On Universal Downloads and Co-Creating with Your Muse

I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that my yoga mat is my teacher and my guide.

Lately, most of the lessons I learn in life start on that rubbery rectangle. And many of the creative ideas I develop start as inspiration that appears while I'm in Downward Facing Dog or Child's Pose.

This morning, as I was moving through my practice I started feeling the excitement some new ideas percolating. When I sat down in meditation for a few minutes after my asana practice, the flood of ideas just kept coming.

This is why I keep a notebook handy when I'm practicing yoga and meditating. There's something about moving in time with my breath, about breathing deeply and centering on the inhale and exhale, that triggers creativity. So the minute I'm done with my practice (and sometimes right in the middle of it so that I don't lose a specific idea), I sit down with pen and paper and take notes.

I honestly believe that in those moments I'm transcribing a direct download from the Universe. I'm a true believer in the Muse and know that if I don't take hold of those lightbulb moments, of those clear and fresh ideas, and start developing them and stretching into them that they will pass me by in favor of someone else who is ready.

I've been there. I've had amazing ideas that I didn't delve into and before I knew it someone else was doing exactly what I wanted to do but didn't.

There are a lot of reasons why we don't take inspiration and run with it: lack of time, lack of energy, fear of failure (or success), to name just a few. But if we're willing to push through all of that, to connect to that inspiring thought or idea long enough to see it through, it's amazing what we can accomplish.

I'm telling you all this so that you understand what to do with those ideas when they come up. So that you don't miss out on Universal downloads. So that you can recognize the Muse when she shows up and sit down with her to co-create.

Don't wait when inspiration strikes. Get started and see what can happen!

Starbucks Kindness

Coffee by Cheryl Foong is licensed under CC BY 2.0

This morning, I dropped my oldest at school and headed to the nearby Starbucks, where I’ve started setting up my mobile office for a couple of hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I got in line and studied the menu, deciding on a Chai Latte and waiting my turn. 

I listened to the young woman in front of me order an herbal tea. “Wait, do you guys have coffee? Just regular coffee?” she asked. Her clothing was dirty and she was wearing too many layers for even this cool morning.

The barista looked up from the register with a small smile and said, “Yeah, we have coffee.”

“Okay, can you make it sweet?” She mirrored his smile and I saw how pretty she was. Maybe 20 years old, she clutched a plastic bag with what I assumed were her only possessions. Or maybe simply the most important ones.

“Sure, hot or iced?” he asked.

“No ice, just regular hot coffee. Sweet.”

The barista grabbed a cup and began marking it with her order. The older woman standing in front of her smiled and waited to pay, and I realized she was planning to buy this young woman’s drink. Once the older woman’s order was rung up, she said, “Oh, I'm getting hers, too.”

The barista waved his hand and said, “Oh no, we’ve got it. Thank you for your kindness.”

And that was it. The generosity of one woman became a gift from Starbucks instead.

So today, when I woke up too late and had to rush through our morning routine, when I feel a bit overwhelmed and under-motivated, suddenly I am warmed by a simple act of giving.

I am reminded to be kind. Do good. Love others, even in their mess, even in the smallest of ways. It will always matter. And the rest—the hurt, the overwhelm, the craziness and difficulty—will begin to feel a little…less. 

The WHENs and the NOWs

"Clock" by Dineshraj Goomany is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
 

A short time ago, an internet friend sent me a link to an essay she'd tried to read. "This essay is SO DREADFUL," she said. "Can you believe she's a published author?"

After reading the essay (all of it) myself, I sent her a note back. It hadn't seemed THAT dreadful to me. I had, in fact, been able to connect with the writer through her essay, but only after I pushed through a flowery beginning and waded through some roughly worded paragraphs to get to the point: Motherhood is hard and sometimes we need a break, even if that break isn't doing what we'd really love to be doing. At least that's the point I took away from it. (This may say more about where I'm at in my life than about the author's intent and skill, though.)

As I responded to my friend, I found myself thinking a thought I'd had plenty of times before. If this author could publish such a poorly written essay, why can't I get published?

The answer wasn't far behind: Because you're not writing.

That's not entirely true. I have a couple of freelance jobs going, but they're more editing and formatting than writing. I'm writing this blog post--right here, right now. And I'm always jotting notes for the books and stories and essays I want to write WHEN. You know: WHEN.

WHEN I have time.

WHEN the kids are older.

WHEN I'm not so tired.

WHEN the house is clean.

WHEN I'm a better writer.

I know you have them, too. They may not be the same as mine, but I'm sure you have your own WHENs. WHENs are those things that hold us back before we even get started. They give us room to wait, when what we really need to be doing is plowing forward, pushing the WHENs to the side and experiencing the NOWs.

When I sit down to write, finally taking advantage of one of the many short-but-quiet moments life lends me each day, I realize there are NOWs waiting for me.

NOW this feels right.

NOW I have so many stories to tell.

NOW I can write while the kids are napping.

NOW I don't care if the house is clean.

NOW I'm a writer.

The words flow and the negative Inner Editor quiets down, if only for a few minutes. I put words to page and feel that rush of relief and the peace of knowing I'm doing what makes me alive, happy, full.

I realize in those moments that the WHENs are just excuses to stay stuck in the daily grind, in the self-doubt and discontent. Once I start writing despite the WHENs, I find the NOWs were waiting for me all along.

What are your WHENs? How can you move into the NOW?

Happiness Is Not Right Around the Corner

If you haven't ever read Tiny Buddha, I suggest you take a few minutes to check it out. Trust me, the pearls of wisdom I've found there are well worth the time. Last week they shared an article on realizing you're complete and it struck a nerve with me.

For much of my life I've put my energy into getting to some endpoint, all the while holding off on trying new things or taking chances until that magical point when everything would be perfectly in line to do so. I waited for the right time, the right place, the right relationship, the right number on the scale. And as those destinations continued to evade me, I let opportunities pass me by and made excuses for not working toward my goals. "Someday I'll" and "when I finally" prefaced all my plans. I don't know exactly what I was waiting for, but I knew that once I found it, once I reached that journey's end I'd finally--FINALLY--be happy.

But I never got where I thought I was headed, and so I never seemed to find that illusive happiness. Until recently anyway. Until I stopped hanging my happiness on some achievement I might make in the future and started finding it in everyday experiences. When I began looking for happiness in each moment and stopped expecting it to magically appear when everything was just right, I found out I could be happy right now. I didn't have to wait for anything.

There will always be something new to strive for, some goal unreached, some dream unrealized. It turns out that if I can't find happiness where I'm at, then no achievement or momentous occasion or experience or anything will ever make me truly happy. So I choose each day to do whatever I can to find happiness. That way, when I finally reach those goals and see my dreams come true, I'll be able to experience the happiness of those accomplishments even more deeply. Happiness is not right around the corner, waiting for me at some end-point. It is right here, right now.

Becoming a Yogini

Seven months ago I started a journey that seven years ago I couldn't have possibly imagined. In the wake of my recent breakup, I wanted to do something to take my mind off the pain, to help me heal, and to prove to myself I was strong enough on my own. And I did just that.

I walked into my first yoga teacher training session with apprehension and excitement. I didn't know what to expect exactly, but I was certain my life was going to change in big ways. A little over a month ago I finished the training portion of the program and I can say without a doubt that I was right. I've learned so much over the last seven months that it's hard to even put the lessons into words. For the sake of summary, I'm going to give it a try though.

1. I'm stronger than I think. Whether it was making it through 108 sun salutations or getting over a failed relationship, I realized that I am physically, mentally and emotionally stronger than I've ever given myself credit for.

2. I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I just keep breathing. The teacher training program I chose was not easy. It was time consuming, and emotionally and physically demanding. It required a serious commitment for an extended period of time. There were the classes I had to take every week, the weekends I had to dedicate almost entirely, not to mention all the studying and reading that I had to squeeze into my already tight schedule. And yet I managed to get through it all by reminding myself to breath, focus and keep moving. I made the time for it all because it was something I wanted.

3. It's important to have a tribe. After ending my relationship, I realized that I didn't have much of a support system in my area. Sure, I had friends and family who loved me, but most of them were out of town or state. I found myself reaching out to nearby friends more, and I discovered that they were more than happy to help me through a tough time. I also discovered a brand new group of loving and supportive friends through the teacher training. While these friendships are just beginning to bloom, I feel a deep and powerful connection to my fellow trainees and know that connection will last a lifetime.

4. Taking chances opens doors. When I started the yoga teacher training, I didn't really know if I wanted to be a teacher. In fact, my intention was to explore yoga more deeply and "maybe teach some day". But by the time the training was over, I was already built up a small private class that met a couple times a month, and was committed to teaching two classes a week in the studio. Sometimes when we take the first step, opportunity meets us half-way.

5. I will always be becoming. The thing that strikes me most about finishing the teacher training program is that I still don't feel like a teacher. I am not yet a yogini in my eyes. Even though I stand in front of classes of students and lead them in their practice every week, I still feel like a student myself. And I don't know if that will ever change. I've realized that even when I've finally arrived at a what I thought would be the end point, there will always be another lesson to learn. I will always be becoming a yogini.

108 Sun Salutations: A Perfect Ending and Beginning

I took two yoga mats home with me. Two. Because I was hoping to not only get in plenty of yoga on my own, but also practice my teaching skills on some friends and family. The mats didn't get used nearly as much as I'd planned, but what use they did get was good use.

On Christmas Eve morning, I woke up bright and early, turned up the faux fireplace in my mom's den and unrolled my mat in front of the lit Christmas tree. I practiced for an hour in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of that morning. It was a beautiful start to my vacation.

I had planned to take a couple of classes at a studio in the area, but one of them ended up being canceled, and I missed the other because I took my nephew ice skating instead. Ice skating itself was a practice in patience and focus, though. I haven't been on skates in years, but it was so much fun to find my footing again and start floating across the ice like I did when I was a kid. We went to a rink that I'd gone to a lot when I was in school. As I skated around and around the ice I couldn't believe all the memories of birthday parties and hanging out with friends that came back to me. I'm pretty sure I was grinning ear-to-ear the entire time I was out there. My nephew, on the other hand, had enough after about 10 minutes and then watched me for the next 45 minutes or so. I could have stayed out there all afternoon, getting surer and surer on the thin blades. I'm not skilled enough to do turns or even skate backwards, but man was I having fun!

Later in the week, I taught a mini yoga class to my stepsister and her girlfriend. It was a great experience and I learned a lot about my teaching style and how I can adjust it for different types of learners. One of them is a visual learner and needed a lot more demonstration, while the other was very good at following my verbal instructions, so I tried to demonstrate more of the poses as I described them, giving them both the tools they needed to benefit from the practice. I also appreciated that they asked a lot of questions. Neither of them have taken yoga before, so they asked about anatomy and benefits of different poses, challenging me to remember all that I've learned during our training weekends and in my studying.

Before I knew it, New Year's Eve had arrived. I woke up early that morning and decided that for the last day of 2010 I wanted to do something challenging. I rolled out my mat in front of that Christmas tree again and set out to complete 108 sun salutations. The last time I completed more than 100 sun salutations was my first teacher training weekend, and it wasn't pretty. I had to take breaks often and was so sore for a week after. I didn't know if I'd be able to get through 108 straight, but I promised myself I'd do as many as I could.

The first 25 were relatively easy. I thought, I'd gotten through almost a quarter of them so maybe 108 was doable after all. By 54, my confidence was starting to wane. My arms were getting Jello-y and I was sweating like crazy. Still, I was half-way there.

At 72, two-thirds of the way to 108, I started to see the sun. There was no way I was quitting at that point. I pushed through to 100, where I paused for a moment at the top of my mat to catch my breath and consider how far I'd come. Just a few months ago, I wasn't able to do even 50 straight sun salutations, much less 100. And there I was, having just finished 100 sun salutations, ready to complete 8 more. For the last 8, I moved slowly, dedicating each series of poses to something different: my family, my friends, my enemies, the earth and all the creatures on it, the universe and all that it holds, my past, my present, and my future.

When I was finished, I stood in silence, stunned by my strength, my perseverance, my dedication. I may or may not have lost count a couple of times, but I found a groove and just kept going, moving with my breath in no hurry to finish. I moved my way through doubt and exhaustion, and ended 2010 stronger than I started it.

How's that for a perfect ending and a new beginning? Whatever 2011 holds, I know I can handle it. And if not, I can always do 108 sun salutations to make myself feel better.

(Photo credit: kevindooley)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Opening to the Present

I approached the studio with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. Part of that was out of nerves and part of it was because I’d spent the last 30 minutes circling the same nine square blocks looking for a parking spot and was certain I was going to be late to my first yoga teacher training weekend. Thankfully, I’d gotten the time wrong and was actually 27 minutes early.

I signed in, picked up my manual and found a spot on the floor in the alcove with a few other early arrivals. They were younger and thinner than me, probably fitter with more yoga experience, as well. Some of the women were in small groups chatting. It appeared they knew each other and the thought that there were already cliques forming gave rise to a bit of anxiety. Would I fit in here? Could I really do this? Was I ready for what lay ahead?

We rolled out our mats along the walls of the studio, all 35 of us—34 women and one man of varying ages, sizes, shapes and backgrounds—facing one another and the center of the room. And that’s how we started. No introductions, no stories, no preparation. We jumped right in.

Standing at the top of our mats, inhaling and raising our arms. Urdhva Hastasana. Folding forward, exhaling. Uttanasana. Lifting halfway up on the inhale, backs flat. Ardha Uttanasana. Placing hands down, stepping back into high plank and exhaling into Chaturanga Dandasana. Inhaling, sliding chests forward, opening our hearts. Urdhva Mukha Svanasana. Lifting hips and pressing chests back on the exhale. Adho Mukha Svanasana. Bending knees, looking forward to our hands, and inhaling, floating feet forward, back flat. Ardha Uttanasana. Exhaling, folding again into Uttanasana. Sweeping arms up, inhaling and looking to our fingers. Urdhva Hastasana. Pressing palms together, exhaling and lowering them to our hearts.

Arriving at Samastitihi. Equal standing.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Nine breaths putting us all on solid, level ground. Nine breaths linking us all together. Nine breaths and I knew this: I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Breathing. Moving. Here. Now. Opening up to my present, and whatever it has to offer.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

*8Things: Honoring Places

This week's *8Things from Magpie Girl is perfectly timed, yet again. After a long weekend with my family in my home town, I'm reminded of all the things I love about that little village where I grew up.

*8Things: I love about my hometown

1. Sunsets on the lake. Growing up by the shores of Lake Ontario was a real blessing. Plenty of opportunities to swim, fish, listen to the waves, watch boats and experience beautiful sunsets.

2. The smell of the air. I never thought I'd be able to tell the difference between city air and country air, but this last trip made me realize I can. Whether I smell newly laid cow manure or the distinct, fishy scent of the bay, the air in my hometown is always fresh and clear.

3. The nearness of my family. I love living in the city, but being 7 hours away from my family makes it difficult sometimes. Having a large portion of my family in the same area for a few days is always a comfort and a joy.

4. The quiet. Even when it's at its loudest, my hometown has an overriding sense of quite. At night, I can hear crickets chirping and frogs croaking, the wind in the trees, the music coming from a bar more than a mile away. Early in the morning, as I take a walk, the cows low and the birds sing. But underneath even these sounds of quiet is a silence I don't hear other places.

5. The stars. Living in the city means bright lights 24/7. I can see the sky, but not many stars, from my backyard. In my hometown, the sky lights up with a blanket of stars so plentiful it's hard to see the darkness underneath them.

6. The land. There's been a lot of development in the area where I grew up, but there's still plenty of undeveloped land. Almost everyone has a big back (and sometimes front) yard. There are fields of corn, hay and flowers. Without all the clutter of city life, it's like a vacation for my eyes.

7. The wild (and not-so-wild) life. In the city, my exposure to animals is pretty limited. I might see some dogs and cats, squirrels, birds and maybe the occasional deer or rabbit in a nearby park. But when I visit my hometown, I'm guaranteed to see all of those animals, plus muskrats, fish, cows, horses, and a large variety of birds that I don't usually see in Maryland.

8. The comfort. I've been in Baltimore for 10 years and consider it home on so many levels, but there's nothing like being back in the place where I spent my first 24 years. There's a feeling of comfort that settles in as soon as I pass that "Welcome to ..." sign that I just don't get anywhere else.

What place can you honor this week? Join in on this week's *8Things: Honoring Places by grabbing a button from Magpie Girl and writing up your own list, or leave a comment here and let me know what place you're honoring and why or how.

*8Things: Simply Summer

This week's *8Things from Magpie Girl is an easy one. Or at least, it should be: List *8Things you must do this summer. Normally, my summers are just like the rest of my year. Maybe there's a little more traveling, but other than that, it's same old, same old. Work, farmers' market, household chores. Nothing new or exciting to mark the summer months as different from the rest of the year. Not in the ways that summer was Summer when I was a kid.

This year, in the wake of a breakup and all that entails, I've decided to make this summer special, to do things I've been afraid to do or have been putting off or giving up for the sake of said relationship. I'm spending my time with people I enjoy being with, doing things I love, things that make me happy and fill me up. So this summer, I'll be stretching myself and making time to do these *8Things.

*8Things: Simply Summer

1. Hang out at the pool. The Ex didn't swim. Therefore, we never spent time near the water. I love the water and this summer, thanks to a friend who works at a swim club, I'll be hanging out by the pool and swimming as much as possible.

2. Go to the beach. I live just a few hours from the ocean, and it calls to me every year, but I rarely make time for the trip (see #1). This year, I've got at least one beach weekend already planned. (Thanks, Mel!)

3. Pick berries. I keep saying that I want to go to a U-pick farm and bring home buckets of berries (strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, any kind of berries), but I always let the summer go by without making a plan. Not this summer.

4. Relax. Summer used to be a time to unwind, to vacation and enjoy a slower pace. I want to feel that again this summer, so I'm minimizing my freelance work load and encouraging myself to enjoy being free of commitments.

5. Be spontaneous. I'm normally a planner, but I like to be spontaneous every now and then. This summer I'm going to do something totally out of character and last minute. No planning allowed.

6. Eat ice cream. Often. 'Nuf said.

7. Wear tank tops as often as possible. If the last few weeks are any indication, it's going to be a hot summer and I'm going to enjoy it with bare arms and shoulders.

8. Wish on stars and dream big. Summers are filled with promise and possibility. I'm going to stay open to whatever the Universe might bring my way and whatever my heart is hoping for.

What's on your Simply Summer list? You can join in on this week's *8Things by grabbing a button from Magpie Girl and writing up your own list, or leave a comment here and let me know how you enjoy the summer months.

Have You Ever Seen the Grand Canyon?

Have you? I'm not talking about in pictures or on television or even from the air as you fly from one coast to the other. Have you stood on the edge of the huge Canyon and felt the wind swoop down and then back up again blasting you in the face with dust from thousands of feet below? Have you looked out across miles of rock that have been carved away by centuries? Have you?

There's something heart-stopping and, dare I say, spiritual about experiencing a sight like the Grand Canyon. It's awe-inspiring and humbling to walk to the ledge and look over the side of history into the depths of our world. From where you stand at the heights of Canyon, the rushing Colorado River looks like a tiny trickling stream and the clouds look like they're napping on the flat tops of the rock formations. Ravens play on the wind, swooping into protective nooks and crannies and then swooping back out to dance and swirl around.

The Canyon is so big, so vast, that it's hard not to recognize how small we really are. And yet, before We were even on this planet, time and water and wind were shaping and forming this land by doing nothing more than what they were created to do. And I wonder: can I have an impact like that, too? One of adjusted proportions, of course. But if I do those things that I was created to do, if I am me and nothing else, can I create beauty like that?

I believe I can.

I hope I am right.

Judge Not, Lest You Be Judged

I was on my way to work this morning, stopped at a stop light, when a woman stepped into the crosswalk talking up a storm. She was by herself, and she wasn't holding a phone to her ear. I knew that wasn't necessarily proof she was talking to herself--Bluetooth headsets are all the rage these days--but I wondered just the same if she was mentally stable. By the time the light had turned green, I was sure she must have been talking into an ear piece that I couldn't see. She was dressed nicely, after all, clearly on her way to work. Right?

Probably, but it didn't take me long before I had convinced myself I was being too quick to judge. I've been reading Eckhart Tolle's The New Earth and listening to the Oprah webcasts over the last few weeks and I could hear Tolle's voice in my ear: "That's your ego. " I knew what I should do--recognize my judgment as part of my ego and release it, without judging myself for the thoughts. But I couldn't. I was ashamed by my behavior. Just because she was dressed well didn't mean she was mentally stable. And if she had been dressed in dirty rags, would that have made a "crazy" judgment anymore acceptable?

Who am I to determine, based on a 5 second glance through my windshield (or my rose-colored glasses, for that matter), who someone is, where she's from and what she's been going through? I'm trying to let it go, to practice presence and know that I am not my thoughts and judgments. I want to move past them. I don't want to hold onto them anymore, not the ones against others and not the ones against myself.

"The first step is becoming aware of these thoughts," Tolle would say. I hope he's right.

---

If you're interested, I've got a totally unrelated post up over at Damsels In Success--Lessons from the Networking Trenches.

Where Is My Beloved Autumn?

Last October I wrote about my love of Autumn over at my old blog. This year, I find myself wondering where my dear love has gone.

It's October 23 and the high for today is expected to be 75 degrees. This is not normal for my area. The average high in Baltimore for the month of October is supposed to be 68 degrees. Where are my cool, crisp mornings? Where is the smell of decaying leaves and the feeling of calm and preparation that fall always brings to me? Where is my beloved Autumn, with his colorful leaves and moderate weather?

It's just not normal to wake up at 5:30AM with my windows wide open and not feel a bit of cool air blowing through. It's unacceptable that this morning I wore a sleeveless shirt and didn't need a jacket or sweater when I walked out my front door. It's OCTOBER, people! I hate to think that winter may hit me like a ton of bricks in December because I haven't had my wonderful Autumn here to help me transition.

Please, Autumn, if you're out there please come back. I want you. I miss you. I need you.

A Smile and a Wave

Last night, after a workout at the gym and my normal 45 minute commute, I stopped at two different grocery stores to pick up my bi-weekly fare. Grocery shopping is one of my favorite pastimes, but by 7PM I was exhausted, very hungry, and ready to just get home. I loaded my bags into the trunk and drove toward my apartment as quickly as I could, planning out a quick dinner in my head.

At the red light before I turned onto my street, I looked to my left as I crept forward to make a right turn on red. A little girl, probably about 4 years old, held her father’s hand as they stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk. She wore a lavender fleece jacket and matching hat, with a tiny fleece pouf at the crown. She was looking straight into my eyes, and I smiled at her.

For her entire trip across the four lanes, she never stopped staring at me. And as she stepped into the spotlight of my headlights, she put on a shy smile, lifted her tiny hand next to her cheek, and curled her fingers into a hesitant wave. It was utterly adorable. And the best part was, when I waved back, she practically burst with excitement. Her smile widened and she waved more enthusiastically. The innocence and joy she radiated made me long to have the heart of a child again.

The spell that had been cast between us was broken when she tripped up the curb and her father gently lifted her over the edge and onto the sidewalk. Still, those few seconds made up the most intimate moment I’ve had with a stranger in a long time. And the beautiful part? Not a single word was necessary to make that connection.