Thanks to the Butterflies...and Eloise

A very sweet young lady I know created this drawing for me when I was looking for ideas for the book cover of my memoir, Yin, Yang, Yogini: A Woman’s Quest for Balance, Strength and Inner Peace (now available for pre-order!) The final book cover, designed by the publishing company, is a bit different, but the artists did incorporate the butterflies. Hands are very difficult to draw (I am told!) but Eloise did an excellent job. In fact, I’m sure that if she so desires, she will one day have a lovely career as an artist.

            The point of this blog is to say thank you to Eloise (and to her mother, my dear friend Amy) and also to say thank you to all those who helped to make my dream of creating and publishing my memoir about my yoga and breast cancer journey come true. For the fact of the matter is, even though I was the one to sit down at my computer and write the book, it never would have happened without the input of many, many people. Nothing happens in this world, I believe, without a chain of angels (human or otherwise) that help us on our path.

            I remember the very first time I entered the yoga studio at the foot of my hill. Somehow, the universe had planted a yoga center there just at the time in my life when I deeply needed to change my path for emotional as well as physical reasons. From the moment I entered Nesheemah (which means breath), my life forever changed for the better. I entered a parallel universe of which I had hitherto been completely unaware, a universe of kind and gentle souls, of teachers, friends, and others too many to name here. That day set into motion a series of events and serendipitous meetings, opening my heart to compassion, forgiveness and trust. So many have been part of my journey…I would like to personally thank each and every one…but some I don’t even know by name. Sometimes I think of the waiter who refilled my coffee cup when I was feeling down, or a woman I crossed paths with in a grocery store who let me go first in line; the people who brighten our days are sometimes unknown to us, even though we may feel and benefit from the light they share.

            Today, I’ll simply start with Eloise, who spent some hours after school creating the beautiful drawing above for me. And I’d also like to thank the butterflies…who reveal to us every day that we are capable of change, that we capable of overcoming struggle, that we are born to be free and beautiful.

The Power of Wow

One of my favorite yoga teachers (prominently featured in my upcoming memoir; details soon!) used to have a favorite mantra she’d repeat every time something amazing happened in her life (which was quite often). Here it is: “Wow.” She’d say this numerous times a day—whenever she ran into someone she knew in an unlikely place, whenever she looked up at the sky, whenever she woke up in the morning to a beautiful sunrise. Her enthusiasm for life was (and still is) contagious. For her, every moment seemed to hold a potential “Wow.”

At first, I thought this exuberance was a little over the top. But then, I too, began to notice that I was saying Wow a lot. It began to seem amazing to me that cats purr or that somehow the universe managed to hook me up in college with a best friend I would have for life. It seemed extraordinary that an opossum liked to hang out in my pear tree at night, and that I lived within walking distance from a fantastic Thai restaurant. It seemed unbelievable that goats are so adorable, or that butterflies and birds have such vibrant colors.

 I started to no longer take much of anything for granted, and to look at all the ordinary things in life in terms of their potential “wow-ness.” Of course, it’s easy to feel “The Wow” when you’re gazing at a sunset or looking into the eyes of a newborn baby. But in time, if you get into the Wow of things, you’ll find yourself totally wowed by a head of organic cauliflower or by a good car mechanic.

As a yogi (and as an admirer of author Eckhart Tolle) I often extol the “Power of Now,” and the beauty of living in the now. But I think my yoga teacher takes it an important step further.

If you can live in the now and in the Wow at the same time, I believe you may find true happiness. And all I can say to that, of course, is Hallelujah! I mean... Wow.

On the Porch

That’s porch. Not Porsche.

            I like porches (well, I like Porsches, too). These days everything is about the deck (and I do have one, out back. I don’t have a front porch any more). But when I was a kid, everything happened on the porch, in the front of the house, where all could see.

Porches make memories (well, maybe decks do, too, but they seem to be more along the lines of “Wow, we grilled some awesome portabellas last night” or “Did you see the size of those zinnias?”)
             Porch memories (at least for me) are more personal. The front porch is where I colored in my coloring books and played with my wooden blocks and paper dolls for hours. The front porch is where my best friend got into an argument with my cousin (he threw her crayons overboard into the forsythia bush). It’s where my high school boyfriend and I broke up. And it’s where my father took me when I was small and especially naughty. He often also carried me there in the evening—on his shoulders—to say goodnight to the moon.

            The front porch was where my mom and dad sat after dinner to watch the cars go by, and where my mom sat for years after my dad died, watching the cars go by alone. The front porch was where we hung out when it was just too hot inside the house, and it was where the glider was (upon which, as I recall, my lovely sister and her boyfriend often cuddled).

           We waved to neighbors passing by from the porch and often got into conversations about the weather or the state of old Miss so-and-so’s health. Today, we may not know our neighbors, and if we do, we’re all out on our back decks so we don’t have as many chances to chat. The porch was a great place to spy from and it was also an excellent elevation from which to have a lemonade-spitting contest (when mom wasn’t looking, of course).

            I guess I could go on and on about porches but you get my drift. Decks are nice, but I love porches, and always will.

"Wherever You Go...

Go with all of your heart.” This was the message on my Yogi teabag the other day. It was delivered at just the right moment as I was debating whether to go to a yoga class or stay home and work. Yoga won out, but the teabag got me thinking. So often my heart is not fully in the place where I am.

            This brings me back to raising kids, years of so much turmoil, imbalance, struggle, and love. I love my kids more than anything in the world, and yet when they were little and all three were in my care each day there were many moments when I wished I could have been somewhere else. I look back on those days now and wonder why I was so conflicted. Why couldn’t I just have appreciated the time and place for what it was and been there with my whole heart?

Well, the fact is there were other things I wanted to be doing (like writing), and it would have been great to have had a lot more solitude (a rarity when you’re raising youngsters). But when I did have to part with them for an afternoon or day, I often missed them. I wanted to be here and there at once. My heart wasn’t really where I was at all.

But it’s not just about kids, it can happen anytime. Every moment is a choice to do or go somewhere…to stay and rest or to move and go. To play or to work. To sleep or to exercise. Most of the time we’re happy with our decisions; we enjoy what we’re doing and move on. But too many times we struggle and doubt our choices. “I should have…could have…would have…” is a mantra I hear (and say) all too often.

This summer, I spent a number of afternoons at our town pool with a friend who has recently retired. Frankly, I had a lot of other things I would have preferred doing on these days; I have a busy life filled with family, yoga, writing, and various pursuits. My friend, on the other hand, is single and without kids; with no work or family, her days belong to her alone. Often, she’d ask me to meet her at the pool. When I did, my heart often longed to be elsewhere. But when I declined, I would think of her sitting there alone, listening to the giggles of the children in the water, and looking up at the blue sky. Then, I would longingly wish I had joined her!

Everything is a choice, a choice that we own. The message on the teabag spoke so clearly to me about what I’ve been struggling with forever; to be happy with each choice, and to go there with my whole heart, whatever the choice is. The familiar saying goes, “Wherever you go, there you are.” The corollary of that should be “Wherever you go, go with all of your heart.”

Whatever the case, I’m glad I chose to have a cup of tea that morning, instead of my usual decaf coffee. Indeed, I sipped it happily while I pondered the teabag's message... with all of my heart.

Stand on Tippy-Toes...

When I was a kid, we used to sing a cute little song: “Bend and stretch, reach for the sky, stand on tippy-toes, oh so high!” Actually, it was a tune they sang on Romper Room—a show that children used to watch pre-Sesame Street. For some weird reason, these flowers reminded me of the show and that tune…reaching with such confidence and exuberance for the stars, for the sky, for the absolute zenith of flower-dom.

            I broach this topic today because my youngest son has graduated college and is about to set out on his journey in the music field. As his mom, do I now tell him the grim truth, or the Romper Room version--the stark reality, or the flowers reaching to the sun story? Or the third option; a combination of the two?

Had anyone told me years and years ago how hard it would have been to become a writer, perhaps I wouldn’t have traveled this route. And I’m quite certain, had my husband (a classical clarinetist) listened to the naysayers he never would have succeeded in his profession. He started out playing for quarters on the sidewalks of New York; I started out at a trade magazine (after a stint on a community newspaper) writing about the enlightening subject of paint (as in house paint). I was determined to write…and so I doggedly pursued my dream (as did my husband, who successfully segued from sidewalk to orchestra pit).

            Decades and many, many pages later I’m still on my path and thankfully have found ways to write about topics that interest me a lot more than what’s hot in house paint. I reached for my sky, and I’ve never regretted trying.

It would have been regrettable if my parents had sat me down and told me that I would never find a job as a writer, and that I would never be able to live a decent life (financially, that is) married to a classical clarinetist. They zipped up their lips and let me carry on with my fantasy. To this day, I’m amazed that my glass-half-empty parents were able to stay mum; they must have been listening in on those Romper Room episodes, too.

When it comes to our kids, there’s a fine line between responsibility and possibility. We certainly don’t want to mislead them; nor do we want to discourage them. I’ve heard all the sad tales about the music business, and I’m not about to pass them on. I’m reminded of a psychologist I know who happens to be dyslexic; his high school guidance counselor once told him he’d better think about getting a job in a gas station. But…he wanted to get his PhD and teach at the college level. With the encouragement of his parents, he reached his goal.

 I grew up on Romper Room, so I guess it’s no surprise that I still believe that by standing on your tippy-toes you have a chance of getting to the tippy-top. Hail to the hibiscus, and to the hollyhock!