Free to Lie around

Today was a lazy day. Laaaaaazy. After mucking through Friday where I forced myself to stay out of bed and be a "productive" human being and a Saturday that was spent running and running and running (with family in tow)... and a rather mundane yet on the go Sunday... Today was a mandated lazy day. 

Silas got the stomach bug that been making rounds 'round here so he stayed home. These days are mostly spent chasing him around, trying to keep up with his unending energy and enthusiasm, doing my best to stay in the eye of the storm rather than in its aftermath. These days there isn't a lot of cuddling. Certainly not like the hours we used to spend napping together, snuggled up, face-to-face- breathing the same breaths, just being together. Now he's 2- with words and ideas and philosophies all his own. He is a marvel and I love it. But I also miss the long stretches of tenderness that have been replaced by kisses on the run and momentary snuggles. So today, while I am still decompressing from finishing school and interviews and life decisions and anticipating the long days and weeks ahead... we lounged. All day. No one got out of their PJs until well into the afternoon. We laid on the couch, vegging out to PBS, drinking sips of water, eating the juiciest pineapple and breathing together. Each of us took turns between awake and asleep. And while I certainly don't wish illness on anyone, most especially my little one, I loved having a day when we could both slow down together.

Last week I commented to a friend that I felt like my vacation time was going by too quickly. April is almost gone and I feel May and June streaming by even though they are not yet here. Her response, "Can you slow down?" A simple concept- much harder to practice. Today I got my shot. No errands, no lists, no unpacking, no tidying, no organizing, planning, running, hoop-jumping, preparing. A revolutionary day. Lying around.

When Silas was tiny, I used to wonder about the concept of baby therapy. Holding and rocking and breathing baby breath, sniffing baby head, nuzzling baby necks. Today my baby, whose babyhood is slipping away, healed me. Again.

Why I love Vermont

Preach On Bernie!

Loving Kindness

It seems so simple.  Love.  Be kind.  Somehow this can become an elusive art.  Most especially with those we hold the closest.  It seems an almost innate behavior.  Young children reserve their outcries and outbursts for their parents.  As teenagers, the words "I hate you" seem to slip effortlessly from our lips.  And now- I find the person I rage with and at the most is my partner.  This person with whom I've chosen to spend this live... this person who I agreed to love and care for... this person who has chosen the same.  Somehow, he bears the brunt of it.  It is commonly understood that we reserve our worst behavior and our worst selves for those we trust and love the most.  As if that was a good reason.  As if this excuses the bad behavior.  "See, this unbridled anger and frustration and exhaustion is really showing you that I trust that our relationship can sustain this assualt."  Bullshit.  I think the reasoning is probably right on... but I think too often it is used as a way of abdicating responsibility.

After getting into an outrageously loud and non-sensical fight today, a friend simply suggested "Remember to be kind".  It seems so simple.  At its core and in its practice it can be more challenging. 

I'm not one to meditate.  It takes the practice of sitting still and quieting one's mind.  Not something I (or many of us these days) find easy.  One meditation I have worked with in the past is on Loving Kindness.  It begins by working first with focusing on being kind to yourself- as a foundation of loving others and the universe.  

May I be filled with loving kindness

May I be well

May I be happy

May I be at peace.

Seems like a radical first step.  I'm going to try being with this for awhile, repeating it in my heart.  Turning off the radio and reciting it while I drive.  While I do the dishes.  While my mind drifts off to sleep.  

And you?

Five (really) good things about (today)

An invitation from Liz in the ethereal "blogosphere"...

1.  A quiet morning in my new house.  I slept in a little and, after getting J & S out the door, am enjoying a huge cup of french pressed coffee.

2. Warm, persistent sunshine.  After what even hardy Vermonters have called a long winter, we have enjoyed a full week of gorgeous weather.

3.  Gardening.  Over the weekend, my mom dug a bunch of her fool-proof perennials and I've gotten them in the ground.  Sweet pea and I planted loads of Cosmos seeds that are reaching high.  I'm going to pick up a composter for our new home today.

4.  My renewed gym membership.  I let it lapse this fall as I was working a lot and on the road often.  Not good.  Not good at all.  After spending several weeks revisiting the university gym and remembering why I hate going there (do I need to see the thong emerging from your butt shorts?  do I care that the bouncer overlooked your obviously fake id?  do I want to hear about your walk of shame?  That would be no, no and NO).  I went to yoga last night and am off to Zumba this morning.  (Try Zumba- it's so fun!)  I love my gym- great hours (even when I'm working a lot), great classes, great pools (even a splash one for S).  Love it.

5.  My sweetheart.  Who didn't grumble while I danced the night away when he wasn't feeling so hot.  Who lovingly and patiently puts his nose to the grindstone and gets stuff done while I pursue my dream.  Who is an amazing parent to our little guy.  Who challenges me and comforts me- and forgives me when I am not so kind.  Who has the warmest heart and softest arms to snuggle into.

I am so lucky.

A Sense of Balance

Even though yoga has been part of my life for years now, I'm not very good at it.  It offers so much of what I strive to include in my life: balance, quiet, presence, breath.  A non-competitive arena for challenge and self-acceptance.  A place to let go and let be.  It is the opposite of the rest of my days.  Still I am drawn to it, love it, am fulfilled by it, enriched by it.  But it takes all of myself to quiet my internal monologue of competition and self-doubt, list-making and planning, agonizing and worrying.  And still- the moments are fleeting that it all comes together.  I am in my body.  I am not worried about my dripping sweat, my protruding belly, my things to do, my places to be.  I am not running over and over the events of my day, the what is next, the where to and the what for.  The moments are few and far between- but they exist.  And when I remember- I work to cultivate that presence (or absence?) of mind off the mat.

Currently I am suspended between my two lives.  Actually- I am fully immersed in my home life.  I am working hard every day to get my new house set up and organized so that when I start working 80 hours a week, it will feel like a sanctuary not a storm.  I am working hard every day to love my partner, to endear myself to him so that he may remember me not pushed to the edge of myself.  I am working hard to store up lovely time with my sweet pea... so that he will fully know that my love is with him even when I am not present.  It is a binge.  It is an immersion.  And the pit in my stomach has already started to churn- anticipating the Next Big Thing... concerned yet again about preserving some sense of balance in the craziness of my metamorphosis.  Our metamorphosis.  So I do my best now to squirrel away that time- to stay with my little guy and watch him amass a truckload of pine cones when I can think of 10 other things that need to get done... so that I may remember the sweetness in his face, the determination in his brow, the sunlight in his hair.  I do my best to take in the smell of my honey, breathe in his embrace, really listen to him about his day.  I'm worried that I will forget these things- or forget to pause for them.

Tonight in class, we spent what seemed like hours in balance poses: Tree, Warrior 3, Side Plank.  I was reminded to breathe, reminded to quiet myself, reminded to be.  Tonight I did it- and just maybe, I can take it with me.  Moments of quietly breathing and being.  Amidst chaos, confusion, criticism: Let's breathe.  Let's be. 

Moving On Up...

This place... which has been our center and stomping ground for 2 years... already has started to take on that vacant air.  It was only days ago that we were living full-fledged in this space and now we're mere transients.  Moving on to the next thing.

This has been a lovely home for us.  It was my place during my intense year at home.  It has seen us through transitions- highs, lows, fights, rages, loves, tears, passions, sweetness.

Now we move on to our new place.  We take with us many fond memories shared and leave behind blessings of love to those that follow us.

Thank you, house.

Haiku for you

this spring emerges

forcefully from snow and ice

to sun and flowers

Now Here

I'm a planner.  As long as I can remember, I've been working towards the next thing- whatever that has been: college, summer jobs, getting into med school, getting married, having a baby.  Check, check, check.  For the last six months, I've been living in a state of suspension, patiently waiting to figure out where I and my family would be for the next four years.  It was uncomfortable and stressful and it made me crazier than I would like to admit.  A few weeks ago, I matched to the hospital where I am currently studying and this week we (with grace and luck) will close on our first house and move in.

Throughout this time, I had a lot of time to ruminate on our future.  I envisioned us living in several different cities: what that would mean for us, our friends, our families, our community.  I love where we live now: I love the people, the farms, the cheese, the familiarity.  But living here, like almost everywhere else I've ever been, has felt temporary.  I've just been passing through.  Another stop on my way to "the future".  

Today, as I was driving home from the market with the sun shining over the lake, nestled between two familiar mountain ranges, looking towards our move and my new job, it struck me: "What if this is it?"

Our generation is one that has benefitted from the struggles of our parents.  They didn't have to fit the (jell-o) mold, stay in one place, settle into suburban hell, stick it out with a job or a life that sucked.  On the other hand, we have inherited a fortune of uncertainty.  Don't like it?  Move.  Break it off.  Quit.  Leap ahead.  Adventure.  We cut ties as easy as we make them.  We hesitate to put down roots.  

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to an attending doctor who I had known for a sum total of 30 seconds.  She asked me the usual questions: Where was I from?  Where did I go to undergrad?  Where was I going for residency?  After responding, she said smugly "Well- that paints a picture" in this condescending "I have you all figured out" way.  My life was about playing it close, not taking risks, staying in a small pond.  I was so resentful of her snap judgment.  I want people to know me as daring, adventuresome, fearless.  On the other hand- I love this community, the landscape, the vibe.  Many people in Manhattan act as if their world is the center of everyone's world (or should be... or would be if we knew enough).  Why can't here be the center of the world?  Maybe it says that I've been smart enough to know when I have a good thing going and the wisdom to stick with it. 

So what's stopping us from believing in our core that this is our life.  Here is our life.  It started yesterday.  

What if we stopped waiting for the next milestone, the next achievement, the next stage?

Yoga and meditation teaches us a great deal about being present.  Staying.  Being.  So try with me.  Stay.  Be.  Imagine that today is your life.  Stay in your life.  Be in your life.

To paraphrase a friend: "The difference between Nowhere and Now Here is attitude."

Laughing along the way

I recently read that pre-school aged children laugh up to 400 times a day while adults average only 17 bouts of laughter daily.

To me, that's crazy talk... but certainly true in my life these days. It's funny... after weekends or even good chats will some friends, we'll part ways and I'll think "I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard or that much."  (Such was the case as I ended my conversation last night with a hilarious, loving friend with whom I'd been out of touch for several months).

Luckily I have a laugh machine in my house.  Nothing brings on the giggles like a 2 year olds' big huge belly laugh.  Infectious.  Contagious.  One of his favorite ways to elicit a sustained laugh is to cup his hand, toss something imaginary in the air, look up at the ceiling, then wide-eyed look right at me and say, "GO?"  (like, "Where did it go?")  For some reason, tossing invisible objects skyward makes for long stretches of hilarity.

I crave laughter... the laughter that you have to catch your breath from, the laughter that makes you wipe your eyes, the laughter that sends you running to the bathroom, the laughter that creates "spit takes", the laughter that once turned me into a human volcano of milk and chocolate cake... Now that's good stuff.

Our bodies thrive on laughter- the emotional release... It has been shown to reduce cortisol and other stress hormones, increases endorphins levels, and strengthen our immune system.  It also helps work out those critical core muscles.

During my first hospital experience as a medical student, a friend and I were on rounds together.  After exiting a patient's room, we both dutifully reached for the alcohol foam.  Somehow... in my always-graceful way... I caused a major malfunction in the squirt department.  Foam was everywhere- on my coat, on my glasses, in my friends' hair, on the floor, obliterating the notes scrawled on my paper.  She and I took one look at each other and were shaking with laughter.  Trying to be the mature, professional students we sniggered and coughed- almost losing it each time we found a wayward bit of foam.  But what do you think the halls of the hospital needed more at that moment... hearty, authentic laughter or another set of overwhelmed yet attentive students, nodding along to a run down of lab values?

So let's laugh, giggle, guffaw, chortle... at the little things, the big things, the WTF?! things, the imaginary things.  Revert with me a little.  Make me laugh.

This video makes me laugh every single time I see it.  Enjoy!

It Is I Who Must Begin

So here I am- reluctantly, nervously- but resolutely here.

I arrived in this place because for months I have been feeling locked up, disconnected- out of myself. I'm not sure when this happened or why- but I have this sense of watching myself from a far away place.

In my life of rushing, with constant demands on my time (self-imposed or otherwise), it has become clear that I need an outlet, a place for contemplation, reflection- time. I need to reconnect, open, evolve- participate. Ironic to me that like many others, I've chosen to turn to the chaotic, overwhelming internet as a place for peaceful reflection.

So here I am- trying to write freely without worry about perfection, judgment, rejection (or run on sentences!) as I work to cultivate connection.

______________

This poem has been haunting me for weeks. I first found it years ago- in a magazine somewhere. I wrote it out and tacked it to the wall of my "aparto" in rural Japan. The words grounded me a gave me a lot of solace. That paper is probably tucked into some folder, stashed away and forgotten. Until now. It found me again and continues to resonate.

It is I who must begin.
Once I begin, once I try --
here and now,
right where I am,
not excusing myself
by saying things
would be easier elsewhere,
without grand speeches and
ostentatious gestures,
but all the more persistently
-- to live in harmony
with the "voice of Being," as I
understand it within myself
-- as soon as I begin that,
I suddenly discover,
to my surprise, that
I am neither the only one,
nor the first,
nor the most important one
to have set out
upon that road.
Whether all is really lost
or not depends entirely
on whether I am lost.
~ Vaclav Havel ~

Transfixed