Month: June 2012

go ahead. be a legend.

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photo by Reen

I figure if a girl wants to be a legend,
she should just go ahead and be one.
~ Calamity Jane

I was bestowed with a bracelet for my birthday that has the above quote by Calamity Jane prominently stamped across the top. It’s a silver mix of leather and metal and it’s sassy as all get out. I love this bracelet so much, and not only because someone went out of their way to make sure that I have said wristlet or because it looks kick ass (which it does), but because it serves as a reminder to me that I am in charge of my own destiny. I could pretend that everything in my life is out of my control (which, admittedly, many things are), or I could recognize that I have direct influence over the one thing that matters when in comes to my destiny: choice.

It’s true that I can’t control many of the external situations in my life, but I have choice about how I respond to them through my thoughts, speech, or actions. As much as I hate to admit this sometimes, I have the most direct influence in how my life is going to be. I could be a lover or a hater. And that’s the truth.

I could also choose to be a legend in my own right.

And I do have aspirations for greatness. When it comes right down to it, I want to be someone I can feel good about- and that includes everything from daily acts of kindness to working for social services that I believe in. It includes being righteous when there’s a cause worth taking a stand for, and not feeling compelled to follow the masses just because it’s comfortable or easy. Being a legend means sometimes taking the uncomfortable or unpopular path and recognizing that the only compass available is your gut.

Maybe Calamity Jane isn’t the best role model, but she was indeed a legend– and she was a woman ahead of her time. I admire her tenacity, her spunk, and her willingness to be an original. I’m not planning to take up firearms or to begin a daily whiskey habit (note that I said daily) any time soon, but I do fully intend on living my own dharma and packing my own metaphorical pistol of truth along for the journey. I am bound for greatness.

So, of course, I made a list of inspirations for how to live like a legend:

  • Generate tapas/fire/energy through work and activities that inspire and engage you.
  • Be fierce in your love, faith, beliefs and allow them to guide you.
  • Laugh at yourself (loudly) and cry in messy ways. Allow someone else to clean up the mess.
  • Fight for a cause you believe in, stick to your guns, and wear something outrageous every now and then just because you want to stick out as the unique and fabulous individual that you are (because legends usually have a style all their own).
  • Stop: playing like you’re not a miracle, being smaller than you are, or seeking forgiveness for the things you don’t really feel sorry for. Also- pack away anything in your wardrobe that makes you uncomfortable or that bores you out of your mind.
  • Start: speaking your truth (even if that means dropping the “f” bomb in yoga class), valuing yourself, and making room for greatness.

Lastly, forget the lists (including the one above) or the plans or the “could/should” ideas lurking in your head and just live from your heart. Trust your intuition and live fully. Be legendary.

out of the compost pile, I bloom

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Today, the sun is shining in a wild show of spring. The birds have been up since before daylight singing into the world, and I’ve spent much of the morning watching a squirrel scavenging for seeds and nuts below the bird feeder. There are countless blooms in the garden surrounding the patio; multicolored blossoms that beckon the bumblebees with rich and fragrant nectar. It’s absolutely stunning, and I can’t help but admire the natural beauty before me. I am also fighting my inner freak that is screaming in my head that the lawn needs mowing, the garden needs weeding, and the kitchen needs mopping.

She is such a drag to be around.

I know for a fact that the world won’t end if I don’t mow the lawn or weed the garden. These tasks can certainly wait. I also know that, sometimes, lovely things happen when I stop and take in the wonder of the world without trying to change anything. Being content with this and that. I notice the small things that I would have passed by in my hurry to get things done. Like the glorious red poppies that poke brightly out from the compost pile, showing that beauty can grow from discarded garden materials. And somehow the blossoms look more gorgeous knowing that they weren’t planned and haven’t been tended to. These flowers have made their way in the world all on their own, and they serve their purpose so beautifully.

I also know for certain that I miss out on so much with my need to be productive; experiences, pleasures, and personal growth. I forget that beautiful things come from the simple act of stopping and that if I just soften a bit, I can still get things done and my heart will be happier in the end. No need for head spinning or list writing. Just being here. Now.

Even in my (limited) experience of teaching yoga, I’ve noticed that the less I try to plan and control, the more joy and ease I feel. I’m happier, and the class appears to be more satisfied in their experience. I then remember what it is about a yoga class that I’ve loved all along- joining with other people to breathe and move together in community while cultivating awareness in the moment. Everything can wait- the mat is rolled out, the phone is off, the computer out of sight. Practice in being here now and not trying to change or fix or be anything other than what I am.

Out of the compost pile, a flower blooms. A reminder that I can bloom anywhere.

the more I learn, the less I know: reflections on my fortieth year.

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You cannot travel the path until you have become the path
Gautama Buddha (563-483 B.C.E.)

Tomorrow marks the end of my fortieth year; a year I began by setting forth on a personal pilgrimage (of sorts). I didn’t leave for a foreign land, but rather traveled inward to explore the vast terrain of myself. I had no perceived notion that I would become enlightened or that I would achieve some divine status, but I had the hope/expectation that I would gain a bit of inspiration in the process and that I would learn some more about where to go from here. What I’ve learned along the way (about myself and the world):

 I am perfect and whole just the way I am (scars and all).

One of my personal goals for the year was to complete yoga teacher training. I had no idea that this very step would change my life as much as it has. I began a two-week intensive training not knowing a soul and expecting to learn a little more about yoga and to gain some physical strength. I left knowing that I had found a new tribe; people who loved me regardless of the fact that I contradict myself, act awkward in public, and curse like a sailor. I also left with a completely new and ever-changing perspective of “yoga” and what it means to be a “yogi”.

Note: being a yogi does not require perfection (thankfully), but it does involve thinking more carefully about how my actions impact the world and how I can continue to strive toward connecting to something larger than myself. One of the overarching philosophies of The Samarya Center, where I continue to study, is that everyone is perfect and whole, just the way they are. Yoga can be for everybody (and every body). Period. It is not just for skinny, physically fit people who can afford fancy mats or stylish yoga gear. In fact it isn’t about that at all. Yoga is a call toward physical, mental, spiritual, and social change. And if all of that fails, it’s working toward increasing the love in the world. Yoga means accepting self and others, scars and all.

Words heal, connect, and inspire.

This year, I decided to make my blog public and to post at least once a week (not an easy decision, but I’m glad I made it). I’ve used writing as a personal process tool since junior high/middle school when a teacher strongly encouraged me to put my thoughts onto paper (I was anxious, angry, and I talked way too much). From that time, the act of writing out my heartache, fury, joys, and everything in-between has been as important as eating a balanced meal. I may go days, sometimes weeks, without getting my writing nourishment, but I always feel more vibrant when I’ve put pen (yes- an actual pen) to paper (the stuff made of trees or plants).

Words are as important to me as fresh air, and I use them to create connection and meaning. Writing for a blog has shifted my practice and encouraged me to give up a small bit of autonomy in order to trust the process of putting my words into a public sphere. I’ve learned that just as I receive insight through reading other people’s words, having my writing read by others can feel incredibly profound and healing.

Recently, I joined a lovely blogging group in which I’ve been asked to look more intently at my own writing/blogging hopes, goals, and dreams as well as to support and encourage others on a similar path. Through this process, my sense of community has expanded and my sense of self has been humbled (again). Just when I think I know something, the Universe comes along and reminds me that I know nothing. And isn’t that grand? Which leads me to….

 The more I learn, the less I know.

Since being diagnosed with cancer four years ago, I have learned to let go of any expectations that I will ever know anything fully. I may learn many things and grow in magnificent ways, but the more I attempt to master anything or to gain insights into myself or the world, the more I realize I know nothing (or very little) at all. And this has actually been a source of comfort to me in the past year.

Being curious, humble and open far outweigh pretending that I know anything. Pilgrimage requires openness toward experience and sometimes stepping away from the path. My fortieth year has been one in which I have learned that outer stability does not matter as much as inner flexibility and a sense of humor. It has been a year of un-learning, expansion, and wonder, and I am so looking forward to seeing what adventures lay before me as I continue my wandering.