Om

For the first time in about 10 days, I woke up and breathed without thinking about my immediate next action steps.

My husband was gracious enough to take the kiddos to the grocery store and they were kind enough to help him mow the lawn.

That left me finding my way to a yoga class.  A bit trepidatious, I walked in afraid that I'd forgotten.

Filling in the circle with my purple mat, my lower back was on fire, my legs were stiff, my arms felt like jello and when the instructor required us to close our eyes and to start paying attention to our breath, I almost started crying.

Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, reinhabiting the space between the sacrum and the soul, it hit me, I've been so out of touch with my physical being.

After what felt like hundreds of breath cycles, we placed our hands to heart center and together chanted "om" three times to intone the practice.  It was then that I melted into the poses and like riding a bike, picked up immediately where I'd left off, albeit a little rusty.

This is what happens to me.  I'm a pretty phenomenal task master.  If there is a goal in sight, I can strategize how to get there and activate immediately.  I like checking things off the list.  I live in the future like it's my job.  And most of the time, my frenzied take charge mindset serves me well.

Until my body and my heart say, enough.  We've been abandoned for far too long.  And that was the deal this morning.  Exempt of a regular running regimen or a daily routine with the kids combined with executing big projects and exhaustion, I've been a ball of stress...no bueno on the body.

I once had a reading done and the woman told me before she even turned a card that I live far too much in my head and that my body was longing to dance.  At the time, I was drinking coffee and spit a portion of it out on her cards.  Embarrassed, I said, I think my body longs to sleep.  To which she replied, your body is tired of being tired and your mind is on overload.

So, when I starting chanting "om" and listened to the intonations of the men and women in unison, it was a vivid reminder that we all long to dance.  We all want to move freely and to connect to others in the process.

My challenge is feeling a strong type A responsibility that keeps me analyzing and over analyzing all the things I should be doing instead of surrendering in the moment.  To that end, I hate that my spotty yoga practice is confined to an external studio that I have to drive to and transport myself metaphysically outside of my thoughts.  Instead, I wish that I could capture the feeling of breathing in and breathing out, chanting "om" and letting my being dance.  Here's to finding myself more connected to my body.

Summer Adventures Begin

I woke up this morning and realized...it's summer.


Today marked the last day of school for my kiddos.  Fourth grade is officially in the books for Sam.  Kate completed second.  And our Claire Bear had a fantastic first year of preschool.


As they headed out the door for a quick half day, I snapped these shots...

 And then at 11:30am prompt, Claire and I rolled up to school in the stroller and a million children flew out of the building screaming for joy.  Kinda like this...

While we were walking reflecting on their day, what they'll miss about school and what they're most excited for about summer...this started to happen...

They gathered sticks and started going on a hunt.  Each of them adopted a quest name.  Sam turned into Aquarius.  Kate morphed into Swift.  And Claire was Twig.  I hung back listening while they talked of mystical beasts in the lush growth of the forest and hidden doors that take you to magical lands and children who get their fingers chopped off if they're poor listeners.

And it hit me...this is what happens in the summertime.  You put on your swim suit in June and don't take it off until August.  You consume 542 cherry popsicles.  You build forts in the backyard and ride your bike everyday.  You climb trees and read and dream...about magical places in far off lands where the unexpected is expected.  And you walk and you walk and you walk and you're a kid and it's the best.

I know that summer can be taxing for parents...figuring out how to not kill your kids when they fight with each other, trying to establish some semblance of a routine, but for me, at least for now, I'm embracing F. Scott Fitzgerald...

"And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”

It's time for a new life of fun, freedom and rejuvenation...it's summer.

Hail to the Shitty First Draft

It's freeing the first time you do something.

It doesn't have to be the first time ever.

It could be the first time for that day.

Like, the first run of the morning...the first report writing of the day at the office...the first thing you tell yourself as your feet travel from the bed to the floor....the first words out of your mouth to another.

It's freeing because there's no expectation.  It doesn't have to be perfect.  It doesn't have to be tidy.  It just has to be.

I write much like I live...scattered, chaotic, neurotic, a bit like a caged animal full of lots to share with the world but mired by the inability to find the perfect way out of my own prison walls.

And so the other day I told myself, you've got to get something down on paper.

This essay isn't going to write itself.

No one has to see it or ever read it.

Let it be awful.

In fact, will it, work hard to make it clicheish, cheese dicky, run-ony, ridiculously over the top, in short...absolutely horrible.

The gift of telling myself that the first draft would be abysmal made the writing process more alive, fluid, and fun than I could have ever imagined.

And now, I have the ultimate shitty first draft.  And, hands down, it's a beaut.  A real piece of shit.

But, it's more than I had yesterday.

And, it's a starting point...there's actual content to edit.  Hallelujah!  I get to be both an author and an editor!

I decided that the metaphor of the shitty first draft is a perfect one for the way I should be living my life.  Because the other way isn't working very well.  It's suffocating and exhausting to be worried about it always looking good.  It's stifling and really no fun at all to be consumed by getting it right.

It's exhilarating to presume that you'll most likely get it wrong but that simultaneously, the sun will come up tomorrow and you'll be better for trying.

So, I say, "Hail to the Shitty First Draft!"  Hail to running the slow and heavy mile.  Hail to letting the beds stay unmade and the dust bunnies collect.  Hail to knowing that you need to go to the store but choosing to take a walk while crunching the yellow leaves in your path.  Hail to letting yourself have the ugly cry when a disagreement with your child sent you into the depths of despair.  Hail to not mowing the lawn and being "that house" on the street.  Hail to Starbucks cups and Gatorade containers lining the bottom of your car. 

Hail to letting go of that that doesn't matter, so that you can make space for the pieces, places, and people who do.

8 Miles of Freedom

God damn it...some days are just your day. 

Like...really...your day.

In anticipation of a busy morning, I woke up at 4:30am to get out the door and run 8 miles.  I wanted to get the majority of it done before the sun was in full swing and the world was awake.

I revised my play list and promised myself that through the music and my breath, I would push myself and work hard.

And, I did.

This was first up on my list...

And then, as I rounded the bend and scared myself by seeing my own shadow...I know, cliche' as shit...but has that happened to you at 5 in the morning in the dark at a public park?  You'd scream too which is why this song was perfect next...

And just as I was getting my stride and climbing hill after hill, I turned onto my path, crossed over the bridge and the sun started to peek and I felt the stress, the anxiety, the anticipation of a busy last week, and all of my worry dissipate and it was well...beautiful...

And then, the bitch hill came...the mother of all mother fuckers and instantly, I thought, bring it...

And she came on...

And then, no lie...I beamed smiles at everyone I saw along the path and thought...it's going to be a good day.  No, it's going to be a glorious day.

This is what it feels like to be free...free of all that weighs us down.

Here's to 8-miles of freedom.

Freedom

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."   (albert camus)

I stumbled across this quote the other day and thought, "We're all in shackles...of one sort or another...we're all bound."  Bound by our should's, our shouldn'ts, our belief systems, our assumptions, our boxes, our family upbringings, our misgivings, our philosophies, our religions.  We're all imprisoned.

How do we become truly free and more importantly, how do we release our judgements and allow others the same luxury to simply be who they are?


Political campaigns, posturing, positioning, commercials, right, left, then, now...at the end of the day, who gives a shit?  I mean, really.  Don't we all basically want the same things?  The opportunity to love and to be loved.  The ability to take care of our families.  To wear a red shirt if it tickles our fancy or to kiss a woman, if I'm a man...or a woman.

I'm exhausted by the fact that we live in the "freest" country on the face of the earth, but because we're so entrenched in our own boxes (thinking that makes us safer)...we've bound ourselves tighter than we could have imagined.


Let's give ourselves permission to first rebel, ultimately to live and simultaneously, afford our neighbor the same opportunity...we might all feel a little closer to free.