life is so hard some times.

So, this is for you dad - and for all of us.  My small truth offered up as a gift or a spark or a doorway or permission to be whatever it is you are, to feel whatever it is you are feeling. Free from shame or fear. It's hard enough without piling that on top.

And I can truthfully say I am grateful for the joy and clarity that my experiences have afforded me. The friends that have been by my side whether they knew this part of my story or not. Even as I miss my father on the five year anniversary of his death, and mourn the future we will never share together, I am grateful for the clarity and joy that lies hidden in the most unexpected and dark places. Grateful to be both living and alive which I consider a triumph of the human spirit. I would like to congratulate anyone out there who is doing the same.

**A virtual high five today if you are breathing and maybe even put your pants on**

Tasting Sunshine

I've spent the last week living and working on a Modern Monastery in Vermont and yesterday, I tasted sunshine for the first time.

Thank you to Miles and Peter for getting me out here!

In this beautiful natural setting, away from the hustle and bustle of Philadelphia and the consistent deadlines of a masters program, I feel like I am reawakening to the experience of being alive. This feeling of being more fully alive and aware of the present moment has revealed itself in small ways like really tasting the (distinctly sunshine-y) flavor of tender greens or being far more aware of my thoughts and emotions as they pass through my body. It is as terrifying as it is exciting because it's revealing how numb I've been for so long.

I am becoming more aware of my internal thinking, feeling, and seeing here.  I am noticing that often love and care come to me as both thoughts and feelings. I am noticing that humor comes to me as a thought: "that's funny" and as a feeling of amusement bubbling up from my belly. But the truly joyful sense has been internal "seeing." Ideas bubbling to the surface of my mind as images, pictures, abstract concepts, metaphors, ideas.  I didn't realize how rare and precious this form of thinking was. They come during moments of inspiration, joy, curiosity, excitement and yes, sometimes sadness. When I am imagining an acquaintance as they must have been as a child or trying to understand how the experience of eating hits my body I feel full after a time and I think how lucky I am to have food (or I think this soup could use a little more salt) but then there are moments when I see the flavor of a juicy piece of cantaloupe or a tender leafy greens in my mind's eye. I can see the delicate flavor of sunshine or sweetness as a burst of light or an abstract image. A visual idea.

Dichotomies abound here. I am currently typing on my computer and have the freedom to use my cell phone to call friends and family. It feels weird to have these amenities and reminders of the modern world in this place dedicated to presence and practice - and healing, learning, truth, goodness, love. But what I deeply respect about the Center for Mindful Learning is its ability to conform to the modern world without losing the intention of awakening and responsibility. We begin and end the day with two hours of meditation and chanting.  We eat breakfast in mindful silence. We support each other in the joys and sorrows of trying to be more fully awake - and alive, caring, loving, intentional, aware, present.  We ask each other and ourselves: are you breathing? Feel your breath. Breathe deep into your belly. What is your body feeling? What is your mind thinking? Are your thoughts words or pictures? As you sit in front of your computer screen or your cell phone, where is your mind? When you are eating breakfast where is your mind? What are you seeing, feeling, thinking inside and outside? Is there something beyond looking in and looking out? How can you sense a place between and beyond inside and outside of the body if you can not perceive of it with the human senses? Hmm.

It is so fascinating to look closer at the daily, moment to moment experience of being human. And damn, am I realizing how numb I've been for so long.

These are some things that have come up for me lately:

    I miss my Dad.

    I am scared when I think about the future.

    I feel regret, shame, embarrassment, disappointment, sorrow when I think about the past.

No wonder my unconscious mind and body have tried to protect me from these sensations.

I also feel a great deal of joy and humor - more than I realized was inside me. It bubbles up like a natural spring and I am so grateful to feel this - as grateful as I am to feel the darker sensations of being human.

It fascinates me to notice how I have denied the needs and messages of my own loving body.  Hello there body, thank you for working so hard - I am listening, looking, feeling - I am paying attention to the present moment.  I am grateful for this awareness. So grateful for the challenge of uncomfortable truth as it presents itself in various forms of longing, clinging, desiring.  Seeing these experiences - this suffering - as a gift, deploying curiosity and awareness as tools to understand and explore the important messages and information coming in and out through the body - I am excited (and apprehensive) to see what I learn next.

A bonfire and some authentic circling near the lake

Asking the Right Questions

What is more powerful: good advice or a good question?

When I was a sophomore in college, and my father was deeply entrenched in a drug addiction I knew very little about, I started getting headaches.  I went to the doctor to try to figure out what was going on - was I iron deficient, vitamin D deficient, under too much stress?  The doctor asked me a number of questions about my daily routine, my eating habits, my level of stress and then, seemingly out of the blue, he asked me "how is your relationship with your dad?"

He had somehow stumbled upon the right question.

My reaction was intense and immediate.  "Not good" I choked.  I began to tear up as we discussed my sadness and frustration about how disconnected I felt from my dad.  By the end of the appointment, I had a "prescription" to send my dad a letter - sharing my life with him on my terms.  I don't remember if my headaches went away immediately, but I do remember the tension subsiding from pinpointing the source of my stress and discomfort.

So how had my doctor known to ask the right question?

He made an informed guess.

I'm realizing now, years later, just how powerful a guess can be. And how powerful it is when we are willing to be wrong.

I recently spent a week volunteering at a non-violent communication camp on Vashon Island, Washington and one of my favorite lessons of camp was the value of an empathy guess. To paint a picture of this magical place: families come together for one week each summer to learn to be more courageous and loving with their words.  The farm that we stay on is grassy and warm, the blackberries are ripe and abundant, and if you choose you can set up your tent in the apple orchard in the shade of a ripe apple tree.  Meals are communal, time is more flexible and held by the ringing of a gong, and every offering is optional - even children are in choice about their day.  In this environment of intentional empathy, openness, and courage, transformational things can and do occur for individuals and groups.

An example of an empathy guess might look like this: "Are you feeling ____ because you need ____?"  Simple. It doesn't have to be this formulaic but the results can be profound. I have often worried that guessing at what someone was feeling might make them feel misunderstood or frustrated. I'm finding that it is more likely to show that person that you care.  And when you finally get it right the relief can be immediate.

My favorite analogy for the empathy guess is that of scratching a friend's back.  You might ask "is that right?" and they might reply "no, just a little to the left."  "How about now?" and perhaps they respond "a little further down."  When you finally find the itch  and scratch it the relief will be immediate for that person!  And the effort you put into finding the right spot will not be resented in any way...you are working together to understand the need and help it get met!

So to answer the initial question, good advice can be useful but good questions can be transformative. Asking a poignant question instead of suggesting, judging, coddling, or sharing one's on experience can allow an individual to explore their inner self in new and profound ways.  What is alive in you? What do you care about?  What could make life more enjoyable right now?  These are the main questions of NVC. Better than any advice I have ever received, I am grateful for the poignant questions that have encouraged exploration and growth.

Intentional Living and Tikkun Olam

In the last three weeks, I have floated in the dead sea, snorkeled in the red sea, splashed in the sea of galilee (known in Israel as the Kinneret) and frolicked in the sand of the Mediterranean.  I have dipped in a purifying mikvah, explored an underwater cavern, prayed at the western wall, and sung in an abandoned cistern.  I have eaten shwarma, falafal, bomba, and more than my body weight in hummus. I am amazed at the beauty of this place; the limestone rock used for almost all construction, the amazing mix of languages, accents, ethnicities, and stories. I’m not sure I realized how beautiful a desert could be before coming here. I’m not sure I could have imagined the resilience and daily intention of a group of people.  And even when my opinion or point of view differs, perhaps especially when it does, I have found myself deeply impacted by the people and ways of life here.

Intentional Living

The gaza border

Near the end of my ten day adventure with Israel Outdoors, we visited a kibbutz in Sha'ar Hanegev - a community minutes from the gaza border. The act of living in this community - the simple act of breathing - takes courage and intention and I have been blown away by it. No one chooses to live in a war zone, within range of rocket fire, just because. It's not something that just happens, it is a conscious decision.  While getting a tour of the kibbutz from one of the residents, I was able to hear her story of why she has chosen to live there - putting her children and herself in harms way.  She has chosen to live on the perimeter of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict because she believes with her whole being that this is the best way for her to support her country.  It is hard for me to imagine doing the same, but the power of her commitment is something I respect on a very deep level.  I was equally amazed to hear the sound of child laughter all around us on the Kibbutz even as we spoke about such an emotionally and politically charged topic.  At one point our tour guide paused to regain her composure and all I could hear were children as they laughed and played on the playground. It is amazing and a little unnerving to see how life continues here.  It is amazing to see the resilience of the human spirit in action.

Children at play on the kibbutz playground minutes away from
the gaza strip and seconds away from potential rocket fire

After leaving Sha'ar Hangev, I couldn't get the idea of intentional living out of my head.  It is one of the things that has struck me most about daily life in Israel - not just near the the gaza strip or the west bank but throughout the country.  People seem to truly be living each day, compelled by the constant reality of death and danger.  I am now a week and a half into an extension program with Livnot U'Lehibanot - which in hebrew means to build and be built.  I have been volunteering and learning in an orthodox jewish community which is an experience all together new to me.  Again I am struck with the existence of daily intention, this time in a religious form. My amazing coordinators (who I feel honored to now call friends) pray three times a day and before every meal.  I am in awe of their dedication and commitment to their beliefs.  Many of them even practice shomer negiah (guarding touch) which means they are saving their touch for their current or future spouse and do not touch anyone else of the opposite sex who is not a family member. Once again, this is a way of life that I can never envision myself participating in, but in their absolute commitment to their personal beliefs, they have my deepest respect.

Our fearless coordinator, Yifat,
 making challah for shabbat

These instances of intentional living inspired me last week to do a 12 hour speech fast as way to exercise more intention into my own daily life. It was truly a wonderful experience. I have a desire to listen more, talk less, and make sure that my words are spoken more for the benefit of others than myself. I realized after the fact that it was my first time fasting or restricting myself in any meaningful or purposeful way. I intentionally chose to restrict one of my most natural and comforting forms of communication and it was interesting to see how it changed my interactions with those around me. There were moments when I felt silly surrounded by my peers – the only one not speaking, but they were beyond supportive.  I am incredibly grateful to my new friends in the Livnot program for giving me the safe space to experiment and try this out.  It has definitely added more weight to my awareness of the power of my words and I am so excited to continue incorporating intention into my life in new and meaningful ways. 

Tikkun Olam

There is another concept that has left a deep impression on me while in Israel and that is the Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam - repairing the world.  There is this idea in Judaism that it is our duty as human beings to perform mitzvahs or acts of kindness and that these acts elevate us, drawing us closer to the most authentic and selfless version of ourselves. The world we live in today is deeply suffering and deeply in need of healing and a greater commitment to selflessness.  Being in this country and hearing the stories of daily violence, fear, anger, and misunderstanding has only made it more apparent to me.   For someone committed to compromise and love, this country poses a huge challenge and my time here has uncovered far more questions than answers. I am amazed at the realities I am discovering and at times incredibly overwhelmed by the issues at hand - the polarized ideologies that turn people to us vs them mentality. In spite of this, the stark reality of these issues only strengthens my resolve  to do what I can, where I can, when I can  to make this world a better place. Tikkun olam – repairing the world.   In this concept I have found the theme of my trip and I truly want to dedicate the next few months, and perhaps my entire life, to this idea.  I want to take personal responsibility and personal action to leave this world better than I found it.  At every turn I want to contribute light and goodness to the proverbial melting pot. I know there is only so much one person can do, but I find comfort in knowing that I am not meant to do it all.

The city of Tzfat

Choose Your Compass Wisely

I've been navigating my way through life

Trying to avoid the obstacles.

Trying to avoid failure; heartache; mistakes.

What would it look like

Instead

To point towards opportunity?

Towards destiny.

A dream of soul affirmation.

A quest for resonant frequency.

A future not governed by fear,

But guided by light.

The Mystery

It’s a circle –

This things called life.

It ends where it begins.

People say we are alone in death,

but we are never alone.

Maybe that is why

we are drawn to the sound of the ocean.

The constant shushing –

Like our mother’s heartbeat.

The blood rushing right past our ears in utero.

Maybe that's why we long

To hold each other so tightly –

Feel the comfort of immobilization.

The small voice of our deep longing

Reaching out to the greater longing of the earth –

The eternal, universal ache.

We are never alone.

We are singing the same song.

Sush and listen:

Your heart is pumping the beat –

Dance to it.

Honor the throbbing pitch –

Join it.

The breath in your lungs,

It brushes against the sky.

Add your strokes to the symphony

Of color there.

A dab here, a drop there.

A brilliant canvas.

The mixing pot.

Take what you need,

Give what you can.

There is no plan.

Every movement is beautiful –

Adds to the greater whole,

The bigger picture.

The mystery:

How do we know the same tune

Without consulting the book?

The answer:

We are made from the same stuff.

Nothing but children,

finger-painting in the bathtub.

Play Like a Child

A small memory of my dad came to me last night as I was drifting off to sleep. When I was young, my dad used to travel internationally on business, and on one particular stop-over somewhere in Europe, he sat down for a fancy multi-course meal complete with an over-the-top dessert. Unfortunately, the dessert was so over-the-top with delicately spun marzipan over gourmet chocolate ganache that he was running dangerously late for his next flight by the time his dish came out.  In a frenzy of what can only describe as assertive"daddy energy," he deftly wielded his spoon to crunch the masterpiece into bite-size pieces.  The waiters and waitresses looked on in dismay as he shamelessly stuffed spoonfuls of chocolate and delicately spun sugar into his mouth before pushing himself gracelessly from the table. Although I did not witness the event first hand, I  have crafted a hilarious rendition of this story in my head over the years. Shameless, uncoordinated, congenial, playful.  This scene is a wonderful reminder of who my father was.   And it reminds me who I want to be.  It is a memory full of grace because it reminds me not to take myself too seriously.  I imagine my dad, 6'8," in full business attire, briefcase in tow, demolishing a beautifully handcrafted work of edible art.  And it makes me smile.

Why take ourselves too seriously?  There is always a plane to catch, a report to finish, a deadline to meet, a social engagement to honor, or dinner to get on the table.  That insistent voice in our head is often there telling us we must continue forward at top speed or everything will fail.  Yet very few things are actually that fragile; very few things are so set in stone.  When my father died, the best advice I got was to simply breathe.  The second best advice I got was to be kind to myself. Breathing comes so naturally to us that we often forgot to focus on it; forget to give ourselves the time to decompress and listen to our bodies and our mind. What charms me most about the memory of my father is how clearly he had over extended himself in that moment - almost missing his flight as he waited for dessert - and yet, in his own graceless way, he was able to handle the slip-up with grace. We have little control over many things that happen to us in life but we do control how we respond to them. My father was able to make the situation playful and find a way to laugh at himself in the re-telling.

Slowing down to savor may not always be possible.  Being mindful of our actions, our emotions, our body, may not always possible. But everything we do, stressful and hard or fun, joyful, passionate, everything we do can be done with a sense of humor.  Everything we do can be done playfully.  My mom was trying to motivate herself last night to fill wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with manure for the garden.  A friend of mine is trying to energize himself for yet another trip across the country when I imagine it feels like he just unpacked his bags.  What would it look like to view even these obligations of dread and discomfort with the amazement, the curiosity of a young child exploring a new playground, a new backyard.  When we can laugh at ourselves and our mistakes and welcome the adventure unfolding before us, even the most daunting of hurdles can become explorations into better understanding ourselves and the world around us.  When we can learn to not take ourselves too seriously, the world becomes our playground.

Lonely, But Not Alone

Sometimes, I feel lonely even in a room full of people.  It's not that I feel unloved or under-appreciated.  It's not that I need more time with friends.  It's not that I really want to talk about it -- or that talking will help.  It's just that, even when I'm with people I love, respect, and enjoy spending time with, it can be difficult to feel known.

What is the cure to this loneliness? It does not seem to be the simple fix of more social interaction. Yesterday, I had coffee with one friend and lunch with another.  Everyday, I have so much love and support from my co-workers and family.  There are amazing people in my life that remind me how to play and laugh. And yet, the feeling often remains. I doubt I am alone in this feeling though it is so fleeting that I often forget it exists.

Perhaps we feel lonely because we are not working to be our own friend.  One can feel lonely even surrounded by the best people if they are not giving themselves the care and compassionate attention they would give to others. So, maybe it's not so much a question of curing this feeling of loneliness (with more social interaction, more physical activity, more connection) but having the courage to sit with the discomfort and the unknown within ourselves; slowing down enough to listen to and have a meaningful relationship with the inner voice, the inner self that is too often ignored.

"Do they have to get mad?"

Sometimes the greatest reminders come from the mouths of children.  A co-ed indoor soccer game turned sour last night when a scuffle between my teammate and a decidedly skilled opponent turned into a display of machismo.  I saw my teammate, normally so calm and sweet, standing chest to chest with this player -- both men puffed up with adrenaline, testosterone, and self-preservation. Luckily, no punches flew but there was a palpable feeling of anger, frustration, and excitement as the two players were pulled apart.  I saw my teammate's glazed look --- the adrenaline coursing through his veins -- as he was led to the bench to cool down.

A young boy who couldn't have been more than 8 years old snuck over from the sidelines.   Confused by the display, he asked me: "do they have to get mad like that?"  My response was immediate:"no, of course not," I said, "sometimes guys are silly and loose control of their emotions. You don't have to be like that." I rolled my eyes and shook my head as if the boy and I were superior to those hot heads on the field.  But inside I was rocked by the young boy's astute observation. Truthfully, I was no better. I had come off the field moments before with as much frustration as the two men had just displayed.  I wasn't playing as well as I wanted too. I was sleep deprived and drained from a full week of pushing my limits at work, on the soccer field, and in social settings. I had gone head to head with that same player a number of times and I think my pride was stung as much as my body from the experience.  I still have the bruises to show for it:

In that moment, I had lost sight of why I play soccer. Truthfully, I hadn't actually wanted to come to the game but instead had felt an overwhelming obligation to my teammates. Soccer usually brings me so much joy so for it to becoming a mere obligation is a serious warning sign. In the melting pot of too many obligations and not enough relaxation, I had begun to almost resent my lovely outlet.  There is a valuable lesson here -- stretch yourself too thin and you run the risk of being unable to fully experience each moment with clarity and joy.  That is not how I want to live my life -- and I am humbled by the reminder.

Children have a perspective untarnished by the ego's hunger for validation and superiority.  If they play soccer they do it to play, they do it because it makes them feel good, because it is an adventure, because they love it.  Perhaps that is why it is such a joy to be around children -- they have not forgotten how to play and how to keep a positive perspective on the little things that seem to trip us up in adulthood. Being a few minutes late, getting stuck in traffic, getting stood up on a date, miscommunication with parents, partners, siblings, coworkers, friends.  These things are transient. Do we have to get mad about them? Absolutely not. These things do not have to rule our lives -- especially if they no longer serve us as they once did. I am excited to renew my commitment to replacing the things that no longer serve me and cultivating the things that do.

Strangers

The concept of being a stranger - it bothers me.

There are so many people that I pass every day that I will never know.
That will never know me.
So many hearts and minds that will remain foreign, mysterious,

locked up.

Or maybe, too vaporous to access, to hold.
Too intangible -
slipping right through my fingers.

The girl with the brilliant
green eyes, pink strand of hair -
my never friend.

But we are not strangers to each other.
Really, we know each other better than we think -
are not so very different she and I:

We both have a mother, father,
dreams, aspirations, fears,
loves, joys, dislikes:

She likes her coffee sweet,
I like mine milky.

She wants to be an architect -
draws urban plans on her inner arm.
I want to heal the world -
keep tweaking my concoction
of healing elixir;
dropping in new additions
as I learn them.

Her dad left when she was five -
no letter.
My dad when I was twenty -
just one.
But letter or none -
it's never enough.

We could compare battle scars -
wounds from our lives lived fully,
lived with an overpowering insatiable hunger;
a desire to do, to connect,
to hear, see,
be heard, be seen.

But they are one in the same - the scars -
you can't compare them.
They are indistinguishable, inseparable -
part of a greater tapestry of human suffering and resilience.

We are not strangers - we are the same.

Life Leaves Its Mark

As 2014 comes to a close, I find myself grappling with this idea, this feeling of being tarnished by life's experiences. When I look down at my hands, I see the scars on my knuckles from a bike accident I had over three years ago.  These scars remind me of the ways life leaves its mark.

There are times when I can't help feeling irreparably damaged by life's experiences.  Tarnished and worn in ways no polish can repair. I'm still trying to make peace with the ways I have become worn and tarnished by the elements. I'm still trying to forgive myself for decisions I've made.    Maybe I'll never find a way to feel perfectly polished.  Would I even want to? If I could erase the marks that life has left on me? There are lessons and bits of wisdom that I now wear on my skin; in the crinkles around my eyes; in the stubborn set of my jaw; in my very bones. Maybe, the best we can do at times is treat ourselves with care; carry our scars with grace; move forward with vigor. Yes, I am different now -  my bones ache with the stories they hold. But I am fiercely proud of my scars and the lessons that come with them - the hard earned wisdom.  Like waves eroding a sandstone cliff, the change is beautiful. It comes at a cost but it has made me resilient and strong and grateful.

Maybe this pummeling is life's polish even if it doesn't feel that way.  Stripping away layers in rough, uneven patches to uncover what is vital underneath.

Snapshot

I'm leaving Europe today and heading back to the States.  I'm saying goodbye to Mia in Gothenburg, Sweden and meeting up with my sister in Boston some 12 hours later.

I decided I'm taking europe with me (as if I can just make that decision) because saying goodbye is just too bitter sweet. At least, I'm taking the things I have learned and the experiences I have had and using them to bolster me in the weeks, months, years to come.

Study abroad has changed me. More appropriately, it has magnified the "me" that already existed.  It has opened my eyes to my passions and the way I want to live my life.  Someone I respect told me recently that study abroad helped him build on the things he already had inside him.  I think that is true for me too.  It has been a time of personal growth and self discovery but it does not build from nothing.  The beginnings, the foundations were there already.  Now I can only hope that this energy, vitality, passion, and positivity stays with me, rooted so deep into my being that it can never be taken away.

I'm taking a mental picture, a snapshot, of the confidence, strength, resilience, and excitement I feel right now and hope that I will always be able to carry these empowering feelings with me. I know there will be hard times ahead (the one year anniversary of my Dad's death is less than two months away), but at least I feel capable in this moment.  And when I don't feel as empowered, I have these memories and the friends I have made - along with a new found appreciation for the friends and family that I have missed so dearly - to bolster me.

I think this is as good a time as any to give a special shout out to everyone who has been there for me this year and a special thanks to everyone who has allowed me to be a guest in there home.  I am continually amazed and humbled by the amount of love that has been given to me and the amount of energy that has been spent on me in this last year...not to mention my entire life. It is this support that has given me the strength to keep exploring, keep smiling, keep loving life.  And it means the world to me.

In this moment, I couldn't be more excited for the next adventure.

Scrap-booking

At the moment I am sifting through pictures hand-picked from over 1000 I have taken this semester.  Somehow, I managed to narrow it down to 120.  It will be a challenge to compress this experience into 30 pages, but with these pictures in my hands, I already know it is worth attempting.  Just seeing these memories in tangible form - off the computer screen and printed onto glossy paper - is rewarding and exciting.

I realize I still have two weeks left of this experience but if I don't do this now - take the time to reflect while it is fresh in my mind - there is a good chance that so much of it will be lost.  I will always remember this experience as such an exciting and energizing period in my life but I want to make sure I remember the details - and be able to convey them as well as possible to my friends and family.  (While somehow refraining from repeating myself a thousand times and annoying everyone within a three mile radius!)

So, I am attempting to tell a story with each page I make, and trying not to get too exhausted by the cutting-room process :)